Juicy Secrets Forbidden Tales of Lesbian Love

by Kinky_Becky

{ This story was originally posted at Lush Stories in June 2013 }

My name is Becky. Well, quite honestly it’s not, but I only tell a few select friends my real name. I grew up in a typical middle-class neighborhood in Louisiana.

When I was ten, my little sister died. She was born with birth defects, and spent most of her life in and out of hospitals. After she died, my parents were always fighting and my dad soon took a job as a long-distance truck driver. He’d be on the road for weeks at a time, and then come home for two or three days. With all the medical bills, Mom still had to work, and I quickly became like a mother to my two younger brothers.

Mom would typically get home about 9 or 10 PM. I’d have dinner ready for her, and we’d sit in the living room and talk after my little brothers were in bed. It made me feel special. I saw the struggles she had to endure, and she saw mine. It made us love and respect each other so much more.

I guess I was what you would call a late bloomer. I didn’t even get my period until I was sixteen. I was always rather flat-chested and lanky, and boys just didn’t seem to pay much attention to me. It probably didn’t help that I didn’t feel sexy, or even pretty. Besides, I kind of equated men to my father.

Sure, I had a few boyfriends here and there, but I just never really felt that connection. After a while, I started wondering if there was something wrong with me. I remember asking a high school guidance counselor if I was gay. She told me it was too early to tell, and that I should give it some time.

Now being the type-A personality that I am, I started to read as much as I could on sexuality. After all, it’s a huge part of who we are. I didn’t want to become the sexless person my mother seemed to be. I would go to the library and browse through books. I found ones at the nearby university had pictures in them. But most of my information came from pornographic magazines. Some of them I confiscated from my little brothers. Some I stole from my friends’ dads.

The first few magazines I acquired were just your typical glossy skin mags like Playboy. They showed a few erotic pictures, but rarely anything explicit. But then I found my best friend’s father’s collection under his bathroom sink, which was considerably more hardcore than what I’d seen before, including some extremely smutty paperback novels. I remember sneaking a couple of them home and reading the stories over and over again, not to mention looking at all the sexy pictures, which were much more explicit than Playboy.

It was also about this time that Mom bought me a new computer. She got it primarily for me to write papers on when I started at the community college in the spring. Of course it didn’t take long to find several bulletin boards dedicated to sex. Every night, I would sit at my computer, recording my thoughts and fantasies in my electronic diary.

Over time, I realized that many of my fantasies involved women, particularly the really steamy ones. It’s funny how it all progressed. At first, I thought boys at school were cute and sexy. Later on, I developed a penchant for older men, like the ones in the magazines. But eventually, my focus was on the women in those magazines, those beautiful, sexy women.

That’s how I spent pretty much the entire last semester of my senior year, fantasizing about what it would be like to touch another girl. As soon as school was out, I’d rush home and finish any homework I had. My little brothers really weren’t so little anymore, so as soon as I finished making dinner, I’d sneak off to my room until my mom came home. And every day, that desire in me just grew and grew until I finally had the courage to do something about it.

It was the last week of my senior year. I had gym my last period and another girl and I got tasked to take down the volleyball nets and clean up after school. I really didn’t know Jennifer that well. She was one of the popular rich kids and hung out with a completely different group. Still, she was very attractive and I took every opportunity to check her out. Knowing it was our last week of school, I felt a little emboldened.

While we were sweeping the locker room floors, Ms. Crabtree, our PE teacher, told us to make sure the doors were locked when we left. No sooner had she left, Jennifer was putting the broom up and pulling off her top, saying, “Enough of this bullshit.” I smiled back at her and started undressing as well, taking every opportunity to look Jennifer’s way.

Compared to me, she was gorgeous. She was about two inches taller, with long flowing blonde locks that I had admired many times before. She was probably a C-cup, but that was still much larger than mine, and her ass looked like an upside-down heart when she bent over to slide off her panties. I immediately went into daydream mode.

When I looked up, she was looking directly into my eyes, a big grin on her face. I could feel the blood rushing to my cheeks. Jennifer’s grin widened as she asked me, bold as brass, “See anything you like?”

I blushed even more and mumbled a response that included a ‘sorry’ or two and a weakly mumbled “Yes.” Like I said, I felt emboldened. Jennifer didn’t even bat an eye; she just turned and headed for the showers. All I could think as she walked away was nice ass.

I slid my panties off, which were now visibly moist, and hesitantly walked into the showers, boldly picking a shower head that was a mere ten feet from where the warm water was cascading down Jennifer’s body.

I was rinsing the shampoo from my hair, trying my best to wash my impure thoughts of this girl out of my head, when I felt a light tap on my shoulder. I squealed and spun around, causing Jennifer to squeal as well. It certainly lightened the mood, and when I stopped giggling, I noticed this flaxen haired goddess was naked, standing right in front of me.

She was smiling as my eyes fell to her breasts and then down over her belly to her pubic hair, all neatly trimmed and lying flat from the wetness against her mons. Her hair now looked almost brown, draped against her neck as the beads of water dripped down her body. I was completely mesmerized… awestruck!

