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Between a Mother and Son; Part 3 ( the conclusion of a true story of forbidden love)
It was after my father had been moved out for several months that he began seeing another woman. This development did nothing to upset my mother, on the contrary, she welcomed it, and initiated divorce proceedings. The divorce was amicably settled in a few months, and our life moved on without him, except for his periodic visits to see my sisters. These became fewer and farther between, as his new partner wasn’t predisposed towards children, nor was she keen to have my father interact with my mother. From her point of view, the less of seen of us the better, and her attitudes naturally influenced my father.
In lieu of his absence, and the developing relationship between my mother and myself, I became the family’s default father-figure, a transition that seemed natural given the circumstances and was easily accepted by the girls, my mother included.
In truth, my mother had begun to treat me as her partner years before our relationship became sexual, even when my father had still been living with us. His alcoholism, and her resultant dependence on me, had initiated the situation, and the dissolution of their marriage accelerated it. For all practical purposes, I was my mother’s husband.
I was happy in the role. I enjoyed being a father to the girls, getting them off to school in the morning, helping them with their schoolwork, driving them with their friends to see a movie, taking them to doctor’s appointments or shopping. If my mother was working late at the office(or not), I was happy to prepare dinner for them.
In every way, they came to think of me as their father, and so they were accepting of the overtly physical affection my mother and I shared, and over time, came to see it as natural. We were careful not to be overly demonstrative in their presence, but we kissed, held hands or held each other close as couples do. When we watched television as a family, my mother and I cuddled together on the sofa, while the girls watched from the beanbag chairs. At first my mother and I tried to hide the fact that we were sleeping in the same bed, but eventually it was obvious, and we gave up the charade. We had expected questions, or recriminations, but they never came. On my first father’s day, the girls even brought me breakfast in bed.
While our situation had become more “traditionally” domestic, the initial rush of our sexual liaison had not cooled, and sex was just as passionate as it had been in the beginning. In fact, both of us found the evolution of our circumstance to be just as arousing as the illicitness of its origins had been initially. We were mother and son, we were passionately in love, and as a result, the parent/child power structure had ceased to be. We were lovers, partners, equals in love.
Every night, once the girls were off to their rooms to sleep, she and I lay next to each other, perhaps reading at first, but that never lasted too long. We’d come together, and cuddle, hold each other and talk about the day. We might fall asleep, but more often than not, our lips would meet, our tongues would entwine, and our bodies would envelop each other, my cock drawn to her warm, wet pussy like a divining rod to water. Sometimes our fucking would be hot, intense, frenzied, and sometimes it would be warm, soft and slow. This night was of the latter variety.
As we lay on the bed, unclothed, she with her head on my shoulder, we kissed; slow, soft, sensual kisses, our lips enfolded upon one another, unwilling to part, and even then only reluctantly.
I rolled her over onto her back, and my lips met with hers again in an extended embrace. As our lips parted, I kissed her neck and shoulders and then moved steadily to her breasts. Taking her left breast in my hand, I bent my head to her nipple, and lightly ran my tongue across it, circling it before placing my lips over it, engulfing her hard nipple in my mouth. Gently, I began to suck on her nipple and as I did so, my tongue licked her areola. Then I moved to her right breast and continued my attentions.
Slowly, intently, I kissed her torso and stomach and moved my way towards her pubic triangle. Kissing her just at the top of her bush, my hands slid over her hips. Tentatively she spread her legs apart, just enough to give me access to her pussy. My tongue located her sweet flower, and gently parted her petals. To the sound of her low moans of pleasure, my tongue spread her vulva and found it’s way just inside her, indulging in her sweet nectar. My lips lovingly sucked and pulled at her labia, savoring her delicate and sensitive folds, taking in her intoxicating scent.
She held my head to her vagina, moaning softly, contentedly, engulfed in pleasure and delight; a being of pure sensation; I imagined her entire life spent like this, immersed in exquisite sensation.
In time I stood, and taking her legs in my hands, gently spread them apart. Placing my hand on her pussy, I felt her moist and succulent hole with casino siteleri my fingers, inserting them, one at a time and gently sliding them back and forth between her soft walls as she cried quietly to the rhythm of my movements.
