My eldest son Alex has always been special to me. He may not be the paragon of our species, nor am I. Nobody is, for that matter. But certain people happen to be on the same wavelength, emotionally and spiritually. Their togetherness, unconditional union, creates a feeling of perfection, wholeness, a oneness by which all existential worries fade into impertinence. The frowning horizons of past and future fuse into nothingness and an eternal present remains. We both are like that, even our names are alike -- Alex and Alicia.
In addition to Alex I have one more child, Rose who is aged 16 and is now in a hostel doing her higher secondary course. She does not aspire for or need my companionship. She is anxious to explore the brave wide world and greener pastures out there in contrast with Alex's centrifugal tendencies towards his mother.
I am a housewife aged 37 with a not so bad anatomy, my curves measure 36D- 26- 34. Even today I turn heads on the streets and I know what an effect I have on men. However I am married to a loyal and caring husband who is employed in the Persian Gulf as an engineer. We married young, my father was lured into it by my husband's money. Here in our parts marriages are arranged between families and the bride and groom hardly know each other until after the first night together. After mothering my first child it was mutually agreed that I should stay at home, leaving my studies, to be a good mother and a good household manager. Thus I dropped out from college. I have over the years proved to be an efficient manager of domestic affairs, doing all the cooking, cleaning and marketing. Also I take care of the extensive farmlands employing manual laborers from time to time. My neighbors and friends take me to be a jovial and affable woman exuding warmth. In my fury to succeed in life in the absence of my husband, my sexual urges were by far altogether ignored. My husband comes on leave for a month every year and the love and passions of a years are squeezed into thirty days.
We belong to the small but ancient Syrian Christian community settled in south India. I mechanically abide by the quasi puritanical ways of the church which plays a pivotal role in the lives of the people.
Alex, though turned eighteen, still keeps the innocence and freshness of a child. Though he has grown to 6'1', to me he is still a delicate child. With darkening moustache and strengthening biceps he holds the promise of a charming young gentleman.
From the day he was born I knew that he would be special to me. In my presence he was always calm, relaxed and very much at home. His tender cherubic lips would latch on to my anxious nipples with a snug perfection, his soft rosy hand gently touching my luscious melons lovingly. Even when my daughter was born I used to feed him from my rich breasts. Rose was weaned away after eighteen months still I secretly nursed Alex as I knew how much he loved my breasts. During those five years or so, it had emphatically occurred to me that my nipples and his lips are made for each other. My milk and I myself would flow into him like a melting lump of love. Years came to pass and the magic wand of time worked out wonders on him. Still our unconditional love and devotion for each other remained intact. I could read out the meaning of life in the flitting sheen of his bottomless eyes. Whatever he did he did to please me and I knew it. The impressive scores he made at school were for my sake. Little gestures of love and care found their expression in subtle numberless ways across the course of life amongst us both. We are never tired of each other. While at home he would hand around me in the kitchen, on the farm, at the laundry wherever- always anxious to help me. His mere presence reassures me and instills in me a confidence and inner tranquility.
From an early age he began to love and relish my soft wafting natural musk. He would bury his face in my fluffy silken cloud like hair and inhale deeply. It is a long drawn practice. Even today he does it now that he is 18. Whenever I sit back and relax on TV or book I expect him to sit close to me and open my hair. I thoroughly enjoy the attention my hair gets from him. Oft I fall asleep under his tender ministrations. When I am all sweaty and tired after work, if we are alone my darling would bury his nose in my armpits to inhale my real scent. When he first did it I was embarrassed. But lately it does strange things to me. It is exciting and hurting that he craves for my musk. When he does it there is unspeakable devotion and profound ecstasy in his lovely eyes. Sunday is always special for both of us. After the essential domestic chores I would go to the church. Rose, if she happens to be at home, goes early. We go together. He would button my blouse and straighten the pleat of my saree and comb my hair with his deft hands. Though I enjoy his devoted ministrations, his latest craze for my smell frightens me and mysteriously excites me.
On our return from the church he will be anxious to peel off my saree and blouse and deeply sniff my armpits. It looked so innocent and innocuous, but this light whiffing would make me embarrassingly wet. He may never know it though. Delicious milky white nectar would flood my panties and my soul and body would thaw.
