A Lover for Mother

A Beginning.

"Oh God, no! Not my best friend!" I had suspected, but now here was the evidence plainly visible. My eyes saw, but they did not want to see what was before them. For a moment, I was frozen with angry shock, and then I fled to my room. But this is to enter the story half way through, so let me begin at the beginning.

The Sacred Assembly

My father was, and possibly still is, a lecturer in sociology. Back in the sixties when I was about ten years old, we used to have Saturday night gatherings of devoted sociology students at our house. They sat or lay around the floor on beanbags and cushions, draping over one another in weary indolence. I was allowed to sit in on these worship sessions and I did so a few times until a combination of boredom and disgust led me to join my mother in another part of the house.

The gathering was made up of young people in their late teens and early twenties. Their garments ranged from North American Indian, through Buddhist monk's habit to something resembling a Mongolian shaman's outfit, plus a couple of Jesus lookalikes. All were festooned with beads, crosses, Egyptian ankhs and other obscure charms. Their vocabulary seemed to be limited to "Crazy, man," "Wow, man," "Cool, man," and "He really know where it's at, man." The normally masculine noun "man" seemed to lose its male connotation on their lips, and be addressed to both male and female. In addition, there seemed to be a competition to see who could go the longest without washing, especially the hair, which was mostly worn long, lank and greasy.

My father sat in the midst of this assembly, and was the object of their devotion. His garb resembled a picture of an Egyptian pharaoh I had once seen in a book. He would hold forth with sociological platitudes about the world's ills and potential cures to the accompaniment of many "Crazys," "Wows," and "Mans," from the company. When he was not talking there was Indian music that he usually introduced with an elucidation on why a particular wail from a sitar explained the meaning of the universe. While father was talking the worshippers gazed upon him with rapt attention. Once the music started, they went into some sort of meditative ecstasy during which they swayed and moaned.

Having given up attending these gatherings, I joined mother, who would be reading and quietly playing recordings of Bach's music. I brought my own books and read with her. At the sound of the worshipper's departure, mother would shut her book, turn off the recording and hasten to the room now being vacated. I went with her sometimes, and found my nostrils assailed by the combined stench of cigarettes, pot, unwashed bodies and a particular odour caused by one student who I later learned was called Alistair. Alistair was a youth about nineteen years old. He might have been called pretty if he was a girl, but had a flatulence problem which exploded audibly and constantly.

Mother would fling open doors and windows to try to rid the room of the stench, and inspect the furniture for the latest cigarette burns and other signs of the new society of "love sweet love."

Mother and Father.

Mother and father had been very potent lovers. Back in the fifties, he had got mother pregnant, and as was fashionable in those days, he married her. Their lovemaking continued through most of my childhood, and I know this because they were very vocal love makers. My bedroom was next to theirs, and I often heard his moans and her screams. This worried me at first, but as they always seemed to be in good shape next morning, I assumed all was well. Later I was to learn the meaning of those outcries.

Potent lovers they may have been, but one day when I was eleven my father said he wanted to have a "Man to man talk," with me. For the occasion, he was wearing his Canadian lumberjack clothes. Without going into endless detail, it came down to this; he was leaving mother and I in order to "find himself." His departure took place next day, and that was the last time I ever saw or heard from him. I did learn, however, that he intended to "find himself" in the anus of the flatulent Alistair who went with him on this voyage of self-discovery.

Alistair apparently found the exploration not to his taste. He parted company with my father after a couple of years, became an accountant, and when his employer died, married his widow. He took over the business and became known as one of the shiftier operators in the profession.

Mother and I.

After my father left, my mother was involved in some legal wrangling and came home one day saying, "We won!" I was not clear what exactly we had won, but we continued in the same house, and seemed to be no worse off financially. Certainly, mother was sufficiently in funds to see me through university.

This brings me back to the point where I began. One afternoon while still at university, the scheduled lecture was cancelled because the flue virus had assailed the lecturer. I made my way home, arriving earlier than I was expected. As I entered the house, I heard human cries that I recognized from years before.

