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.
My son had come to console me, cutting back some of his academic load to spend more time at home until I was back on my feet. It didn't take me very long to do the last of my crying, and begin to find something to do with my time. Because Harry had been a smart man, and had planned ahead, I was left with more money than I would need for the rest of my life. So I could focus on myself, and finally seek out my own happiness.
The first thing I did was go shopping, for the first time in my life I would be buying something just for me, something secret, something that vibrates...
Within the hour I was home, eager at last to give myself the one thing Harry had never given me in twenty years, and I had only briefly experienced twenty years ago during the birth of my son. My orgasm didn't happen the way I had intended, it would be an understatment to say that it was because of being disturbed.
Alone in my room, my clothing removed and folded neatly, I took a moment to examine myself in my mirror. I was a mother, a woman passing into her fifties, already I'd gone through the change. Ironically it had happened the very day Harry had been diagnosed, but I had survived him, and It...Now I was looking at my body, and what nature (with a little help from myself) had done. My skin was taken care of, I had always cleaned and exfoliated, scrubbed, and moisturized, I'd used the oils, and the creams, and just about everything I could find to keep it tight, smooth, and free of the signs of age. Age though had brought my breasts down, and given me a small tummy. My son of course had spread my hips, no slip of a girl was I these days, but by no means was I over the hill, or even run down. Yes, my body deserved more than just a casual viewing...
I lay down on my bed, opening my legs slowly, looking for the first time in years at my genitals. I hadn't touched them in a sexual way since my teens, I'd been caught then, as I was going to be today, and had since avoided masturbation. Now I was working for myself again, not for a husband, or for a baby; (which I could never have again) But just for my own pleasure. My clitoris ached with protest when I coaxed it out of hiding, it was almost numb from neglect, but soon I got it warm again, very soon I could feel my juices beginning to flow, and I could smell my sex in the air.
The small dildo I purchased was still much larger than my husband's penis, almost seven inches long, and thick enough to make me worry, where I hadn't even worried during my first time, I wondered if I would tear something. Well, negative thoughts brushed swiftly aside, I carefully inserted it, with a sigh of pleasure, slipping it deeper inside, inch by precious inch, my unused fingers found my clit, and it was just a matter of minutes before I felt myself building for my first full orgasm...
"Mom?"