It seemed like hours that she just stood there. I know it was only seconds, but it was long enough for a million images to flash through my head, thoughts of all the things I wanted to do to her. I could feel the wetness trailing down my legs, unsure if it was the shower or my own excitement. I finally snapped back to reality and looked up at her. She smiled again, the same sexy smile those women in Playboy gave the camera. I wanted to say something, but nothing would come out.

Jennifer just looked at me, almost giggling at my obvious predicament and power she had over me. “Could you wash my back, please?” she asked.

With a hell of a lot more confidence than I felt, I managed a reply. “Sure, as long as you wash mine.”

“I’d love to,” she smiled.

Jennifer turned around, presenting her backside to me, moving beneath the flowing water. Biting my lower lip, I moved to the side, pushed her hair over her shoulders, and slowly began running the soap in tiny circles over her flawless skin. I started at her shoulders, feeling the smooth, feminine flesh under my fingertips. As I continued touching her, my excitement grew, as did my confidence. I crept forward, my hip contacting her buttocks.

Tiny bolts of electricity seemed to course from her body into mine. I’d kissed a couple of boys before that, but it felt nothing like this. My entire body tingled and vibrated, starting anywhere her flesh touched mine — up through my hair, down through my toes, then ricocheting and coursing back through me. I edged forward some more, feeling my breasts against her back. My nipples were fully erect, and I knew she could feel them brushing her skin.

It must have taken me about five minutes to get to the small of her back. Now what? I thought to myself. Jennifer answered that as she bent forward, presenting her ass to me. Slowly, my hand created little circles on her cheeks. I shifted over to the side, bending down slightly as my hand snaked lower.

I’m not sure if it was confidence or lust, but my fingers finally slipped into her crack, and Jennifer let out a very soft moan. I took this as an encouraging signal and delved deeper, searching for her sex. At the same time, I slipped my leg between hers, pressing my thigh against her ass. I was running on pure instinct, conjuring up experiences I’d read about in dozens of fantasies and erotic stories.

When I finally felt her slit parting around my fingers, Jennifer shuddered. She stood and turned around, looking deeply into my eyes. I could see the surprise she felt, but there was something else as well, something I just couldn’t put my finger on.

You idiot, I thought to myself. You’ve gone too far and now she’s going to tell the whole school. You’re going to walk across the stage at graduation and everyone’s going to know what you did. They’re going to know you’re a lesbian.

With a shaky voice, I stammered, “I’m s-sorry.”

Jennifer looked confused. Taking my face in her hands, she looked me square in the eyes and said, “Oh Becky, you have nothing to be sorry about. That was the best back washing I’ve ever had.” She took a step forward. Leaning in, she kissed my lips ever so gently.

This time, those little electric shocks had a lot more voltage. They shook me to the bone. Seeing that I wasn’t going to back away, Jennifer leaned in once again, her kiss much more forceful this time. And this time, I responded, kissing her back with every bit of passion and lust that I felt inside.

My nipples got so erect that I could feel them aching. It was like they wanted to burst out the front of my breasts. Slowly, I found my instincts taking over. Still kissing my new lover, I lifted my hands to her upper arms, slid them over the top of her shoulders and down, stopping when I finally reached the small of her back.

I moaned with my lips against hers as I pulled her towards me, no longer the timid schoolgirl. I opened my mouth and took her bottom lip between mine. I think that shocked her, as I could hear her gasp a little. But then I felt her tongue against mine as she opened her mouth, moaning as we pulled our bodies together.

I could feel her soapy breasts against mine, sliding together. I could feel her stomach, her thighs. I could feel her pubic bone rub against mine, the coarse pubic hairs scratching so deliciously against my own smooth mound. We were both lost in the moment, consumed by lust, kissing as passionately as we knew how. Our tongues danced frantically as we ground our bodies together, working ourselves closer and closer to that pinnacle.

Jennifer wrapped her arms around my neck, hugging me tighter, mashing our breasts together. I became desperate to make her feel as wonderful as I felt. I reached around, grabbing her ass cheeks and pulled her into me. As I did, she moaned loudly, reaching around to my ass to do the same.

As I reached up to grab her breast, we heard a banging on the locker room door. We froze. Shaken back to reality, I yelled out, “Girls changing! Girls changing in here.”

That was when we heard Mr. Baker, the vice-principal, his voice echoing throughout the locker room. “Ms. Crabtree asked me to check on you two. She said you should be done by now. What the hell is taking you two so long?”

“We needed to take a shower. We got ourselves all hot and sweaty,” Jennifer said, giggling into my shoulder.

“Jennifer Jenkins, your mother is waiting to pick you up. She’s been sitting in my office for half an hour. I suggest you both get a move on. You’ve got five minutes.”

We both yelled out to him that we’d hurry up and heard the door bang closed. Not wanting to let Jennifer go, I reached back behind me to turn off the shower. As I did, I felt a pair of lips on my right nipple. I gasped, letting my moan bellow out and fill the entire locker room, not caring if Mr. Baker could hear or not. Not wanting to be left out, I reached up and took one of her breasts in my hand. It felt so different than my own, so soft, so heavy.

Once again, I was getting lost in her. That is until I heard Mr. Baker banging on the door once again, causing Jennifer to jump away in fear. She started to turn away to grab her towel, but I grabbed her hand. She looked back at me and I smiled and said, “I want a turn at that.”