I shall describe mother more fully shortly, but suffice to say that I never thought of her as a woman who would allow herself to be deprived of adequate emotional fulfillment. Not that I had ever seen or heard any sign of a sexual relationship, but I assumed she was very circumspect, and kept this side of her life away from me.

I confess that curiosity got the better of me. The noises where coming from her bedroom, and were too distinct for the door to be properly shut. I crept along the passage to her door, and sure enough, it was partially open. What I saw on looking in was a sight I wished I had not seen. My naked mother was sitting across a man thumping up and down on him while he groaned and she screamed. My horror was not so much that my mother was having sex, but the fact that she was having it with my best friend, Robert.

Robert and I had been friends from our first day at school, when our anxious mothers left us howling in the care of the teacher. He had spent many hours in our home over the years, as I had in his home. I always thought my mother looked upon him almost as a second son, just as Robert's mother seemed to regard me in that way.

Neither Robert or I were innocent virgins; in fact, we had at one time shared the same girl who was happy to spread her sexual favours widely. But with my mother! To be frank, there had been a worm of suspicion lurking in the recesses of my mind, but like most people faced with something distasteful, I had pushed it aside.

Mother.

It happened like this; one summer day about three months prior to my discovering them in bed, Robert, my mother and I, were lounging beside our swimming pool. Mother had on a bikini – not a particularly provocative one, but enough to display her female charms, and perhaps now is the moment to try and describe those charms.

I do not think anyone would call mother "beautiful" in the generally accepted meaning of that word. "Pretty" would be an even more inadequate description. She is about five foot eight inches tall, and buxom. She has a dark gypsy look about her, with almost black shining hair sometimes worn tied back, but when loose hangs just below her shoulders. Her eyes are almost the colour of her hair, and they glitter with intelligence. Her nose is straight, and longer than fashion dictates, and the mouth might be described as "generous." Her breasts are full, well rounded and firm; her legs long and well formed.

My father had said he left her "to find himself." I thought he must be mad to leave a woman like my mother, but mother is not the sort of woman in whom men "find" themselves, but rather they long to "lose" themselves in her. She has an animal grace that can be seen when she moves and when in repose. I sometimes liken her to a panther in the smoothness of its movement and the beauty of its rest. In mother's presence, you are always aware of the sensual woman. There is nothing calculating about this. What you see is what she is. . As we lay beside the pool on that summer day Robert was next to my mother. I noticed as she spoke with him she kept touching his arm and shoulder sometimes letting her hand linger. Robert's swimming briefs were very brief indeed and I could see that he had a half-formed erection, which, as it continued to grow, he tried to hide by rolling over on his stomach. This did not especially trouble me because I had noticed before that my male friends often showed signs of being attracted to mother. It was a little surprising, though, because, as I have said, I had always thought Robert was my mother's other son, and assumed that Robert also accepted this relationship.

As time for preparing the evening meal drew near, mother complained, "Oh damn, I forgot to get…" and mentioned some item of food I cannot now recall. "Darling," she said to me, "Would you take the car and get me some?" I dutifully went off to the shops to get the said item.

I returned about half an hour later. Mother and Robert had left the pool so I went in search of them. I found them in the kitchen, and as I entered I thought I detected those hasty moves people make when caught in something they want kept hidden. I looked at them for a moment. Mother had her back to the workbench with Robert standing close in front of her. He turned and I saw a suspicious wet patch in the front of his swimming trunks. He gave a croaking sort of laugh and ran from the room shouting, "One more dip before eating."

Observing mother I could see something that glistened dribbling down her inner thighs. "My God," I thought, "He's taken my mother standing up." I tried to dismiss the thought as soon as it arose. Unable or unwilling to confront her I let the moment pass, handed over my purchase, and muttered something about going to change.

Nothing untoward happened in the following weeks as far as I saw, that is, until the moment when I observed them together on her bed. The suspicions I had both harboured and struggled to suppress had found their logical outcome. I was shattered.

Confronting Mother.