Things took a curious turn few weeks back. I have always respected his privacy as he has mine. Every night my regular practice is to feed the kids, lock the gate, peel off my gown, take bath washing away the toils of the day and retire to my bed. However, on one particular night I felt that somebody had knocked on the door of my bed room whilst I had slumped into a delicious deep slumber. I put on my flimsy night gown and sashayed out. There was nobody around. It was indeed my delusion. When my grogginess thawed away I was surprised that there was light in his room. Curiosity had the better of me and I stole my way to hi s window. What I witnessed through the glass pane changed many things.
The red gown which I had worn till half an hour before was spread on his bed. My child was kissing its imaginary bust.
'Oh mommy, this is heaven. Let me worship these delicious heavenly breasts,' he whispered.
He began to suck and softly fondle the breasts, so very piously so very reverently. He felt the breasts as if they were very delicate and extremely precious.
'Oh, your divine musk, if only I could always bask in this heavenly musk, from morning to dusk from dusk to morn,' he began to sniff and lick the armpits of my used gown.
Suddenly my nipples were tightening; they were jutting out and screaming for his lovely lips. My prefect breasts that defied the mischievous hands of time and gravity still remember those nursing days. Now he was sniffing the crotch of the gown, caressing the imaginary thighs.
'Mommy, my eternal goddess, so sweet and redeeming, so celestial is the smell of your sacred navel, this is my paradise, my salvation, my eternal destination,' he cooed. I remained transfixed. My body was undergoing inexorable paroxysms.
'Mommy, perfection of womanhood'
I realized that my pussy was wet again. My clitoris demanded attention. My pussy juice oozed and trickled down my thighs.
'Oh my child, my baby,' I whispered.
That night after many years I masturbated and violently climaxed.
Next morning things were back to normal. I found my soiled gown at the usual place, no wrinkles, no stains, nothing. He had indeed been steeling my used gown every night and replacing it in the early morning intact.
He came to the kitchen with the usual unblemished adoration in his eyes. I eyed him surreptitiously. My darling child is the man I wanted to be and I am the woman dormant in him, I thought. I knew that his eyes were on my perfectly shaped breasts. Again my panties flooded. Fortunately I had put on the panties; otherwise it would have trickled down to the floor.
'Have your coffee dear,' I offered the steaming cup.
He was seated on a stool. His eyes were level with my breasts. My nipples were erect. My child visually adored them. It is strange that he cannot have them. I fluffed his rich hair endearingly and kissed his crown offering a clear view of my luscious breasts.
When he was gone to college I rushed to my room and pulled out my icky panties. It was amazingly soaked. I wiped it with my finger and sniffed it, wondering how it might smell to my child. It had the enticing musk of mountain herbs. I tentatively tasted it- salty and musky with a fishy twang. I fantasized my child relishing the nectar I secreted specially for him. Then I came violently shuddering and gushing more milky juice, wetting my bed sheet and gown. I wiped my crotch with my gown in the hope of giving him a treat at night. The thought of him sniffing my juice on the gown again flooded my vagina.
I have plenty of time during the day. Being relieved and relaxed after the unusual orgasm, I sneaked into his room. Everything was in order, neat and tidy. The private space did not look like the chaos of a hormone ravaged teenager. On the wall there was a real sized picture of me- draped in a translucent chiffon saree. My hair was like a silken halo and my perfect breasts were eventuated by the discernible bra cups inside the blouse. The breasts bulged out at the rims of the bra cups. On photoshop he had apparently re worked on the photo making my face radiate. Also my bust had a fascinating glow. My lips had a gentle satisfied smile. There were many more pictures of me on the wall- in different poses. I was overwhelmed.
'My poor child,' I gasped in awe.
As curiosity had the better of me I trace out his diary. He had meticulously recorded all his thoughts aspirations encounters and experiences on the campus and at home. Some of the sentences were very touching and passionate:
'Today I could brush my head against her glorious breasts while sniffing her celestial armpits.'
'I wish I could worship those breasts in reality one day..'
'Today I got a glimpse of my adorable mommy's back when she bent over to pick flower. How very delicious those globes are. From the texture of the lovely hair in her armpits I am sure that her hair down there must be soft and smooth..'
I proceeded to open his laptop. Fortunately it had no password. His screen saver itself was myself, perfected by his aesthetic tastes on the photohop. In the folder named 'Mother Dear' there were again thousands of photos of me in different activities. Some photos focused on my but, some on my bust some on my hair, some on my feet.
My nipples were aching and pussy was throbbing. Inadvertently my left hand proceeded to my right nipple and the right hand to my dripping pussy. The shuddering, earth shattering orgasm was instantaneous. What was happening to me, after all these years of sexual hibernation? It was naughty, it was incest pure and simple. I could not help it.
