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My mother is young and attractive and I have wanted her ever since I reached puberty. I am sure she also wants me but neither of us will make the move to initiate sexual intercourse between us. What can I do to overcome this impasse?

N

From Incest Web Site.
To N.

Your mother is probably still bound by anti-incest sexual mores. She may desire you a great deal, but cannot break through to freedom from conscience. If you wish to engage in sexual intercourse with her, and are sure she really does desire you, then you may need to be forceful. In this way, she can tell herself that you raped her and she is therefore not guilty. If you please her she will soon come around, and may eventually even initiate sexual intimacy with you.



I found the paper in a chest of drawers in Norton’s old bedroom. It was tucked right at the back of a drawer and was probably long forgotten. He must have taken it off the Internet and typed it onto one sheet. I stood looking down at it in my hand.

But this is to get a long way ahead of my story.

My name is Sarah Briggs. As I write this I am forty years of age, but the events I wish to relate took place some years ago.

It was in the early years at high school when, as the result of some sexual experimentation with one of the senior boys, I got pregnant. He was a beautiful young man and I was said to be a very attractive girl. I think we were in love.

Once my pregnancy was revealed, he was sent away to a Boys Private School to finish his education, and we never saw each other again. I was offered an abortion or alternatively, adoption of the child when it was born.

My parents were fairly enlightened people, and after careful discussion, left the choice to me. My choice was to have the baby and keep it. After the birth of the baby, Norton, and a period of breastfeeding, I returned to high school for a while.

My mother took care of Norton but instead of the “big sister” fiction often used in these situations, I was always acknowledged as his mother and within my time and maturity limitations, I always sought to behave like a mother towards him.

I did not stay at high school until the final year, but went to what was called, “A Business College”, for one year. Here I was taught the skills of office work at, I might add, great expense to my parents, who fortunately could afford it.

Graduates from this college were very much in demand, and on leaving I quickly got a job in the office of a local woolen mill.

It was a privately owned family company and I was constantly in the presence of the boss, Alfred Passmore, the son of the man who had established the company.

Alfred was about forty-two years of age when I first met him. He was good looking, dynamic, and was a divorcee who had a daughter about my own age who lived with her mother. I was infatuated with him, and he made no secret of his lust for me.

We were very soon sexually involved with each other and when we decided to get married, my parents were very doubtful about his suitability. Apart from the wide age gap, they found him very pretentious and demanding, but I being still very young, saw these aspects of him as those of a strong free spirited male. I was determined to marry him.

I had hidden nothing from Alfred about my past sexual behaviour and pregnancy, but he was so enraptured, he agreed to accept Norton along with me. Norton was six years old at the time of our wedding.

Despite the wide age difference between Alfred and I, everything went wonderfully well for the first six months of our marriage. I suppose this is often the case, especially with girls, who like me are infatuated with their newly acquired partner.

Despite my being hot for Alfred, I did notice that in our love making, he did not so much ask me to do things for and to him, but commanded, “Do this to me.” They were things that I would have happily done, but just wished he would ask instead of ordering. However, this was passed over in the first flush of our sex life.

Then something was revealed that put a maggot of doubt into my mind.

I had looked forward to having children with Alfred, and after six months had past, and as far as I knew we used no contraceptives, I had not got pregnant. Since Alfred was pumping his sperm into me almost every night, I began to worry that there might be something wrong with me, or with him.

Since I had got pregnant with my previous lover after only a couple of sexual intercourse’s, I had assumed that there was nothing wrong with me in that department. Without saying anything to Alfred, I had a medical check up to find out if anything was amiss, and was told I was perfectly able to get pregnant.

Finally, I put the matter to Alfred, and he laughed. Where I had been completely open and honest with him, he had not paid me the same compliment.

“My dear girl, I had a vasectomy years ago. Don’t want any more little brats running round the place, do we? Got one already, haven’t we?” referring of course, to Norton. “Makes sure you behave yourself as well.” He gave another laugh.

