Getting To Know You Ch. 02

I

I didn't see Mother for a month or two after the events I described in my previous tale. This gap in time left much of what had happened between us 'hanging in the air', so to speak. It was not initially deliberate on my part (work suddenly made a lot of calls on my time), but after a few weeks I began to find myself reluctant to contact mother again. To be honest, I didn't know what to say to her. I still felt very guilty about what I had done, and a deep sense of shame was growing in my mind. I suppose I felt that if I suggested a visit, she might perceive this as a desire for another 'lustful' experience (which it may well have been!).

In the end my growing reluctance to face what happened was ended by mother herself, who rang me up and asked me to visit her for the weekend. She sounded quite normal and untroubled, almost as if nothing had happened. She asked me, in a matter-of-fact way, if I would come down that weekend, or a weekend soon, as she wanted to get my advice on something. Nervously I agreed, no longer sure what to say to her. In fact I was embarrassed even speaking to her ... which may seem strange, but then I had effectively raped her the last time we met! I had forced her face down onto my cock and cum in her mouth, and such behaviour is not always conducive to good relations ... especially with your own mother!

It's strange I supposed, I was quite happy to forcibly and brutally fuck her face, but quite unable to say no to her request for a visit, but then relationships with parents are always odd at the best of times. There are flows of 'power' between parents and children that work both ways. We begin as obedient children to our all-powerful parents, and end up as powerful protectors to our weakening and increasingly guilty parents. It is as if the whole relationship reverses over time. Which is reasonable I suppose, as parents get back from their children whatever good or bad things they invested in their upbringing. My mother's overt sexuality around her son, for example, ended up giving her an unwanted mouthful of cum!

I say 'unwanted', but that may not be true. I suppose my biggest worry in seeing her again was my uncertainty in regard to whether what I had done was an outrage or an exciting outcome ... from her perspective that is. There were times during that night when I had definitely felt I was doing what she wanted me to do, but there were also times when I felt like a callous rapist. And if I am honest, one of the things that worried me most was that somewhere deep inside me I enjoyed feeling that way. I had tasted an unfamiliar power, but one that was dangerously seductive. For many nights after that weekend I had masturbated to fantasies of sexually dominating my mother ... of taking what I wanted with no thought for her welfare. But fantasy and reality are two very different things, and the prospect of facing her after what I had done to her scared me shitless! But in the event she had called me and I had to go. I guess that in reality I was in her power, and not she in mine. But then ... I kinda liked that idea too!

II

As before I arrived at her cottage late on the Friday night. But this time it wasn't raining. The night was clear, with the last traces of a red and yellow sunset still hanging mistily in the western sky. It was warm, humid almost, but the quiet calmness of the evening was not reflected inside my head.

I pulled up outside the front door, turned off the engine and sat there for a moment. I started to wonder how mother would be dressed. It suddenly seemed unreasonably important, and I thought about it for a long moment. If she was dressed similarly to the way she had been at the start of my last visit (and indeed all my previous visits), then it would mean that what had occurred last time was an aberration. On the other hand ...

The front door opened as I got out the car and she strode confidently out to meet me. Her honey-and-white hair was down on her shoulders, and she was dressed in a smart, business-like, two piece serge suit.. The jacket was buttoned down the front with the top button undone. She appeared not to be wearing a blouse under the jacket. The skirt was cut to just above the knee, and her legs were encased in smoky black tights (or stockings?). On her feet she wore back shoes with high stiletto heels.

The whole outfit was smartly tailored, and she gave a strong and entirely confident impression. She was like some powerful politician or business woman, totally in control of everything in her world. The image she projected managed to frighten and excite me, both at the same time, and for a long moment I simply didn't know what to do or say. Dimly, however, I was aware that she was answering the unspoken question that had occurred to me in the car. Clearly everything had changed.

She walked up and gave me a motherly peck on the cheek.

"Hello dear," she coed at me. "How are you ... well I trust?"

I smiled shyly. "Fine thanks Mum."

