We were sitting by the lake.

It was a hot day in mid-August, almost a year after I first smelled a pair of her panties.

I sat on a rock and threw small pebbles into the water.

Mom was wearing this gorgeous light blue sundress. She had on black flip flops, and I could see her dainty toes with the blue polish on them, and I could see her ankles, her legs, so radiant they shined in the afternoon sun. We sat in silence for a while, enjoying the view of the lake on this lovely summer day, the sounds of birds, and the tall pines overhead.

She soon went to the car to get something, I can’t remember what for. I don’t remember her coming back with anything in particular. She took out her hair tie and placed it on our white towel by the lake, and went on through the trail to the road.

We parked rather far from the lake, so I had time to do a little something.

I walked over to the towel and picked up her red silk scrunchie. Strands of her hair were caught in it.

I pulled one long, clear strand out and smelled it before placing it in my mouth. My cock throbbed in my pants.

I pulled down my shorts and placed the scrunchie around my hardened cock and then pulled my cock up into my waistband to conceal it. She must have forgotten about the thing, for when she came back, she made no remark about its absence. I kept that scrunchie and for days on end I put it around my cock and just left it there as I went about my usual activities. That was something new.

I began doing this with panties as well.

I stole a pair from her hamper, about a week after the incident at the lake. They were fresh off her body and still warm. That was the best, still warm. It was a purple cotton thong and I stuffed it into my underwear, feeling the warmth as it cuddled against my cock. Like with the scrunchie, I simply carried it around with me throughout the day, speaking casually to Mom without her having any idea her panties were inside my underwear.

This went on for a month, me taking a new pair every now and then, carefully putting the other back, and so on.

In mid-September, just as summer was dancing its last dance, I woke up one morning to find a pair of red G-Strings hanging on my outside door handle. I thought I was still dreaming. It was so confusing at first, but when the confusion subsided, it was replaced by excitement, and the excitement was thereafter replaced by pleasure.

I picked them up and brought them into my room, closing the door behind me and pressing them to my face. The salty sweat, the mild sweetness of her pussy mixed with a bitter scent reminiscent of urine filled my nose intensely. I brought them to my bed and spent the rest of the morning jacking off with them. My mom acted normally throughout the day.

This began happening every morning: a new pair of panties on my door handle. Every day, I would place the old one in the hamper and indulge in the new one. I had no feelings of regret or shame. Only pleasure, excitement, and even an odd sense of pride for one reason or another.

One day, a single pink sock accompanied the pair of white thongs on my door handle. I put my cock inside the sock and stroked with it as I smelled the delectable panties.

Soon, there were notes accompanying the panties and occasional socks. They were slid beneath my door, so I found them before I found the panties and socks. The first note read, “Take a whiff, my boy, I hope it gives you joy.”

The next note, left the following day with a pair of red briefs and black socks, read, “Red and black…smell as you whack!”

These notes continued, yet my mom acted as if nothing was odd between us.

A month later, on Halloween, something great happened that night. I came into my room and, after flicking on the light, I saw my mother, dressed in a witch costume. She had on this black shirt with lace sleeves, a tall pointed black hat, and a broomstick propped against my bed. She was naked from the waist down, rubbing her bare ass on my pillow.

“Mom! What are you doing?” I asked

“Blessing your pillow,” she said before winking and leaving the room. That night, I masturbated furiously while smelling my pillow and slept all night with my face down.

On Christmas Eve, everything changed. For the better, I shall add. I entered the bathroom as the door was open and the light was off. However, in the bathtub, beneath the bubbles, was my mother. Beside the tub was a bottle of wine.

“Join me,” she said.

Butterflies flew through my stomach as if I were on some roller coaster, my palms sweated, and my knees shook.

It was happening.

Things had happened between us previously, but we never actually addressed it, until now. It was happening. Just like my dream. I took off my clothes and slowly ascended into the hot water.

My mother played with my cock between her feet. My head lulled back, and I moaned.

We shared the bottle of wine, passing it back and forth between us as she continued playing with my dick with her toes and I stuck my fingers inside her velvety, tight pussy. Finally, she took her feet away from my dick and said, “Fuck me, Thomas”

I got on my knees and placed my hands beside her on either side. I rubbed my cock against her entrance. I moaned and she did the same. Slowly, I shoved it in, penetrating her at last. I started with slow thrusts, her breath against my neck, her hands against my back. Her walls were tight against my cock.

Then I quickened my pace. We were moaning and thrusting each other in pure heaven before I finally came; the feeling was a storm of lust.

Afterwards, she got up to relieve herself, and I lay down where she was.

She came back into the tub and lay on top of me, my dick between her legs.

“I love you, Thomas,” she said.

“I love you too, Mom,” I replied, then paused silently before asking, “Is this what true love feels like?”

“I-I don’t know,” she solemnly replied.