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W
Wildfire
Guest
Natalia Bancroft was a single mother and didn't regret a moment of her life with her son. She worked three days a week sixteen hour shifts as a nurse but the four days she had off were spent with her son or around the house. Her son loved art and she had often asked to view what he was working on, but he was very private about it. However, lately her curiosity had become further piqued.
They had a three bedroom house and once he began to get interested in art, she had set up the empty bedroom for his use as an art studio. In the beginning his protectiveness over the privacy of his studio had been cute but now as he had gotten older Talia had grown more curious and been asking to see what he was doing. At nearly forty years old, she began worrying whether her son was in fact working on his art or if he was doing inappropriate things.
After all he was at that age where it wasn't uncommon for drug use or other things and his insistence that his work was private was beginning to weigh on her. So, with a day off and her son in school she finally decided it was time she be certain that he was in fact still doing things appropriately.
Making her way into the studio, she looked around at his varied work but it was his sketchbook that ended up catching her attention. Each sketch she viewed had her feeling shocked. Such detail, such vibrancy but the subject was what hit her the most. She knew her son was more than likely going to be upset if he knew what she had seen but the fact was, she began to consider whether she should discuss them.
Each one was a different view of her, but some of them, a great many in fact weren't just her. What she saw was a side of her son she would never have expected. The images portraying him and her in sexual positions, varying situations were both confusing and as much as she knew it was wrong arousing. He was her son for god's sake!
With the sketchbook in tow, she made her way down to the kitchen and made herself a drink. She needed one, she had no idea how she was going to handle this but the more she considered the more she realized she needed to discuss this with her son.
By the time her son was due home and she heard the door open, she had a slight buzz having decided to have a couple more drinks and she sat on the couch, waiting for her son. All she said as she heard the door open and close was, "Honey, I'm in the living room and I think we need to talk." The sketchbook sat open on the coffee table near her to one specific image, it was of her son going down on her.
They had a three bedroom house and once he began to get interested in art, she had set up the empty bedroom for his use as an art studio. In the beginning his protectiveness over the privacy of his studio had been cute but now as he had gotten older Talia had grown more curious and been asking to see what he was doing. At nearly forty years old, she began worrying whether her son was in fact working on his art or if he was doing inappropriate things.
After all he was at that age where it wasn't uncommon for drug use or other things and his insistence that his work was private was beginning to weigh on her. So, with a day off and her son in school she finally decided it was time she be certain that he was in fact still doing things appropriately.
Making her way into the studio, she looked around at his varied work but it was his sketchbook that ended up catching her attention. Each sketch she viewed had her feeling shocked. Such detail, such vibrancy but the subject was what hit her the most. She knew her son was more than likely going to be upset if he knew what she had seen but the fact was, she began to consider whether she should discuss them.
Each one was a different view of her, but some of them, a great many in fact weren't just her. What she saw was a side of her son she would never have expected. The images portraying him and her in sexual positions, varying situations were both confusing and as much as she knew it was wrong arousing. He was her son for god's sake!
With the sketchbook in tow, she made her way down to the kitchen and made herself a drink. She needed one, she had no idea how she was going to handle this but the more she considered the more she realized she needed to discuss this with her son.
By the time her son was due home and she heard the door open, she had a slight buzz having decided to have a couple more drinks and she sat on the couch, waiting for her son. All she said as she heard the door open and close was, "Honey, I'm in the living room and I think we need to talk." The sketchbook sat open on the coffee table near her to one specific image, it was of her son going down on her.