I was reminded of Hitler’s personal mission of creating the “perfect” race- blonde hair, blue eyes, fit to tackle bears, that sort of thing. He had used a breeding technique called “eugenics”, which is basically selecting the most ideal human beings possible and mating them in the hopes that their offspring would result in something closer to his ideal. Sometimes he would even resort to inbreeding as part of his experiments and, while it shocked the world, his efforts had some merit in a purely scientific sense. The thing with inbreeding, however, was that you had a limited gene pool. If that gene pool has members in it who have a tendency to get sick more frequently than others in that gene pool, then inbred offspring will tend to follow that particular genetic trend. Therefore, you’d have to cull the sickly family member from the gene pool, so that they don’t pollute it. Ideally, the only people in that gene pool would be perfectly healthy individuals with no genetic faults whatsoever. The trick, though, is that once you reach homeostasis within an inbred gene pool- that perfect zone where all offspring meet whatever criteria you’re looking for- you can’t let others into it. Otherwise, you risk having it polluted again.
This realization opened my mind up to a whole new slant of thoughts and questions. Was my family part of a similar “experiment” or were they even aware of what they were doing? If they WERE aware of it (and how could they not be if they’ve been at it for generations?), what were they working towards, if anything? I’d met only a handful of my family members over the years- purported cousins, aunts and uncles whose names I could barely remember- but none of them seemed particularly nefarious or dastardly, certainly not evil by any stretch of the imagination. Some of them definitely seemed a bit odd, but what family members don’t?
Were my cousins sexually involved with each other or their parents? How many generations does this go back? If I didn’t feel comfortable with it, would I be disowned and have to never return to my family? Dozens more questions filled my head and I desperately wanted to have them answered, but I was not about to go marching into my mother’s room and start rattling them off. First of all, I didn’t want to get her hopes up, thinking that I was there to have sex with her. Secondly, she’d raised me to have good manners and it would just be plain rude to wake her (if she was indeed asleep by that point) with such probing questions that even she may not be able to answer.
And thinking about her, about the possibility that she might expect me to accept her offer if I did just barge into her room, got me to thinking in a whole different direction. I was still a teenage boy, mind you, and still prone to hormonal influence. Having realized just how gorgeous my mother was and thinking about her in a sexual context, I naturally had an involuntary reaction. It was with morbid, but not altogether unexpected, surprise that I developed an erection, thinking about my mother. I was still a virgin, but I was not totally unaware of what happened beneath the sheets when the lights went off and a man and woman were in bed together. I’d read any number of books with sex scenes in them (Heinlein says a lot without revealing much) and even though we didn’t get out much, I saw plenty of movies growing up. I knew just enough about sex that it was a mystery without being a totally alien concept. I knew what went where and why things felt good when done in certain ways; I knew what the ultimate purpose of sex was (to make babies) and that it felt good in order to make us WANT to make babies; I knew why things were sexy and appealing; but I had absolutely no frame of reference. I hadn’t even kissed a girl yet, unless you count kissing my mom goodnight when I was a child. I’d discovered masturbation in my early teens and had gotten good enough at it, but the fantasies I used to accompany my masturbatory sessions were probably tame by normal Society’s standards. But now, armed with what my mother had just told me, my fantasies suddenly took on a whole new and different tone. I wasn’t just thinking about “some” woman in my sexual fugue, but about someone very specific, someone who would be a willing outlet to my sexual urges and even encourage me, someone who would welcome me with open arms and teach me all I ever needed or wanted to know about sex: my own mother. Who was also my sister. And, now that I think about it, she was also my aunt and cousin, too.
wpDiscuz