I had escaped from the scene into my bedroom. I flung myself down on the bed, my mind in tumult. Anguished thoughts came flooding over me, each one seeming to contradict the other.

"Why Robert?" "Why not? He is an attractive male, so why shouldn't she desire him?"

Why my mother?" "Why not? She's a desirable woman who needs sexual gratification."

"If it was someone else's mother how would you feel?" "Probably amused."

"Why are you feeling so much pain about this?" "I don't know."

"You do know, but haven't the guts to admit it."

And so my thoughts ran on.

I heard Robert depart and then heard the shower running. I pulled myself together and went down to the kitchen. I sat at the table wrapped in my misery and waited to see what developed. After about fifteen minutes mother appeared at the door.

She stopped short, startled. "Darling, you're home early." "Lecture got cancelled," I muttered. "How long have you been home?" she asked, unable to keep the uneasiness from her voice. "Nearly an hour," I answered, looking directly at her.

I saw a flush spread over her face, but she said, "I'd better get the meal ready." She busied herself in that over fussy way people have when they are trying to cover something up. I rose and said, "I'll take a shower," and left her.

We sat through the meal in silence, hardly eating. We went through the washing up routine still silent. At last, as if a pressure she could no longer contain erupted, she sobbed out, "You know, don't you?" "Yes," I said, "I know and I saw."

She was wedged between the corner of the bench and the sink, as if she was defending herself from physical attack. "Oh God, darling," she cried, "I'm so sorry, so terribly sorry. I wouldn't have had that happen for the world." Her hands covered her face and she sobbed uncontrollably.

"Sorry?" I snarled, "My mother with my best friend. My mother the slut, the whore, the harlot. My mother, who is willing to be fucked by any man. Shall I get the rest of my friends in and you can fuck them as well! While I think of it, there's quite a few of the guys at university who'd just love to screw you. Perhaps I should issue a general invitation, 'Roll up, roll up, roll up. Byan's mother available to all, free of charge.'"

She turned on me, her face contorted by rage and grief. "How dare you, you bastard, you self righteous prig. How many girls have you fucked, and for that matter how many older women? Who the hell do you think you are, standing in judgement over me? Before you start judging me you'd better make sure your own slate is clean."

We both stood still glaring at each other, our breathing laboured. "If you find your mother so abhorrent, then you can get out of this house as soon as you like," she yelled.

"I think now is as good a time as any," I yelled back. "I'll pack now." I left and went to my room.

My brain burned in utter confusion. Anger, despair and misery roared in my head, and there was a dull pain in my stomach. I had no idea where I was going, but I supposed one of my friends would take me in temporarily.

I put some essentials into a bag, deciding to come back later for the rest of my things, and made for the door. As I passed the open door of the living room I heard mother sobbing as if her heart would break. I stopped and stood listening. The worst of my fury was passing by now, and I knew I had said vile things, perhaps unforgivable things, to mother. I hesitated, unsure what to do. Go without a word, or at least say goodbye? I decided on goodbye.

I entered the living room and saw mother sitting on the couch. She was broken by sobs and looked at me through eyes that could hardly see for tears. She stretched out her hand to me and I took it in mine. "Oh darling, oh darling, oh darling…" she sobbed and gulped over and over again. I had never before seen anyone so utterly broken, least of all mother.

I sat beside her putting my arm round her. "It's all right mother, it's all right. Don't cry anymore, it's all right." Tears were pouring down my face now, and I could hardly choke out my words.

"Don't go, darling, please my love don't go," she wept. I tried to reassure her, "I'm not going mother, it's all right."

We clung to each other until at last, we began to recover from this outburst of emotion, and we could speak coherently.

"Darling," mother jerked out through residual sobs, "There have been men, not many, but some. I kept them away from you. I wasn't going to have your life messed up by a series of live in lovers, or even one for that matter. I was always discreet. Perhaps some women could have gone without sexual relations, but I can't, and can see no good reason why I should. It's only been twice with Robert. Once that day I sent you to the shops. He wanted me so badly, and I have such tender feelings for him, I just let him have me. And today he broke up with his girlfriend and came here to tell you, and he was so badly in need of compassion I gave him the comfort of my body.

