***** Right now, I had a sudden need to relieve myself of a load of hot, sticky cum. I grabbed my cock harder than usual and stroked quickly as I remembered my mom’s kiss as it was, then fantasized that she opened her mouth as we kissed. The tip of her tongue, I imagined, ran left to right along my lower lip, then pressed into my mouth, dancing nimbly against the tip of my own tongue.
Our tongues intertwined, circling each other and darting forward and back. Eventually, my tongue penetrated my mom’s mouth. I felt her lips close and her cheeks suck in as she drew my tongue deep into her mouth…. then slid her mouth up and down, sucking my tongue as though it were my cock…. and yeah, that’s when I erupted, letting fly a load of cum, barely pulling my t-shirt up in time to shoot all over my chest and stomach.
I don’t think it took a full minute to achieve what was one of the most intense orgasms I’d ever had. I’d spent four years away from home, and was sexually active during the last two years of high school, so it had been a very long time since I’d included thoughts of my own mother during my stroke time. But damn! That was fucking intense! I sat there, panting, my heart pounding in my chest as my cock still throbbed after my orgasm. Fuck, I thought, what the hell was that about? My mind raced, and I realized for the first time as an adult: I want to fuck my mommy.
*****
When I was young, after my parents divorced, I had a hard time adjusting. I really felt abandoned by my dad, and I blamed him for my struggles for many years. There I was, a boy of 11 or 12, dealing with abandonment issues (which we didn’t have a term for at the time). As I mentioned earlier, mom was the only constant: my North Star, my guiding light. My fear of abandonment was so great I would sometimes be afraid to be alone at night, and would ask mom if I could sleep in her bed. She never denied me, and it was always a source of comfort to me to feel her warm body next to me; to be held close in her loving arms, drawn fully up against her body. Her body heat alone was comfort; it helped to ground me so my fear could be kept at bay.
I remember reaching out to mom at night, placing my hand on her stomach, being comforted by the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed steadily in her peaceful sleep. Still, it was eventually confusing for me. My love for my mother was tied up in feelings of longing and desire that I didn’t really understand. I imagine many people can relate to that. Relationships between parents and children are always complicated; perhaps it’s more so when the involved parties have a shared emotional trauma- like surviving divorce.
***** Lying in bed that night, my mind whirled. I could not deny the power of my attraction to and desire for my mom. I knew the word for my thoughts: incest. I knew the societal and legal prohibitions of what I was thinking. I imagined that to even broach the subject meant risking rejection, ridicule; if I could even find the courage to attempt to raise the idea, which part of mom would react? The permissive, open side, or the side which had been societally conditioned to be uptight, that had told me masturbation was wrong?
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