Incest & Adipose: An Imperfect Pair

When I opened the door to my mom's apartment, I heard sobbing coming from her bedroom. I wish I could say that it was a surprise, but it was the fourth time this month I had found her in tears. After moving back in with her this fall, I'd come to realize that my mom was depressed, as well as lonely.

Dad had left her quite a while back. He left me too, in a sense. Sure, I got cards, and the odd phone call at Christmas, but he didn't try very hard. But Mom used to call me weekly, and she was there when he wasn't.

I was 23, not dedicated enough to be a college dropout-- I never even signed up for any classes or courses to better myself, and for that, I ended up moving from one dead-end job to another.

My girlfriend was now my ex, after too many fights centered around my lack of ambition, and I found myself moving back in with my mom at the end of summer to keep from going broke. Rent wasn't cheap for one person these days.

I dropped my work bag by the entrance, and I heard Mom shuffling around in her room, the crying now stifled, and subsiding.

She opened the door, wiping her eyes.

Mom was a sweetheart, and it killed me to see her like this. It wasn't just the depression, it was what it had done to her.

She had put on so much weight since the divorce. I remember her being curvy when I was a kid. A little heavy. But these days she was bordering on being bedridden.

She could have weighed over 400 pounds. Thick calves. Thighs like tree trunks. A backside that was almost preposterous. A swollen belly like a plump apron. A chest that was proportional to the rest of her.

"My boy," she said, drying her eyes as she waddled over to me in sweatpants that were stained with mustard, and a grey shirt damp with her tears. She had been feeding her misery with food; I could still see the crumbs from the sub-- the wrapper was on the kitchen counter, next to a couple empty bottles of Coke.

"Hey Mom," I said, coming over to hug her. She embraced me in a way that made me feel like I'd been gone a week instead of a morning shift at the gas station.

She was my height, but outweighed me by a good 250 pounds or so. Her soft body enveloped me as she squeezed me tightly.

"Missed you, baby. How was work?" She kissed me on the neck.

"Nothing special. Nobody stole from us today, so... minor win."

She let me go, and furrowed her brow.

"That place doesn't deserve you," she said, shaking her head.

I told her I was going to have a shower, then help her with dinner. She thanked me, and went to the kitchen to start prepping. We often cooked together, and it was a shared passion of ours that went way back to when I was just a kid helping make cookies or some kind of Jell-O pudding type thing.

The shower was small, and the water in the apartment was never hot for long, so I was in there for less than 3 minutes.

I toweled off, noticing a pair of Mom's clothes on the floor. I picked them up to take with me to the laundry closet in the hallway on the way to my room, when something fell before I exited the steamy, cramped bathroom. I reached for it.

Underwear. Black, silky, and massive. I held them up with one hand, momentarily taken aback by how big they were. She had become so heavy that a few of me could climb into her panties.

I chuckled awkwardly at my inner voice's choice of phrasing, threw them back in the pile, and dumped the dirty clothes into the washer before closing my bedroom door to change.

Fresh clothes and clean skin put me in a better mood than work had me in previously.

I went to the kitchen to help her with dinner.

We maneuvered around each other with minimal effort as I diced carrots while she stirred the pot, and I set the table while she served the stew. She didn't bother to change. She felt comfortable around me-- enough to not put much of an effort to be presentable, so to speak.

Her makeup was rarely applied, her clothes were casual at best, and rarely did she bother with a daily shower. But that carelessness in my presence made me feel special, in a way. Somehow.

We shared a bottle of wine over dinner. Mom usually tried to keep away from alcohol when she was feeling low, but nights where we shared a drink were more becoming more frequent.

"To us," she toasted, her messy brown hair falling over her left eye-- also of hazel hue. But not her right, which was dark blue. Mom had heterochromia, which was something I'd never seen anywhere else, except in the movies.

I clinked glasses with her as we drank a cheap red or whatever while the wind picked up outside. It was getting colder every day now.

As I drank, I became fixated on different things while Mom talked about her online insurance gig that allowed her to work from home.

I noticed the way her rosy cheeks dimpled when she smiled. How her arms wobbled when she laughed. How her upturned nose made me think of Miss Piggy, but in a way that wasn't a backhanded comparison. A sort of low-key diva. When Mom was confident in herself, she was so much more beautiful, obese or not.

And the drink definitely helped with that.

Until it didn't.

After we moved from the dining table to the couch, the mood became a little less carefree and started to steer towards the negative.

