Then one day, while masturbating to a picture of a model in bra, pants and stockings (in the bathroom), I closed my eyes to come to a climax and the women in my mind suddenly turned from the young model in the glossy photo to my own mother, standing there before me in the bathroom dressed only in her underwear. I could see her dark nipples through her bra and her legs in brown stockings, forced into a taunt and elegant pose by the stiletto-heeled shoes she was wearing. The image in my mind, although unbidden, was strong and clear and my head fizzed with the power of it. I moaned and shot my load all over the bathroom floor. It was the most amazing orgasm I’d experienced. It was like somebody was clenching my balls very tightly, squeezing out every drop, and aiming my fluid directly at the mental picture of my mother standing there half-naked. Instantly I felt an immense sense of shame and guilt. How could I do such a thing? How could I fantasise about my own mother?
But despite my puritanical objections the guilt faded over time… and the fantasy grew. Eventually I found myself exclusively masturbating to visions of undressing and touching my mother. I knew it was wrong, but the power of that particular vision was so strong that when my sexual persona took over there was only one door it wanted to open.
How my fantasies eventually migrated into a plan to seduce my mother in real life I’m not sure. I think I just woke up one morning and it was there. It was a perfect idea. Having sex with mother would cure her neurosis, it would give her some joy and pleasure in life, and it would show her how much I loved her. Ok, so there was the side benefit of me getting my rocks off (and fulfilling my fantasies) but I was sure that wasn’t the important part. No, this idea was all about helping my mother through a difficult stage in her life and giving her what she really needed, and if I had to sacrifice my shame and guilt in the process, then so be it.
At least that’s what I told myself at the time (although even then I knew deep down it was really mostly about getting my hands on my mother’s body). What I didn’t see at that stage was the slightly darker motivation underneath the whole idea. I didn’t just want to fuck my mother, I also wanted to punish her for the way she’d treated me.
The only problem, of course, was how to make it happen. As you can imagine I spent a long time wrestling with that one. I went through all the options I could possibly conceive. I ended up with a long list of possible strategies, all of which I played through in my head (usually when I was masturbating, but sometimes in bed at night).
To begin with there was the straightforward version. I could leap on mother, tear at her clothes, fumble at her breasts, whilst at the same time swearing my undying love. It might work… if she was in the right mood, but it didn’t seem very likely. If not maybe I could drug her. After all she did have some sleeping pills, so perhaps I could slip her a slight overdose? Once she was unconscious I could drag her across and into my bed, and try to set things up so it looked as if she’d come to me. When she woke up I’d make out I was (reluctantly) fondling her tits only because she wanted me to. It seemed like a promising idea, and I even toyed with the thought of maybe poking her while she was still out for the count (you know, just to get the hang of it). But in the end, however, I wasn’t convinced she’d fall for it.