"But mother," I protested, "I always thought you saw him as a sort of extra son." "Yes," she said, "that is just the trouble."

This puzzled me. What "trouble" was she referring to? I pressed the matter. "What do you mean, trouble?" She gave me a wan tearful smile. "Can't you work it out, my love?"

I couldn't work it out and said so. "All right," she said, "I'll tell you then you might change your mind about not going. Yes, Robert has been like having another son around, but he's not my real son."

She paused as if hoping I would now see the point without her having to spell it out. I was no help to her. She sighed and went on. "Had it been my real son, I would have wanted to comfort him too, but of course, it would not be possible like that."

She stopped and looked away from me. It took me a few moments to put together what she had said, but at last, my addled brain got it clear. She would have given herself to me as she had to Robert if I had that need and if I were not her real son.

She started to speak again very hesitantly. "My love, I've made it sound very pitying on my part, but there is more to it. It wasn't only compassion for him. You see…" She paused searching for words. "Robert was the substitute for the forbidden son."

We were still in each others arms, and I said to her gently, "Mother, are you saying that you have wanted me that badly? Am I the forbidden son?" "Yes," she whispered weakly.

I was bewildered, my thoughts racing. I had never consciously allowed myself to think of mother as the object of my sexual desire, but unavoidable memories came flooding back. The girls and women, especially the older women, as I came to orgasm with them, whose face and whose body had I been trying to project on to them? Whose breasts had I fondled and kissed? Whose clitoris had I licked? Whose vagina had I ejaculated into? Even now, I did not want to admit to myself the truth, but it hammered itself into my brain, it was my mother's. Those other girls and women had been substitutes for the "forbidden mother."

I drew mother closer to me and made my confession. "Mother, as I am your 'forbidden son,' so you are my forbidden mother." "Oh God, no," she wept. "No my love, I wouldn't have you go through the torments of longing I have suffered, not you, my darling."

I kissed her gently on the lips and speaking very quietly I said, "Mother, for a long time you have had the courage to admit to yourself, and now to me, your feelings. I have not had the guts to face my feelings as you have, but now its out in the open and we don't have to fear those feeling any more."

"Then you don't hate or loathe me?" she asked plaintively.

I couldn't help but laugh, even if a little tearfully. "In the last hour I think there's been enough of hating and loathing to last us both the rest of our lives. We are talking about love, as well as sexual desire, aren't we?"

"You know I love you, darling," she whispered."

"And I love you, mother, only until this moment I hadn't been able to face the sexual aspect. Now we are free of all those hidden thoughts about each, and I want to tell you plainly, I want you as a woman."

"No, darling," she moaned, "It would be incest. It's forbidden. However much we may want to, we can't." She tried to pull away from me but I held on to her. Strong as she was, I was stronger. We had both confessed our desires, and now one of us must break through the ancient taboo.

I opened the front of her dress to reveal her unsupported breasts and caressed them gently, tenderly squeezing her nipples. She groaned, but said huskily, "No, my darling, no, we mustn't." My lips went to her nipple and she tried to push me away. "You mustn't, oh darling, don't do this to me, please, don't do it." By now, my hand had reached down to touch her vagina that for all her protesting, was wet with longing.

I pulled down her panties and parted her legs. She continued her verbal protests but made little physical resistance. "Oh God, I can't, don't, please I beg of you don't. Not your mother, please, my love. I can't fight it any more, but please, no…"

I entered her. She wept on, "No, no, no my darling, no." I stopped her mouth with a long deep kiss, and when I broke away she was saying, "Oh yes, my dearest love, yes, don't stop now, don't stop." She screamed as her orgasm struck and I fountained into her.

We lay together for long after we had both climaxed. She kissed and stroked me and spoke words of love and endearment. I let my hands roam over her, exploring her for the first time as her lover, the body that I had needed and longed for.

"Darling," she murmured, "As long as you want me, there will be no one else, I promise."