Smiling, she poked out her chest at me, saying, “Be my guest.”

So many times I had fantasized about this, and now it was reality, if a rushed reality. Slowly, I lowered my head, opening my mouth slightly. As I wrapped my lips around her areola, my tongue began to caress her nipple. Leaning forward, I opened my mouth wider, taking as much of her breast into my mouth as I could, sucking the beads of water from her flesh. Jennifer moaned out her encouragement as I felt her hands on the back of my wet hair, pulling me into her.

BANG, BANG, BANG. I could feel the pounding, shaking me back to reality.

“Don’t make me come in there and drag you girls out. Get out of the shower, NOW!”

We knew he was serious, even the part about coming in after us. So that was as far as things went.

As we were getting dressed, I said to Jennifer, “I just want you to know that this is the first time I’ve done anything like this before. I’ve been thinking about it for a while, you know, about girls. But I’ve never done anything. Really, I hadn’t intended on doing anything except checking you out today. And since we’re both graduating, I thought that it would be okay, even if you caught me. But that was really great. I’m staying here all summer. Maybe we could hang out sometime?”

Jennifer just smiled. Not knowing her well at all, I wasn’t really prepared for her reply. “Look, you’re cute and all, and I liked fooling around with you, but that’s as far as it goes. Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re not really my type… and I’m not looking for any new friends.” She patted my shoulder. “Thanks, though. I had fun.” With that, she walked out.

I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised. Still, it hurt like hell. I was completely heartbroken and cried the entire walk home. When I got home, I went straight to my room and sobbed myself to sleep on my bed.

When Mom got home, she knew something was wrong right away. She came in and sat on my bed, rubbing my shoulders while I wept. She asked, “Who hurt you this way, sweetheart?” with such a loving tone in her voice that all I could do was hug her.

She was still there the next morning. After my brothers left for their last day of school, she took me to her room for a nice long talk. It had been so long since Mom cuddled me in her bed, and I found it utterly comforting. After I’d settled down, I told her the whole story — everything. I told her about kissing Jennifer, even the other things we did. Then I described how I’d shared my feelings with this girl, and how she’d immediately given me the big brush-off.

My mother was wonderful about it. She told me how she’d been with a girl when she was my age too. That part shocked me beyond belief. I never thought of Mom as sexual in any way, despite having four kids. Besides, we were always told girls in the Fifties didn’t even let a boy get to second base until they were married. Suddenly, I didn’t feel so alone.

She went on to explain that there are a lot of mean-hearted people in the world, people that care only for themselves. Mom told me that she’d had her heart broken a number of times, and how you never get used to it, but that you should learn from the experience. She also echoed what my counselor had told me months before, that it was still too early to say if I was a lesbian, or even bisexual.

What I remember most, and always will remember, is how gentle and understanding my mother was. As we sat in the kitchen making cookies, Mom told me how proud she was of me. When she saw the bewilderment in my eyes, she explained that she was proud of me for who I was. She was proud that I hadn’t responded to Jennifer with the same cruelty that she’d shown me. She was proud because I felt brave enough to seek out what I wanted. And more importantly, she was proud that I trusted her enough to tell her about my feelings for girls.

We spent the whole day together, and I began seeing my mother in a whole new light. I also began seeing myself in a whole new way. And two days later, when I walked across the stage to receive my diploma, I held my head up high. And when Jennifer walked across the stage to receive hers, I just smiled to myself thinking, “Yep, I tapped that.”

*****

The summer before I started college was a time of exploration for me. My brothers were always gone, leaving at the crack of dawn to hang out with friends, not coming back until well after dark. Being the oldest, Mom always left me in charge and as soon as they left, I would deadbolt the doors. In the rare event that they came home, I’d tell them I was cleaning the house and I didn’t want them messing it up. Of course that was a lie; I just wanted my own personal time.

A couple of weeks into it, Mom told me she had to go out of town for work and asked me to take care of the boys. My mom was a nurse and every few months she’d have to go out of town for a conference. It was always just for a few days, and I pretty much raised my brothers anyway. I never thought much about it, but I did miss the evening chats we’d have when she came home.

My brothers were already out of the house when I helped Mom load up her car. She gave the address and telephone number of the hotel she’d be staying at, and kissed my cheek before climbing in the car. I watched as she backed out the driveway, feeling a little conflicted. In one sense, I didn’t want to see her go. On the other, I knew her absence meant a lot more free time for self-exploration.

I locked the doors as soon as I was inside and had my clothes off before the computer even booted up. I went straight for one of my favorite bulletin boards and started looking at pictures of sexy girls. It was painful how long it took for a single picture to load up, but to me, it was well worth the wait. I also had several magazines out.

After a particularly sexy picture loaded onto the screen, I came up with the bright idea of saving it to a floppy disc. I looked all over the desk, but all of them were used. I knew Mom usually kept a supply in her closet, so I peeled myself from the screen, dried my hands off, and walked naked into her room.

Her closet was an absolute disaster. There were at least a dozen shoe boxes, camera cases, and clothes everywhere. I was just about to give up when my curiosity took over.

