I stopped by Stephen’s house. Well, I called first to make sure he was available. He was, so I swung by. We talked a bit about this and that, then he asked, “What are you doing tonight?”
“No real plans. Why?”
“There are some people I’d like you to meet,” he answered.
“Friends of yours?” I inquired.
“More like colleagues,” he responded. “Trust me when I say you will like them, and you will fit in nicely.”
“Well, sure, I guess.”
“Good. Be here at seven-thirty.”
I arrived at the prescribed time dressed in Summer casual. Actually, I was wearing a 1980s Don Johnson throwback that looked pretty fucking cool, if I do say so myself. “Nice threads,” Stephen said when he saw me. He was dressed in a Polo and Khakis, the accepted casual dress. We entered his Maserati and were on our way.
“So, you said colleagues. In what, actually?” I asked.
“I know I should have told you before we left,” he said, “but then you may not have wanted to come. Anyway, it’s people with whom we have a shared interest.” I raised an eyebrow in curiosity, which prompted him to say, “People who actively have sex with their mothers?”
“There is a group of people doing this?” I asked in disbelief, for I thought Stephen and I to be the only ones.
“This is just a group of ‘Thus far’-ers,” he said. “I’m sure there are more out there that we don’t even know about.”
“And you thought I needed this because …?”
“I didn’t think you needed it, Jeremy. I just thought you might enjoy hanging out with people who share that common frame of reference. I mean, come on. We certainly can’t speak openly with Mark and Johnny about it. Here, there is no stigma because everyone is doing it.”
“What do you do?” I asked. “Swap stories? Share fantasies? Get advice?”
“All of the above in an environment where no one is judged.”
I nodded my head. “Okay, I think this could be cool.”
Once there, I met five other people who, as Stephen said, were having sex with their mothers. The most surprising to me was Elisa, an eighteen-year-old woman who had, like me, recently become involved with her mother. I listened to her story, fascinated by it, and then shared mine. Eventually, I heard all their stories. About half were along the lines of Stephen’s while the others ranged from shared loneliness to outright pure animal attraction. In the end, though, they each were erotic in their own way.
Toward the end, as we sat and talked over a glass of bourbon, I posed the question, “Do any of you cry after sex with your mother?”
“Lord knows she can bring me to tears with a good blow job,” one of them, Ben Riggs, said.
“Look, I’m being serious here. My mother and I have engaged in a lot of oral, but we have made love just twice, and each time I have cried.”
“It’s an emotional response,” Elisa said. “It has happened to me a couple of times as well.”
I agreed with her initial response, then shared my mother’s take on it, prompting others to admit to it as well.
“Me, too,” Willard Cummings said.
“And me,” added Tommy Preston.
“And here I thought I was the only one,” Donato Rodriguez intoned.