"I'm never going to find someone," she said, downing another glass.

"Hey," I said, sitting forward in the couch, my head spinning, "don't say that."

We played this game a lot. Mom would tell me she was too old, and too fat to find love again. Hell, she'd even settle for a one night stand-- her words. And I'd tell her that things weren't hopeless, that lots of men preferred women of a variety of shapes and sizes.

"But I don't do the online thing anymore," she said, refraining from mentioning the time she was stood up on a Tinder date-- who not only scoped her out from across the bar, but left before the date even started. Sadly, she had seen the look on his face.

Disgust, she had said. He had seen her in person and didn't think twice about aborting the meet. She had been devastated. And I was there to pick up the pieces.

"So," she said, pouring herself another, "I'm alone forever."

I sighed, half frustrated and half heartbroken for her, because drunk or not, she believed her prophetic claim.

"You're not alone," I said, hand on her sweatpants-clad knee.

"My sweet boy," she said, smiling a little but it faltered quickly. "I'm lucky to have you. But I need someone to..."

Someone to love. Or maybe just fuck. It was all the same, whatever she wanted to say. But instead, she just sighed so wearily that my heart actually broke for her. I wasn't enough for her, because I was her son, and I couldn't give her what she needed.

I leaned over, hugging my mom as tightly as I could, my arms only able to reach halfway around her. She melted into my embrace, and started to cry.

"I wish I could make you happy," I said. "To make you feel beautiful, and loved, and everything you deserve."

She nodded into me, sobbing a little less, only to pull her face out of my neck and look at me with two eyes of different colors, and an expression that was part infinite gratitude mixed with complete hopelessness.

I wanted to heal her, but I settled for a simple gesture of love. I leaned forward, to kiss her on the cheek.

I missed the mark.

Our lips met instead, and when I pulled away her expression had vastly changed. Like some sort of epiphany had come to her in the second-long kiss.

When we kissed for a second time I didn't understand who had kissed whom. It just happened again, almost involuntarily, for another additional second. A second peck.

When we kissed for a third time, I felt a sinking feeling in my gut, because I meant to do it that time, or a part of me did, a part more in control than I liked to admit.

Despite the wine in my stomach, I was clear-headed enough to know that when the third kiss continued, it was something I was actively deciding to proceed with.

Mom put a hand to my cheek and moaned softly as our lips moved against one another. I was drunk. I should have stopped. She should have stopped. She pulled away.

"Do you think," she said, mouth open for a second, "I'm actually beautiful?"

The question pierced my soul. It was a truthful question, one I knew how to answer perfectly, and truthfully. So I did.

"I do. I think you're perfect, and deserving of love, and every inch of you is wonderful."

Her eyes narrowed, focusing on my lips.

She paused, but not for long.

We kissed again, and it changed in intensity as the seconds went by.

I think I realized the simplicity of how easy it was to stop this. One of us could do it. Say something. Make it weird. Make it clear that it was wrong. But I wanted to pretend.

I knew if I didn't stop, then neither would we, and whatever this was could progress. And because she didn't stop either, it did progress. I was lonely for too long, and it was even longer for her. Plus the drink. A perfect storm.

"You don't think I'm too big?" Mom asked in between kisses that were increasingly sensual, and less formal.

She seemed to know my weakness, which was my empathy for her self-conscious self-pity. I fell into her neurotic trap.

"I think you're pretty like this," I whispered while my mom wrapped a humid arm around me. "I think you look good."

My words felt automatic, like things you said to a girl on a date. But she was family. She was my blood, and I was hers. I shunned the logical part of my brain that was waking up more with every second we committed to this strange experiment.

There was a look on her face in between another kiss that seemed to express a second of awareness, of regret.

If I had just let the moment stretch on, she might have backed down.

But I didn't give her time.

I kissed her again, and I gently pressed my tongue between her wet lips. A louder moan escaped her this time. It was a primal sound that made me feel a heavy feeling in my abdomen again-- a sense of another uncrossable line being crossed.

I pulled her towards me, to fall upon me, as I felt her tongue meet with mine. I started sinking into the couch as I felt her weight, along with her sweltering warmth begin to envelop me.

"I'm too heavy for you," she said softly, almost as a question. I shook my head.

"I want to feel you," I whispered, so that only she could hear it, and hopefully my conscience might not. But that's not how things work.

"I'll crush you," she said. Less bashful and in fact, almost proud of the truth of it.

