I had been divorced for several years and lived with my quiet son, Kurt, in Westfield County. I guess you could argue that I could have been a better mum, but it was difficult because the hermit-like behavior my son exhibited was something he inherited from me. I grew up in a big family and was the odd one out; an intellectual loner who preferred her own company.
I was not the youngest of my brothers and sisters but I was the last to get married. My father told me that if I had been a boy, I might have gone through the rest of my life single, and that I was fortunate that even as a female nerd, men were still interested. When it came to looking for a partner, one gender was less fussed then the other and I put that down to biology.
I don't remember having much in common with Tom, whom I eventually married. I was 30 and I was thinking about my body; how long it could last. My mother's ovaries stopped producing eggs when she turned 40, but she had already produced 7 children before that, so I guess that was a relief.
On the whole, it was my parents who wanted me to marry Tom, saying I wouldn't find anyone else, not if I didn't dress and look like a lady. On my wedding, they got to see me how they wanted; in a dress, glasses removed, hair open and cascading and a big smile on my smile. I was completely unrecognizable and hated it but couldn't help but feel special at the same time.
My sex life was not anything special, but I did enjoy the experience. When we weren't arguing or avoiding each other, the sexual tension was always there, building up. I realized that I could still hate someone and want to have sex with them at the same time. Tom must have had other lovers before me because I learned how to fuck him through his guiding hands and his many creative ideas underneath the sheets.
In the end, sex was an instrument for relief and it did not improve our association in anyway. We actually were finished with each other not long after Kurt was born, but remained a unit for his sake. That lasted quite a while; approximately 20 years. Kurt didn't seem bothered about the whole thing which might have been a good thing had I been able to read his mind and confirm my assumptions. At the back of my mind I figured he was thinking like I used to as a young girl; that my life was out of balance.
I was a 50 year old women and a lot of things had changed after my divorce. I was still very much a nerd, but I felt wiser and more comfortable in my skin. I had always been tall and skinny, and now I was the same, except my hips had gotten wider, my thighs a little thicker and my body just seemed to curve in all the right places. I was told I looked like Deanna Troy from Star Trek, and had a soft voice like hers too. I could see the resemblance despite my long red hair and freckled nose.
Often, I found myself in front of the mirror in my room, bathroom or hallway, attending to my growing vanity and spawning new facial expressions and poses, just to see how sexy I could look. It was almost as if I was trying to close a missing gap. I had not had sex in years, but that was not to say I did not touch myself; on the contrary, I had become accustomed to satisfying my tingling urges regularly.
My doctor told me I had stopped producing eggs around the same time as my mother, but my hormonal levels had gone up. He recommended I take certain tablets to bring those levels down so I went into the chemist and tried that prescription. After a few months I stopped my medication and went back and bought some other drugs which had the opposite effect. But just for a while. I knew my sexual urges were psychological, and tried not to masturbate as we lived together in a small flat, where privacy was the most precious thing. Luckily, we were good at avoiding each other; I would often be in my room, Kurt in his.
We had a small, narrow kitchen, which was enough for one person at a time. If I was in there, Kurt would wait for me to get out, or if he was feeling impatient or irritable he would come in and squeeze past me. I have to say that I would often wait with my stomach against a panel intentionally longer than I needed to, just to have some fun. He would come by and grunt some disapproval as he was pressing his body against mine on his way to the fridge. His legs felt strong against my protruding fanny; and rough. At first I did it to try and salvage some friendly horse play that might have existed when he was a child. I observed that our physical association had declined over the years. He was a 20 year old man and was probably considering moving out at some point. I was understandably becoming an obstruction in his life, which was apparent by his behavior. We weren't the type to greet each other in the mornings with a kiss or even a hello, and eye contact was at an all time low.
It wasn't until I started reading erotic stories online that I discovered new things and helped ease me into other perspectives through the many possible sexual scenario's out there. All of them probable realities. I was interested in the theme of incest in particular. I thought some of the stories were tackled with a lot of attention to detail and although it was a taboo subject, I found it all very appealing. One author stated that when two promiscuous adults cohabited together in enclosed spaces, it was only a matter of time before fireworks erupted inside both of their pants. Of course, he explained that a few other ingredients were required to work as a catalyst before incestuous relationships could develop. Having a low income, living with a single parent, being insular; all of these things only helped to lead towards previously unwanted thoughts.
