Coming home to Mom | Part 2 – Consequences | [M/F] [M/S] [INC] [dub con]

Dear Reader(s),

[If you’re just joining in, you need to read Part 1 to understand this story.](https://www.reddit.com/r/incest/comments/10i4j1r/ms_coming_home_to_mom_part_1_promises/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=android_app&utm_name=androidcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button)

To the others, thank you for the overwhelming response to my story. I appreciate those of you who have been calling me out on my insensitivity in the last part. This exercise is for me to process many pages of memories, to make connections that I didn’t make earlier, and figure out how I ended up where I am.

When I said, lovely reader, that I intend to take you along as my judge and witness, I meant it. I submit myself to your judgment and your mirth, your sympathy and your empathy. I want to start this part by talking a bit about a memory that I think will serve as an important context to this story.

#How it all began – An overheard conversation.

I remember, as a child, overhearing a particularly aggressive fight between my mom and my dad. My mom and I had never known, outside of us, a home that could ever be called whole. She was a product of a broken home, and so was I. Our destinies were entwined by not only a strong biological bond, but also a shared experience of abandonment.

Our home was no stranger to angry fights – but this one was special. Now, feel free to mistrust the accuracy of this, since I have played this scene over and over again in my head. Every retelling dilutes the story with a little bit of my pain, and my bitterness, my anger, and my loneliness.

“I can’t believe you did that to us, you piece of shit!” I heard my mom shout.
“You wanted a good life! You wanted me to chase my dreams!” my dad jumped in.
“NOT WITHOUT ME!” my mom shrieked.
“Hon, it was just a mistake!” my dad pleaded.
“You fucked your assistant!” my mom shrieked.
“I really want to work on this with you. I don’t wanna break up. I don’t wanna break up our family.”
“It’s too late, Fred! You broke my heart.”
“Honey, I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry too. I’m taking Kevin and leaving.”
“Can’t we find a way out?”
“You chose this. You did this. I’m sorry that the thought of consequences is just crossing your mind.”

#Consequences – Age 23 – Immediately after the phone call

After that conversation with mom, she withdrew. She would check in on text once a week – always asking the same question in a robotic, alien, foreign voice – “Do you need money?”
*No, I don’t fucking need money. I need you. Don’t you see that?* “I’m good”, I replied. I didn’t apologize. I was too proud for that. But yeah, everytime we spoke, just before we hung up, we’d have this 2 mins of silence. Just 2 mins of hearing each other breathe. It was liberating to allow the pattern of our breath to say what pride and hurt wouldn’t permit our lips to utter.
*I love you.*
*I love you so much. It hurts to be alive without you.*

Sometimes I would get texts from her about things that were going on in her life. I always struggled to reply.

~~I miss you talking to me. I miss cuddling with you. I miss you being my person. I miss admiring you. I’m so sorry I said those things. I’m an idiot. But I don’t know why I always thought you’d understand. Our pain is the same, you see. Please come back to me. Please love me again.~~

~~Do you miss me? Do you think of me? Because I think of you all the time.~~

Yeah I’m doing good.
Send.

#The Trip Home – Age 23 – 6 months after the phone call

As Spring limped towards summer that year, I decided to use my summer break to surprise mom. Maybe spend some time with her. Maybe apologize. So I didn’t tell her I was coming. I booked flight tickets and showed up at home.

When I came home, I found out that the door wasn’t locked. I pushed it open and entered. I walked up to her room and pushed the door open and regretted it immediately.

For years, my mom and I had been so close that the thought to announce my arrival didn’t occur to me. So communal was our space and so libertarian our relationship with each other, that I never thought to knock. I didn’t consider that she may be doing something private. I didn’t consider that she might not be alone.

I saw my mother on top of somebody. She was naked. I saw the smoothness of her skin, and the way the light was illuminating her muscles. She had been working out, but there was a level of the softness, the roundness of her silhouette, the sheen on her beautiful brown skin that I remembered. I saw the roundness of her ass. I saw her completely. I saw the fingers caressing her back. The fingers of another man. I could see the sides of her nurturing breasts bounce.

When we acknowledged each other, I quickly shut the door. I felt numb, weak, sick, but also aroused. *What is happening?* I went to the kitchen to fix myself a snack, attributing this feeling to hunger. She stepped out of the room in a robe. “Steve” stopped by to say hi without a shirt and some PJ shorts that once belonged to my dad. Him touching my mother didn’t upset me so much, as the audacity of doing it openly upset me.

“Of all the times you could have surprised me, you picked tonight.” she said, a sad look on her face – her lips quivering as if she didn’t want me to see her vulnerable. As if she was wrestling an urge to be cold.
“Well I didn’t know.”
“I’m sorry you had to see me like that.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You weren’t interested.”
“If this is still about the call, I didn’t mean…”
“But you said it. They were your words. I’m sorry if the thought of consequences is just crossing your mind.”

