It was wrong, I know this, and yet it was so beautiful, so powerful that I can only describe it detail by detail to completely convey all of it.
I'm not good with beginnings, so I'll start at the end, and work my way back.
*
The First Time
I remember everything, every sensation, the smell of our sweat which made our bodies glisten as we strained in passion. The feel his weight on top of me, driving me into the bed. The taste of his lips kissing mine, probing my mouth with his tongue. Most of all I was aware of his manhood inside me, stretching me, filling me until I almost couldn't bear it. My vagina quivered with delight each and every time he thrust inside me.
All I could think about at first was this single burning thought in the back of my nearly overwhelmed mind:
Twenty years previous, the man who was now driving his penis deep inside my sacred chamber...Had been born out of it...
My name is Judith, my sin is only that I loved too little at the time when love was most needed, too much when love was no longer desired, and too sincerely when love was only wrong.
Many would wonder how any woman could end up in bed with her own son...It wasn't easy, let me tell you. Pardon the jest, but I try to keep my sense of humor, even though this act of passion has ruined both our lives.
My secret, my own personal shame in life had always been that I had never truly enjoyed sex. While I had had my fair share of it in my lifetime, my very first orgasm in my twenty years of experience was when I pushed my son into this world after twelve agonizing hours of labor. My second, and most recent was when my son pushed his burning hot manhood into my body one final time as he climaxed, and forced me over the edge of my own pleasure threshold. It was something about the wrongness of our incest that made me overly sensitive.
My husband, God rest his soul had never been able to please me, it wouldn't have surprised me to learn that he had never even tried in earnest. Screwing is what it had been when in the backseat of his car at the tender age of eighteen, my prom dress pulled up, my panties shoved aside. It lasted all of ten seconds, and I felt more annoyance than pain. Making love we called it in college when he would sneak into my dorm and drive me crazy for an hour with teasing, but had never quite managed to figure out the intricate workings of my specific needs. He always complained that if it was really that hard for a woman to orgasm, maybe it was truely a myth after all.
And you may wonder why I married him. Well, it would have been because of Adam, then unborn, sleeping in my belly, making me sick to my stomach, and sure that it was a baby I was carrying, and not a virus.
We never fucked, not even once; Harry was good for many reasons, and that was one of them. He was always gentle, even our first time, and never claimed the rite of Wifely Duties. He was taken from me just last year, while Adam was away for his first year of college, the cancer wasn't slow enough for us to catch it in time, and even though I never particularly loved the man, I did mourn him for his due time.