Now I never snooped through my parents’ stuff, even when I was little. But I was feeling very mischievous at the time. So I knelt down on the floor, my ass jutting in the air as I rummaged through her belongings.

Even after I found a box of blank floppies, I continued to dig through the boxes. I was amazed at the things she kept. There was a box filled with crafts that I made for her when I was little, bits of macaroni and glitter covering the bottom, but she’d put tissue paper inside to protect it like it was a masterpiece.

Then, underneath a pile of sweaters, I found a briefcase. I thought it was rather odd, since I never saw either of my parents carry one. I tried to pop the clasps open, but it was locked with a combination. I shook it a few times and could tell there was something in it, and as persistent and goal-oriented as I am, I sat back on the bed, starting with 000, and tried each and every number until the lock popped open. The combinations were the same for both sides… 248, my mother’s birth month and year.

My heart raced as I opened the case, beating even faster when I saw its contents. Lying in the bottom were several dildos and vibrators, including one with straps.

I picked that one up and held it in my hands. The thing was huge. I was completely flabbergasted. I had seen several pictures of women fucking women with dildos, even strap-ons, but I couldn’t fathom why my mother would own one.

The pockets held a collection of magazines, but not just any old magazines. This was hard core porn — lesbian porn. As I held the heavy shaft of that silicone cock in my hand, it suddenly became clear. My mother liked women. I smiled as I recalled the confession she’d made to me about her college days. At the time, I thought Mom was telling me that she’d just experimented once or twice. In fact, I’d later wondered whether she just told me that to make me feel better. Now, I was seeing my mother in a whole new light.

I looked down at the dildo. I’m not sure why it didn’t occur to me before, but I was suddenly aware that this cock I was holding was my mother’s. It had been inside her. She masturbated with it; fucked herself with it. The idea turned me on immensely, images of her face racing through my mind. I brought it to my nose, sniffing it, expecting to smell her — but it only bore the scent of rubber and soap. I was disappointed, to say the least, and wasn’t even sure why

Putting it aside, I grabbed the magazines and thumbed through them. They weren’t all that different from ones I had seen before, except for only featuring lesbian content, but just knowing they belonged to my mother made looking at them seem forbidden, and that made it all the more exciting to me.

Behind where the briefcase had been was a lockbox. I’d seen it before. I remember asking my mother what was in it and she just told me, “important papers.” At the time, I took that to mean birth certificates, marriage certificates, and things like that. But now, curiosity had taken its hold on me. I turned the numbers on the dial, trying 2-4-8 first. That didn’t work, but 2-1-48 sure did.

At first, I was disappointed. There were a few floppy drives and a few documents, mostly letters. But as I picked up the letters, I saw several Polaroid pictures under them, pictures of an older woman and a girl about my age. Others had my mom as well. Even more striking was the fact that all of them were naked, and in several of them, they were touching each other. Oh hell, why mince words? My mother was fucking them, fucking and licking them both. They were the hottest, most explicit pictures I’d ever seen.

After examining each and every picture quite closely, I turned my attentions to the letters. I noticed that the envelopes were addressed to my mother, but the address was a post office box. My heart raced as I pulled the first one out.

I should have been angry when I realized it was a love letter. I should have been infuriated that she was cheating on my dad. Perhaps if I didn’t know exactly how she felt, I would have been.

You see, Dad was always on the road, often for months at a time. He only came home when he could arrange a load close to our town. A lot of times he only spent the night, long enough for Mom to wash his clothes. It was like he used the house as a motel. He still took care of us financially, for the most part, but I still felt like he abandoned us, and I’m sure that Mom felt the same way.

I went through each and every sentence, every single word of that letter. It was beautifully written, expressing a love that was so sincere that even I could feel it. I learned that the name of the woman in the picture was Allison. The younger girl was her daughter, Cindy.

It took me much longer than it should have to realize the implications of that, how my mother was involved in a sexual relationship with another woman and her daughter. More than that, I was stunned to learn that Allison and her own child were lovers as well!

I counted another dozen letters, the postmarks dating back almost two years. It was getting late, so I decided to put them back, knowing that I didn’t have time to go through them all before my brothers got home.

I had a thousand impression racing through my mind when I stood up and walked back to my computer. I sat down, looking at the sexy pictures, but not really seeing them. Images of my mother kept popping up. They weren’t sexual thoughts; just things she said to me over the years that made more sense now. Most of them were comments she made about Dad and heir relationship.

I realized my mother hadn’t loved him in a very long time, but she stayed with him anyway. Suddenly I felt like an obstacle — like my brothers and I had, without even knowing it, stood between my mother and her happiness.

My thoughts were interrupted by the familiar ring of the telephone, signaling my mother’s nightly call. I stood up and hastened to the kitchen to grab the phone.

As I heard Mom’s voice, I became increasingly aware of my nudity. It wasn’t uncommon for me to walk around the house naked when no one was home, knowing the deadbolts would keep my brothers out. Still, as I stood there completely nude, I felt like she knew, like she could see me. Maybe it was because I felt guilty for snooping, exposing her secrets,  or perhaps it was because I felt so close to her. Whatever it was, I felt much more exposed than I ever had before.

“Is everything okay? Are the boys giving you any trouble?” she asked.