I didn't disagree with her, I just smiled as I kissed her again, encouraging her to crawl on top of me. If I was going to ignore the gravity of the situation, I needed to bury my thoughts by burying myself underneath her impressive weight.

Compressed by soft, heaving, heavy flesh felt spectacular, but now I was starting to have issues breathing, and not because her tongue trying to slip down my throat. Maybe she was too heavy for me after all, but I wasn't going to tell her that.

But she could tell. She sat upright, shaking her head, with a wry smile. "You're struggling."

My mom was straddling my groin, looking down at me with flushed cheeks and hair covering half of her face. Another pause, where she seemed to be considering what the fuck she was doing with her son.

All she said was, "My bed is comfier." Quickly, like saying it faster gave us less time to decide what that really meant. I somehow comprehended all too well she was ignoring every alarm bell screaming in her head. I was doing the same.

I nodded, eyes bleary, my mind fighting my morals but encouraging the willfully ignorant plan we seemed to be edging towards.

She sat up with great difficulty, and turned towards the hall without looking back at me. My eyes followed her shifting hips as I sprang to my feet, following her into the bedroom.

The lights were off and we kept it that way.

I pretended like I wasn't completely sober now, watching her pull her pants off in the dark, along with her shirt and bra. She wasn't wearing underwear.

Through the dim space, I saw her turn, my mother's morbidly obese body exposed to me. It struck me then, how much easier the dissociation was because of how vastly different her body compared to anything I'd seen or experienced.

My ex was a skinny girl. I had only known thin women. My mom was like a different kind of human compared to them. I stepped toward the bed, taking off my shirt.

She said nothing in the dark as I took off my pants. The horror of what my mind was plotting while ignoring the obvious action of backing out was unforgivable. I took off my pants and underwear in a trance.

I climbed into her bed. It smelled like her sweat. An aroma that before tonight, gave me mixed feelings of comfort and sadness. There were other scents in this room too. Feminine, and strong. Calling me. Beckoning me towards its source.

"You don't mind... all this?" Mom whispered in the dark, raking her fingers over rolls of pale flesh, barely visible in the ambient light.

"I love it," I whispered back. Climbed towards her splayed thighs. In truth, I was intimidated by her nude mass folding over itself.

"Are we crazy?" she whimpered softly as my skin made contact with hers.

"Yes," I said, because I didn't want to lie. But I didn't want to stop.

"But let me take care of you," I said, following my hunger down, between her massive thighs.

"Oh," she whispered, as I brought my mouth to the place I had come from. "Oh God."

I tasted her, and it was like licking a forbidden fruit. I could smell the scents that emanated from her sex, as well as earthy aromas that rose from below. Her dense pubic hair tickled my face.

She moaned softly as my tongue massaged her, and I pawed at her plush thighs to spread them apart. God forgive me.

I was a fucking deviant, but I couldn't help myself.

My mom tasted like strawberries powdered lightly with sugary salt. There was an acrid undertone that I tried not to identify, but nevertheless I knew I was tasting the residue of her piss, to put it bluntly.

Her lack of hygiene only added to my strange lust, and my tongue pushed inside her lips, and she sucked in air, grasping a handful of my hair as her fingers held my head in place.

I felt another pang of guilt, and a grotesque level of shame as I ate out my own mother, while she made noises I'd never heard her make before. Her fat thighs wrapped around my ears tightly as she moaned into the dark room.

My cock had been hard for a few minutes but I only noticed it then, digging into the end of her messy bed. Like it had a mind of its own, pointing like a possessed compass needle, towards the place I had originated from. Longing to return to her. To be inside.

She was lost in pleasure, especially once my tongue began its encircling of her engorging clit. I was no virgin, and I knew what a woman needed, more or less. But I could only ignore the simple fact of what this was for just so long. I could only avoid thinking of the word until now. It crawled out from my mind, and pronounced itself in my head with disturbing clarity.

Incest.

We wouldn't be the first mother and son in history to commit to the heinous act, but now I had let the word free in my mind as I lapped at Mom's sensitive organ while her labia swallowed my face.

We hadn't spoken in minutes. I paused my services to catch my breath for a moment, and she had tapped my shoulder twice to get my attention. I sat upright, mouth coated in her natural lubrication.

"Honey," she panted, sounding as sober as I now felt. "I have to tell you something."

I crawled over her thigh, around to her side, keeping my firm member well away from her skin, keeping it under the sheet, as if boundaries hadn't already been crossed. But it felt too obscene to prod her with it for the time being.