As she was leaving the room, I called out to her. She turned.

“I hope he’s treating you like you deserve to be treated.”

She didn’t say anything.

#A souvenir – Age 24 – One year after the phone call

As time passed, I had to begrudgingly accept that “Steve” was going to be around when I was home. Mom and I had settled in the new normal of our relationship. She was being a dutiful and detached mom. And I was the idiot who messed things up with the most beautiful girl in the world.

We’re watching a movie, Steve’s there. We’re cooking dinner, Steve’s there. Steve would butt in whenever we would reminisce about the past. Steve would ruin picnics with his phony banter, and his smirk. The only time I was ever alone was while doing laundry.

One time my mom dropped off a load of laundry, asking me to help her. On top of the pile was a purple lace thong with intricate embroidery on it. I had never known her to wear a thong. I had seen her change several times in her underwear. I had seen her cook in her underwear. She never wore this. Was she doing it for Steve?

At that point, something came over me. Some majestic power that completely stripped me of judgment. I touched the thong and immediately thought of the sight of perspiration dripping down my mom’s smooth back. I stole it. I stole my mother’s underwear and put it in my bag. I did her laundry. I gave the clothes back, except one.

That evening, my mom awkwardly asked me if I had seen her thong. I hadn’t. We moved on.

#The Showdown – Age 24 – 18 months after that phone call

I never did get used to Steve being around. But things were getting serious between him and my mom. She started insisting that I spend more time with him – get to know him – stop being so mean to him. So it came to be, after a lot of trepidation, that I was emotionally blackmailed into going to brunch with Steve and my mom – a third wheel from hell – when I got home for the summer.

When I met them, Steve was wearing a plaid shirt and some chinos. My mom was dressed in a beautiful black dress that accentuated her physique, highlighted her breasts, and came down to her thigh.

At brunch, I was visibly uncomfortable. Steve tried to make small talk.
“You should try the specials. They have this Avocado salad that is to die for.”
“You know Steve. I don’t think you that sound really douchy when you say this stuff.”
“When I give you recommendations?”
*Did anyone ask for a nice family brunch?*
“No. This whole woke vegan shit you have going on. You realize we can see right through it, right?”
“KEVIN!” my mom interjected.
“Look, I didn’t want to come in the first place.”
“Why do you hate me?” asked Steve.
“Because you don’t belong with us, Steve. You came out of nowhere. And you’re going to be gone soon when my mother gets out of her Kale phase so…”
“ENOUGH!” My mom protested.

That shut everyone up. Not just me, but the entire restaurant – the servers – the chef. I got up from my table and left. This wasn’t going to work. My chest swelling with indignation and hurt. My breath, shallow and fast. My thoughts racing in my head.

“What is your problem? Why are you being such an asshole?” my mom called after me. I turned around. She had this concerned look in her eye. God, she is so beautiful. Like a Renaissance painting hanging in planview on a mantelpiece with a golden frame in my heart.

“You’re so cruel!” I said.
“What?”
“How could you date someone like him? How could you move on so soon?”
“What are you talking about? Your dad and I broke up years ago.”
“I don’t mean dad.”

Our eyes met each other. I saw the light flicker in her eyes when she understood what I was saying.

“Steve is a good guy. And I’ll always be your mom.” She continued after the pause.
“I don’t want you to be just my mom. I want you. As a woman.” I blurted out. *She must think I’m unhinged.*

She didn’t flinch. “Then you should have treated me like a woman.” she said, turning around to leave. I didn’t want to let her walk away from my life again. I wrapped my arms around her waist, holding her from the back. She would feel the wetness in my eyes and my tears trickled down the crevice in her bra strap. My right hand placed on her tummy, my left on her right breast. This was the first time I had touched her breast. This is the first time I had laid any kind of claim to her. This was the first time that I had communicated just how much I wanted her. I felt her body loosen.

“I’m so sorry mom. I’m so sorry. Please don’t go.” I sobbed.
She turned to me. Put her palms on my face, cradling my face. Her eyes were welling up, her lips were quivering. My hands were placed firmly on her lower back, just above her butt.
“You’re too late. You broke my heart.”
“I’ll do anything.”
“Nobody will understand this, baby. Nobody will.”
“I don’t care.”

That day, I lost my mom to Steve. Again. I came home, packed my bags, and left for college. I wouldn’t ever come back here, I decided.

3 days passed without incident. On the 4th day, I receive a package. I open it to find a note and a white envelope with a heart on it.

The note said, “You left in a hurry. You forgot this. I’m sorry I was so mean to you. I love you more than you can imagine. -M”

I open the envelope to find my mom’s purple thong.

Dear Reader,

I hate to do this to you but I’m going to leave this story here. I am thankful to you for caring about this story of mine.

If you’re not bored and want me to continue, I shall. Meanwhile, tell me what you thought of this part in the comments below.

Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/10pqyfz/coming_home_to_mom_part_2_consequences_mf_ms_inc