“No, they haven’t been home all day. To be honest, I didn’t even realize it was so late until you called. I haven’t even started dinner yet,” I said. “How’s the conference going? Having a lot of fun?”

“Oh, it’s long and boring, like going to school with a bunch of people you don’t know. I’d much rather be home with you.”

For once, I detected deceit in her voice, and suddenly it hit me. I knew exactly where she was, and it wasn’t at any conference. Mom was with Allison and her daughter… her secret lovers. At that moment, she could have been just as naked as I was. Who knows? Maybe she was in bed with them at that very moment!

My head swam. I wanted to tell her it was all right, that she didn’t have to lie to me. I wanted to tell her that I understood. I just didn’t know how.

So instead, I said, “I love you, Mom. And if you want to stay an extra day or two, we’ll be fine.”

“Don’t be silly. Why on earth would I want to stay in a hotel any longer than I have to?” she asked, the confusion in her voice mixed with apprehension.

“Because you deserve a vacation. You should take some time away to just relax and enjoy yourself,” I answered.

“I… I might just take you up on that,” she replied.

Smiling, I told her, “Please do,” and told her goodbye. I picked up the phone and ordered a pizza before heading back to my room to get dressed and clean up.

*****

Usually, I would return to my porn as soon as my brothers were in bed — that night I didn’t. Instead, I lay in bed thinking about Mom.

I felt sorry for her. Before, I couldn’t stop thinking about my own sexuality, now I couldn’t stop thinking of hers. I realized that all the issues that had been plaguing me for the past several months had tormented my mother for years, perhaps decades. Then I started thinking about where she was, what she was doing. Finally, she was getting a chance to enjoy herself, to explore, to be herself without judgment. I was happy for her, and didn’t want it to end just because she had to come back home. I fell asleep contemplating how I would let Mom know about what I’d learned about her.

I woke up to the front door slamming. Looking out the window I saw my brothers with their friends, heading out on their bikes, towels wrapped around their necks. I knew then that they were going to the community pool at the back of our neighborhood and would be gone all day. Ordinarily, a refreshing swim would sound good, but I was already wet, ha ha.

I rolled out of bed and made sure all of the doors were secure. My next stop was the laundry hamper, gathering up the clothes before taking them out to the laundry room. If I was going to keep the doors locked all day under the premise of cleaning the house, I had to at least do some housework. I threw some detergent and bleach in the washer and set the cycle to hot, then started loading the dirty towels.

I then went through the dirty clothes, separating them, throwing the whites into the washer. My heart nearly stopped when I saw a pair of my mother’s panties lying in the basket. I picked them up, holding them in my fingers, marveling at how soft they were. “Snap out of it — she’s your mother!” I scolded myself aloud before throwing them in the washer.

I then went to clean up the kitchen which, thanks to the pizza we’d eaten the night before, didn’t take long to put into order. After picking up trash around the house, I ran the vacuum cleaner over the carpeted parts of the house, finishing up in Mom’s bedroom. I unplugged the vacuum, wrapping up the cord with my eyes fixed on her closet. For once, I didn’t even think about my computer or my dirty magazines.

As soon as I put the vacuum away, I peeled my t-shirt up and over my head. I slid my panties off too, tossing them both in my room before heading to Mom’s closet. With my juices trailing down my inner thighs, I knelt to the floor, heading straight for those two boxes. Popping the locks, I pulled everything out, and then lay down on her bed, surrounded by her magazines, her letters, and her toys.

As I lay there, smelling her pillow, her scent still on it, I reminisced about her holding me a few short days before, comforting me after my confession. I missed her so much, but right than, I was glad she wasn’t home.

I organized the letters by their dates; then pulled out the first letter. It was written just shy of two years earlier.

It started out innocently enough. From what I deduced, my mother had met Allison at a nurse’s convention in Dallas. Apparently, they hadn’t gotten pretty drunk and wound up sleeping together. I could sense the pain in her letter. She confessed that she had thought about women her entire life, but my mother was the first, and she couldn’t stop thinking about her. Tiny water spots decorated the pages. I couldn’t tell if they were Allison’s or my mother’s, but I suspected they were a mixture of the two. I was adding a few of my own.

The next couple of letters were more of the same. It was clear that my mother had written her back, and apparently they had talked on the phone a few times. Long distance was extremely expensive back then, or I’m sure they would have been talking daily. While it was obvious she still missed my mother immensely, the tone was much happier — especially on the fifth letter when Allison related how excited she was that my mother had planned another visit, this time just to see her.

The next letter talked a lot about how wonderful it had been to see my mother again, to make love to her. But reading further, Allison mentioned that she thought her daughter might suspect what she’d been up to. I learned then that at the time, her daughter was seventeen and “certainly not stupid.”

She said Cindy had been avoiding her and was very quiet, and she feared her daughter knew she was gay and didn’t approve. Once again, I could feel Allison’s pain, the inner conflict between living for herself and living for her daughter. It was obvious that she loved Cindy and didn’t want to hurt her.

The next letter was harder to understand at first. Apparently something huge had happened, and Allison had called my mom to talk about it. All I could really get out of it was that she was happy and relieved.

