A note to the reader: I have never actually had any real-life fantasies about my mother, who I love very much and raised me extremely well, nor about anybody else's mothers, that I can think of. My Oedipal kink started in my 20s, and has been the longest-lasting and most powerful kink I ever had. I am 43 now, and it is still going strong. I have tried to analyze why that is — there is something about the ego-concept of being such an attractive male that the one woman never supposed to be with you cannot help herself and goes there anyway. Also, the notion of an older, wiser woman being with a younger, curious and sexually virile man is also puissant. When I flip it around to a father and a daughter, the concept immediately becomes very exploitative for me and nothing I would ever want to write about. We are such silly, silly monkeys, aren't we? Hope you enjoy!
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I cannot remember a time when I was not attracted to my mother. Of course, this is something no one knows, not even my best friends. I don't even write about it. The only reason I'm talking about it today, with you, is because I trust you very much, I love you very much, and you already know all about it.
The first time I remember being attracted to you was in third grade. You came to school that day to read to the classroom as a volunteer. You wore my favorite sweater, and you kept leaning over when you held the book out to the class to show us the pictures. The sweater would fall open a bit, and we could see the shadow between your breasts. I'm sure I was the only one who noticed it, but I couldn't stop staring. I was afraid you would catch me, but your attention was on the book the whole time, so I was safe. I had no idea why I was fascinated...but I surely was.
From that day on, I thought of you differently. You were still my Mom, but...something changed. Other boys would talk about being "boyfriends and girlfriends" with a girl, and I was never interested. I always thought about you. I thought about holding hands when we crossed the street. I thought about watching you at the hairdresser's on Saturdays, when you got your hair, nails and toes done. When we left the studio, you always looked like some sort of movie star or a magazine ad model. I remember very clearly Dad never noticing until you asked him to. That made me sad, and a little mad.
When I started really noticing girls, that's when I started to feel badly about how I felt about you. I knew something was really wrong about it, or at least, it felt that way. No one else ever talked about their moms like I thought about you. I was too scared to open the subject. Every time incest came up in discussion (which was very rarely) everyone made sure to express their total disgust at the notion. I did too. And I felt it, I honestly did — but not about you. I chose to think differently of us. We were the exception that proved the taboo, I suppose.
Junior high was difficult. I kept getting these spontaneous erections. I didn't understand them. Teachers with big breasts were impossible. I squirmed around a lot in class.
I got very practiced at squashing thoughts about you, because they made it impossible to concentrate in class. I got in trouble for "daydreaming" a lot — remember that visit to the principal's office? You were so disappointed. How could I tell you that it wasn't all my fault, that your nighties and housecoat and bra and panties when running to the laundry downstairs were blowing my young mind?
So I kept quiet. And tried harder.
High school was a bit easier, because getting involved so heavily in sports was distracting. You tried to make as many games as possible, but I understood that things were hard after Dad left. You worked all the time. When you came to a game, I tried so hard to do something memorable. Even my coach noticed, but he never put two and two together, not until near the end.
I think he suspected at that point. He guessed it was a girl, and went through several possibilities. Near the end of our champion season, he came to me after the game.
"Hey, sport, you really rocked out there."
"Thanks, coach." I smiled up at him while I took my pads off.
"No, really, you performed out there better than I've ever seen from you. Trying to impress someone?" he asked.
I could feel my face blushing. There was nothing I could do about it except look down at my pads and pretend to focus on the laces.
"Ha! Yeah, that's what I thought. Best motivation in the world. Is it Jessica? She's always staring at you from the sidelines." Jessica was the third most talented cheerleader on the squad. She was way too skinny for my tastes.
"No, coach, it's nobody. Just wanted that trophy real bad." I continued looking down.
"Ok, hey, listen, sorry if I embarrassed you. Any special plans tonight to celebrate? The team is hitting up Arby's."
"Actually, my Mom is taking me out to dinner. She's really felt bad about missing so many games. She wanted to be here today, but she was out of town and had to fly back during the game. She's really trying to get this promotion so she doesn't have to travel so much," I said.
"Awesome! Enjoy your dinner! If I know your Mom, she'll be turning heads in that restaurant, for sure. Your family's got the best genes. Just ask Jessica!" he laughed.
"Ha ha, thanks...I guess." The conversation was getting a little weird, and I think he knew it. I think he felt bad that he was moving to another school, and was going to miss this team. This was his last chance to treat us like adults before he basically never saw us again.
"Well, thanks, sport. Without you, this team never would have reached this goal. You should be very proud of your hard work, and so should your Mom. Thanks so much for everything this year." He held out his hand. "And, well, I hope I'm not stepping out of bounds here, but your Dad should be proud of you too, even if it's hard to be proud of him." It was his face on fire now.
"Thanks, coach. I know exactly what you mean." I was a little embarrassed for him, but also proud of what he said. He never really became a father-figure for me, but it got pretty close at times.
"So long, buddy."
That night was the best night of my entire high school career. Do you remember it? You asked me what to wear that night. That was the first time you ever did that. My heart started racing the second you asked. I hoped you didn't notice my face. I knew immediately what I wanted — the blue gown you wore on your seventh anniversary. I mentioned it, and I could tell you were really surprised at that.
"You want me to wear that? I'm not even sure I could fit in it anymore," you said.
"Well, it's ok if you don't want to," I lied.
"No, I'll try it. Ok, you go get ready, and if that doesn't work, I'll let you know," you said.
"Ok."
