My Youngest Son’s First Time Was With Me

That afternoon I came home earlier than expected. My husband had a meeting that ran late, and Diego, my youngest son, was supposedly at a classmate’s house until nightfall. I let myself in quietly with my key, set my bag on the hall console, and walked down the corridor toward the living room.

The first thing I saw was his back.

Diego was standing in front of the living room window, completely absorbed in something on the other side of the street. His pants and underwear were down around his ankles, and his right hand was moving slowly and rhythmically over a hard, thick cock that jutted between his fingers, the glans shining and exposed. The afternoon light lit him from the side. He hadn’t heard me come in.

I followed his gaze. In the building across the street, on the third floor, there was a balcony with no curtains. In the back of the apartment, a woman around my age was walking completely naked from one end to the other, unhurried, without looking outside, not caring —or perhaps knowing perfectly well— that half the neighborhood had her tits and shaved cunt in view.

Or maybe she knew perfectly well.

But what stopped me wasn’t her. The moment my eyes settled on my son, I understood something I had had neither time nor occasion to notice in everyday life: Diego was not a child anymore. Before me stood a young man, with a man’s body, a man’s dick, doing what men do.

I should have turned around. Left silently into the landing, waited a few minutes in the car, pretended I still hadn’t arrived. Any reasonable mother would have done that.

I didn’t.

I walked closer, step by step, without breathing too loudly, until I was right beside him. He still hadn’t noticed I was there. I watched him for a few seconds —just long enough to confirm what I already knew, to burn the image of that rigid cock moving between his fingers into my mind— and then I put my hand over his.

He spun around so fast he nearly lost his balance. His face went red to the ears, a flush that ran down his neck and took a long time to fade.

—Mom… —was all he managed to say.

—Come on —I said, calmer than I felt.

He didn’t resist. With his pants still tangled around his ankles and his cock still hard and pointing at me, he let me lead him by the hand down the hall to his room. We sat together on the edge of the bed. I didn’t let go of his hand. He didn’t know where to look.

—Well? —I asked, without taking my eyes off him—. The woman across the street?

He couldn’t hold my gaze. He nodded, barely perceptibly.

—It’s normal —I said—. She has a woman’s body and lives on a balcony with no curtains. Any boy your age would jerk off looking at her.

—I shouldn’t have… —he began.

—Stop. I’m not scolding you.

I squeezed his hand. He looked at me then, confused, not knowing what to expect. He was ready for punishment or a long lecture, and instead found something he didn’t know how to interpret.

—What surprises me —I said, lowering my voice a little— is that I’d never noticed how much you’ve grown.

The silence that followed was brief but dense. Then I did something I hadn’t planned: I slid my hand down to his lap, over his bare thigh, and wrapped my fingers around his cock. It was hot, hard, thicker than I had imagined. He inhaled sharply, brokenly, and all the hair on his skin stood up.

—Mom, what…?

—Shhh. Have you been with any girl? Ever?

I started moving my hand up and down, very slowly, feeling him throb between my fingers. A drop of precome spilled from the tip and I spread it over the glans with my thumb.

He shook his head. His voice came out small, as if it cost him something to admit it:

—Never. I haven’t done anything with anyone. Not even a kiss.

Virgin. Something moved inside me, something I don’t know how to name without it sounding wrong. But it wasn’t wrong. Not in that moment. Not with him. I felt my pussy wetting under my clothes, that dull heat I hadn’t felt rise so fast in years.

—Then —I said, without stopping my hand on his cock— let me be your first.

***

I knelt in front of him, between his open legs.

Looking up at him from below, with his hard cock a hand’s breadth from my face, I remember thinking that I wanted to go slowly. That I didn’t want this to be clumsy or rushed. Diego had his hands braced on the mattress, gripping the edge, and his breathing came in short, shallow bursts.

—Mom, this shouldn’t… —he said, though not very convincingly.

—Don’t look at me like I’m your mother —I told him, looking up from below with my mouth already open a centimeter from the tip—. Look at me like a woman who wants to suck your cock.

He didn’t protest again.

I ran my tongue along the full length of it, from bottom to top, following the thick vein that ran down the side. Diego tensed all over, clenched his teeth, and couldn’t quite suppress a groan. I licked the glans in small circles, tasting the salty drop that had come to the surface, and only then did I take him into my mouth.

Having him in my mouth for the first time had something I can’t explain if you haven’t lived it: that certainty that no one had been there before, that I was the first. That every reaction of his —the way he clenched his teeth, the breathless gasp that escaped him unwillingly, the hand that ended up in my hair without even him knowing how it got there— was genuine and unlearned.