It wasn’t until the next letter that I fully understood. I learned Allison had had a very long talk with Cindy and admitted her feelings for my mother. She was happy because her daughter was okay with it, but went on to say that Cindy was a bit jealous of my mother, because it made her feel like a third wheel. Cindy told her she wasn’t used to sharing her mom with someone else, but try to deal with it. Allison said she was going out of her way to spend quality time with her and that their relationship was stronger than ever.

It was a letter written last October that really got my attention. My mother had gone to another “conference” the week before and Allison said she hadn’t been able to sleep since Mom left. Everytime I close my eyes, it takes me back to Saturday night, she wrote. I keep seeing her in the doorway, watching us. I keep remembering how I ran after her to talk to her. I keep hearing her words, telling me how she felt, how she was jealous of you, and why. And then I think about Sunday night, the look in her eyes when I led her to our room, how wonderful it was to share my lover with her, how wonderful it was it share my daughter with you.

I read that part over and over again, so many times that I have it memorized — not just the words, but every stroke of the pen. I was mesmerized by it. By then, I’d read hundreds, if not thousands of explicit stories on the bulletin boards and in magazines, often involving extremely kinky and taboo encounters. But none of them were as erotic to me as those words. I closed my eyes imagining it, using their pictures to facilitate the imagery, augmented by my own wicked imagination.

I admit that the concept of lesbian incest had aroused me for quite some time. Still, I’d never really pictured Mom in any of my fantasies. When I masturbated to a mother-daughter scenario, I would call the woman Mom, though in my head, she was a faceless person.

But as I lay that day on my mother’s bed, burying my fingers deep inside my pussy, rubbing my clit until it was too sore to continue, my fantasy lover had a face. The same woman who gave birth to me, who raised me, who comforted me in this very bed, was now in my head performing the most perverted, erotic acts I ever imagined, and I loved her even more for it.

The final letters were mostly about how close Cindy and Allison had become. She told my mother how much they both missed her and how they couldn’t wait to see her again.

But there was something else, something that shocked me to my core. Allison thanked Mom for sending her my pictures!

She wrote of how beautiful I was, and how it was easy to see why my mother never stopped talking about me. But the line that really stuck out was her telling my mother that she hoped one day that Mom would have the kind of relationship with me that she “really wanted,” and that she would “be as happy sharing you with Becky as you are sharing me with Cindy.”

You know how some things, no matter how obvious they seem, are simply too incredible to believe? I read that line over and over trying to come up with a rational explanation, something, anything that would make more sense than exactly what it said.

It’s not that I didn’t want it to be true. Oh, God no! I never wanted anything to be truer. I was afraid that I was wrong. I read her words several more times, then picked up my mother’s dildo and rammed it deep into my vagina, fucking every ounce of doubt right out of me.

My clean up wasn’t as meticulous this time; I knew I’d be back the next day, going through everything all over again. I simply threw everything back into the boxes and pushed them back in her closet. I didn’t even bother to clean her dildo off. I did take a shower, which was a mistake. Beneath the flowing water, I just couldn’t resist masturbating again, despite my clit being nearly rubbed raw.

It was hard for me to focus for the rest of the night. My brothers complained because I burned dinner. My mother, when she phoned, asked me what was wrong, noting that I seemed distracted. I told her I just had a lot on my mind. She asked me if I had more “girl troubles,” which caught me off guard. I just didn’t know how to answer. My hesitation prompted her to ask me who the girl was. I told her I’d tell her when she got home.

“Fair enough,” she replied, “I’m going to spend tomorrow night here and drive back the next morning. I should be home by noon, and I want to hear all about it, young lady. All the juicy details.”

“Okay, Mom. Love you,” I told her, hanging up the phone. It didn’t give me much time to prepare, but for once, I knew what I wanted to do. What I had to do.

I didn’t sleep at all that night; I was too nervous. Just a few short weeks ago, I was a shy schoolgirl, yet here I was devising the boldest, riskiest plan of my life. I knew the implications if it failed — I could lose my mother’s love forever. Even success had profound implications. Would our relationship ever be the same? Would she still be my mom? All those thoughts kept racing through my mind.

For some reason, my brothers didn’t want to leave the house that day. They were complaining because their friends were going out of town for vacation, and they were too tired to go to the pool. They didn’t want to go to the park to play basketball, or to ride their bikes, or do anything outside. I began to wonder if God, or some higher power, was trying to thwart my plan.

Still, I wasn’t going to be denied. I told them that Mom was coming home the next day, I wanted to get the house looking nice for her, and if they insisted on staying indoors, I’d be happy to find plenty of messy chores for them to tackle. After griping a bit, they finally moped their way out the door, which I quickly locked.

I didn’t strip, not this time. I walked into my room, fired up my computer and my word processing program, and started to write.

Dear Mom,

You recently told me that you were proud of me for being brave enough to go after what I wanted, and for trusting you enough to tell you the truth about my feelings for girls. I hope when you finish this letter, you still feel that way. I wish I felt brave. Instead, I can’t stop trembling in fear, because this is the scariest thing I’ve ever had to say. In fact, I’m too scared to say it, so I’m writing you instead.

