All characters are 18 years or older.
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My mother always told me to be obliging and submissive before the men in my life. "Their lives and ours are too different to understand each other. You'll make a better man of your husband if you are his wife, mother, nurse, and teacher, all at once. And the same for your sons and father. They don't know it, but they need it. You should be obliging even when they don't ask for your help," were her words of wisdom.
I never forgot her lesson. I watched her oblige to my father's every need and desire -- make him food, clean up after him, support his ideas, and answer his every command. When I grew older I realized that her submission, her obliging without request, probably extended to the bedroom. It only seemed natural. At times I was repulsed by her near-servant status, but I recognized over time that my parent's relationship was much stronger and more intimate than the relationships of my friend's parents. We were conservative people with conservative values and who was I to question what worked.
And so, when I married my husband, Jake, I followed my mother's lead. I did everything for him; I gave him my heart and mind, and yielded my body before his whether he asked for it or not. In the bedroom, I let myself become an object before his lust and existed to merely please his desires. I found this partly degrading at first, but soon found it exciting. My body was not my own when we were together -- it was his. I disengaged myself when we fucked and found myself experiencing my body and my orgasms through his body and through his orgasms. And I discovered that I wasn't sexual except in the act of submission, except when my sexuality was extracted from me by my husband's molestations.
My friends had no idea. I never talked about sex to any of them. I wore long skirts or dresses that did not reveal my slender, sexualized body. I attended church twice a week, helped with its organizing efforts and taught Sunday School for a time. Nobody knew about my slavish sexual nature.
We had our son when I was just twenty and I ensured that we raised him in a conservative and familial environment like the one I was brought up in. My husband went to work and I stayed home to look after our son, Robbie. He was homeschooled until high school, when he decided that he wanted to venture beyond my classroom. And it was late in high school that my relationship with my son changed....
I suppose that all mothers discover that their sons masturbate at some point. The evidence accumulates beyond a doubt. Mattresses, pillows, and sheets are stained. Tissues pile up in bathroom and bedroom waste baskets. Socks and towels become sticky and then crusty. And, in my case, disorder in my underwear drawer provided clues that someone had been there. No mother wants to believe the evidence, however, until the moment she actually stumbles upon the act. And when I walked in on Robbie, one evening after school, I had to fain shock. He had left his bedroom door open a crack and so I did not knock. I was collecting laundry and wanted to let him know that dinner would be ready in ten minutes when I entered. There he was, lying on his bed when his penis in hand, ogling a Victoria Secret catalogue. He immediately laid the catalogue over his penis to hide it from view and I backed out of the room.
"Oh my...." I exclaimed as I moved into the hallway.
"Jesus, mom!" Robbie shouted in embarrassed surprise.
"Don't use that word, young man," I shouted back, temporarily forgetting its context. "The Lord's name is not to be taken in this house ever!"
"Sorry mom, but....I'll.....I'll be down in a few minutes to dinner, just give me a few minutes," Robbie said. He was clearly humiliated and couldn't think of what to say. I felt the same and thought that the space of a few minutes, his temporary solution to the problem of what should pass between mother and son and a moment like this, would be good and proper.
"Fine," I said, "dinner will be ready in ten."
I left the laundry basket I had been carrying upstairs and went down to the kitchen. I stirred pots that didn't need stirring and went through other automatic tasks mindlessly. I was confounded by what to say to my son. Perhaps his father should be the one to talk to him, but his father was not at home. Jake left early in the morning, before Robbie or I awoke, and returned after dinner. His job kept him late these days as the flailing economy demanded more productivity from those who were lucky to keep their jobs. But bringing Jake into this would just cause more embarrassment; it would mean another person finding out something that Robbie clearly wanted to keep secret. So what to do? Do I talk to him? Should I ignore what I just saw and allow him to continue on?
Among these thoughts came to my mind words my husband always said, "masturbation is an act for those who are not loved." He said that he never masturbated, that he endlessly preferred me and I believed him. When we were younger he used my body to pleasure himself many times a day and although we had grown older and the sex had slowed, he knew that if he wanted "release" all he had to do was take me.
And so now my son was masturbating. So he was "not loved" as my husband would say. He had no girlfriend, and if he had then my husband and I would have forbade premarital sex. He had no other outlet for his natural male urges but to satisfy himself. It seemed a cheerless and inappropriate means to a necessary end.