Taking my cock in hand, I lay down on her and gradually, slid myself within her. She lifted her legs above me as I moved my hips back and forth, within and without. Gently, slowly, we fucked; leisurely, seductively, prolonging the erotic sensations, our every nerve ending charged with sensual pleasure.
We kissed as we fucked, extending each touch of our lips for greatest effect, until together our movements slowed and then, gradually, stopped. Laying on top of her, I remained hard within her, throbbing to the pulsing of her pussy, as we kissed long, sweet, unhurried kisses, until finally, I softened and fell out from her sanctuary, without an orgasm, but utterly satisfied.
It was after this session my mother confessed;
“I don’t want anyone else, ever.”
My cock throbbed to the sound of her words.
“Neither do I,” I said, holding her tight, and kissing her pliant lips.
She looked at me intensely; “I love you, more than anyone I’ve ever known, more than I can imagine loving anyone or anything…more than life.”
I realized this was more than the usual pillow talk. This was serious, and I responded in kind; “And I love you—with all my heart. Now and forever. There’s no one else for me, I want to spend my life with you.”
“Really?” She gave me a look of mild surprise, as though I’d told her broccoli was her my favorite food. “Are you happy? Happy enough to be with me like this, and no one else, forever?”
“Deliriously happy,” I pulled her close, and we kissed, a long, languid kiss. “I want to spend my life with you, just like this.”
“Well then,” She said, as our lips parted, ” I think we should get married.”
Taken aback, I let out a laugh, “You’re kidding.” She was dismayed at my reaction.
“I’m serious,” she declared. “I know it sounds crazy….”
“Just a little,” I said, incredulously. That was the wrong thing to say, with the wrong tone of voice.
She responded defensively, “What—you don’t want to commit to me?” She pulled away and started to hit me. “You want to be free so you can screw whoever you want and leave me?” She hit me again. “You shit!”
A tear rolled down her cheek and she tried to stifle a sob.
I’d hurt her, not realizing the heartfelt seriousness of her suggestion, or recognizing where it was coming from. She was 18 years older than I, a circumstance sexually stimulating to me, but a source of anxiety for her. I reached out to touch her, but she slapped my hand away.
“No, don’t,” she responded angrily. “Get away from me. You don’t love me, you just want to fuck me until someone younger comes along.”
“Hey, hey….you know that’s not true.” I persisted against her efforts to fight me off, and put my arms around her and pulled her close. “I love you, I love you so much. There’s no one else for me, you know that.”
Tears rolled down her cheeks and with them the full weight of my insensitivity came home to me. I tried my best to comfort her. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Shh, shhh—-don’t cry now. Don’t cry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
Gathering her composure, her moist eyes looked plaintively toward mine, “Well…will you listen? And not make fun?”
“Yes, sure, of course.I suppose we could do a little ceremony of our own…”
She shook her head; “No, no…listen. I know it sounds crazy, it is crazy! But—we love each other, we’re happy, we’re committed, we don’t want to be apart, ever..and…well….I want us to make it official somehow, really official. What else is marriage supposed to be about?”
I had to admit, I liked the idea, absurd as it was. It turned me on, and her logic was inescapable. These were all the reasons couples chose to get married. Why shouldn’t we make it official? If others less committed than we were could do it, why shouldn’t she and I be able to get married?
“Okay, ” I looked in her eyes and nodded, “I like the idea….but, how?”
She’d obviously given it some thought, because she was ready with suggestions.
“There are states where it’s easy to get a marriage license, there’s no waiting period or blood test and the only proof of ID you need is a driver’s license or a birth certificate.”
“Really?” I was both impressed and intimidated by her determination. “But our name’s the same.” A rueful smile crossed my lips. “They’ll think we’re kissing cousins or something.”
“Be serious.” She couldn’t hold back her smile. ” Since the divorce is final, I’ve filed to change back to my maiden name. No one will ever know we’re mother and son.”
I was stunned. She’d already begun to put her plan in action, knowing I’d be unable to deny her. And she was right.
“And, if you were to change your name,” she continued confidently, “it would make it that much less likely someone might find canlı casino out.”
It seemed she’d thought of everything.