After unpacking my bits and pieces I came into the lounge to find that mother had prepared a small salad meal for us. She had also open a bottle of white wine. We ate in a slightly uncomfortable silence. Afterwards I cleared and she washed up, and then we settled back in the lounge chairs. She poured me a second glass of wine.

"I must admit John," She began, sipping her wine "that I was quite concerned about you after your last visit."

I felt a sinking feeling deep inside.

"I ... I'm so sorry about ..."

"Oh for God's sake shut up and let me finish!." She interrupted. "Will you please stop worrying and let me explain. It is precisely this reaction that concerns me so much."

I fell silent but kept my eyes down to the floor. I was, to put it mildly, embarrassed and confused.

"OK," she went on. "How can I put this?" She thought for a moment. "I have given a great deal of thought to sex in my life." She smiled a sudden shy smile. "Er, I mean to sexuality ... not that I haven't also thought about ... oh never mind!"

She took a deep breath and tried again.

"Almost everyone is a product of their initial sexual experiences. What excites us the earliest always manages to excite us the most ... especially if that experience has strong emotional components. Children that are abused, for example, often become abusers themselves. Links are made in our sexual minds that we have little or no conscious control over. Obviously we can and should control what we do ... but it is almost impossible to control what excites us. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

I just nodded, still with no clear idea where all this was going.

"Don't get me wrong, I am not for one moment tying to justify sexual abuse, especially of children. It is wholly wrong. But the effects on the abused child are more problematic than we often admit. The path to sexual maturity, as with the paths to emotional and intellectual maturity, is strewn with problems and pitfalls. All kinds of difficulties can emerge as the result of circumstance, and often these difficulties can blight our whole lives."

"You're talking about my incest fantasies?" I whispered very softly, still looking at the floor.

"Yes, sort of ..." she said, "but not quite in the way you mean."

She reached over, lifted my head up, and looked in my eyes.

"Just listen to me for a while." She said. "And stop, just for a moment applying it all to yourself in this judgmental way. Everybody, repeat EVERYBODY has some kind of sexual hangup. You're no different to anyone else."

I smiled thinly but said nothing.

"Most men initiate sexual activity in relationships," she went on. "They are the positive pole, the active partner. The 'Yan' if you like to the female 'Yin' ... or is it the other way round?. Anyway, as a result their sexual energies are strong and powerful, and can be, if they wish, sublimated to other causes ... nobler causes if you like. But sometimes this positivity can be blocked."

I looked at her, and the confusion that was obvious in my eyes made her smile.

"Hang on a moment," she laughed "and you'll see where I'm going with this."

Again I gave the thin smile.

"OK, let me take you as an example of what I'm trying to say. It may be easier that way."

She sat back in the chair and thought for a moment. "As I explained before, your father liked his women to be overtly sexual in nature. He liked his games and fantasies ... which is fine. But the problem was combing this with the appropriate raising of children. Somewhere along the line, probably because of something I inadvertently said or did, your normal Oedipal urges were reinforced by my implicit sexual acting and dressing. If you like, we got too close physically. This had a detrimental affect on you and prevented you attaching your normal sexual drives to someone outside the family, so to speak. I'm sorry if this all sounds a bit too Freudian."

"Go on" I murmured, intrigued by what she was saying.

"To cut to the chase, the problem you have is not the one you think you have. You think that fantasising about fucking your mother is an awful sin ... and doing it ten times worse. Well it's not!" She stopped for a while, pursing her lips as if searching for the right words. "Incest is a sin because inbreeding is dangerous to the offspring of such a union. Traditionally it was a simple taboo that prevented people harming themselves and their families. But in the modern world we can replace such instinctive taboos with reasoned and conscious thought. Today we reason that you don't have sex with you close relations where; one, it can cause genetic deformities in children, or two, where it can harm the normal sexual and emotional development of the child. But that doesn't mean that it is always wrong in some high and mighty God-given sense. Did you know, for examples that in some tribes in the world it is normal for the father to sexually initiate the daughter?"

"No ... I didn't" I whispered.

"Where such behaviour is 'normal' it does not cause problems. Difficulties usually only occur when an individuals behaviour is 'deviant' from the norm."