I went down little by little, swallowing him deeper with each stroke until the tip touched the back of my throat. I stifled a gag, breathed through my nose, and started really sucking him: moving my head up and down, pressing my lips around the shaft, letting saliva run down to the base and his balls. With one hand I cupped his sack and massaged it slowly; with the other I wrapped the base and pumped him in time with my mouth.

—Fuck, Mom, fuck —he panted, and the moment he said it he apologized with his eyes, as if he had just said something outrageous in front of me.

I smiled around his cock in my mouth. Keep saying fuck, son. Tell me what you feel.

It lasted less than I expected. His body was too loaded, between the excitement building at the window, the shock of what was happening, and the total lack of practice. I began to feel his cock swell a little more, his balls tighten against my hand, and when he reached the limit he came with a groan he tried to swallow and couldn’t entirely hide.

—I’m cumming, I’m cumming, Mom, I…

I drove his cock to the back of my throat and dug my nails into his thigh. The first spurt hit my throat, hot and thick, and I swallowed it without taking my eyes off him. A second jet came, then a third, and I drank them all down, sucking the sensitive head while he kept shuddering. When I finally let him out, there was a thread of semen at the corner of my mouth that I caught with my finger and licked off without breaking eye contact.

When he was done, he looked at me with the face of someone who has just understood something important and doesn’t know what to do with it.

—I’m sorry —he said—. I didn’t mean to go so fast.

—Don’t be sorry —I answered, smiling at him—. That means you’re young and you have a lot of energy. Both things are very good.

I sat back down beside him. My hand rested on his knee.

—Are you okay?

He nodded. Then he looked at me with that face only he has —half expectant, half insecure, the one he used as a little boy when he wanted to ask for something but didn’t know how— and finally said:

—I’ve seen in videos that boys do that to girls too. With their mouths. On the cunt. Do you want me to…?

What a question to have to ask.

—Of course I do —I answered.

***

I took off my skirt and panties without taking my eyes off him. Diego kept his eyes fixed on my pubic area, as if he had never seen a real cunt before, in the flesh, a hand’s breadth from his face. He probably hadn’t. I spread my legs on the bed and he slowly positioned himself between them, with the care of someone learning something he knows matters.

—Tell me what to do —he asked, his mouth close by, still not daring—. Guide me.

—Start slowly —I said—. Kiss me there first. Like you’re kissing my mouth.

And I guided him. I felt his lips seal over mine from below, his tongue peeking out shyly. I took the back of his neck in my hand and told him where to put his tongue, when to go slower, when to stop feeling around and really go in. I taught him to find my clit —“higher up, there, there, yes, don’t lose it”— and to suck it with his lips without using his teeth. I taught him to put his tongue inside my cunt and move it in circles. I taught him to slide in two fingers and curl them upward while he kept sucking me.

He followed every instruction with that serious, diligent-student attitude that characterized him in everything he did. Diego had always been like that: if he was going to do something, he did it right.

—Like that, son, like that —I panted, unable to stop myself—. Don’t stop. Just like that.

In ten minutes he had gone from hesitant to focused. In fifteen I had my fingers buried in the sheets and my hips moving against his mouth without being able to stop them. He licked me hungrily, with that virgin eagerness of someone who has just discovered what a woman tastes like and doesn’t intend to waste a drop.

He wasn’t the best I’d ever had, obviously. He didn’t know the shortcuts experience teaches. But there was something in knowing it was him —that he was learning this on me, with me, from zero, that my cunt was the first cunt he’d ever tasted in his life— that made every imperfect moment ten times more intense than usual.

—Stick it in deeper, two fingers, curl them up —I begged, my voice already broken—. There, there, don’t stop, don’t stop.

I felt myself come apart. I clamped his head to my cunt with both hands, tangled my fingers in his hair, and came in his mouth shaking my hips, biting my lip so I wouldn’t cry out too loudly. He didn’t pull away. He kept sucking me while I trembled, swallowing everything that spilled onto his tongue, until I had to push his head away because I couldn’t take any more.

When I finally let go completely, my fingers still tangled in his hair and no longer trying to moderate my voice, he lifted his head with that expression halfway between proud and astonished that came over him when he did something better than he expected. My juices were gleaming on his chin.

—Good? —he asked.

—Very good —I answered—. Very, very good.

He smiled. A real smile, the kind that comes when you’ve done something that truly mattered.

