Authors note. The 'Incest' genre is new to me but having been asked to write a story I sat down and thought about where I actually stand on the issue. Whilst what follows is pure fiction, I've tried to write the story by putting myself into the main character's shoes and my mother into her character.
My mother actually passed away in early 2000 and therefore I've tried to put the action into some chronological time frame.
I expect a lot of flack to come back from this story. 'How could you defile your mother's memory in such a way?', etc, etc. My answer is this:- In hindsight, considering the lonely years that followed my father's death I really wish I had fucked her. She deserved some loving. Trouble was, I didn't consider it at the time.
An autobiography of a Mother Fucker
A short story by Jacques Boncoeur
I suppose that considering this is a biography, I should introduce and tell you a bit about myself.
I'm Shaun, I'm nearly 67 years old and I was born at the end of the 2nd World War. My father was a professional soldier and my mother had been evacuated from Singapore, when he was posted back to the UK just before it was overrun by the Japanese. I decided to pop into the world nearly a month overdue. I reckon secretly that I just never wanted to leave my mother beautiful body and considering what happened later it proved to be correct.
My childhood was happy and absolutely nothing untoward happened sexually to me. I spent one week at boarding school but both myself and my mother hated being apart so much that I became a day border and then for the whole of my school years, I followed the family from one place to another, to all of my father's postings.
I know that there are many quotations about travel but one that I think is true comes from Mark Twain, 'Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness.'
It was with this background that my perception of the world and my values was formed. I don't want to give the impression that I was a mummy's boy or like many stories I have read that I was fixated sexually by my mother. This just wasn't the case. I loved her, but then all kids love their mums, don't they?
I can only remember one sexual situation or maybe asexual is a better word if you look at the situation closely, that occurred when I was eleven or twelve. I was sharing a room with my mum and dad, when we visited my maternal Grand-mother in Ireland one summer. Mum was undressing for bed when I saw her breasts. I can remember asking her, completely without embarrassment, what they were and when she explained. I asked if I could touch them and she allowed me. I don't know whether she was embarrassed, I certainly wasn't and I can't really remember my father's reaction. You must remember that this was the fifties and things that involved sex were very different then. Nothing was taught in schools, Mums and Dads didn't mention it. And, when you eventually started having sex, you learnt on the job, so to speak.
From then on, sex and my mother featured in completely separate areas of my life. Like most boys in the fifties and sixties I stumbled from one sexual experience to another. Most of my early sexual episodes were rather disappointing but when you are groping about in the dark without a torch, things tend to be so. Gradually, my technique improved and I think a turning point for me, was when I suddenly realized that you got so much more from sex when you cared enough about your partner to ensure that she got as much from it as you.
I'm pretty average I think. I've got a hard cock when it's aroused and even now in my sixties, it doesn't let me down. I'm sure that there are many bigger but I've never had a woman say that mine was too small to carry out the job it was meant for. I've always loved to fuck. I do admit that in some positions it does has a habit of slipping out at rather unfortunate times, especially when the action gets a bit too manic. But, on the whole my six inches has served me rather well and I'm not complaining.
I suppose from a little research, I have ascertained that I do like and get a lot of sex. My first wife didn't really like it much until she found out that I was going or had been elsewhere. Then all of a sudden, she woke up to the competition. Unfortunately for her, by this time, she was too late and I had found someone who was equally as highly sexed as I was. Little did she know who it was? But this is getting ahead of my story.
My sexual education continued throughout university but maybe because of our slapdash approach to sex, my girlfriend, soon to be my wife fell pregnant. Maybe she planned it, maybe not. Anyway, in those days a man fulfilled his responsibilities.
My mum and dad were too polite to say so, to her face anyway but they loathed my new wife and it has to be accepted that she was more than a little to blame. She was a socialite and expected everyone to kowtow to her. Unfortunately, my family doesn't kowtow to anyone, therefore, our full family get-togethers were few and far between and I would regularly take my, soon to follow, children to visit, without my other half. Even at special events my wife would rudely destroy any efforts for us to get together. Consequently, all of us, my parents, my kids, my wife and me, began to drift apart from each other.
It was at this time that my father was killed in Ireland, before the' troubles' began. Things in Ireland were beginning to turn sour but even though he was a high ranking officer in the British Army, he wasn't targeted as such. He was travelling in a helicopter that hit a hillside in the fog.
Strangely, even though I hadn't been terribly close to my father, due I think because he had been away so often, I was as crushed by his death, as was my mother. He had always been so much larger than life and it seemed that he had always been there, even when he wasn't. And now, he never would be. That was a void hard to fill.
It took me a year to get over it but time heals and I gradually pulled through. My wife, Sheila, didn't help me or my mother. She didn't even come to my father's funeral, begging a prior engagement. Little did she know that she was sowing the seed and nurturing the plant that would cause our final break?
Not only did it push mum and I together but I suddenly found that at functions I had to take my father's place and mum was my partner.
