My Destiny

This little story arose out of an email sent to me by a lady who ended by asking, “What do I do?” She had found herself sexually attracted to her son, and believed that he was similarly attracted to her. She also intimated that she had the additional desire to become pregnant to him. Her dilemma was how to test the situation to discover whether her feelings were reciprocated. I replied to her email making a few suggestions on how she might proceed.

The story in no way reflects what actually happened in her situation and is purely my imagining that arose out of her question. The names of the two characters are also fabricated.

“What do I do?” That question beat in my head incessantly. It had been beating for…I don’t really know but it had been there a long time and its clamour had increase with the years.

If I had to pick a starting point for the emotional confusion that plagued me I would say it was the time I saw him showering. It was when Ryan was sixteen and I was on my way to bed and wanted to brush my teeth.

Ryan was showering so I knocked on the door and asked if it was all right for me to come in. He yelled back, “Sure,” so I entered.

The shower alcove is one of those with lightly frosted glass and I could see his outline clearly. I had not seen his body since before he entered puberty, when, like a lot of young people, he became shy about being seen naked. Now I had this tantalising view of him through the frosted glass.

After the first glance I turned away to brush my teeth, but then found myself turning back to take another look. He was in profile to me and I thought I dimly saw his erect penis. Probably it was the relaxation of the shower that had hardened him.

If I was seeing what I thought I was seeing, then I was momentarily taken aback. The last time I had seen his sweet little sex organ it had been just that, sweet and little. What I now seemed to be seeing was a very, very well developed example of manhood. I felt a thrill of excitement course through me.

I looked away and tried to concentrate on brushing my teeth, but my eyes were constantly drawn back to Ryan and the hazy vision of his nakedness reminded me that it had been a long time since I had been in the presence of a naked man.

This perhaps requires some expanding on. My name is Barbara Martin. I became pregnant to Rod Martin when I was seventeen. I gave birth to Ryan and eventually Rod and I were married and also eventually we divorced after ten years. As so often happens with young marriages, it just didn’t work out.

After the divorce I was left to bring up Ryan more or less on my own. At first Rod kept up the contact with his son, but after a while that began to fade, and once he got himself another woman, that ended all effective contact. In fact neither Ryan nor I have seen him for several years.

It was a bit of a battle trying to bring up Ryan on my own. I had taken the trouble to qualify as an accountant and was well entrenched in my work, so I was the struggling virtually sole parent trying to fit in being a mother with my work.

And so back to the vision of my sixteen year old son showering behind that glass partition.

I have to frankly say that the sight of him sexually aroused me. If I have to justify that, then remember, I hadn’t seen a naked man for years, and had not engaged in any sexual activity apart from masturbation.

When Rod and I broke up I went into defensive mode where men were concerned. Apart from my own reluctance to risk another relationship, I didn’t want any “uncles” in Ryan’s life.

You might conclude from this that I have a very weak sex drive; you would be wrong. There are times when I become quite overwhelmed with sexual yearning. As I have pointed out, I sought relief in masturbation, but there comes a time when that is not enough.

The incident of observing Ryan in the shower I think was a turning point in my way of relating to him. During his childhood, as is the case with most boys and their mothers, we were very close. It was a warm loving bond that helped sustain me when Rod left. This, however, tended to modify when Ryan entered puberty.

Ryan seemed to withdraw from me which I suppose is the first signs that the boy is moving towards mature manhood. Another factor, I believe, was my failure to adequately discuss his sexuality with him. Hence I think that his masturbating was something of a guilty secret to be kept from me.

Of course he masturbated as I did myself, and looking back I feel rather sad that I did not initiate talks with him on the subject, but I suppose there’s no point in regretting what is past.

With that shower incident and my consequent sexual arousal at the hazy vision of him, there began to lurk in me what might have been there for the past two or three years, but which I had buried away somewhere in my head. It did not happen all at once, but crept up on me gradually.

If he thought I was still awake when he went to bed, Ryan had the habit of coming into my bedroom to say good night to me. It was no more than a peck on the cheek and a “Goodnight, mum, sleep well.”