I was very hurt that he had not told me about his vasectomy, and the attitude he took to children. Most of all, I was hurt by the implication that I might be sexually unfaithful.

For six months, I had done for Alfred in bed whatever he wanted. I had denied him nothing, and now he was suggesting I needed something to keep me faithful to him. I was angry and disappointed.

As with many of these situations, the full impact does not take place immediately, but that little maggot of doubt works away in the mind almost unacknowledged. Things that one engaged in with pleasure start to become disagreeable.

For example, I had quite enjoyed giving Alfred oral sex, even though he did not do the same for me, but now I began to find it distasteful. His desire for anal sex with me, once happily agreed to, now became an unpleasant chore.

The change within the relationship is hardly noticed at first, but it works away inside.

Alfred did not seem to discern any change in my feelings. He was still infatuated with me, and I must add, I think with him self. He did not seem to notice, for example, how, although I still sucked his penis and swallowed his semen, I did it as what I now thought of as a “duty,” along with other things that he wanted me to do.

So our marriage trundled along with me being the “dutiful wife.”

Eight years into my marriage, my father died. He had been a dear man and a loving father, and I was distraught. I sought comfort from Alfred, and all I got was the remark, “Oh well, dear girl, these things happen. Did he leave you anything?”

When, another two years later my mother died, Alfred’s sole concern was how much I had inherited. He was furious when he discovered that it had been legally tied up in such a way that he could not get his hands on it. The interest was for my sole use, and while he might persuade me to hand over some of that to him, he could not get at the capital.

I had grown in maturity over the preceding years, and still wanted to make our marriage work, but it seemed to have become an affair of expedience. I looked after his home and he earned the money running his woolen mill.

One feature of our married life was Alfred’s frequent absences. These had of necessity always occurred, but two four years into our marriage they started to become more frequent, and they lasted longer.

“Be away for a couple of weeks on business,” he would announce, and leave the next day. On his return I would receive what I called “My token ‘hello’ sexual intercourse.”

I naturally wondered what had happened to the ardour of his early days with me. It might be expected to diminish after a while, but not to the extent of a “quickie” when he got back from a “business trip” and nothing thereafter until another return.

I tried to convince myself that as Alfred was now in his fifties, his libido had diminished, but from what I read and the comments of friends, it seemed that this was not the case with most men.

Then belatedly in our marriage, a thought occurred to me. I had never forgotten his early questioning of my fidelity. If his having had a vasectomy seemed to guarantee my sexual fidelity, the very opposite could apply to him. He could very safely go spreading his seed around without consequences, at least as far as pregnancies were concerned.

From the time of his deception over the vasectomy, my own sexual drive for Alfred had gradually diminished, but my sexual hunger had not waned. If anything, the absence of sexual gratification with Alfred had increased my craving for sensual contact. In addition, I still yearned for children.

I took to masturbating frequently, but while this gave some temporary relief to my sexual tensions, I nearly always ended up crying for want of what I thought of as “the real thing.”

I thought of putting myself on the contraceptive pill and having affairs, but that monster, the conscience, arose to point an accusing finger at me. Alfred had married me knowing of my past, and accepted Norton along with me. I felt I owed him fidelity for that, if for no other reason, and so I went on with my aching need.

Although Alfred had accepted Norton, it had been a nominal acceptance. He was not unkind to him, but generally ignored him. Norton was now sixteen, and as I now paid for his education out of the interest payments from the investment left by my parents, Alfred had no cause for complaint on that score.

Norton had grown up to look very like his real father, handsome and athletic. Early every morning he would dive into our swimming pool. Watching him, I delighted in his beautiful body and young manhood with its early morning erection I could see pressing against his thin swimming briefs. I thought, “My God, some lucky woman is going to enjoy her self with him.”

Looking at him, I often felt a lurch in my stomach and a faint throbbing in my clitoris. Conscience reared up, and I struggled to suppress my emotions, earnestly trying to deny what I was thinking and feeling.

