Compulsive Behavior From Mom

The Mother: Hannah

My trademark long hair is cut short. I have a new look, something that makes me appear younger with more style. It's a Saturday afternoon and I've arrived home with shopping bags and lunch. I'm married to my laboratory job so I rarely go shopping, but I've had the urge the last few days.

I await my son's reaction when he comes down the stairs. He's not coming down for me, he's coming down because I bought cheeseburgers and fries.

"Did you do something?" Matthew asks, squinting at me.

I flip my hair back. "Like it?"

"You look different."

"Good, I hope?"

He looks at me for a second. "It looks great."

Matthew takes the food and arranges the dining table, while I take my shopping bags upstairs. I'm in such a hurry to change my clothes because the food is fresh, that I leave my bedroom door open. Almost everything comes off. Then I take my top off.

Something -- perhaps my mysterious insatiable sexual desires as of late -- has me eyeing a particular shopping bag. In my undressed state, I look inside the bag and marvel. Don't ask me why a single, middle-aged woman would need these things. It was an impulse purchase. I'm a lab geek. I don't need sexy lingerie.

I hear Matthew coming up the stairs and I should cover myself. Or at least close the door. But I don't. The same compulsion that urged me to get a haircut and buy undergarments wants me to be seen. Matthew is a handsome 19 year old man. He's seen tits before. But never mine.

When the footsteps get closer, I don't move. I'm captivated by the idea of him seeing me topless while holding new undergarments. I let my guard down and lower my hands. I've never been an exhibitionist, it was never my fantasy, but this intrigues me.

Matthew comes to the door and I pretend it's an accident, even moving my hands to cover my chest. He's surprised, of course, then apologizes and walks away. What did he want? I get dressed and go downstairs to find out, with fire between my legs.

*

Sunday morning we attend a casual family gathering. There's at least 20 people stuffed in a suburban house. I brought presents for nieces and nephews, along with a big salad I made before coming here.

I'm wearing my normal clothes for going out. Something simple, reasonably priced, but nice to look at. Something that screams middle-class white woman.

Beneath my top, I'm wearing the erotic lingerie that I bought yesterday. If I paid that much for specialty items, then I refuse to let them sit in the closet. The erotic undergarment feels sensual against my skin as I hug family members. It's wrong, but harmless. It's not like they'll find out that my bra is sheer.

The party is a standard affair. We have different parties every few months, so seeing them is normal. We talk about typical things, catching up and so forth.

In the middle of the party, my sister (who is a dermatologist) hands out boxes of free samples for skin care. The interested relatives are happy to take their share. My box is heavy and I ask Matthew to put it in the trunk of my car.

When I bend over to close the box, I realize Matthew has a view down my blouse. If he's looking, I'd be mortified. I stand upright and Matthew is tense. He definitely saw the sheer fabric of my bra. We both know it.

When he takes the box to the car, I go upstairs to the bathroom, lock the door, then sit on the toilet. I'm fingering myself to the point of orgasm -- not because I want to -- because I have to. My body is screaming for me to cum. Being caught by my son was like fireworks. If he had a deeper view down my blouse, he could have seen my nipples through the see-through fabric.

After I cum, I realize there's a problem with me.

The Colleague: A Woman Named Daria

Something is different about Hannah this morning. Her hair is straightened and cut shoulder length. Her glasses are a thinner frame. She's wearing a little more makeup. Above all else, her attitude is zestier than usual.

We're in the lobby where people are getting their keycards ready to swipe. Everyone is a professional. People have their coffees and colleagues are chatting with each other.

"Beautiful hair," I say.

She smiles and gives it a fluff. "I treated myself to a makeover last Saturday."

But I know it's more than that. There's a change in her step. A sway in her hips. A boost in her confidence. My first assumption is that she has a new lover in her life. Great sex does miraculous things to a woman, but if she's seeing someone, she would have told me.

"Whatever you've done, I love it."

"Thanks. I feel young again at 45 years old. Can you believe that?"

After using keycards to access the government building, we grab coffee and continue talking. She tells me about her weekend, how she had an impulsive shopping and makeover spree. I pry for details, but she struggles to articulate. She thinks it's a mid-life thing, that her heart is craving adventure.