***

We stayed still for a moment, catching our breath. The afternoon light was still coming through the window. Outside, the neighborhood sounded just like always.

I noticed Diego was ready again —youth has that undeniable advantage, his cock had gone hard against my thigh again almost without him realizing— and something inside me made a decision I hadn’t put into words.

—Come here —I said—. I want you to fuck me.

I lay back and drew him toward me. He understood without my having to explain anything else. I put his hand on my hip, took his cock with the other, and guided it to my soaked, ready entrance. I felt the tip brush me, slide, settle into exactly the right place, and I waited for him to finish understanding what I was asking for.

—Slowly —I said—. Put it in without rushing. Feel it.

He pushed. The first time he entered me, when the glans passed the first ring and sank halfway in, the sound he made was involuntary and completely honest, a long, broken gasp, as if the reality of it far exceeded everything he had imagined it could be.

—Mom… fuck… Mom… —he whispered, unable to finish the sentence.

—Yes —I replied, finding no other words either—. Put it all in. All the way.

He pushed again and this time drove it into me to the base. I felt his balls against my ass, his pubic bone against mine, and let out a moan as honest as his. I wrapped my legs around his waist and held him tight.

At first I let him set the pace on his own, even if it was irregular and too fast. He fucked like he was afraid someone would take it away from him, with that virgin urgency of someone who has never been inside anything before. Then I put my hands on his hips and gently slowed him down.

—Like that —I told him—. Feel what’s happening. Feel yourself inside me. Don’t rush.

He obeyed. His breathing changed. He started moving with more purpose and less urgency, pulling his cock almost all the way out before driving it back in to the hilt, paying attention to what he felt instead of going straight for the result. I stroked his arms, his shoulders, his back; I dug my nails into him when a thrust hit me just right; I whispered in his ear how much I liked having him inside me.

—You’re inside your mother, son —I told him, because I knew he needed to hear it—. You’re fucking me.

That pushed him right to the edge. I felt his cock swell inside me.

—I’m going to… Mom, I’m going to…

—Out —I asked—. Pull it out and come on me.

He pulled out in time and came over my stomach in long, thick jets, his whole body shaking and a guttural groan he didn’t try to control. It didn’t last long —his body was still new to all this— but when he was done, his forehead fell against mine and the two of us lay there for a moment without saying anything, his semen sticky between us.

—Are you okay? —I asked him, as I always asked.

—Better than okay —he answered, in a low voice—. Much better than okay.

***

We rested for a while. Diego stayed on his back with one arm over his eyes, silent, processing everything. I remained beside him staring at the ceiling and thinking about what had just happened, without regretting a thing.

—Why did you do it? —he asked after a while, without moving.

—Because I wanted to. And because it’s you.

He turned to look at me.

—And Dad?

—Dad doesn’t need to know. This is between us.

He took that in silently. Then something in his expression changed, that look he got when he thought of something and wanted to ask for it but didn’t quite know how to put it.

—Can I ask you for one more thing?

—Depends what it is.

—I want to try it another way. This time I want to be on top.

I couldn’t help smiling at him.

—Of course.

***

That second time was completely different. Diego took the initiative from the start, with more confidence and much less fear. He opened my legs himself, positioned himself between them, and drove his cock into me in one firm thrust, without asking permission. That tore a surprised moan from me that made him smile.

—Like this? —he asked, half joking half serious.

—Like this, son, like this.

He started fucking me up and down with long, controlled thrusts, bearing his weight on his arms, looking me in the face without taking his eyes off me. He still had things to learn —the exact rhythm, the precise moment, reading the other body’s expressions— but the willingness was fully there. And with willingness, you learn fast.

I grabbed his ass with both hands and pushed him against me so he would drive deeper. He understood and sped up a little. I let him discover it his own way, correcting him only when I felt it was necessary: “a little slower,” “like that, without pulling all the way out,” “kiss my tits while you fuck me.” I loved watching his face: it was the face of someone who has just realized that something that existed only in imagination can be real, and that the real thing is infinitely better.

He sucked my nipples without stopping his thrusts, one and then the other, biting them carefully. I put my hand on the back of his neck and told him to keep going. I could feel his cock slamming into my depths with every stroke, the wet sound of my cunt slicking around him, his balls striking my ass. I started feeling close too.

—Faster, son, faster, don’t stop.

He accelerated. The bed began hitting the wall with an obscene rhythm. I came again, squeezing his cock with my cunt, moaning his name against his shoulder.

