The Dar Taboo

He stood by his bedroom window looking out into the garden. It was 7-30 a.m. and he watched his mother make the morning inspection of her beloved plants. Flowers, vegetables, and fruit trees grew in profusion under her Earth Mother touch. He knew that she would have risen at 6-30 a.m., this being her habit, except in winter when the dark mornings kept her to bed until 7 p.m. She moved with grace and ease, carrying her five feet eleven inches height uprightly, except when she bent to inspect some flower of vegetable.

She was a woman who could accurately be described as "Statuesque."

She knew he watched. He had watched her morning garden tour for years now, first when he was at high school, then university and now when he had started his first real job. She did not need to turn to see him. She felt his gaze just as she could always sense his presence when he was near but not visible to her. In her minds eye she saw him, so like his father, the "Gentle Giant." She sighed as the image of her beloved Gordon came before her.

He had been lover and friend as well as husband.

He saw her bend and was moved by the curve of her neck and the gentleness of her hand as she touched a rose. No wonder his father had adored her, that giant of a man, six feet five inches tall with a powerful frame. He had run a building business and for all his formidable appearance, he had been almost a father figure to those who worked for him. Little wonder they called him "The Gentle Giant." Always ready to hear and help with their problems, they were devoted to him, and they would have worked until they dropped for him.

At his funeral big tough construction workers had wept openly.

She remembered the onset of Gordon's sickness. The scourge of cancer that over two years had reduced this mighty man to a living skeleton until he found release in death aged forty two. She had trained as a nurse, and so had cared for him right until the end. His business had been profitable, and when, following his death, it was decided to sell it, she had been left with a reasonably adequate income – the income that had seen her son, also named Gordon, through the latter part of high school and then university and the study of engineering. A month ago Gordon had gained his first position with the Institute of Building Science.

Where to now?

He turned from the window, his morning vigil over, and prepared himself for the day's work. When he arrived in the kitchen she was there preparing his breakfast. She had always been there. She had been his sustainer, first nourishing him at her breasts, then forever preparing his meals, cleaning his room and changing his bed. She had also been his sustainer in other things. When he was depressed about his studies, when he was in conflict with friends, and above all, and despite her own devastating grief, when his father died. As her garden flourished, so had he grown through her love and care.

She was truly "The Mother."

She turned to him and smiled. "How like Gordon he looks," she thought. "Perhaps not quite so tall – an inch or so shorter, but the same gentle strength. Now he had reached manhood, would have an income of his own, so the time was drawing near. Since Gordon's death, she had been restrained in her relations with men. What few there had been had not lasted because she did not want them to last. She had made sure that her son never saw or heard anything, but he was not a fool, and must know that she was a woman with sexual needs. She had been very careful to avoid a pregnancy and disease.

Nothing was to stand between her and the relationship with her son.

He returned her smile and thought, "How beautiful she is." They had been on their own now ever since his older sister, Sylvia, had met and married one of his father's workers. That was four years ago, and as is often the case with construction workers, they traveled to wherever the work was, so were rarely able to visit. He wondered at times if his mother ever tired of supporting him. She had never shown any signs of wanting to be rid of him, but perhaps now was the time to turn things around. He had received his first salary and contributed a substantial portion to the running of the household. This made him feel mature and independent. It was almost as if he was her… A dark shadow seemed to pass over his mind. He could not complete the thought he had begun. He had experienced this before when thinking about his mother. Why could he not give form to it?

He ate his breakfast.

She watched him as he ate and saw the changes flit across his face. Always quiet, he now seemed to go inside himself, to some place she could not reach. There had been times like this before and she had wondered if it was girl trouble. She knew there had been girls and older women. She assumed that like his father and herself, he was very virile, and certainly, he was attractive enough to draw women to him. Now as she looked at him she felt, not for the first time, wetness in her groin and the slight pulsating of her clitoris.

"Yes," she thought, "The time is very near."

He rose from the table and prepared to leave for work. They kissed as they always had when he was about to leave the house – a gentle loving kiss. He felt a stirring in his penis at this contact with her. Whenever they touched now this happened. "A week since I was with a girl," he thought, "I need a good fuck." That is what it had been with those girls and women, a fuck, and not always good. Oddly, he always chose females who were somehow less than he might have won if he tried. As he shot into them, there was always the dark shadow between them and him. When he had finished he wanted nothing more than to escape from their cloying grasp, and so he departed as soon as possible feeling a sense of guilt and disgust.

He left for work.

