Studying the History of Families

We started texting daily, talking several times a week, our calls occasionally interrupted by a friend who'd stick his head in to say "hi" - Christopher told me word had gotten around about his good-looking Mom.

* * * * *

Dressed in stockings, a dark blue dress that nicely accented my emerald eyes and bright red hair, and heels that showed off my legs, my make-up, hair, and nails perfect, I waited for Christopher at the international terminal - no hanging in the cell phone lot to welcome my man home. I saw him come down the concourse. The time away had done wonders; the teen-age shuffle was gone, he moved with strength and confidence.

I smiled, hugged him, said, "Welcome home darling." He said, "It's good to be home," stepped back and said, "Wow, do you look great."

"I've been going to the gym, eating better, taking care of myself," and slipping my hand in his added, "It's good to have my man back."

We stopped at his favorite Thai restaurant. I scanned the menu, laid it aside, asked him to order for me. His choice was excellent, the conversation better. After unpacking we sat up late talking over coffee.

* * * * *

The next morning, after his long flight, he was sleeping in. I fixed lunch, chicken soup, his favorite, the odor wafting through the house. When he appeared in the kitchen, clothes neat and pressed, he said, "Chicken soup? Hope so, I've missed it."

"Sure is honey."

He kissed me, said thanks, and we sat and we ate and we talked; then his phone pinged. He glanced at it, frowned, said nothing. We continued our conversation, but something was bothering him. I was tempted to dig it out of him, but I could hear Dr. Wilhelm's voice in my head. I was respectful, there was no prying mother here.

Finally, as we cleaned up, Christopher, in a plaintive voice, asking permission, said, "That was Arthur, hem Sammie, and John wanna come over and play video games, then go to a party tonight, is that okay?"

Arthur, Sammie, and John, a/k/a Moe, Larry, and Curly, the Three Stooges, the Goofball Patrol. Christopher knew my opinion of them. In the past, when making excuses for my son's poor behavior, I'd blame the influence of these three, but then again, I'm sure each of their mothers blamed the other three.

I knew what I would have said six months ago, but we had a new program here.

"Christopher, you're the man of the house, you don't need my permission to have your friends over, but thank you for letting me know."

The look on his face was one of puzzlement. Unsure of what to make of make of my unexpected response he said, "Sure," then helped me load the dishwasher.

* * * * *

When I got home from Julie's that night my son and his buddies were gone, but I was glad to see the den, usually a mess after they spent the afternoon playing video games, was relatively neat and clean.

I watched Christopher slide back into old habits: mismatched clothes, barely shaven, going out at night, sleeping late, laying around the house. I considered putting my foot down, but recalling Dr. Wilhelm's advice stayed the course, let him make his own mistakes, no nagging, no condemning, no fixing. It was his hangover, his problem.

I was also encouraged, for it wasn't a total reversion. He talked to me as an adult and accepted adult responsibilities. The first time I asked him to mow and rake there was sulking, although not as much as there used to be. The second time no sulking. After that he did it on his own. His room might be a mess, but he didn't leave his stuff scattered around the house and when I'd head for the kitchen to ready a hot nutritious meal he'd help get it ready, eat with lusty gusto, help clean up, and through it all we'd talk and laugh like adults.

Then one day, dressed in my work-out clothes, I was making coffee when I heard him get into the shower. He hadn't gotten up this early since he got back. He came downstairs hair in place, wearing slacks and a button down shirt. I mentioned how good he looked; he told me I did also. He said he was going to make a smoothie, asked if I'd eaten. I hadn't, he made two, and as we talked he mentioned he'd gotten bored and bailed on his friends last night, that they'd be coming over later for video games.

I ran some errands, then Julie and I hit the gym, made plans to get together that night. When I got home there were several cars parked outside. Inside the boys were jabbering incoherently in the den; I went to my room and showered.

I'd just pulled my boots over my jeans when there was a knock on my door.

"Hey Mom, it's me. Can I come in?"

Six months ago he'd have just walked in.

"Yes, I'm decent."

Opening the door he smiled appreciatively and said, "More than decent I'd say. I just noticed your car, how long have you been home?"

"Half an hour or so. You having fun?"

"Not really. One of the guys ordered pizza. It should be here any minute. In fact I thought I heard the delivery guy pull up, which is why I looked outside and saw your car. Want to join us?"

