Spent the day baking my son's favorite brownies. The way his face lights up makes all the loneliness fade for a moment. But watching him lick the spoon, that simple, innocent act... it stirred something dark and hungry in me I keep trying to suppress. I imagined it was my cunt he was tasting, not chocolate. That he was a man, not my boy. The guilt is a physical pain, but my god, the fantasy of his young, strong hands gripping my hips, his cock—so different from his father's—filling me up... it won't leave me alone. I am a terrible person. And I'm so fucking wet.