“Even still,” I replied,”I think it’s probably illegal.” I was skeptical, but willing to entertain the idea. Hell, it sounded like fun.
She nuzzled up close and whispered slyly, “What we’ve been doing for a year now is illegal, my love. But that’s not what matters….” She squeezed my hand, “What matters is that it has meaning for you and me. I don’t care if the IRS gives us trouble, or if the cops come to haul us away.” She held both my hands in hers as she knelt next to me on our bed, “No matter what laws we break or institutions we offend, more than anything I could ever desire in this world, I want to be your wife.” Looking up at me, her voice quivering, she asked, “Will you marry me?”
As she said this, I felt the blood rush to my genitals and I grew hard, a development difficult to ignore as my cock rose up between us. We both laughed.
“I’ll take that as a “yes,”‘ she said, and again we laughed.
I took her in my arms and kissed her passionately. She took my cock in her hands and straddling me, put it to good use, slipping it inside her.
“Let’s celebrate our engagement…”
2.
“This is crazy,” I laughed, looking out from the dashboard as we drove along the highway. I was feeling decidedly uncomfortable in my newly purchased three-piece blue suit from Sears. The tie was choking me, and with growing frustration I tried to loosen it, but to no avail.
“Are you nervous?” she asked, her head on my shoulder as I drove. She wore a simple cream colored halter dress, which fell just above the knee. Her auburn-black shoulder length hair fell softly around her shoulders. She wore matching heels. Sitting beside me her knees looked fetching as they poked out from underneath her frock, and I placed my free hand upon her.
“A bit…” I answered.
I didn’t want to let on, but knowing we were about to try to put one over on the court, that gave me the shakes. Of course, as my mother had said, we’d been doing something illegal for well over a year; but that was in the privacy of our home. This was a public event and in a courthouse, no less! There was no denying the outlandishness of our endeavor, but we were committed.
We didn’t have to go far to find a state with minimum requirements for a marriage license; one piece of ID, no blood test and no waiting period. As we approached the County Clerk’s office to apply for the license, we looked at each other and took a breath.
“Step one. No turning back now! “she said, holding my hand. I opened the heavy door for her, and we strode inside.
It was surprisingly easy to get the license. This was years before computers and the internet made everything about a person instantly available. All we were required to show was our driver’s licenses. My mother offered to show her birth certificate as well, but the clerk was uninterested. Initially he rolled his eyes a bit at the age difference, but as there was no law other than cultural convention, he let it pass. My mother showed her divorce decree, and I had a new license with a new surname, taken from my maternal grandmother. Happily, the process was run-of-the mill and about as dull as toast. The fee was paid, the license handed over, and the clerk waved us on our way; “Next” he said. He might as well have been saying “Congratulations”.
Having completed one hurdle, we were anxious to finish the task, and we made our way to the courthouse down the street. We had an hour to kill before our appointment with the Judge; we stopped for coffee at a local diner, and knowing we needed witnesses, we found two willing patrons to help us out.
There was a flower shop right there on the street, and despite our rush, I wasn’t going to pass by without buying my fiancé a bouquet.
The four of us hurried to the courthouse. I recall pacing back and forth for an eternity outside the judge’ s chambers. As I wore a path in the marble tile, I fondled the rings in my pocket. Nothing fancy, two simple gold bands; but they were all I could afford. We didn’t care about their monetary value, it was their symbolic value that mattered.
Finally, the heavy oak door opened and a smiling young couple, followed by their witnesses, exited the offices. I looked at my mother, took her hand and together, taking a deep breath, we entered the chamber.
In every aspect of my life, except this one, I’d been a law-abiding citizen. I’d always been someone who followed the rules; strangely enough(given our situation), my mother was the same. But here we were, in the center place of the rule of law within this community, about to commit fraud, without a second thought or a tinge of regret. We both believed in marriage, but marriage as a union of two people in love, committed to one another, through thick and thin, no matter what may come. But the specifics of the law as written then, failed both its spirit and the true meaning of the ritual; too kaçak casino many people who shared an abiding love were denied the sanctity of marriage. We were two such people, but we were determined to bend convention to our need.
And so as we stood in the judge’s chambers, with all of its venerable accoutrements conveying the power and durability of the law, we felt righteous in our subversion of its tenets.