Part of the difficulty was, that the age difference between Alfred and I was more than the difference between Norton and I. Since Norton received no affection from Alfred, and I was beginning to feel less and less involved in Alfred’s life, Norton and I sought the warmth we needed in each other.

There had been love between us from the start. This appears to be innate to mothers and their sons. As the so-called “experts” tell us, there is a special bond between mothers and sons. That love or bond between Norton and I had increased over the years, but I could not, or would not, acknowledge the possibilities that lay within that bond.

A still young and passionate woman, unsatisfied by her husband, living constantly and often alone, apart from the presence of a virile young man, even though her son, was a precarious situation.

Remembering the circumstances of his conception, as he entered puberty, I counseled Norton on sexual behaviour as best I could, telling him to be sure the girl had protection or that he used a condom. I felt something of a hypocrite because as I warned him against getting a girl pregnant, I could feel no regret that I had conceived him.

I had not followed up my earlier suspicions about Alfred, his vasectomy and the “business trips.” One day, however, a neighbour was relating to me how she had met up with Alfred in a restaurant entertaining his “cousin.”

“Very attractive girl, isn’t she?” the innocent neighbour went on.

As far as I knew, Alfred had no cousin in that town, and he wasn’t supposed to be there anyway.

I can’t say I was shattered. The information merely confirmed what I already suspected. When Alfred returned, and was about to give me my token “hello” in bed that night, I drew back from him and said, “Don’t you think you’d better save it for your ’cousin’?”

He moved to his side of the bed and said, “So the bitch told you!”

“Yes, she told me.”

“What are you going to do about it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Come on, Sarah, there’s nothing to it. It gets lonely out there on the road.”

“You weren’t supposed to be in that town.”

“I just made a diversion after a tip off that there might be some business to pick up.”

I didn’t believe him.

He moved over to me again and began fondling my breasts. I tried to push him away, but this seemed to make him all the more insistent. His finger explored my vagina, and as I was so often in a state of semi-arousal, he could feel my wetness.

“Come on, I know you want it.”

I don’t know if it was because I couldn’t be bothered to struggle, or because I thought, “Even this is better than nothing,” I laid back and let him have me. When he finished, I hastened to the bathroom to wash his sperm out of me. I felt a sense of disgust at the lack of my self-respect, that I would let him touch me, let alone have sex with me.

From that time on I lived in the house as a matter of convenience, and any sexual relationship with Alfred really did become a “token” event. I was not proud of myself, knowing that I should get out of the situation, but I seemed to have no energy to make the move.

Such love and affection as I did receive, came from Norton. This too began to trouble me. If he was kissing me goodbye he pulled me close, and I could feel his hard manhood pressing agianst me. Sometimes he would sit beside me in the evening on the sofa watching television when Alfred was not at home, and he would put his arm round me. I would rest my head on his shoulder and I could feel him quivering and see his erection.

So many times, I felt him watching me, as I watched him. Longing, desiring, yet not daring. I began to ached for him and I now had no doubt that he hungered for me. We were both in torment, torturing each other by merely being present to each other.

The throbbing of my clitoris and the wetness between my legs warned me constantly of my precarious position with Norton. As I masturbated, my fantasy was now always of Norton entering me, of putting his hot young sperm into me.

Conscience scowled at me and I quailed before it. I could not permit my son to have sex with me, yet my thought was, “If only he would rape me.”

This of course, was the coward’s way out. If he took my by force, the blame could not be laid at my door. Conscience made sure I knew what I was doing. “You want him to take you by force so you can avoid any responsibility!”

I was caught between my conscience and my hunger for my son. This conflict only added to my already depressed state. I decided to fend Norton off, to have as little physical contact with him as possible. I tried not to look at his body and his young hard penis, but like so much that we repress, it only comes back with redoubled force. It is like a boiler with the fire still raging beneath it and the safety valve jammed, something has to finally give way, so the boiler explodes.