On the “shower” night after he had given me my goodnight peck, I set about tackling my sexual problem, and while climaxing, for the first time I fantasised Ryan entering me. It came not with a conscious effort on my part, but seemed to well up from some hidden depths in me.

The next day at work I kept getting flashbacks to that vision of Ryan in the shower. I tried telling myself not to be so foolish; “Damn it, Barbara”, I admonished myself, “You’re his mother and eighteen years older than he is. What woman in her right mind sexually desires her own son? You must be thoroughly depraved to think about Ryan sexually.”

Castigate myself as I might, it did not stop the growing sexual appetite for him. Every time I masturbated it was Ryan who was my fantasy. I increasingly began to make excuses to enter the bathroom while he was showering just so I could get a glimpse of his body, however dimly.

Lying in bed at night gently pressing a breast with my hand and circling my clitoris with a finger, I would listen for signs that Ryan was masturbating on the other side of the thin partition wall between our rooms. Occasionally I thought I heard a groaning cry as he came, and I pictured his thick young sperm exploding into me.

For three years I suffered increasing torments of desire for Ryan. The pangs of sexual desire seemed in the end to be with me all the time. There was an almost permanent dull ache in my lower abdomen, as if it was infused with blood, and my vagina seemed always to be swollen and wet with my lubricant.

I remember that in the biblical story of Job, when Job was in the deepest misery, his wife said to him, “Curse God and die.” I cursed God, but did not die.

I cried out to him, “Why give me these feelings, this agonising hunger and deny me satisfaction? Why give me this desperate longing for my own son when it is said to be evil? You give the desire and deny the fulfilment.”

God had eventually answered Job, but he gave me no answer. No doubt I wrongly inveighed against the deity for my hopeless plight. I was vilifying one who had no part in leading me into this situation, but I had to cry out in my misery to someone, and all other avenues seemed to be closed to me.

During Ryan’s eighteenth year I noticed a new aspect in his behaviour. Not only did I find reasons to enter the bathroom while he was showering, he started to find reasons to come in while I was showering. I got the distinct impression he was observing me through the misty glass.

I had not thought that my sexual anguish could have been racked up still further, but it was. I had to masturbate in the shower to try and gain some relief, but all my masturbating now only worked to give some release from the physical pressure, the emotional longing remained.

The close proximity of living in the same house, constantly being present to each other began to make the whole situation impossible. My work began to suffer from lack of concentration – a bad fault in an accountant. I felt constantly unwell with a feeling of emptiness inside me.

I contemplated asking Ryan to move out, but that thought only brought me more misery.

I could have sought for a lover to help me overcome my libidinous craving, but I at least had the wit to realise that disaster lay in that direction. It was Ryan and only Ryan I wanted. Any other male would have been a pale substitute for the one I really longed and lusted for.

It was difficult to see things from Ryan’s perspective. He was courteous and caring towards me. Physically he always kept a little distance between us except when I got my goodnight peck on the cheek, but again I started to notice another change in him.

As I suggested earlier, his penis as seen through the shower screen had appeared to be a fine and large example of beautiful manhood. Erect it would be difficult to hide even beneath clothing. The change I noticed was that he began to get erections in my presence.

At first I took this to be pure chance. Perhaps he was thinking of some girl, or had been looking at some pornographic pictures, but eventually I had to face the truth. “My God, he’s getting sexually aroused by me.”

The Ancient Greek philosophers said that the strong man was not one who had weak passions and didn’t exercise them, but the man who had powerful drives and kept them under control. That sounds fine, but there is another view that can be put forward.

Powerful emotional drives, especially the sexual, if long repressed, will find an outlet. The knowledge that Ryan was lusting for me finally brought about the explosion.

Ryan and I were like two people standing on opposite sides of a narrow precipice. Each wanted to join the other, but each feared to make the necessary leap. Should one risk the jump across the precipice and fail to reach the other side, then they would plunge down into its depths.

For Ryan and I the downward plunge was the humiliation of rejection, of scandal and guilt, of throwing aside the mores of our society.