I love you, Mom. Throughout my entire life, you have been there every step of the way. You were there to feed me when I was a baby, too young to even tell you I was hungry. You clothed me, changed my diapers, soothed me when I cried. You were there when I took my first step. You were there when I fell, always ready to pick me up and encourage me to try again.

When Dawn died, it would have been easy for you to hide away and abandon your motherly responsibilities, but you didn’t. You lost a daughter, but were more concerned with helping me through the loss of a sister. I remember how you held me close, comforting me night and day, and never anyone there to comfort you.

When Dad left, you filled his role, and much better than he ever did. And I want you to know that there is no one, no one in the world that I love and admire more. I wish I could say that I’ve been as good a daughter as you have been a mother, but instead, I’ll settle for trying to get as close to that goal as I can.

Our evening chats have always been special to me. Over the past few years, you’ve become my best friend. Honestly, you’ve ALWAYS been my best friend. I felt like I could tell you anything, and I realized that more than ever when Jennifer broke my heart. No, that’s not true. I didn’t love her, so she couldn’t break my heart. Really, she just messed with my ego.

I’ve wondered about my sexuality for quite some time, but was afraid to tell you. Instead, I told one of my school guidance counselors, who really didn’t help me at all. Once I finally did come clean with you, I felt ashamed for hiding it. So, as petrified as I am to tell you this, I know if there is anyone who will understand, it’s you.

While you were gone to Dallas, I did a bad thing. While looking for some floppy discs in your closet, I started snooping through your stuff. I found your briefcase and the lockbox you keep your “important papers” in. I sat there trying each and every number until was able to open them both, and then went through the contents.

Mom, I read your letters. I’m ashamed to admit it, but I did. I know about Allison. I know about Cindy. I know what they mean to each other. And I know that’s where you are right now.

Please forgive me. You don’t deserve to have your privacy violated. But now that I know, I feel able to share my innermost thoughts with you.

I love you. I love you more than anyone in the world, and not just because you are my mother, but because you are so much more. You are my comforter, my protector, my confidant. You mean so much to me, and I can’t imagine what my life would be without you. But now, my love goes beyond that.

As I read Allison’s letters, I was touched. I could feel the love in them, as well as the pain. I realized then how similar you and I are. The troubles and inner turmoil that I‘ve felt recently are things you’ve been dealing with for years. I realize now that you gave up so much for Dad, for me, for the boys. And while I helped as well as I could to ease the stress of daily life, I could not help you with what you needed the most.

Well, Mom, I want to fix that. I don’t want you to be afraid to come to me for anything. I want to be here for you for everything. I want to be your daughter, your best friend… and yes, even more. I want to be everything you’ll let me be.

Because Mom, I do love you, and it wasn’t until I read those letters that I learned just how much.

About a year ago, I started having sexual thoughts about other girls. To deal with these desires, I started looking at pornographic magazines. For several months now, I’ve been visiting bulletin boards on the computer and reading lesbian stories. The ones that turn me on the most are about incest. That’s right, Mom, incest.

The idea of sex between women from the same family really turned me on, but I have to admit that while I masturbated to it, I really never thought of you in that way. Instead, the mother in my head was just a nameless, faceless woman who happened to be making love to her own daughter. I guess I was just too ashamed of myself to allow you to take that role. Maybe, deep down inside, I was afraid that if I thought of you that way, it might affect the way I saw you as my mother, and I love you too much to let such a thing happen.

That changed when I opened that briefcase, Mom. I finally saw the side of you that I never saw before, that I refused to let myself see — the sexual side. I didn’t even know that you had sex, or thought about it. But learning about Allison and Cindy didn’t change the way I feel about you as a mother. It didn’t make me love you less; it made me love you more.

Then I read the letters, all of them. And I saw the pictures. That did change the way I thought of you, but in a good way. No longer do I just see you as just a mother, a protector, a confidant. Now I see the whole you, the mother, the friend, and the lover.

Now, when I close my eyes and imagine making love to a beautiful woman, feeling her body next to mine, smelling her hair, touching her smooth soft flesh, now she has a name. Now she has a face. But Mom, when I look up from my lover’s body and see her face, I don’t want it to be a fantasy. I want it to be a reality, and I want her face to be yours.

I don’t just love you, mother dearest. I want you. I need you. I’m aching inside with the hunger I feel for your body, your hands, your mouth — and I’m desperately hoping that you might have feelings like that for me.

Yes, I know the implications of becoming my mother’s lover. I understand that it could affect our everyday life, our relationship. I also know that all that could change anyhow, regardless of what we do. One of the posters in our school gym says, “Finished last is always better than did not finish, which trumps did not start.” I would walk into a burning building for you, so I’m not afraid of a few hurdles. The only thing I’m afraid of is losing you.

Regardless of what you decide, whether you truly want me that way or not, please know that I am happy that you found Allison and Cindy. And your secret is safe with me, even if it wasn’t safe from my prying eyes and lock-picking fingers.

I adore you always.

Your loving daughter,

Rebecca

I looked up at the clock as the printer clicked and sprayed my words onto the virgin paper. Damn, 2 PM already? I couldn’t believe it had taken so long.

