Having read many erotic stories of incestuous love, I have hesitated to record my own experience. So many of the couplings recorded in erotic literature seem to focus on the rumbustious, one might even say, violent, acts of sexual unions.
My experience has been rather different. At the risk of gaining the derision of the seekers after the extreme, not to say furious, aspects of sexual contact, and in the hope of touching those of more gentle persuasions, I make my humble submission.
My name is Sari. At the time of writing, four years after the event I shall record took place, I am forty-two years of age. Married to Carl for twenty-three years, the union had produced one daughter and one son.
Beloved as my daughter is to me, my special bond had always been with my son, Travis. I have heard and read of such bonding between mothers and sons, but I think ours, from the very first, went beyond the “normal”, whatever normal is.
I was once reading Edward Gibbon’s “Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire.” In it I came across a passage that said of two brothers, “In every action of life it was observed that their two bodies were animated by one soul.” Since the birth of Travis, that is how it had been between us.
As he grew towards manhood it became clear, not only to me, but also to those around us, that not only did we share so many tastes, desires and aspirations, we also seemed to know each other’s thoughts before ever they were spoken. We constantly anticipated each other needs, and felt each other’s joys and sorrows. We were there to support each other in times of distress or crisis.
I had observed in other families, that when a son entered the years of puberty, bonding often broke down. Not so, with Travis and I, if anything, it strengthened.
My husband Carl and my daughter Natala, were often aggrieved at the closeness of Travis and I, but in truth, neither Travis nor I had sought or planned our bond. It was as mysterious to us, as it was angering to Carl and Natala.
Natala’s ultimate response was to leave home as soon as she was of an age to do so, to work in a distant city. Carl’s response was sarcasm and constant criticism of Travis, and verbal attacks on me to the effect that I was making my son, “a mother’s boy.”
In fact, Travis is essentially masculine, as I am essentially feminine. It was hardly possible for a female to be in Travis’s presence and not be aware of a very virile young man. In his high school years, I was all too aware of his sexual liaisons, but that’s another story.
In those years of his growing sexual awareness, I became conscious of his sexual desire for me. This impelled me to consider my own feelings in this matter, and I found I had no doubts about my sexual feelings for him. It seemed a perfectly natural flow on from all the other life aspects we shared.
We each knew of the other’s desire, but neither of us spoke of it. We had no need to speak of it for, as I have written, we seemed to know each other’s thoughts before they were ever spoken. It was something beautiful being held in abeyance until the moment came, and we would know that it was right.
That moment came one Saturday afternoon. Carl was as usual off watching a football match. We knew that we would not see him until late that night because he would be off drinking with his mates at the pub, celebrating the victory if their team won, or drowning their sorrows if it lost.
Even the weather seemed to be favouring us. It was a lovely Spring day, and Travis and I were lying on lounges in the garden reading. It might be appropriate to write here that we were scantily clad, but it was not so. I had a perfectly ordinary skirt and blouse on, and Travis jeans and a shirt.
I knew what was going to happen, and Travis afterwards told me that he also knew. The time was right.
I was wondering if I should take the initiative, when Travis rose and came to me. He leaned over and kissed me very softly on the lips and said, “May I put my penis into your vagina, mother?”
