When Dad remarried after mom died, I wasn't surprised. I'd learned in the years after Mom's death that Dad really wasn't the person he pretended to be, and that when his wife died he considered himself more 'free' than 'bereaved.' He'd been faithful to Mom for their whole marriage, I'll give him that much, but considering how soon it was that I could hear him burying his cock in some floozy in their marital bed, I'll wager it was a role he was eager to shed.

To your credit, none of those girls were you. When you came along, you seemed more measured and grounded, and less flighty than those women had been. Their motives had been pretty clear: Get fucked by a good-looking older guy and pretend his adult son who was closer to their age didn't exist. Or sometimes they flirted with me, too, as though I shared their fantasy of making the girl the cream filling between both ends of a family line. You...well, you seemed to have your eye on the future, at least. You seemed to be wanting to turn the page from girl to woman and take on a different role. For the life of me, I don't know why you thought my dad was the person to guide you on that journey, but I'm guessing he thought you were hot, learned the best way to approach you, and became the person you were most likely to sleep with for as long as he physically enjoyed you.

I wanted nothing to do with my father, or the women he 'dated,' including you. My job was going well, my studies approaching the point where I would be awarded my master's degree. But I relied on him for affordable housing near the campus as I finished school, so I was incentivized to stay in his house, pay him the symbolic rent he demanded from me as his way of teaching me discipline -- although I attribute most of my moral development to Mom -- and keep my head down until I could buy or rent my own place and cut myself free from his toxicity once and for all. When Dad told me he had proposed to you and wanted me to be his best man at the wedding, my smile and congratulations were as artificial as his love for you, designed to keep me in his good graces for a while longer until I could make a clean getaway.

Of course, Dad fucked that up, too. Less than a year after marrying you, and about three months before I intended to leave, he beat me to the punch. We woke up one morning to find him gone, a brief note on the kitchen counter explaining that he was sorry, but he needed to be free, and that we were more than capable of taking care of ourselves. We could have the house and everything in it, he just needed to return to the state that nature intended for him: Driving around the country and conning girls into giving him money and pussy. I might be paraphrasing that last part.

Wherever you'd been in your transition from girl to woman, he'd left you there. Barely older than me, you certainly weren't ready to be a mother, and certainly not to an adult son. You'd been expecting to have an experienced and confident man around the house to help guide you in what to be, and the person you'd counted on to be the foundation of that development had just washed out from under you.

For a couple of weeks, we lived like independent and awkward acquaintances in the five-bedroom house my father had 'left to us,' which really just meant we inherited the last twenty-five years of a thirty-year mortgage. We were getting in each others' way more than we were making progress together, and it became clear that one of us was going to have to step up and take the lead in getting our act together. And that was going to have to be me.

I dropped out of my Master's program, and got a promotion at work. I sold most of Dad's things, like his fixer-upper car that he'd given up on, his vinyl collection that he never played, and the collections of things he'd tried to used to create an identity for himself at various times: Tools, minifigures, knives, old computers, art, Korean War paraphernalia. I stripped the house down to its base until it was a sort of tabula rasa, ready to be either sold... or re-made with someone else's identity.

The only thing I wasn't sure what to do about was you. I'd expected you to leave immediately and find some other wagon to which you could hitch your star, but you didn't. You seemed to want to contribute to the running of the household, and be...what? Who? My stepmother? My roommate? A co-owner? We needed to define what we could be to each other, and get out of this uncomfortable relational limbo in which we found ourselves.

---

I'd like to play a young man and his inappropriately-young stepmother who struggle for a while to decide how they relate to each other, but eventually give into the mutual temptation toward a physical relationship, and then become lovers. I can imagine a struggle with unspoken attraction, a difficulty in accepting lust for each other given our societal titles ("mother" and "son"), agreement to help each other satisfy each other's needs, and a gradual discovery of mutual romantic attraction.

We'd have to deal with how this affected our work, our mutual and individual relationships, and our roles. As I stepped into the role my father left open, it would change my perception of myself and make me into something more masculine, more dominant. This would change my prospects with the girl I was seeing at school, and my perception of how my life with her would play out. But I can't tell her "I'm leaving you because you don't conform to my idea of an ideal partner, but my stepmother does," can I? And what about the mutual friends we have through my father, and my extended family? Will my grandparents and my aunt and uncle be suspicious that you're staying with me? That we're showing up to family functions together? That we share a tent at the family reunion camping trip? Will you give into the temptation to backslide into the carefree role you could occupy as a young, attractive woman, or will you step into something more traditional and become a homemaker to your younger son?

Kinks to include could be touching, groping, teasing, oral, fingering, male dominance, edging, cumshots, creampies, facials, outercourse, handjobs, titplay, light bondage, and lots and lots of passionate fucking. There's room for raceplay in the way I've set it up, too, if you want to discuss other things.

Limits are scat, watersports, blood, and heavy BDSM.

PMs only please, I don't do chat. Discord's an option.