"Makes sense," I say. "Hey, people like us enjoy life more as we get older."

She smiles, "Well, if you're ever interested, I'll take you shopping sometime. I found some nice places at the mall."

I accept the offer and we make our way to the labs.

***

An asteroid crashed in the mountains of California three months ago and we're tasked with analyzing it. To the average person, it's boring, tedious work. But for us, it's the most exciting thing in the world. We're exploring the foundations of another planet and we're dealing with unique elements.

I'm summoned to the director's office. I walk past armed guards, which always puts me in place -- in a good way. I enjoy having an important duty.

As usual, the director is curt:

"Sit down and read that document. Then we'll talk."

My boss is a fact-based person and doesn't like things editorialized. I sit by the boss's desk and read the cover of the folder.

~~~

CLASSIFIED

Code Name: The Power

[The first few pages of the document are legal formalities, threats of prison time for revealing this information, followed by a description of the asteroid crash.

There are two statements in the folder, which I presume are what makes this document classified. I read carefully.]

Ashley Gupta:

A meteor struck the mountain a few miles away from our cabin resort. We were at a retreat for tech leaders and my mother is a corporate executive. Families were encouraged to come, that's why my brother and I went. We're college students, for the record.

When the impact happened, it sounded like a bomb. It was scary but these tech people were buzzing with anticipation because they wanted to see it. Anything science related gets them going. My mother included.

For context, my mother is a prominent member of this company. She's in line to become CEO someday. She has goodwill with key shareholders and she's respected in the company.

Anyway, the next morning they altered their hiking route so they could see the aftermath of the meteor. Some joked that they wanted to take pieces of it as a souvenir. I don't know if anyone did that, I wasn't there.

The next day, my mother talked to me in private. She asked if I felt different, physically speaking, if I came into contact with any exotic plants or was bitten by an insect. I said no. My mother said she was experiencing physical changes. I pressed for more information, she admitted experiencing intense arousal.

Later that day, my mother was preparing to give a speech to colleagues and shareholders. Her reaction was so bad that she begged me for help. I never saw my mother that desperate in my life, ever. She was nearly in tears. I used my fingers on her genitalia to make her feel better, but it wasn't enough. I had to use my mouth. I gave her oral sex.

It happened twice that day. This lasted privately for a month. My mother begged for relief every morning before she went to the office. The same thing when she came home. She'd remove her suit and demand relief, then she'd express guilt. Sometimes she'd cry.

My mother wanted the same things from my brother.

Manjinder Gupta:

[The lead-in to Manjinder's side of the story is the same, but here are key excerpts]

I helped Ashley with our mother, both in the morning and night. This includes having sexual intercourse with our mother, wearing a condom.

What I thought was interesting was that my mother insisted on giving me oral sex, before and after intercourse. She said doing it made her feel better. It was bare contact, without a condom. After sex, she swallowed my ejaculation. She felt relief when doing it.

Another thing that's interesting is that mom kept trying to have sex without the condom. Sometimes she'd try to pull it off, or she'd desperately plead with me to remove it. After her orgasm, she'd thank me for keeping the condom on. She'd say that she didn't know where those impulses came from.

To this day, none of us know where these impulses came from. We'll never go public with this information. It would destroy our family's reputation. Our best guess is that the meteor crash was the cause. My mother didn't touch anything, but she went close to the crash site.

~~~

When I close the document, I think critically. Classified documents are thoroughly vetted for accuracy. A prominent family in the tech industry would have no reason to lie. And if it's shown to me, there must be a reason.

Hannah? I think of my best friend. Both of us work closely with fragments of the meteorite. I wonder if this is the reason for her sudden make-over. The theory makes sense, but it's just that -- a theory.

"The daughter, Ashley Gupta, contacted local researchers," the director says. "That's how the investigation started. A different lab is running blood tests on them."

"Where's the mother's account of events?" I ask.

"Still being worked on. Apparently the mother was too ashamed to go on record. I don't blame her. The good news is, the mother appears to be recovering. The nymphomaniac tendencies are reportedly winding down."