Norton must have realised that something was very wrong with me because he kept asking about my health and well being. As I tried to avoid contact with him, so he would approach and put his arms round me, and I could not bring myself to push him away.

The boiler was near to exploding.

The crisis came early one morning when Alfred was away. It had been a hot night, and it was an even hotter morning. I decided to join Norton for a swim. I put on my bikini and together we dived into the pool.

We swam and splashed around for about fifteen minutes, then got out of the pool to dry our selves in the sun on loungers at the poolside. I lay down, but Norton did not move to his lounger, instead he bent over and kissed me. His tongue probed at my lips and I responded, opening my mouth for him to enter.

His hand came to my breasts and began to fondle them through the top of my bikini.

I was captivated by what he was doing to me, and even at this stage I was lubricating. I was succumbing without a struggle. Then my wretched conscience loomed over me, and I began fending him off.

“No Norton, no. You musn’t, not with your mother. Please darling, stop… stop before its too late…Don’t do this to me…please…”

He didn’t stop. He had my top off and his hands stroked my naked breasts, then as I tried to fight him off he tore down my bikini bottom and was over me. The very athleticism I had loved in him now turned against me. He was much too strong for me.

He kept saying, “Don’t fight me mother, please. I don’t want to hurt you. I love you and I know you love and want me, so please, don’t fight me.”

He had forced my legs apart and had come between them with his body, his beautiful manhood already probing for my entrance.

“Darling… don’t… please don’t… you’ll make me pregnant…please don’t do this to me…”

My pleading achieved nothing. He was determined to have me, no doubt being prepared to pay the price if I charged him with rape. He wanted me as badly as that!

He entered me. I was ready for him, my vagina soaked with my fluid. It was as if I took a whip to conscience and cowardice, and drove them yelping like thrashed curs, out of me. My craving for Norton swamped all else. The boiler had finally exploded.

He thrust his entire length into me and I surrendered. He was crying out, “I love you, I love you,” over and over again.

I heard a voice saying, “Take me, take me my darling. Make me have you. Don’t…please don’t stop…all of you, give me all of you.”

His shaft was tight against the walls of my vagina and I began to rhythmically clench and release him with my vaginal muscle. With each clasp, he groaned aloud.

I was with him, feeling every movement of his beautiful lance in me, thrusting as if he would strike to my heart, yet I was somehow outside myself. It was as if I was both the viewer and the viewed at the same time. I saw two people loving and being loved, and knew that it was Norton and I. It was an experience I had never had with Alfred or Norton’s father.

Then suddenly I was no longer a viewer. I became totally engrossed in my union with Norton. I felt his approaching orgasm as he speeded up his movement within me. I no longer clenched him with my vagina, but opened myself to him. My legs were round him to pull him in deeper. His hands were under my buttocks as he struggled to get the last millimetre into me.

His groans had increased in volume, and I felt myself beginning to shake and I was pleading with him again, “Please, darling, don’t make me…its torture…please no…oh no.”

Them my orgasm was upon me, taking possession of me, its impact jarring me from head to foot. My pleading changed.

“Don’t stop, darling, please don’t stop…fuck me to death…I want to die with you…all of it…fertilise me…please…my darling…”

I was weeping, as his sperm seemed to blow up in me like a long suppressed volcano finally exploding with a violent pulsing rhythm that I thought would never stop.

I had never felt such waves of love pass through me, or such unity with a lover. In the fever of our mutual climax, I felt as if Norton and I were no longer two persons, but one. He had come from my body, and now he had returned.

As someone has said, “In the midst of the ecstatic moment of sexual union, there lurks the tragedy of separation.” However long a couple may make their sexual union last, it must inevitably end. At least the physical union must end with withdrawal, even if their spiritual communion goes on.

As the zenith of our mutual climax passed, we lay, still physically united. As many women experience, I continued to have the after-tremors of my orgasm. Many men do not seem to realise how cruel they are to withdraw from the woman as soon as they have ejaculated. It leaves the woman still experiencing what together they have brought about, and she feels deserted, even betrayed.

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