"Like incest in western culture you mean".

She sighed. "Yes, in a way that's what I mean. But I'm also trying to explain why it's not a problem for you or I."

"Oh ..." I murmured almost to myself.

"The real problem you have is not your fantasies but your blocked sexual drives"

I looked up at her sharply and quizzically.

"When you were younger there were times around me that you obviously felt sexually aroused. But instinctively you also knew that being sexually turned on by your mother was wrong. So you could not express that sexuality. If you like, you were in a no-win situation, and gradually you associated being genuinely turned on with doing something wrong. As a result your natural sexual drives became blocked."

"Hang on a moment" I interrupted. "I had a full sex life with my wife, I'm not impotent or anything. I don't know what you mean?"

She sat forward in her chair and looked at me seriously.

"It's more subtle than that John. I don't mean you could not have sex, but rather that initiating sex is more difficult for you than for other people. There is a lot of guilt and uncertainty around your sexuality. Am I not right?"

I thought about it for a moment.

"Well, maybe ... I don't know." I was suddenly aware that she was right. Although I was a genuinely social person, I had always found it extremely hard to chat-up women when they were sexually attractive to me. Even in my marriage it was rare for me to initiate sex. I always seem more comfortable in waiting for my wife to indicate that she wanted physical contact. I masturbated too much to, usually to fantasies that could never be realised.

I think she guessed what thoughts were going through my mind.

"When we started to talk around the subject of mother-son incest the last time you were here, to me it was initially amusing, and even oddly exciting. I reasoned that as mature adults some mutually consensual 'games' between us were fairly harmless. After all I can't have anymore children, and neither of us has a partner."

"Oh!" I said rather weakly. "I see ..."

She laughed. "You're shocked by my candour?"

"Well, yes ... frankly I am."

"Do you want to stop this conversation?" she enquired gently.

"No ... no definitely not." I answered perhaps too hurriedly.

"Anyway, to go back to last time, I slowly began to realise that for you the topic was a big problem. It is a ghost hanging over your entire sexuality. You wanted this, but there was no way ... except as in this case by accident ... that you could ever attempt to initiate your fantasies."

I shifted uncomfortably in the chair. I didn't like the way she seemed to understand me so well, and I felt myself turning a deep red.

Either she didn't notice or she ignored it, and she went on. "I understood that your natural drives were blocked ... caught in the emotional trap of deeply desiring something but not permitting oneself even to consciously acknowledge that desire. My sudden change in behaviour was an attempt to help you get through that blockage. Do you understand what I mean?"

I remembered how she had suddenly become so rude and aggressive ... and how I had eventually reacted to that aggression.

I nodded slowly. "I see." I said, and this time I actually meant it.

"It is a basic idea in psychotherapy actually." she explained. "If it is not possible to rid someone of a particular neuroses, sometimes it is better to embrace the neurotic behaviour and follow it wherever it leads. Like a journey that must be taken. This way the problem is 'worked through' so to speak."

"Oh!" I said again. "So you were 'working through' my incest fantasy?"

"Well I was making a start anyway."

It took a few moments for this to sink in. Indeed it wasn't until I realised that my cock was getting hard that I began to see where this was leading.

"Start!?" I said simply.

"Such a problem cannot be resolved in one session alone you know." she said with a smile that was both shy and rather devious.

"Mother," I whispered. "You're not really suggesting that we ... er ... make a habit of what happened last time, are you? I couldn't ... it's wrong. I abused you for God's sake!!"

She lay back in to her chair and crossed her legs, her tights (or stockings??) burring softly as the nylons met and scraped across each other.

"I am suggesting exactly that for three reasons ..."

"You've really thought this through" I whispered in a slightly sarcastic tone.

She just smiled and went on. "One, because you need to be free of this problem. It will change your whole life, believe me. Two, because I caused it and therefore I owe it to you to help put it right."

I started to speak, but she held up her hand.

"... and three, because I'll damn well enjoy it!"

To that I had no immediate answer.