I saw ever more evidence of Ryan’s desire for me, yet he made no overt moves. I knew it was I who would have to take the risk…make the jump.

My approach may well sound petty and devious, but I hadn’t the courage to come out with the matter direct, saying something like, “I want sex with you Ryan.”

I could think of no other way of bringing the situation to a head than that which I adopted. Perhaps it is the way that lots of women have to employ to “get their man”, especially if that man is their son.

I blush now to relate the things that I did, but they were ploys that must be as old as human beings.

I began to appear in front of Ryan in provocative dress. I went to the expense of purchasing diaphanous nightwear that I just happened to be wearing when Ryan was around. I made a point of sitting in an armchair opposite the one he usually occupied, and drew my legs up so that my panties became visible. The panties were another special purchase, and little more than a sliver of material passed under my crotch and sank between the lips of my vulva.

Another ruse was to intensify our physical contact when he gave me a goodbye kiss when he was off to lectures, or when he said goodnight to me.

The effect I was having was all too obvious. Not only could I see his shaft standing out long and hard, but his voice became hoarse and he looked as if he was trying to swallow something that was not there. He became flushed and began to shake and I could see his desperate attempts to control his over heated emotions. Yet still he made no attempt on me.

I even went so far as to step out of the shower naked while he was brushing his teeth. He stared at me as if he could eat me, but still made no move.

I became ever more despairing in my attempts at seduction. “He must indeed be like the strong man who keeps his passions under control, just like those old Greeks said,” I thought.

I decided on one more spin of the revolver chamber in the game of sexual roulette. “The last attempt,” I told myself.

That night I put on my most revealing nightdress. It left nothing for the male imagination to conjure up. I wore it when I went to brush my teeth as Ryan took his usual before bed shower. I did not knock on the door, but went in quietly and hung around until Ryan stepped out of the shower.

He obviously had not seen or heard me, and seeing me then, he burst out, “Mother, I didn’t know you were in here.”

He was naked and had that now familiar erection standing up like a great tower. I said, “Sorry darling, I thought I heard you tell me to come in. Come and say goodnight to me, won’t you?”

“Yes, or course,” he croaked.

I left and went to my room, got into bed, and pretending to read I waited for him. It would be now or it would be never. If I failed to move him to action that night, I would give up and suffer the misery of frustration.

He came in wearing his pyjama shorts, his manhood all too obvious. He leaned over to kiss me on the cheek, but I took his face in my hands and kissed him full on the lips. I held the kiss and began to swirl my moist lips over his, then pressing my tongue against his lips, I felt them yield. I pressed in with my tongue to search the recesses of his mouth.

It was then he finally broke. He almost collapsed beside me on the bed and then came over me, pressing his body to mine, writhing against me as if he would fuse his body with mine.

I broke from the kiss and he cried out, “Mother, oh God, mother…”

There was no finesse about what happened next. He flung back the bed covers and literally ripped my nightdress from me – my very expensive nightdress.

I think he would have torn my legs apart, but I was ahead of him. I had my legs spread wide, my vulva exposed to him. He came on top of me and tried to enter me but failed to find my entrance until I guided him into me.

I had pitied myself in my sexual torments, but I now fully realised what a state he had been in all along. I felt his shaft slide deep into me reaching the top of my tunnel. He started to cry out;

“Oh God… mother…I’ve wanted…you don’t know how long…I want to fuck you to death…I want…Aaaah…”

I felt the first hammering of his seed into me; his lovely, beautiful warm thick young seed. With each new ejection he moaned out, “Ah…ah…ah…”

In the midst of this tumult I felt my own orgasm crashing over me like great surf waves. It was beyond, far beyond anything I had ever known before. I screamed at him, “Make me pregnant…deeper…deeper…I want your seed deep in me…please…deeper.”

That wonderful and terrible confluence of lust and love flowed together in me and I wanted our union to last for ever.

It was as I felt the last thrusts of his injections that the miracle happened. I was totally overwrought and suddenly it felt as though something burst within me. There was massive and powerful explosion of fluid in my sex organ. I was to learn later that what I experienced was a female ejaculation.

