Two Bodies, One Soul

Having read many erotic stories of incestuous love, I have hesitated to record my own experience. So many of the couplings recorded in erotic literature seem to focus on the rumbustious, one might even say, violent, acts of sexual unions.

My experience has been rather different. At the risk of gaining the derision of the seekers after the extreme, not to say furious, aspects of sexual contact, and in the hope of touching those of more gentle persuasions, I make my humble submission.

My name is Sari. At the time of writing, four years after the event I shall record took place, I am forty-two years of age. Married to Carl for twenty-three years, the union had produced one daughter and one son.

Beloved as my daughter is to me, my special bond had always been with my son, Travis. I have heard and read of such bonding between mothers and sons, but I think ours, from the very first, went beyond the “normal”, whatever normal is.

I was once reading Edward Gibbon’s “Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire.” In it I came across a passage that said of two brothers, “In every action of life it was observed that their two bodies were animated by one soul.” Since the birth of Travis, that is how it had been between us.

As he grew towards manhood it became clear, not only to me, but also to those around us, that not only did we share so many tastes, desires and aspirations, we also seemed to know each other’s thoughts before ever they were spoken. We constantly anticipated each other needs, and felt each other’s joys and sorrows. We were there to support each other in times of distress or crisis.

I had observed in other families, that when a son entered the years of puberty, bonding often broke down. Not so, with Travis and I, if anything, it strengthened.

My husband Carl and my daughter Natala, were often aggrieved at the closeness of Travis and I, but in truth, neither Travis nor I had sought or planned our bond. It was as mysterious to us, as it was angering to Carl and Natala.

Natala’s ultimate response was to leave home as soon as she was of an age to do so, to work in a distant city. Carl’s response was sarcasm and constant criticism of Travis, and verbal attacks on me to the effect that I was making my son, “a mother’s boy.”

In fact, Travis is essentially masculine, as I am essentially feminine. It was hardly possible for a female to be in Travis’s presence and not be aware of a very virile young man. In his high school years, I was all too aware of his sexual liaisons, but that’s another story.

In those years of his growing sexual awareness, I became conscious of his sexual desire for me. This impelled me to consider my own feelings in this matter, and I found I had no doubts about my sexual feelings for him. It seemed a perfectly natural flow on from all the other life aspects we shared.

We each knew of the other’s desire, but neither of us spoke of it. We had no need to speak of it for, as I have written, we seemed to know each other’s thoughts before they were ever spoken. It was something beautiful being held in abeyance until the moment came, and we would know that it was right.

That moment came one Saturday afternoon. Carl was as usual off watching a football match. We knew that we would not see him until late that night because he would be off drinking with his mates at the pub, celebrating the victory if their team won, or drowning their sorrows if it lost.

Even the weather seemed to be favouring us. It was a lovely Spring day, and Travis and I were lying on lounges in the garden reading. It might be appropriate to write here that we were scantily clad, but it was not so. I had a perfectly ordinary skirt and blouse on, and Travis jeans and a shirt.

I knew what was going to happen, and Travis afterwards told me that he also knew. The time was right.

I was wondering if I should take the initiative, when Travis rose and came to me. He leaned over and kissed me very softly on the lips and said, “May I put my penis into your vagina, mother?”

The request was no surprise, but the quaint manner of making it was. It was something out of a past age, and all the sweeter for it.

As I had been anticipating what was to happen, I was already well lubricated and Travis’s penis was erect. I spoke no word in response to his request, but simply pulled up my skirt, took off my panties, and drew my legs apart.

He took off his jeans and came over me. I guided him to my entrance. He slipped in easily and as he reached the full depth, I flexed my vaginal muscle round him. He lay very still in me, but commenced kissing me again with his soft warm lips.

I was a stranger to this form of sexual intercourse. Carl and one or two other men I had been with, had always been violent in their approach, even inflicting pain in their lust, not so with Travis. He came to me with reverence, his penetration like that of one entering a sacred place.

For the first time of coming together, one might have anticipated urgency, a rapid climax, but it was not like that. Ours was an act of deep love, an extension of what was already between us, a natural physical outcome of the spiritual bond we had experienced since his birth – perhaps even before his birth, while he was still in my womb.

I have read in the more austere literature on the subject, that what we were doing was “unnatural coitus.” To us it seemed the very opposite. It was the most “natural coitus.”

It had all those elements of love, hunger and the drive to reproduce the species that goes with every good sexual coupling, but for Travis and I there was more. Our union was the final act of our completion as “one soul.”

We lay together unmoving for a long time, kissing, then breaking away to look deep into each other’s eyes, rejoicing in the time of fulfillment, feeling the sweetness of the closest physical contact a man and a woman can achieve.

At last Travis spoke, using the most ancient and simple words to express what flowed between us; “I love you mother.”

I responded, “You are my other half, Travis.”

Then we began to move in rhythm with each other, Travis’s shaft drawing back until only the tip of his crown remained in me, then plunging down into my depths.

Once more, I might wish to write of a violent eruption as we experienced our orgasms, but this was like no other orgasm I had ever experienced. In keeping with the rest of our coupling, it was what I can only describe as “harmonious”, tender and loving, each wanting to give more than to receive.

Travis finished his ejaculation with a gasp followed by a sigh of satisfaction that seemed to come from his heart. I clung on to him as the fading shadows of my climax continued to shake me, and then we were at peace, still in physical union.

The deed once done, the doers of the deed must bear the consequences. Had ours been an act of simple lust, all might have ended there and then. For Travis and I it could not be and was not so.

Sheer practicalities stood in the way of there being no consequences to our act. Carl had had a vasectomy, and one outcome of my coupling with Travis, was pregnancy. When I told Carl of my condition, without revealing who had helped bring it about, the storm raged, Carl departed, the last word from him, being that concerning our divorce.

Separation between Travis and I is unthinkable to both of us. In the simplest of terms, “We belong.”

If once past the first act of our union, we have both become somewhat more energetic and exploratory in our sexual activity, there will always be something sacred about that first gentle union.