"Hey," I said softly, all too clear-headed. Laying next to her in her bed like a lover. "Tell me."

She spoke quietly, meekly.

"I know you heard me crying today," she said, putting her hand on my chest.

I frowned at her in the dark. Why would she bring this up now? This wasn't exactly a shock to me; I sort of figured she knew that I knew.

"It's okay," I said, "It's not a big--"

"I was crying because of what I did. What I've been doing."

I let her continue. She turned towards me, her heavy thigh resting on my leg. I worried how close she was to making contact with my rock-hard shaft.

"I've been... touching myself, to you," said Mom. "To the idea of you. And after, I'd always end up crying. Because... it's... wrong. But you're the only man I see, and talk to, and... touch."

My heart skipped a beat. Tonight wasn't exactly something out of the blue. Mom had been more lonely than I could ever imagine. She had given in to dark thoughts before tonight, and then I had gone and kissed her. And now, here we were.

"That's fine," I whispered. "I get it."

I had never masturbated to her, but I had very recently shoved my face between her thighs. I didn't want her to feel too badly.

She crawled closer, her mammoth thigh dragging over my waist, as my erection pressed into soft, marshmallow cellulite, but she didn't address it.

"It's not normal," she said sheepishly, but with a dark chuckle following it.

Rather than fuel my arousal, her stark truth gave me a surge of panic. It wasn't normal indeed, and I realized then that she was more okay with it than I was. Her sober mind wanted this.

As she crawled on top of me, part of me was suddenly reviled by her unnatural desire for me, and her extremely obese body terrified me a little as her curves swayed in the dark, brushing against my skin, surrounding me.

"I'm a bad mom," she pouted, pulling the bedsheet away to expose my naked flesh, and my throbbing erection as well.

Logic had overtaken my lust. This was awful, this was disturbing, this was fucking incest, and my mom was so morbidly obese that I was about to be buried underneath her if I didn't escape this regretful nightmare.

Mom stopped. She must have seen my inner torment. Seen my hesitation.

"Am I... a bad mom?" she asked in a voice so broken I felt myself ache once more for her sorrowful, solitary existence.

But it was a trap. She knew my kryptonite. I couldn't allow her to feel alone. To feel ugly. To feel unloved. So I told her.

"You're the best," I said.

She smiled.

And lowered.

My tip pressed into her warmth.

Now it was my turn to moan.

Mom relaxed her weight all around me as her thighs spread apart, taking me deeper inside of her. Her massive belly washed over me. Her swaying breasts hugged my chin between them.

My mind reeled as my mom started to fuck me.

The bed lurched and creaked as Mom shifted her weight around on top of me. I felt her gelatinous curves undulating all around me. I could hear fat jostling like a water bed in motion, and smelled her sweat as it coated me.

Her pussy was tight; I reflected on that statement after thinking it and my anxiety started to build again. My mother's vagina which was greedily using me out of desperation and despair, was tight.

And I was no better, lonely enough to allow my mom to fulfill her needs, like a good son. Nothing at all to do with my newfound attraction to both adipose and incest, half-disgusted and simultaneously stimulated by her plentiful pounds and the fact she was my parent.

"You make me feel so beautiful," she said with a breathy moan as she flattened out further, thighs spread impossibly wide as she started to make out with me once more. Lips fused together, along with our bodies.

My cock was pushed in slowly, then back out again with surprising skill, despite her size. It felt too good, like my whole body was tingling.

Actually, I was tingly all over, but from being compressed under her. I was trapped. I was able to get my arms out to grasp her enormous hips due to her sweat facilitating the motion. Her breasts swallowed my neck and jaw.

Mom moaned during our kisses, and I felt overwhelmed.

I thought absentmindedly once more about how much she might weigh-- at least 400 pounds or more, but maybe halfway to 500. Her mouth tasted like wine. The bedroom that was cool before was now like a sauna, or at least being under her had that effect.

Her mouth-play gave me little time to suck in oxygen, and her weight on my ribcage made it nearly impossible to catch my breath. Somehow, that was hot too. But I was still conflicted, feeling like I was consuming a meal so delicious it could only be laced with poison, because it was so damn good.

The poison: how I would feel after I came inside of her, and how it would shape my psyche going forward. Another horrible word came to mind as she fucked me, every grind of her meaty hips punishing me with pleasure.

The word was impregnate.