I then thought of my mother's words, "be obliging and submissive before the men in your life." The depth and wisdom of those words guided me throughout my life and then seemed to bear a weight now. Obliging and submissive, that was my role as wife and mother. I had two men in my life and they each needed me to make them better, to make them successful, rounded, and worldly men. I was what my husband needed, but now, after walking in on Robbie, I began to doubt that I was what my son needed. He was lonely; he was trying to experience something that was inherently social as an individual and the pathetic reality of that slapped me in the face. The truth that I was letting him down confronted me and threatened to haunt me forever if I did nothing to change my relationship with my son.
It had been about ten minutes, but Robbie had yet to come downstairs. There was no sound or movement coming from upstairs. I imagined him sitting on his bed, petrified of what awaited him at the dinner table. I felt responsible for this sad image.
I turned off the stove tops and the oven and ascended the stairs. I would confront him, ask him about his needs and why he was masturbating, and exorcize the demons that had already begun to haunt me.
When I knocked on his door I heard a faint, "um...come in?" I entered and found him sitting on his bed, staring at the wall. He looked scared and guarded.
"I didn't come to yell at you or embarrass you further, baby," I said. "I merely came to have a brief chat and see what we can do to make things better for you in this house."
"Better?" he questioned.
"Yes, better. You see," I began, "I feel that what I saw you doing a few minutes ago is a symptom of my mothering. I think that it is a result of a weakness in our relationship -- an indication that something needs to be remedied."
"Mom, it has nothing to do with you. I'm just a guy and that's what guys do."
"It has everything to do with me, Robbie. It is not 'just what guys do;' it is a perversion of nature; it is what guys do when they can't do it properly.....with a woman."
"Well, I'm not that popular in school. I've never been with a woman," he said.
"I know. And I wouldn't want that. Premarital sex is wrong; you shouldn't be with random girls experimenting. It's dangerous and sinful."
"Then I'll stop altogether and just ignore those urges. That's what you want, right?"
"No, honey. They are natural enough urges. They are God's way of telling you that you need a partner to share them with. The orgasm is a miracle, but only when it's shared with someone you love, not when its arrived at alone or awkwardly experienced out of sheer curiosity with some teenage girl."
"Then what do you suggest?" he asked. He still could hardly look at me. The conversation we were having was too intimate for his comfort. Our family did not have conversations about sex and it was affecting him.
"What I'm suggesting," I said, touching his chin with my fingers and directing his gaze into mine, "is that as your mother I should be willing to give myself to your urges. My body is not mine alone, it is partly yours. You were born inside of it and it will be yours until I return to God. If you need to orgasm it should be with me, inside of me."
"Are you joking?" he asked. His face had a look of disbelief. He hadn't expected me to say what I said.
"I love you, Robbie, and I just want to be an obliging and submissive mother to you. And I think that this it what is needed on my part right now. What do you think?"
"I don't know. I don't know anything about sex or pleasuring a woman; I just know my own urges and pleasures."
"That's fine, honey. That's all you need. Don't worry about me. I want you to think of my body as a tool for you to gain pleasure. Don't worry about foreplay or romance or any of that stuff -- that's not what this is about. This agreement is about you gaining the release that young men your age need -- quickly, efficiently, and properly, with someone who loves you. Does that sound good?"
"It sounds funny, but I guess, okay."
"Good, then tell me, are you in need of release right now? You were ten minutes ago, but did you finish?"
"No I didn't finish, I was too embarrassed to continue."
"Good. Then before dinner, we'll have a test run and I'll show you what I mean."
I stood up from the bed. My son looked into my face and then down my body. He was in awe of what was about to happen. I was wearing a housewife dress that went beyond knee length. I reached behind me and unzipped the dress and let it fall to the ground. Robbie gulped as my body unveiled itself to him for the first time. I was wearing white cotton panties and a white bra, but my flat stomach and curves of my hips and medium breasts were visible to him in a way that was unimaginable before. I then removed my bra and let my breasts hang freely on my chest. My small nipples pointed at my son. I was arousing myself at my own actions, at my own submission. Then, I reached to remove my underwear and exposed the bushy patch between my legs to my son's stark gaze. I said nothing, I merely removed my clothes, obligingly and submissively, for Robbie's enjoyment. It felt remarkably safe and familiar and reminded me of when I did the same for the first time for Jake on our wedding night.
"What.....what do I do?" Robbie asked, gawking at my nipples and then shifting again to my pussy.