"I don't want to butt in."

"I'd enjoy the company."

My son insisted the guys eat in the kitchen and not make a mess in the den. He and I chatted while the boys continued the inane conversation I'd overheard earlier; the contrast between my son, dressed nicely and smelling good (he'd taken to cologne), and his disheveled friends was striking. When the final slice was consumed Christopher announced he was done with video games for the day and then, as the boys got up to leave, said, "Hey, in this house we clean after ourselves."

I expected to hear the casual, "Fuck that man," but instead they picked up the kitchen and den. They, like I, sensed a new maturity in my son. As they drove off Christopher placed his hand on my shoulder and said, "Mom, why don't you and I go to a movie tonight."

I kissed his cheek and said, "Julie and I have plans. How about tomorrow?"

"Perfect. I'll call Scott, see if he wants to hang. There's something else Mom."

"What it is?"

"Since I got back, you've treated me like a man and I've acted like a child. I appreciate your not pointing it out."

* * * * *

The next night, at the movies, when Christopher took my hand in his, I liked it.

* * * * *

Christopher leaned over and kissed the top of my head, "Morning gorgeous, need a re-fill on the coffee?"

"Thank you darling, that would be sweet."

He took my cup, returned seconds later, handed it to me, sat and said, "The last couple of days I got serious and filled out my college applications. I was wondering if you could carve out some time after your work-out with Ms. Julie and go over them with me. I'd like to borrow some wisdom."

"Thank you son. I'm sure you did fine, but I'd love to help."

"Something else. Ms. Julie and Scott are going to a play tonight. Let's join them, my treat? My way of saying thanks."

He kissed my cheek. I felt a stirring in my loins I knew I shouldn't. I'd felt it a lot lately.

* * * * *

Later, when we reviewed the applications, there were a few instances where we disagreed. I told him my point of view, listened to his, knew it was his decision.

* * * * *

The band playing in the park finished its set, Christopher was off buying us drinks, and I recognized the two approaching boys. Muscle-heads, they'd been regulars at the old gym. Their crude comments and over-the-top leering were among the reasons Julie and I switched to a women-only facility.

"Haven't see you around the gym baby, been missing you and your good looking friend."

Before Dr. Wilhelm I would have sounded weak and frightened, but now, in a tone confident and assertive, I said, "Not interested guys, I'm here with someone."

Surprised by my response they looked at me, trying to think of something to say, when Christopher, standing behind them, said, "You heard the lady guys, she's with me."

I held out my hand for him, kissed his lips, the boys drifted off. The rest of the evening, when I felt their eyes on me, I'd cuddle deeper in my son's arms. Here I felt safe, secure, cherished, loved.

In my bed that night I finally surrendered to the urge I'd been fighting for weeks. I masturbated, images of my son in my head.

* * * * *

It'd been a particularly brutal work-out that day and the boys were happy to let Julie and I sit back as they manned the grill, cleaned up, gave us neck and shoulder rubs, then Christopher, who had found Clue, his favorite childhood board game, while cleaning the garage a few days ago, suggested we play. We did, had a ball.

* * * * *

While Scott and Christopher were playing hoops, Julie and I made love. Afterwards, as I lay with her, enjoying her warm body and sweet smell, I said, "I don't know what's gotten into me lately, since Christopher came home I'm aroused all the time."

Julie said, "It sounds perfectly normal to me. You, like I, are at sexual peak, as are our handsome sons. The pheromones in your house must be overpowering. They are in mine."

Julie was getting uncomfortably close to something I'd told no one, so redirecting the conversation I said, "I've wondered about that. I'm surprised Christopher doesn't date. You'd think the young ladies would be lining up."

Julie said, "That, I fear, is a weakness in Dr. Wilhelm's approach. Scott has the same problem. While our boys have become adults, the women their age remain girls. They can't satisfy our son's needs for companionship, among other things. That's up to us mothers to provide. Speaking of which, can you two come over tomorrow night for dinner?"

"I'd love to, I'll ask Christopher."

"Not a problem, Scott already has."

* * * * *

We parked in front of Julie's. When Christopher opened the passenger door I handed him the wine, took his proffered hand, stood, kissed his cheek.