"Nymphomaniac. That's a strong word."

"What else would you call fucking your own son and daughter?" the director says.

"Agreed. Will this be shown to everyone in the lab?"

"Not yet. For now, I'm only showing you. You already know the reason."

Of course I know the answer. And my boss knows, that I know.

"Hannah?" I ask.

"You were overheard speaking with Hannah about her sudden makeover. We did some research. Did you know she ordered sex toys and subscriptions to online porn? I bet she didn't mention that."

The boss seems fine with acknowledging they spy on our internet and credit card history. All part of the job, I think to myself.

"You have a point," I say. "Hannah seems different. But that doesn't mean she's fucking her son."

The boss clarifies, "Hannah isn't being accused of fucking her son, but we need to monitor the situation. Wouldn't you agree?"

"Yes, I agree, but Hannah deserves to have her privacy respected."

"National security. Imagine if this 'Power,' became contagious, or worse, turned into a weapon by our enemies. It would result in a perverse form of chaos. Collapse of social order."

"That's a fair point," I say. "What do you want me to do?"

"Observe. Watch. Study."

I'm taken aback. "You mean..."

"Keep this going. She trusts you."

"Hannah needs help."

"She can get therapy later."

It's a cold response, but there's truth to it.

***

Cake is served during break because it's someone's birthday. There is laughter and well-wishes for the man of the hour. Meanwhile, my eyes are locked on Hannah, with her thin-framed glasses and big smile. I'm no spy, I'm no informant. But I'm interested in the human condition and we're best friends.

While eating cake and talking, I think of Hannah with her son. I think of the classified report. In follow-up conversations with the director, the report's validity was confirmed. Blood testing showed the mother was exposed to something; they're unsure what. Something untraceable.

Toward the end of the birthday gathering, Hannah approaches me and asks if I want to come to her house next weekend. She's making homemade pizza and is inviting a few friends. I accept, as always. When no one is listening, I change the subject.

"Anything interesting going on?" I ask. "Your personality is spunkier. Dating anyone?"

"Single as always. I'm thinking of joining a dating app. That's how desperate I'm becoming."

"You'll find someone," I say. "You're a great catch. I'm asking because it feels like something's in the air. We're around the same age. My hormones feel different, you know?"

"Like what?" she asks.

Her eyes turn wide. She's desperate for someone to relate to. For the sake of Hannah's well-being, I keep the lie going.

"Masturbation between shifts," I whisper. "My sex drive is like someone poured rocket fuel on it. My husband is loving it."

She believes me. My false revelation comforts her.

Hannah whispers back, "Oh my god, the last two weeks have been a nightmare."

"From what? Sex or masturbation?"

My heart almost stops. If she says 'sex' that means she's doing it with her son, which freaks me out. I know she'll forever regret fucking her son. But I know she owns a small vibrator; I'm hoping that's the answer.

"Just masturbation," she says. "I'm not sleeping with anyone."

I breathe a silent sigh of relief. No sign of incest... yet.

"You can tell me anything. I know you have a special helper at home."

"A special helper?" she asks.

I'm risking our friendship by saying her son's name.

"Matthew."

She gasps. I expect her to slap me, but that doesn't happen. Hannah is flabbergasted that I'd suggested such a heinous thing.

"Is that a joke?" she asks.

"Only a thought. That's all. A harmless thought."

My gaze matches hers. She knows I'm serious. She knows she can trust me. After all, what are best friends for?

Hannah softens her tone. "It's always good to keep options open, right?"

"So you've thought about it?"

She winces, like she wants to tell me, but knows she can never tell anyone. We've had sex conversations before, but never in the building where we work. And never about dark fetishes such as incest. Because that's what we're discussing -- incest.

Hannah is saved when a colleague summons her. They're about to begin another round of testing on the meteorite and she's needed.

"Hey, it was great talking to you," she tells me.

"Yeah, bye for now."

She smiles, touches my arm, then goes back to work.

I may sound judgmental, but I'm not.

My truth is that I've had similar thoughts about my daughter. Even before the meteor struck. It was a random attraction that began two years ago when Aleah joined her university's soccer team. She's always been sporty, but training at that level did something to her -- to me as well.