I didn't want to make a brother that was also my son, and I knew my mom was clear-headed enough to know we wouldn't dare violate nature to that extent.

But that moment was approaching, because being crushed under her density was making me want to finish no matter the consequences.

"Mom," I said, addressing her that way for the first time since this began, which brought on a pang of shame once more.

"Yes, baby," she whispered while gently chewing on my neck.

"You should get off," I said, hoping to Christ she knew what I actually meant.

"Don't worry," she said teasingly, nibbling at my earlobe in a voice that sounded half her age. "You can finish inside me."

She pulled away from my ear to face me, breathing heavy as she continued to rock against me. "I went through the change. Nothing to worry about."

Suddenly, she sat upright which increased her weight locally to my lower half. I stared up at her, belly doubling over itself, stretch marks like battle scars, breasts pouring over, her double-chin supporting her wide grin in the dark. One eye catching the light from the hallway, enough that I could see it was blue. The brown one was hidden.

"We're both gonna make each other happy now," she groaned as she placed her hands on my heaving chest. For a moment I didn't know what she meant.

Then she started to bounce on my shaft, and I watched massive handfuls of her curvaceous mass start to rise and fall, slapping against itself, as my mom's orgasm approached.

Locked in. No way out. Soon to solidify a strange bond which was already strange enough.

Her stomach was mesmerizing, and her breasts were enticing. My eyes, however, were fixed on her own, as her hair had fallen away to the sides. One darker than the other, both staring down at her only son who she was about to claim in the only way that mattered to her now.

Maybe there was something I could say to stop her. But I had come too far. My own climax was about to wash over me any moment.

I stared at the face of a woman I'd known since birth, someone who had always taken care of me, and loved me unconditionally. She bit her lip and seethed through her teeth as she started to mewl with every drop, and I knew that the unavoidable was about to happen... and I accepted it.

I pulsed my seed into her dark, stifling, wet, wonderful, steamy insides, groaning out loudly as I came harder than I had before since puberty. Mom's moans became screams as she leaned back, crying out her ecstasy into the night as pleasure overloaded her.

I stared at the ceiling, gasping as the reality washed over me in turn, and I knew that I had changed, somehow. I wasn't the same guy I was yesterday, and I never would be.

...

A month had gone by.

A crazy month.

When I opened the door to our apartment, I heard noises coming from her bedroom. I wish I could say that it was a surprise, but it was the fifth time this month I had come home to the buzzing noise. After everything that had happened a month ago, on that fateful night, I'd come to realize that my mom needed me, and that I couldn't disappoint her.

I dropped my work bag by the entrance, and I heard Mom shuffling around in her room, the buzzing sound growing as I approached.

I opened the door, and I looked at her, sprawled out in our bed. The vibrator half inside of her. Completely naked, as she tended to be when she was in the mood, and waiting.

After that night, I realized that the forbidden fruit tasted the best. I learned that a love like the one we shared enhanced everything that happened between us. I discovered that she was the only woman I needed now, because she needed me in return, more than any woman could. She would never leave me, and I would never leave her.

Anything short of becoming her lover would have been devastating to her, and I didn't want her to feel ugly or unwanted ever again. We didn't know our neighbors, and they didn't know us. So when we were behind closed doors, nothing was held back.

Almost every day since the first time, I helped my mom feel beautiful. I proved it to her in a myriad of ways. I proved that her weight wasn't anything short of exhilarating to me, by experiencing it in every position we could think of. She used my face like a throne. She let me taste every part of her, and by the end of the first week I knew every flavor her body offered.

My cock knew what it felt like to be inside every part of her. Her sweet honeypot. Her warm, wanting mouth. Her savory backside, which might have been her favorite of the three. She allowed me to worship her body, and didn't mind me thinking outside of the box. I made love to the folds of her flesh to prove my adoration.

"Hey you," I said.

Mom smiled wide, removing the vibrator to make room for me.

"My sweet boy," she said, as I undressed, ready to make her happy, and fulfilled, and whole. Our love was devoid of guilt, completely shameless, and pregnancy-free. Beyond that, I didn't care about the future. I didn't think about anything past the moments I spent with her. One day at a time.

I looked into her eyes, one brown and one blue. A very uncommon pair, but a beautiful thing because of its rarity. Not what God intended, maybe, but a miracle in its own way. Not normal, maybe. But it was perfect pair. A perfect match.

"Come to Mama," she said.

I obliged, like the good son I was.

...

THE END