Julie, wearing an apron, met us at the door. Scott was in the kitchen chopping garlic, onions, and ginger. I flashed back to a year ago, when our sons were grungy and inarticulate, garbed in ill-fitting mismatched dirty clothes. Now, in place of those awkward angry teenagers, were mature, funny, self-possessed, charming young men. Dr. Wilhelm was a genius.

Scott said, "Hello Ms. Jessica," and kissed my cheek.

He'd called me Ms. Jessica for years, but now he was a man.

"Scott, it's time you called me Jessica."

Julie said, "Christopher, your Mom's got a point, please call me Julie."

I handed Julie the wine, she poured four glasses. We ate in the kitchen, talking over the excellent food, then adjourned to the living room where Julie and Scott sat together, her leaning her body into his. Taking Christopher's hand in mine I did the same.

You could have baked bed in my sex. Later I set my vibrator on high; the orgasm was blinding.

* * * * *

Christopher and I were on the couch, watching Game of Thrones. I was curled up in his arms, loving his smell, the way he breathed, the warmth of his body, his beating heart, and tried to attribute his erection to the show's array of sexy women. Earlier that day, after Julie and I made love I'd confessed my feelings about Christopher. Julie suggested I talk to Dr. Wilhelm.

When the show ended I said good night, kissed my son, my lips, seemingly on their own volition, lingering on his, tasting him, wanting him. Hurrying to my room I texted Dr. Wilhelm asking for an appointment. She replied immediately; she was available first thing in the morning.

I laid aside the phone and, my hand between my legs, imagined going to Christopher's room, crawling into his bed.

* * * * *

"Two nights ago Christopher and I went to Julie and Scott's for dinner. Afterwards we sat in her living room, enjoying an excellent wine. As we talked I saw, I've been seeing, Julie and Scott as a couple, a romantic couple, a sexual couple. Dr. Wilhem they're perfect together. I've started imagining Christopher and I the same way. I thought it would pass, but it's only getting stronger."

Dr. Wilhelm said, "When you got home did you masturbate while thinking about him?"

Taken aback by the directness, and insight, of the question, it took me a moment, then not looking her in the eye I said, "Yes."

"Honey," she said, "Believe me, it's okay. It wasn't the first time, was it?"

I turned back to face her. "No Dr. Wilhelm, it wasn't, it's every day. I've never been this aroused, my body's never been this sensitive, my orgasms have never been this powerful."

"You are at your sexual peak, as is your handsome son. We've talked a lot about you, but little about Christopher. Have you noticed similar behavior in him?"

Protective of my son, not wanting Dr. Wilhelm to think less of him, I'd avoided this subject, but the question was on the floor and this was therapy. It could do no good if I wasn't honest and I trusted Dr. Wilhelm. So far she'd done nothing but help.

"We spend a lot of time together, cook, eat out, go to movies. He is always touching me, putting his arm around me. And every night it seems we end up on the couch together, talking about the day, holding each other, cuddling really."

She leaned forward, touched my leg, reassuring me, then moving back said, "Isn't this what you wanted, to end the fighting, for your son to grow up? It sounds like he has, he's someone you can depend on, the man of the house."

"Yeah, but last night..."

I stopped. Dr. Wilhelm said, "Jessica, take all the time you need, but sometimes its best to just say it."

"Dr. Wilhelm, he's hard, a lot. Last night we were watching television and I was leaning into him and I felt it. He was erect, and he stayed erect. I tried to tell myself it wasn't me, but the way he was holding me, the way he's bee holding me, it sure felt like me. He wasn't the least bit uncomfortable that I was aware of it."

"Like he wanted you to know."

"Exactly."

"Does that bother you?"

"I know this sounds crazy Dr. Wilhelm, but I don't know."

"I think you do. You've told me you've imagined him as your lover. Why would it surprise you if he felt the same way, you're a beautiful woman. Does that feel wrong?"

"But it is wrong, isn't it."

"That's not what I asked."

"No it isn't. No Vanessa, it doesn't feel wrong."

"Jessica, do you want your son?"

The question was direct. We both knew the answer. "Yes."

She deliberately looked at the pictures on her mantle, then turned back, smiled, a warm wise smile, and said, "It's not wrong, in fact it's the most natural thing in the world. I have permission to tell you this: Julie and Scott are lovers, as are the mothers and sons you've met among her friends over the last months, as are my son and I."