Aleah's social life became devoted to the team. During off-season, she'd maintain shape by running laps around the neighborhood, then came home with a sweaty tshirt that outlined her bra and figure. Sometimes she'd strip around the house, pulling off her socks or items of wet clothes, while talking about how good the kitchen smelled. I often make soups and stews.

Our relationship had always been casual and Aleah was always energetic, doing multiple things at once. If I was upstairs when she got back from a sweaty workout, she'd talk to me while her door was ajar, stripping before a shower. I'd catch inadvertent glimpses of her adult figure. Sweat and all. How she'd grown. How she'd changed. The defined muscles on her calves and thighs. Her small breasts. The darkness of her nipples.

My sex life is that of a married middle-aged woman. You get the idea. Being in proximity to her youth, her vibrancy, her naked figure, brought something out of me. I masturbated thinking about her. Not right away. It happened over time. As a mother, did I feel guilty about it? Of course. I regret it all the time.

But great orgasms are like a drug. Once you've experienced it, you can't stop. I found myself peeking into her open doorway as she strips. Two years on the soccer team had changed Aleah's body. She'd become leaner, stronger, more confident.

Sometimes my relationship with Aleah can be described as flirtatious. She likes teasing me about certain things, like the way I dress, how wonky and academic I can sound during conversations. She's a carefree spirit and enjoys the polarity of our personalities.

One time, when my husband wasn't home, I had a brief conversation with Aleah while she was topless. She was headed to the local park to meet with her teammates. I was reading a book in the living room, preparing for a group talk with my book club later that night. Aleah came down the stairs, topless, clothes in hand, and told me there was a new Indian restaurant we should try that weekend. She was saying they had great reviews, while putting on her sports bra, then jersey. I tried to act normal, because she did. Her nipples were erect. As soon as she left, I masturbated.

Then there's the issue of Aleah's friends and teammates. I keep an eye on them whenever they stop by the house, or if I attend a soccer game. I like watching them interact. Their dynamic is interesting.

Aleah doesn't know this, but I have secret social media accounts so I can spy on them. Not sexually. Surprisingly, I don't fantasize about my daughter's friends. They're beautiful, but my lesbian fantasy only extends to my daughter. I monitor them because I wonder if my daughter is gay or bisexual.

That's why, whatever is happening with Hannah at the moment, I understand.

***

Nights are reserved for family and I avoid thinking about work wherever possible, but recent discussions with the director have made that impossible. It weighs on my mind while we have dinner. My husband talks about his day. I talk about mine. Aleah talks about a potential trip with friends.

Afterward my daughter goes to her bedroom to check social media and youtube, while my husband and I watch tv together.

My phone buzzes and I check the message. It's Hannah.

Hi. Im avalible now if you still want to speak

I excuse myself and go to the bedroom and close the door, acting like it's just a friendly chat. I texted Hannah earlier to see if she wanted to talk, dropping subtle hints about continuing our intimate conversation about sexual moods. I sit on the bed and call her.

She answers the phone after two rings.

"Hi, yes?" she says.

We make small talk, then I get to the point.

"I've been thinking about what we discussed. You know what I'm talking about."

She pauses. "I've been thinking about it as well. Actually I think about it all the time. Why are you so interested?

"It struck a chord with me."

"Really? Why?"

This is playing with fire. I know that to get more out of Hannah, I'll need to reveal more about myself, as difficult as that may be.

"I have similar feelings about my daughter," I say.

She pauses, thinks. "You do?"

"I think it's normal. Well, more common than people assume. That's the point I'm making. I noticed how you've been dressing lately. The way you carry yourself is different. Your demeanor. So if you aren't dating anyone, then it must be something else. That's why I mentioned Matthew before. Am I wrong?"

She pauses again. "You've always been intuitive."

"Only for things that are important."

"I'll be more comfortable opening up, if you tell me about your daughter first. You know, so we both carry each other's secrets."

Her tone is certain, which confirms that her relationship with Matthew has already progressed. It makes me curious. It makes me aroused.