She had a part time job as a doctor's receptionist. This not only topped up her finances, but had also served to distract her from her grief when Gordon died. She now departed for the morning surgery. The work was not over taxing and she had time to engage in her own thoughts. This morning, knowing that the time was near, she thought through what must be done. She was perfectly clear in her own mind how matters stood for her. Once through her period of mourning she had turned all her love and devotion on to her son. This love had imperceptibly taken on a sexual content. At first, she hid this from herself, but she was a woman who could not tolerate self-deception, so finally she had openly acknowledged to herself this desire for him.

She must be careful.

He tried to set about his work, but seemed to lack concentration. Visions of his mother kept cropping up in his mind – pictures of her standing before him naked, which he struggled to blot out. This had happened before and had caused him the physical distress of an unwanted erection and dribbling of precum. He had never seen his mother naked. He had never tried to spy on her, to try to see her in the shower or peer through a half-open bedroom door. His love and respect for her was too deep for such sordid games. The most he had ever seen of her body was when, in a modest one piece bathing costume, she swam in or lay beside their pool. He had seen long slender legs that ended with the firm indent of her vagina, and the very firm breasts and the nipples that showed through the cloth when it was wet. He had enjoyed watching her brush her long auburn hair and even taken his turn with the brush, reveling in the lovely curve of her neck. Above all, he enjoyed her beautiful eyes, dark brown and almost oriental.

At those times she was his goddess, she was "The Woman."

She finished her work at midday and made her way home. She knew what she must do and the risk it would involve. If she failed, then everything might be at an end and two lives destroyed. If she succeeded, then life for both of them, their mother-son relationship, would be drastically modified. On the other hand, it would not be possible for them to go on living together as they had done for very much longer. At first the men she had been with since her husband's death, had taken on her husband's face as they fucked. Later, that face had been her son's. She had also noticed her son's erections at the poolside and when he brushed her hair. Despite her own need, she knew she must wait for the crucial time. Now he was mature and independent the decision could be made.

She faced the fact that he was "The Man."

His mind reeled. "My God, what have I been thinking about my mother?" He collapsed against a workbench and a black cloud, rising from the depths of a tribal past and its incest taboo engulfed him. Those emotions un-evolved since man first rose onto his hind legs, those desires so long prohibited by man and his gods, swamped him and the burden of the imposed guilt bore down on him as he slipped to the floor crying, "Oh God, no." He heard voices and felt himself being carried. Then he was in a car and a voice said, "Feeling better now, old chap."

He managed a feeble, "Yes."

She was alarmed as they helped him into the house, and explained that he had collapsed at work. They had left and he tried to speak. "Mother, I…I…" " It's all right, darling, bed now and talk later," she said, and got him to the bedroom and helped him undress. She thought she would wait and see how he progressed before she called the doctor.

She sat by his bed until he dropped off into a fitful sleep.

She returned to look in on him at intervals and after about four hours, she found him awake, but very pale. Sitting beside him, she began to question him about what happened. His guard was down, so he half explained what had happened. "Mother, I thought some awful thoughts about you and I." She knew instantly what he meant but wanted him to say it. She encouraged him, stroking his face, saying, "What sort of thoughts, my love?" "Sexual thoughts," he moaned. "Is that so bad?" she questioned. "Mother…" he gasped, "I…I…you…it's wrong, sinful…it's prohibited." "My darling," she said quietly, "we live in the twenty first century, not in a Stone Age tribe. Think about that, will you?"

She left him.

He lay in bed trying to come to terms with the few words she had left him with. "Think about that," Yes, but how think about it? His thoughts and emotions about his mother had been so powerful that his brain had sought to blot them out and he had collapsed. Was his mother now saying that such thoughts and emotions were okay? And if they were okay, what about their fulfillment? Was that okay too? The feelings of fear and dread that had overcome him earlier had now turned to puzzlement. What should he do and how?

He dozed off again in the midst of these thoughts.

Assured now in the action she must take, she prepared a simple meal. She went to his room and found him awake, and asked if he wanted to eat there, or would he get up? He decided to get up, saying he was feeling much better. As so often happens with our problems and anxieties, during his doze there had been a sort of resolution of the thoughts that had distressed him. He rose, put on his dressing gown, and went to the dining room. During the meal, they touched briefly upon their previous conversation. She only asked, "Did you think about what I said?" "Yes," he answered. "Did it help?" she queried.

"Yes, I feel a whole lot better now," he replied.

When they had cleared up after the meal she said, "I'll go and take a shower." Finishing her shower she went to her bedroom and carefully chose what she would wear. It was a black, lacy little wrap around held round the waist by a cloth tie. She took a deep breath, and left her room. She entered the living room where he was sitting and walked up to within a couple of paces of him. He looked up startled. He had never seen her dressed like this before. She untied the cloth round her waist, let the wrap fall open and slide to the floor.

"I think the time has come, my darling," she murmured.