My mother was a strikingly beautiful woman from the fertile land of India's Punjab. I remember growing up watching as she slowly adjusted to a Western lifestyle, being a new immigrant to these shores. I dimly remember how her dress slowly changed as she started to accommodate herself to the freedom that women had in this land, the freedom to actually be a sexual being and the confidence to display herself. I remember how scandalized that her father was as she clothed herself with less and less material. I still remember how, when grandfather first visited us from India, when I was about 11. We went to the beach on Lake Ontario and mother had changed into a skimpy, for those times, bathing suit that revealed her cleavage and the shape of her body.
Grandfather was so angry at seeing his daughter, naked, as he said himself, that he put a towel around her to cover up my mother. He really berated her but she stood her ground. When he walked away in anger, mother just unwrapped the towel and lay down on the beach.
As I remember that night, my first time, the night before I was to leave for my education at university, I shiver with something close to ecstasy, as I close my eyes and put myself back in that moment of time. I stayed there, I couldn't tear myself away from the passion that was charging the air, making me hard again as I watched my father enjoy the body of the woman who had given birth to me. Maybe it's in my blood too, hardwired in my genes. I used to think that it was just perverted Indian sexuality but not anymore. Now I accept that sometimes boys like me might be lucky enough to have a mother that doesn't have taboo hang-ups over their sons.
As I watched my mother and father fucking, that's what it really was I suppose, in hindsight. It wasn't making love because they were both being rough and tough as they rutted. My dad pulled my mother up by her waist and she just moaned when he pushed into her birth canal, where I came out of as a newborn. He was fucking her from behind and I just loved the way her heavy breasts slapped back and forth under her. The wet sounds of flesh on flesh were the sweetest music to my ears then as I watched and listened.
Unbelievably then, making me deliciously glad that I was still there, my father said to me, and I can never forget his words. "Don't be useless boy! Go stand in front of your mother!" I stammered something out, not understanding what he was saying to do. I didn't know what I was supposed to do but then my father asked me if I was deaf or stupid and that made me jump up and in a couple of leaps I was standing right in front of my mother whose long black hair was hanging down on the ground. She didn't seem to know that I was there. Then my father leaned forward and wrapped her hair in one hand and pulled my mother's head up, making her see me standing in front of her face. I can still hear his voice as he barked her name as he said to her, "Rupa! Take him!"