When he was close to the edge, I gestured for him to pull out, and he understood without needing an explanation. He positioned himself over me, kneeling above my chest, jerked himself twice with his hand, and let go completely. Thick jets spilled onto my tits, my neck, one of them reaching my chin. He stared at me with his cock still in his hand, dripping, with that expression of absolute astonishment.

Then he collapsed beside me, breathing hard and eyes closed.

—Mommy —he said, with a voice that mixed the boy he still partly was with the man he was becoming—. This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.

—You’re exaggerating —I said.

—I’m not exaggerating at all.

I laughed. He laughed too.

Maybe he wasn’t exaggerating.

***

Before we got up, Diego asked me for something with that same expression again: wanting something but not quite knowing how to phrase it.

—Can we do it another way? I read about…

He stopped. I waited, saying nothing.

—From behind —he finished, his face red all over again, as if he suddenly had the same shame as at the beginning—. In the ass.

I looked at him for a moment before answering. He was serious. He had that clean curiosity only those who haven’t yet accumulated enough experience to fear or take things for granted have.

—Yes —I answered—. But very slowly, with a lot of saliva, and you listen to me at every moment. If I tell you to stop, you stop.

He nodded without hesitation.

What came after was longer and slower than everything before. I got on all fours on the bed, ass raised toward him, and guided him with my voice and my hands. I told him to lick me first, and he did: I felt his tongue working its way through my slit, teasing the hole, getting me nice and wet. I told him to spit on his cock and on me, and he coated everything in saliva until it was slippery.

—Now, very slowly, set the tip there and push little by little.

I felt the pressure, the glans forcing the ring, and took a deep breath to relax. He was careful from the very first second, attentive, asking without words, reading the other body’s signals in real time. When the tip slid in all the way, both of us moaned at once. He held still.

—Are you okay, Mom?

—Yes, son. Keep going. Slowly.

He entered me centimeter by centimeter, sinking it in little by little until I felt his thighs against my ass. He was all the way inside. I corrected him when he needed it and gave him space when he didn’t.

—Now move. Gently.

He started with small thrusts, barely pulling out, letting my body get used to it. It took him a while to understand the rhythm, but once he got it he didn’t let it go. He fucked my ass with a slow, reverent, almost religious pace, gripping my hips with both hands. I slipped a hand between my legs and started rubbing my clit to the same beat.

That slowness had something the excitement of the first time hadn’t had: the sense that both of us were paying attention, that neither one of us was going anywhere.

—Harder, son. That’s it. Fuck me harder.

He sped up. The room filled with a new sound, deeper, the sound of his hips slapping my ass and his breath panting over my back. I rubbed my cunt with two fingers, pressing myself against him, feeling his cock open me from within with every thrust. I came a third time, long and deep, squeezing his cock around inside my ass until I heard him give a surprised moan.

When he finally reached the end —for real, this time with no turning back— he fell over my back and came inside me, his cock buried to the hilt, gasping by my ear. I felt every hot spurt of him inside. He stayed there a moment without moving, breathing hard and muscles completely loose, crushed against me.

—Jesus Christ —he said, the only phrase that seemed to fit what he felt.

—I know —I said.

When he finally pulled out, slowly, I felt a warm thread of his semen sliding inside my thigh. I didn’t mind. I turned, kissed him on the mouth for the first time all afternoon, and he kissed me back as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

***

We showered separately. We dressed in silence, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence. It was the silence of two people who have shared something that truly matters and don’t need to fill everything with words.

When Diego appeared in the kitchen doorway, dressed and with his hair still damp, he looked at me as if he were seeing me from a slightly different distance than usual. It wasn’t an uncomfortable look. It was the look of someone who has just seen something new in a familiar place.

—Are you okay, Mom?

—I’m fine. And you?

—Yes —he said. And then, looking straight at me—: I don’t regret it. If that’s what you’re thinking.

—I wasn’t thinking that.

He sat down across from me. He poured himself a glass of water.

—Will it happen again?

I looked at him for a moment before answering. He wasn’t asking urgently or guiltily. He was asking the way he always asked things: straight on, wanting an honest answer and not a reassuring one.

—I don’t know —I replied—. Today it happened because it happened. I don’t know what will happen tomorrow.

He nodded slowly, as if that answer were enough for him.

—All right —he said—. That seems fair.

And that was that. My youngest son, who that afternoon had come home jerking off while watching a naked woman across the street, left it as a full-fledged man. I didn’t know for certain whether what we had done was right or wrong, and at that moment I wasn’t capable of caring.

It had happened. The two of us, each in our own way, had chosen it. And that was the only thing I knew for certain.