Unconscious Camilla was now reliving a memory from about two months before the aquarium incident.
It was late July, and her son Eros had turned eighteen a couple of weeks earlier. His incestuous feelings for his mother had now reached a state too intolerable for him to carry on patiently without acting on them:
he had to know what it would be like to have sex with her.
So many other young men had enjoyed her sweet body over the years, and Eros was burning with envy from their pleasure they'd obviously had. Though he knew that death was the near-inevitable consequence of fucking Camilla, he had no fear: she wouldn't be passing any Nigrovum-energy to him that he didn't already have, for he
was
half-Nigrovum, half-Camilla. He had no father, and he was proud of it; he was half-alien, half human--half an enigmatic extra-terrestrial being with seemingly limitless psychic powers, and half the untameable sexual desires of his mother.
Though he was jealous of all her other lovers, he never judged her harshly for her promiscuity, for he was hopelessly in love with her. She may have been a whore in other men's eyes, but to him, she was indistinguishable from the Virgin Mary, or Isis, or any of the mothers of myth who'd miraculously become pregnant. In his eyes, Camilla was a goddess.
As a child, he would love listening to the stories she'd tell him about his extraordinary birth: microscopic, ovoid black alien life forms, all identical to each other in appearance, had been pushed through outer space by the solar winds to the Earth's orbit; there, they came down to the Earth in the rain, landing on the Vancouver grass. Camilla told him that, as a girl, she had lain, or sat, on the grass, and the 'tiny black eggs' slipped into the pores of her skin through the morning dew. (Only later on, when he'd scanned her mind, blocking her so she wouldn't know of his scanning, did he learn the 'uncensored story' of her as a teen masturbating and coming on the grass, and of Nigrovum going into her body through her pussy.)
She'd always called those aliens 'The Sons of God,' after the divine beings referred to in Genesis chapter six; the aliens may well have been divine, but Camilla, his mother, was the one he'd always worship. He loved her story about using Nigrovum to create him in her womb, all without the aid of a man impregnating her. Nigrovum may have given her all those amazing powers, but it was her ingenious use of it that made her a genuine goddess in his eyes. She had created a living being inside her body, something only the women and goddesses of myth had ever done. And she was so beautiful, ever preserving her youth by using Nigrovum to slow her ageing--she may have been thirty-seven years old, but she looked only twenty-five. And she loved him completely; for all these reasons was he so in love with her.
He hated how different he felt from everyone else, being half-alien, and gigantic in height--he was now almost eight feet tall, and his short mother came up to just under where his heart was. Though other people regarded him as a freak, she would always love him just the way he was. She, always perfumed, heavily made up, and in sexy, revealing, tight-fitting clothes, regularly hugged and kissed him, and this affection invariably gave him an erotic charge.
She, of course, knew of his desires, and had done everything in her power to restrain him. Her dominant relationship with him made sure that he'd always suppress his so unacceptable feelings for her. Knowing, however, that mere shaming would not be enough to keep him at bay forever, she ensured that her setting up of powerful psychic barriers would keep his own quite formidable powers with Nigrovum from ever getting her naked in front of him, let alone in bed with him.
He had been fighting with his guilt for years, trying to avoid succumbing to temptation and seducing her. He knew he could have dissolved her psychic barriers and enjoyed her years before, but the shame of staining her and himself always stopped him. Now, however, he couldn't take it anymore: he had to know what her tight, wet vagina--his own place of origin--would feel like hugging his phallus.
In recent years, he'd discovered his mother's old pornography website, and had obsessively poured over her pictures and video while masturbating, always carefully scrutinizing every millimetre of her sacred body. His subtle use of psychic blocks ensured she'd never suspect anything, even the existence of the blocks.
One time before discovering her old website, so eager had be been to know what his mother looked like naked, he sat on his bed and meditated. Nigrovum gave him a vision of Carl's first nude painting of Camilla, and Eros obsessively painted a copy, replicating everything from the original, except for the blonde hair, blue eyes, and peach skin of the then eighteen-year-old model; for Eros wanted to see his mother as she now looked, with her black hair, black eyes, and pale skin, Nigrovum's gift of the 'Goth look' that he also had.
Though he could psychically sense every crevice of her nude body, and mentally know it as if it were his own, he wanted to know her on a human level--physically, like a lover. That's why he had to fuck her.
Her psychic powers were well-developed enough to detect his plans to seduce her from, as it were, a mile away, so he'd need the aid of something to throw her off her guard--Rohypnol, sometimes used as a date rape drug, though he wanted only to
please
her sexually. She always called him her 'baby'; he wanted her to know him as a man.
That night in late July, he set his plan in motion. He was careful not to let his thoughts dwell on sex with her, for fear of her picking up on his psychic signals and thwarting him.
In his bedroom, he sensed her downstairs in the living room watching TV. Exhausted after a long day's work teaching in Montreal's McGill University, she'd fixed herself a glass of Jim Beam, in memory of her father's old habit; though she'd only occasionally drink at night, and have only one, for fear of Eros taking advantage of her while drunk.
He sensed her taking a small sip of her bourbon, then getting up and leaving the living room to use the washroom. This was his cue: he casually got a tablet of Rohypnol from his back-pack and left his room, leaving his mind blank so she wouldn't suspect him. He went downstairs and into the living room, where her drink was, on a table by her chair. On TV was a broadcast of CBC's
The National
, showing a debate between Green Party members and a conspiracy theorist. The conspiracy theorist, actually, was Mr. Pierce, Camilla's old high school gym teacher.
"More and more of us are on to you Greens," Pierce said. "We know how you've been collaborating with the media, the banks, and the army to turn Canada into a police state."
Not only did the Greens laugh at his accusation, but so did the host of the debate.
"See?" Pierce continued. "You have the media on your side."
"Mr. Pierce," said one of the Greens. "Everyone knows that these wars against Muslim terrorism are perfectly justified and necessary. We have the people's support."
"I must agree," the host of the debate said. "And however unpleasant the new emergency laws' are, with their restrictions on our freedom, they're nonetheless indispensable in the fight against terror."
"Terror that may be going psychic," said another Green.
"That's another thing," Pierce said. "We've all heard recent, bizarre stories about naked girls in various parts of the Western world hovering in mid-air over rivers and lakes, orgasming, urinating, and defecating into the water. Nobody as of now knows what's causing this. The Green Party claims that Muslim terrorists may have acquired psychic and telekinetic powers, gained apparently from communicating with the souls of the dead. I can predict that, in a few months at most, the Greens will present bogus 'evidence' that it's the Muslim terrorists who are causing those girls to hover naked over all the water, when actually it's been the Green Party's doing all along--" Pierce was again being interrupted by loud laughter, "--and the Greens will say that the girls have toxic substances psychically put in their urine and faeces. You laugh now, but remember my words in a few months when the media, including
The National