I had never had this before and for a moment it raised me to new heights of this outpouring of passion. I felt myself falling into a vortex of flashing lights, and then darkness as I passed out.

I don’t think I was unconscious for more than a few seconds because as I became aware of the world again, Ryan was still coupled with me. He was looking at my face and asking, “Mother, are you all right?”

I looked up at his face, smiled and said, “I don’t think I’ve ever felt better in my entire life.”

“I didn’t frighten you? I’m sorry I was so rough, but…”

“It’s all right, darling, it was fine…lovely…”

“You didn’t mind…?

I could hardly believe what I was hearing. After all my attempts at seduction how could he not know I had been on fire for him? I decided to let it pass and said, “No, darling I didn’t and won’t mind, so do stop fussing.”

He hadn’t withdrawn from me and I felt his penis, that had slackened a little after he ejaculation, harden again, and I was ready for him.

As he started to move in me I began thrusting my hips against him, and said humorously but with serious intent, “Yes, darling, I think we’d better try again in case you didn’t fertilise me the first time.”

He was too far down the track of his next ejaculation to properly comprehend what I had just said, and I was getting the first hints of my own coming agonising pleasure.

As the first thrust of Ryan’s sperm shot out of him he gave that long drawn out cry of “Aaaah” again. I let my own orgasm tick over for a moment while I enjoyed the full consciousness of his emissions into me. It was a beautiful feeling as his semen pounded into me, and I lay stroking his face and hair saying, “Enjoy me, darling…just enjoy me.”

He had finished when I let myself go. There was no repeat of my previous female ejaculation, but I was swamped with fluids anyway, Ryan’s and my own. As I thrust against him there were little slurping sounds and juice was running out of me between Ryan’s penis and the walls of my vagina. It felt like a delicious brew and I think I could have eaten it.

I came out the other side into a wonderful plain of tranquillity. Apart from the sheer joy of coupling at last with Ryan, was the knowledge that I had leapt the precipice and landed safe beside my lover/son.

Like some cackling evil character in an old-fashioned melodrama I thought, “Now I have him in my power; he shall not escape my wicked clutches again.”

Ryan withdrew from me and we lay side by side for a while, our hands entwined. Then he rolled on to his side and began kissing me and fondling my breasts.

I knew this was the overture to another coupling, but we were both in a mess as well as the bed’s under sheet. I wanted us to clean up before we coupled again, as I had a little operation in mind. Also I had heard that spermatozoa could remain active in the vaginal tunnel for up to half an hour. I wanted to retain as much of his sperm in me as possible, to try and ensure that one of those tiny creatures found the target.

It’s odd that prior to our coming together sexually I had not considered the pregnancy aspect, yet I had taken no steps to ensure I was safe from that outcome. It had been in the moment of our coupling that I had felt an overpowering desire for Ryan to fertilise me. I wanted something from him growing inside me, to give birth to a child of my child.

Ryan’s penetration of me had, in sense, been his return to the place that had brought him into the world, and I had begun to understand the exquisite beauty of a mother and son sexual bonding. It surely was the denouement of all that had been between us up to that point; small wonder that the union was so powerful with a feeling of intense love, oneness and profound satisfaction.

I managed to distract Ryan from his intended further penetration of me for nearly half an hour, and then said, “Come on my love, let’s clean up and change this under sheet. We don’t want to spend the whole night lying in the wet.”

Reluctantly he got out of the bed and we made our way to the shower. He wanted us to shower together and I agreed. That of course ensured a coupling standing under the water with me up against the wall. I was a trifle troubled by this third ejaculation by Ryan as it seemed to me that he now must have temporarily exhausted his sperm supply. That only goes to show how little I knew then of his sperm recuperative capacity.

After I had cleansed his penis and he had washed out my vagina, we returned to the bedroom and changed the sheet, and the young stud was ready to go again.

He began to suck one of my nipples and as I stroked his hair I whispered to him, “Young man, that’s not all you’re going to suck tonight. You are going to get the full flavour and aroma of your loving mother.”