I looked at the pictures of the children noting, as I had before, the resemblance.

"Those are your children?"

She looked at the picture of her son and said, "Our children.

"It happened quickly, as it happened to you. After I made the changes I described to you, the one's you've effected, as he responded to them, I found myself desiring my son and felt the same vibe from him."

I knew what she meant.

"Then I had my epiphany. I recalled the groups that opposed the influence of the older women on younger men, the ones that asserted the women were lesbians, also accused them of incest. I'd dismissed it as baseless pejorative it, but now I took it seriously. I read the letters between mothers and sons; they were a goldmine. The mothers described their sons as beautiful, called them 'my most darling' and 'beloved.' The sons were equally affectionate but more graphic, talking about returning to their mother's embrace, her bosom, her bed, stating they missed their mothers' warm kisses and caresses, that they could not wait until they again were naked in her arms. The few scholars that looked at the letters dismissed this as stylistic convention, but it doesn't appear in other contemporary letters. Sometimes a cigar is a cigar. These were love letters, written by new found lovers in the throes of passion, by lovers in long established relationships. The older women we've discussed, the mistresses that taught young men to be men, were their mothers."

"Why didn't you tell me this earlier?"

She smiled, knowing I knew the answer.

"Because if you told me I wouldn't have let things develop naturally and you did tell me. You said when I was ready the right man would be standing in front of me."

"Yes dear. If I told you what other's have experienced it would have influenced your behavior. You needed your own experience, needed to make your own choice, come to this, or not come to this realization, on your own."

"Has anyone not come to this realization?"

Here she smiled, a bit guiltily, and said, "No dear, it appears universal."

"Dr. Wilhelm, is this natural?"

"I can't say for certain, I'm not a biologist, but I don't think it's a coincidence that healthy mothers and healthy sons reach their sexual peak at the same time. Think about it, women spend their lives focused on their sons. We know no one better, our sons know no one better; there's no one we love more, no one they love more. We spend decades molding each other to each other. Our husbands, our romances, they're secondary to our sons. Mother and son is the most powerful relationship in the world. Why should it end?"

"Then why is it condemned?"

"The combination of a young man at the height of his physical powers, his mind youthful, alert, and open, at its most creative, teamed with a woman decades older with experience and wisdom, and both completely loyal to each other. They'd rule the world; I suspect they once did.

"The earliest penal codes condemn incest. But these laws were written before there were doctors, before these were biologists, before we understood genes, before we had the tools or sufficient sample size to determine if incest was harmful. In other words, there was no reason, no basis, to condemn it.

"In order to take power the moral authorities, mostly motherless men - after all the mortality rate in childbirth was astronomical - had to find a way to break the natural bond between mother and son. So they wrote moral and legal codes that condemned it, criminalized it. The result: men deprived of the natural unbounded life-long love and guidance of their mothers have spent the last 10,000 years in ceaseless pointless conflict."

I looked at the photographs of her son and their children. What she said made perfect sense. Still, I wanted her reassurance.

"Have you ever regretted your decision?"

"Not for a moment."

* * * * *

On the way home I texted Christopher, made some heated promises. Fifteen minutes later he responded, said he'd been playing basketball, that he'd be home in twenty minutes.

I stripped, combed out my hair, checked my make-up, put on a perfume I knew he liked, selected a beige gown which reached my upper thigh and in which my erect nipples would be nicely outlined. In the kitchen I fixed a pitcher of ice water. When I heard his car door shut I headed for the front door.

It had been seventeen minutes. He ran a few stop signs.

Still sweaty from the game he stepped through the door, stopped, and, hand still on the door knob, said, "Wooo, Mom."

"You like?"

"Yep."

"I was hoping you would. Thirsty? There's water in the kitchen."

I got another, "Yep," although Im not sure he heard the question.

I said, "Why don't you close the front door, I didn't dress this way for the neighbors."

With a good natured grin he said, "Oh sorry," and swung the door shut.

Holding hands we walked to the kitchen where I leaned over, enjoying his eyes on my rump, filled two glasses with water, handed him a glass, sat, and running my nail on his arm said, "It's nice having a man in the house again. It lets me be a woman."

"Mom, I don't think you needed my help to be a woman. It's more like I needed yours to be a man."

"Well, are you ready, ready to be my man?"