Holly stopped talking—purposefully. She wanted to see Ashley’s and John’s reaction. She got what she expected from them: silence and wide-open eyes. The blonde broke the stunned quietness.
“You had a sexual relationship with your son?”
“Yes,” the therapist declared proudly and with a smile. “My son Robert and I were faithful lovers for three years. It was the most emotional, sexual, intense and pleasurable experience of my life. It was also thrilling because of the forbidden, incestuous nature. His touch, taste, virility, and passion to please me as well as himself was beyond ‘new’ for me. His loving was just the right prescription for my neglected body.”
Ashley continued her query. “‘Neglected?'”
“My husband cheated on me—a lot,” the psychologist addressed. She then leaned forward and gently put her hand on the mother’s bent knee. She tilted her head and offered the parent a supportive look. “So I know exactly what you’ve been through, my dear Ashley.”
A second silence fell over the room. It seemed like all three individuals were drawn to Holly’s hand on Ashley’s knee. While it appeared to be a gesture of support and generally was, the touch also had a profound effect on each person’s psyche. For the psychologist, it was a way to touch another woman in a semi-intimate way. (It was something she hadn’t done for years and the hidden Sappho feelings she still harbored were happily rekindled.) Feeling another woman’s skin, aside from the accepted handshake or hug, stimulated the therapist. She found both this son and mother very attractive. Her hand on the divorcee’s flesh released mental images filled with wonder…wonder of what Ashley looked like bare, how she responded to having her breasts felt, how her pussy tasted, how she sounded when she was orgasming—was she a screamer? Did she squirt? Holly’s cunt was becoming moist.
For Ashley it was also a measure of support—and a reawakening of her infrequent and very private wonderings of ‘being’ with another woman. The blonde never indulged her bi-curiosity, but that curiosity remained within her sexual mind. Looking back at the therapist’s caring yet unusual gaze, Ashley saw a woman who was very much like her: 40’s, professional, wounded by a carousing spouse…and alluring. It played on her own mind that she found the psychologist appealing. Women often will compliment another female’s beauty without the slightest hint of being sexually attracted to the recipient of the compliment—at least consciously. Ashley, in her need and want to overcome her objections to being her son’s lover, was now faced with the additional element of finding this ravishing redhead sexually handsome. The gusset of the divorcee’s panties had started to become damp.
John had long been a fan of beautiful lesbians or bisexual women. He had often jerked off to sights and visions of sexy women touching each other, kissing, rubbing breasts and nipples together, going down on each other and wailing in delight to girl-on-girl pleasure. The sight of the therapist’s hand on his mother’s knee had his dick aching and twitching. Both women were hot. He was emotionally and sexually in love with his mother and if things worked out, he would be always faithful to her (unlike his shithead father.) Being a man—and a young man, at that—he recognized the good looks of another woman. In this case it was Holly. His fevered mind already had a lured vision of her and his mother, the two naked, and on the carpet before him in a sensual 69, his presence long forgotten by both women as they ate each other out. Hearing the psychologist’s own incestuous revelation excited him to know that another hot mom was bedding her son. He wanted to know more.