The Day I Did It with Mom

PROLOG

I decided that before I worked/played any more on/with this piece, I would reflect on how it brought me closer to God, closer to being God-like.

I feel that it does, but I'm not sure why. Possibly as a way of easing my conscience. But I think that such a story, working on it, being worked on by it, brings me closer to the God which creates physical life, with all its shit and piss and cum, all the mess of birth, all the mess of sex, all the mess of plant life. "Mess," that is one word in my mind for it. Another is "infinite glory."

I sent this story to my spiritual director, telling him that I had written it to get at something within me, something which I did not understand but felt I needed to understand. He very much supported my effort.

Much in this story is factual and much fictional.

THE STORY

I'm bisexual, tho' more into women than men. My somewhat unusual relationship with my mother started one evening as we were watching the news. There came on the story about Truman Capote being jailed, the one that involved Nancy Reagan. My mother knew of my bisexuality. After the story was over, she turned off the TV, then looked at me and said, "What do men do when they have sex?"

"Mother, do you really want me to tell you? You may find it distasteful."

"Please tell me," she said.

"Well, I'll give you some very graphic descriptions, I warn you."

"Go ahead."

"Do you remember my black friend B_?"

"Oh yes. I liked him very much."

"Well, he was my first lover. The favorite for both of us -- remember that he was quite tall and very strong -- well..."

"Yes, I remember that about him. And very affectionate, very loving, I could tell that about him."

"Well, here is what we did very often," I said as I moved to a big armchair. "Now watch," I continued.

I laid back in the armchair and lifted my legs high in the air, with the shanks parallel to the floor.

"Then my dear Buford would kneel down under my shanks, grab hold of my thighs, put his head and neck forward for me to hold onto. Once I had hold of his neck, he would stand up, get hold of my butt and move my anus level with his hard-as-steel, eleven-inch dick and shove it. Then... "

"Oh my god, Tom! That sounds like so much fun!"

With this my mother lept from the sofa and began to pull me out of my armchair as she yelled, "Do it to me! Do it to me!"

"Mom, really. I'm afraid I'd break..."

"Fuck it! I'll take the risk."

So I did as she asked and both of us, as we lay panting on the floor afterwards, were glad she had taken the risk. After a while, she asked me, squeezing my hand very tightly, "When did you first want me?"

I blushed and my penis suddenly swelled again as the blood rushed into it. My mother notice the movement in my slacks and began giggling. "Oh, Tom, why are you blushing."

"When I was eleven," I answered.

Then she said, "Aren't you going to ask me the same question?"

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We were at it for three whole days. Most of all, I liked fucking her from behind. She liked most of all taking my dick deep into her throat and rocking back and forth until I came. And came again. And again. I'm sure if I told a doctor this he would say it was impossible. Finally I would simply pass out, fatigued with my body's effort and ecstatic delirium.

At the end of three days we were both so wiped that we decided to go to Ocean City and rest. After a day of rest at our hotel's restaurant, she grabbed my cock under the table and whispered a scream in my ear, "Either I'm going to suck this thing here and now or you are going to take me immediately up to the room."

"Mom," I replied, "I think we need to talk about policy and strategy."

"Oh, Tom," she exclaimed easing back in her chair and letting go of me, "You're so like your dad! He was always insisting on some plan, like using a budget. We'd do it for maybe a month. Then we'd stop doing it."

"Mom, you're the best I've ever had, but I think there are dangers in this situation and we need to discuss them."

"OK, love, let's go down on the beach and have a walk."

We spent the night on the beach.

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But this is not a piece of erotica. It is about the creation of a union, a physical and spiritual union between two people who happened at one time to be mother and son.

The process had begun with a mutual confession, first in our sexual union, then with the union that only honest words can bring for two people who have loved and lusted each other for a long time.

My mother started it with, "How long have you wanted me?"

"A long time. Long, long time," I answered. "Since I was 12."

"Oh Tom! If only you had told me. But then I suppose there would have been terrible problems come of it. Your dad might have found out. Also, I fear it would have stunted your growth, your social growth and perhaps made marriage impossible for you, and then I would not have your handsome boy and girl to love."

"I fear there would have been another problem. I would have been disappointed in no matter what woman I married, disappointed sexually."

She looked down at the floor. Her shoulders began to heave gently.

"Ah, mom."

"Please, please, call me Ann. I call you Tom, don't I?"

"Ann, then, certainly," then got out of my chair and knelt at her feet.

"What is it?" I asked, taking her by the shoulders.

"Oh, happiness and sadness both. And confusion. Perhaps confusion. Or maybe fear."

"Fear? Fear of what?"

"Insanity," she said and looked up at me.

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We did indeed marry. There was 21 years and a few months difference between us, but it was OK by us. But we feared that in the States we would at times feel uncomfortable. So we went to Germany to live as mother and son.

So what was "marry" about? Good question. Both of us were Christians and had problems with sex outside of marriage.

"Christians!" you may cry, "and you were engaging in incest?"

Well, yes. But incest is a crime, we believed, only when there is danger of having children. There was none.

"And did you get married in a church?"

Yes, but I wont' tell you which except that it was quite a normal church and the priest who married us knew of our situation.

"Unbelievable!" you may cry.

Unusual, yes, but it happened. We were two people who loved deeply, body and soul, soul and body, who just happened to be mother and son, a relationship which gradually disappeared.

"Hah! It was simply the Oedipal thing."

Actually, we spent a year, each of us, in counseling. For both of us, that was the initial suspicion of the counselor. At the end of the year, each of the counselors was convinced that it was an unusual but healthy relationship.