I addressed a large manila envelope to my mother’s post office box, using Allison’s name and location for a return address. It was a little deceitful of me, but I wanted to make sure Mom read it, preferably when I wasn’t around. If she thought it was me, she’d wonder how I learned about her PO box, and might confront me without ever opening it.

Okay, that was the easy part. Don’t chicken out now. If you’re going to stick your toe in the water, you might as well just jump in, I told myself, trying to muster up the courage to take the next step.

On wobbly legs, I walked back into my mother’s bathroom, took off my clothes and hopped in her shower, hoping the water would relax me.

It certainly changed my mood, but I wouldn’t exactly say I was relaxed. I’d underestimated the impact that taking a shower in my mother’s bathroom would have on me, of being naked in her room, of picking up her soap, of using her washcloth on my most intimate parts.

It wasn’t long before the hand roaming over my flesh was hers, touching me. Her fingers caressed my breasts, her fingertips pinched my nipples. I could feel her hand slipping down my tummy and down between my legs. I could feel my clit swell for her.

My orgasm coursed through me like a tidal wave, the cascading water pushing me to the floor of the tub, unable to stand until the hot water tank was emptied and it angrily dumped cold water on me to sober me up.

Shivering violently, I shut the water off and dried myself. I wrapped a towel around my body, perhaps to keep me from losing focus, and sat down at my mom’s vanity. I spent the next half hour on my hair, blow drying, backcombing, scrunching, until finally it was perfect. Smiling and finally relaxed, I put my makeup on and did my nails. I rummaged through my mother’s closet for something sexy to wear, added my favorite earrings, and for once, I felt beautiful. No one was going to mistake me for Susanna Hoffs, but I certainly felt sexy.

Reaching up onto the top shelf of her closet, I retrieved my mother’s Polaroid camera and every box of film she had. After loading the camera, I took it over to her dresser and snapped off a few pictures of myself in the mirror, then remembered that it had a self-timer. We had only used it a couple of times, usually when Dad was home, so we could get a family photo. It only took a few seconds to figure out how to use it. I set it down on her dresser and smiled into the camera for what seemed an eternity before it took my picture.

After a few shots with me standing up, I brought the camera over to the bed and took a couple of pictures with me in my blouse and skirt, lying on the bed in the most seductive poses I could muster. I sat cross-legged, letting my skirt ride up my thighs, and then pulled my skirt up so my panties were clearly visible. In another, I laid on my stomach, my skirt raised, exposing my panty-covered bottom. In that same pose, I took another picture from the front, angling the camera down my unbuttoned top.

By that time, I could hardly breathe. Each time I waited for the camera to go off, I held my breath, which in my excited state, left me panting when the damned thing finally clicked. My nervousness didn’t get any easier when I reached behind my back to unclasp my bra and pulled it out of the sleeves of my blouse, nor when I slid my panties off. At that time, I still had my blouse and skirt on, a pair of black stiletto heels, and my earrings. I looked completely dressed, but felt completely exposed as I took the same poses again.

I unbuttoned my blouse, save the bottom button, and pulled it down over my shoulders, giving my best Debbie Harry expression as the camera flashed the next picture. As my excitement grew, I got bolder and bolder, exposing more and more. Soon I was completely naked, taking pictures of myself lying on the bed touching myself, of me bending over spreading my ass cheeks, even of my legs spread wide pushing my mother’s vibrator deep inside my soaking cunt, and finally of my face in the throes of orgasm.

They weren’t quite magazine quality, but I hoped my mother would treasure them. To be perfectly frank, looking at them turned me on, and part of me wanted to keep a few of them for myself. I arranged them in order, putting the tame ones on top, progressively getting wilder toward the bottom. I then secured them together with a rubber band, put them in the envelope along with her letter, then got dressed.

I got to the post office just in time. That’s probably a good thing, since my race to get there before they closed kept me from second-guessing the wisdom of actually mailing the thing to her. As I walked out the door, the cashier closed and locked the door behind me — also a good thing, as it kept me from racing back inside to snatch the letter away before it got posted.

I sat there in the driver’s seat, wondering what I had just done, wondering if I’d just destroyed my relationship with the one person who loved me unconditionally. I mean, parents always say they love you unconditionally. I’ve even heard of a mother saying that she still loved her son and forgave him, even after he’d tried to kill her. But this was different. This could be the one thing that destroyed even a mother’s love.

Stop it, you’re being silly, I told myself. I knew my mother loved me, and after reading Allison’s letters, I was pretty sure she wanted me, too. Still, there was doubt. Fantasizing about something is one thing; actually doing it is altogether a different story. Even if she did feel the same way, could Mom allow herself to give in to temptation? Would having to keep it a secret be too hard for her, too stressful? Would making love to me make her feel creepy or guilty?

Well, what was done was done, and there was no backing out.

As I started to pull out of the parking space, I looked up in the rear-view mirror. My face was no longer radiant. Tears had already streaked my mascara, making me look more like Alice Cooper than a Bangle. I pulled a tissue from my purse and cleaned up my face, then headed home. It’s a wonder I even got there. I was so distracted I didn’t even remember stopping in at KFC for dinner. All the while I was shaking inside, thinking about the enormity of what I’d just done.

Onward to Part TwoDear Mom: I Want You, Part 2!