III

For a long time I just sat staring at the wall trying to get my head round what she was suggesting. She had made it all sound so clinical, like she was a sex therapist and I was her patient. To be honest the whole idea scared me, I guess because she was right. The notion of sexually interacting with ... of dominating ... my mother filled me all sorts of conflicting emotions. Lust, desire, and excitement on the one hand, and shame and fear on the other. It just didn't seem 'right'.

I could, at this point, get into a long and philosophically deep discussion about the nature of 'right' and 'wrong', but I won't bore you with that. The bottom line is that 'consciously' I suspected she was right, but 'emotionally' I was very divided.

"I'll have to think on all you've said." I said at last.

"What exactly is it that worries you?" she asked with great seriousness.

"Well, I think it's because it is implicit in what you've said that this 'relationship' would not simply be ... well ... like us providing comfort for each other. You're suggesting, or at least I think you are, that I be dominant over you. Or have I got that wrong?"

She looked at me almost despairingly. "No John, " she said. "You haven't got it wrong. That's exactly what I mean. If I simply seduce you ... as I did to some extent last time ... then nothing will change inside you. You need to find a way to be both dominant and considerate at the same time. Last time you started subservient ... and only by losing control could you achieve what you really wanted."

"I hurt you didn't I?" I whispered.

"Yes." she said simply.

The word hung between us for a while.

She watched me intently, seeing my resolve on the matter evaporating in front of her eyes.

Then she sighed deeply. "John, John, is not a little pain sexually exciting? Do you really think I would be suggesting this if that worried me? How many times do I have to say this ... I want you to use my body for your pleasure. I WANT it! It's all I have left ..."

She timed her words just right ... what could I say to that? She WANTED it. Not just for me but for herself too. It was 'all she had left' she had said. Did she mean that it was her last chance for some genuine sexual excitement?

I nodded wearily at her. I guess I would just have to make the effort ... and rape and abuse her on a regular basis. After all she was my mother, how could I refuse!

Smiling inwardly at the absurdity having to actually be 'persuaded' to fuck my beautiful mother, I said. "Ok Mother I will do as you suggest ... and thank you."

After that we decided not to begin our new relationship until my next visit (which was a shame 'cos one part of me had spent a long time that evening wondering what she was wearing under that damn sexy outfit! Visions of black seams running up under her smart suit to multi-shaded stocking tops, and beyond, kept popping unbidden into my mind ... were they really stockings? God, I hoped so!). We chatted around the issues, and even made a few ground rules, such as what signal she would give if things went too far. It was all very bizzare to say the least, but I loved her for it. And somewhere deep down inside me I was incredibly excited by the whole thing. I felt like a child who'd just been told that tomorrow was Christmas ... and he could have whatever he wanted.

And when I went to bed all I wanted to do was masturbate ... to visions of getting mother out of those clothes! But oddly enough I didn't. I was saving myself for something better.

IV

Curiously enough I managed to find time to visit mother again the following weekend!

It had been a strange week, however, my emotions continuing to swing between fear and lust, and I was worried that I had no clear idea what to expect when I arrived at the cottage.

In the event everything appeared normal. Even mother's clothes had been toned down. Her hair was still long and free, but the suit had been exchanged for a blouse and skirt. Only her stiletto heels and dark smoky stockings (or tights?) held the same promise as last week.

"Hello my dear!" she said kissing my cheek. "And how's my little boy today?"

Ignoring the implied invitation I just said "Fine thanks mom." realising for the first time that I had absolutely no clue how to behave in this new role. "How are you?"

Dear God, I thought to myself, that was really dominant!

As she led me inside, her spiky heels tip-tapping on the hall lino dragged my eyes down to seek their reward in the dark seams that ran up the back of her stocking-clad legs. I felt myself hardening.

"Nice ..." I whispered.

She turned back to look at me enquiringly.

"Your legs," I said boldly. "Very nice."

"Oh," she said looking slightly embarrassed. "Er ... thank you."

"I'd like to see more," I said quietly.

She stopped and turned fully around. "John, I'm your mother. How can you say such things?"

She played her part so well that it was only with much difficulty that I managed to mutter, in a rather strangled voice "Take of your skirt and let me see your stockings."