“Jeremy, do you take Jean to be your lawful wedded wife? To love, honor and cherish and protect her, forsaking all others….” I wanted to shout my answer from the rooftops for all the world to hear;
“I do.”
“With this ring, I thee wed….” Could this really be happening? It was a moment out of some fevered dream, and yet it was real. Telling it to you now, it might as well be a story about flying men from Mars, an impossible tale that could never happen; but like the fall of the Berlin Wall and the collapse of the Soviet Union, it did.
“…I now pronounce you man and wife….” man and wife, mother and son; a perfect circle, the end connecting back to the beginning to the end. There was no end to our love. I knew then
I’d been born for no other reason but to be her lover, her mate; she’d made me to be so and through her I’d come into the world to love her, cherish her, protect her; this was all I’d been created for, all I wanted to do.
We gazed at each other, giddy in disbelief. The judge continued;
“You may now kiss your bride.”
“Holy shit,” I sputtered, to everyone’s amusement. “Your bride.” If you’re flabbergasted at the thought of it, try to imagine our feelings at the time. Laughing seemed the only rational response; the incongruities made our heads spin.
We kissed to end the ceremony, the witnesses clapped, we thanked the judge, said our farewells and walked hand in hand as man and wife from the courthouse out into the street.
In the end, it was surprisingly easy to subvert the law and get married. As we stood on the courthouse steps, we looked at each other, relieved and feeling that for once, anything was possible in this world.
3.
“What now?” I asked as we looked out at the small city, the hustle and bustle of everyday life, indifferent to the two of us standing there hand in hand.
“The world hasn’t changed,” I said, smiling at my new wife.
“But we have!” She answered.
I picked her up in my arms, and holding her aloft, swinging her in the air, kissed her for all the world to see. We laughed, giddy as two children.
“I’m so happy,” she giggled, as I held her there above the world.
We were both buzzed. Neither of us thought it could really happen, and yet it had. It wasn’t a tragedy, it wasn’t “Oedipus”. The cops didn’t come to haul us away. No one was pointing at us a la “Invasion of the Body Snatchers”. The world didn’t end.
There were no self-recriminations, no regrets. We had done what we had done in full awareness of the cultural taboos we had crossed and we accepted our isolation from traditional morays. We reveled in the incestuous nature of our love, knowing in our hearts it was the strength of our love that had enabled us to break through the ancient, oppressive cultural barriers, rendering them impotent and meaningless.
“We have to celebrate,” I said, eager to embrace our wedding day. “Do you want to go somewhere nice, to get something to eat?”
She smiled, a mischievous smile, “Food isn’t what I’m hungry for right now.”
“Oh, boy…” I laughed.
We had planned a short honeymoon at a hotel by the shore, about an hour or so away. The girls were being watched by my grandmother, and we were making it a long weekend. We’d concocted a little story about visiting a small college where I might continue my studies, having completed my Associate’s Degree the year before.
It was Thursday. We found the car, and headed out of town. Despite my new wife’s hunger for things other than food, we thought it best to stop and have lunch, so we found a quaint little place on the way.
It was mid-afternoon by the time we checked in at the hotel. The clerk at the desk was polite and perky and liked small talk. “What brings you to the shore this weekend?” (It was off-season)
“We’re just married,” I answered.
The clerk’s eyes lit up. “Newlyweds? Is this your honeymoon?”
“Well…kind of,”I was embarrassed. “Just for now. We’ve got a trip planned for the summer.” I lied.
” Oh, this is so exciting!” Clearly, the hotel business wasn’t that exciting at this particular time of the year.
“I’ll give you our nicest room.” She looked through her room listings and found the “Honeymoon suite”. The name was a misnomer, the room wasn’t normally reserved for honeymooners, and very few(if any) newlyweds made this hotel their post-reception destination. But there were some amenities.
Gleefully, she announced, “There’s a jacuzzi just down the hall from your room! We just put it in, it’s brand new!” She gave us the key with a wink; ” I’ll have something nice sent up from room service; our compliments.”
It wasn’t the kind of hotel that was likely to have a good vintage champagne, and not surprisingly there was no porter to help us with our luggage.
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