It's all your fault, my mom says thanks!
Dear Sir,
I have become one of your biggest fans. Not just because I have read everything you have published, but because one of your stories was instrumental in helping me to connect in a wondrous way with my mother, and we became lovers. Just like Allen, in that five part saga of his, which you provided in another posting, I am happy to share with you our introduction into incest. (You are welcome to pass on to your readers, with mom's and my blessings). In return, for our personal account, we would like to ask a favor.
I am now thirty-two, divorced, and have lived with my mother for the last six years. Our affair began a year ago, but had its roots many years earlier. Before I go into the details of that tale, I wish to provide some context. I came across your writings by accident, a misspelling when I Googled about the Oedipus Complex. I had one, which had been brewing and was now bubbling in full ferment. Being a house-mate with my mom was stirring up the feelings I had, which had never been very dormant in the first place.
Let me say that I found the advice in your "Open Letter" to the mother, 'Jocasta' was good advice and gave me a real impetus to set in motion my own plan to try to have sex with my mom. I thought sharing one of your stories, printed out and offered to her with a note, might send a message. But it would have to be the right one. I did not want to wind up a wannabe, as you described in your autobiographical telling of "Cum, Ye Motherfuckers, Cum", of course you did fuck your mom in the end, in a way. I used the guide to your works found at the end of "Mother's Port In A Storm" as a check list to search for a work that would work.
I think "All About the Birds & Bees & Billy" was probably your hottest, but it wasn't quite the opening I wanted. Mom wasn't much of a drinker or did grass anymore, so the "Tokin'", while awfully good, didn't fit the bill. Moreover, it and "Family Trip" were too long anyway. Wrong time of the year for "Y2K", and "Pandora's Box Got Me Mom's Box" required too much explanation for my strategy. (By the way, great work on that graphic novel collaboration with PB; Joss, your French partner, helped too, right? Please thank Joss for sending your latest one "To Kiss Where I Came From".)
To make this short, I finally settled on "Perfect Air, Perfect Heir" as the best piece. I don't know why I didn't think of it straight off the bat, as you will understand when I go into details about how I got mom to at last make love with me. It also relates, in a way, to the favor we are requesting in return for our being open with you about our intimate living arrangements. Now, the dialog is close to the words we actually spoke, as I provide the narration, but I didn't have a recorder on. Mom did help me to reconstruct what we said, so it is fairly accurate, and the action is actually what happened.
My, excuse me; mother says to say - our affair - began with my decision to have my mother know about my sexual feelings for her. My name is Dan and I was 31, living at my mom's house, since my ex, Sue, divorced me. (Her temperament and mine were oil and water, our split having nothing to do with my Oedipal hang up.) Mom, called Cassie, and my father had divorced when I was twenty-two. [Not out real names] She is presently a fit 53.
Mom reminds me of Diane Lane in a recent movie, only with a strawberry-blond color. Natural too! I'm sure of that; I have the proof of the pud-ding, so to speak. I'm getting a little thick, but still athletic. I jog, mom goes to a gym. Though now days, we have a way of 'working-out' together. We were rather independent generally, before our incestuous involvement. Both of us had been in other relationships during that period, some long, others shorter. The house was big enough that we didn't bump elbows. Sleep-overs of lovers were not usual, but not unknown to happen on occasion.
My thought was that if I presented a letter of what was in my heart and head and hard-on, along with an erotic story that it could possibly strike a chord; perhaps stir up some feelings I hoped - suspected - she had. That it might lead to something between us. At least, I wouldn't have to wonder anymore if there was a prospect that we might get together, intimately. Your story of the mother and son, naked on a beach, who wind up making love, was both quite erotic, and even perhaps poetic. It reflected a certain
incident
that had been critical and crucial to some underlying dynamics between the two of us. That specific occasion I thought I might have detected a subtle undercurrent of influence in our relationship. However, these tensions were unspoken and unacknowledged, but for me, they were certainly undeniable.
I bought a very large, oversize romantic card. In the envelope with it, I put the print-out of "Perfect Air, Perfect Heir". On the card I wrote this note:
Dear Mom,
I want to thank you for all the love you have given me my whole life. I couldn't ask for a better mom. I hope I have been a son you are proud of, I think you are. I happened on this tale some time ago on the Internet. I found it both beautiful in its sentiment and very arousing in its sensuality. I know it is a strange sort of thing for a son to share with his mother, but I have an idea that you might also like to read it. I trust that you will not be angry at me for giving it to you. You don't have to read it if you decide that the subject matter is inappropriate.
Your most loving son,
Danny
I gave her the big envelope and instructed her to open it after she had retired to her bedroom that evening. It was not Mother's Day, not Valentine's Day, nor her birthday. In fact, no special day, not even the anniversary of the 'incident' of fateful memory. It was an invitation to incest. It was a bold and blatant attempt to interest my dear mother in having intercourse with me, her only child, her son. I didn't know whether it would work or not. I thought that knowing my mother, as well as I did, that she would not be totally outraged. But she might just laugh it off, even if she was not offended.
The worst, I thought, that she would be a bit estranged for some time, that things between us be strained for a while. I wouldn't want to alienate the most important person in my life, but on the other hand, I thought that the situation could be a happy one as well. If the plan worked, then our circumstances might be a joyous union, instead of a dreadful division. I was very nervous when she finally left to go upstairs. I decided that I would listen outside her door, to see if there were any auditory clues, to what her reaction was to the card and story.
What I heard was some whispering as she read the card out loud to herself. Then a gasp, then a tittering of laughter, followed by a period of silence. Much like the youngster in your four-part "Sounds of Incest", I then had the rare privilege of listening to my mother masturbate. I was too keyed up to stand there and jerk-off myself, lest she come out for some reason, and discover me ease-dropping at her door. After hearing her climax, I silently went to my room and waxed my pole thinking of what might have been, and of what I had listened to surreptitiously, and what might be.
If my wishes came true, then I would be cumming with her soon. Is it okay to pray for a sin?
The next morning I came down to the kitchen, I didn't know what to expect. I had heard the sounds of my mother masturbating and climaxing last night, but I was unsure if your story had turned her on, or if it just had gotten her thinking in the general area of sex. Of course, I hoped it had planted a seed in her mind, or rather, more to the point, was watering a sprout that had been planted long ago. That seedling was what I was wishing had germinated, an idea taking root and breaking through to the light now, to grow and bud and flower. However, I was unsure of what her reaction had been.
What I
did
have as evidence, that the results of the risk I had taken of upsetting her, perhaps even creating a rift between us, had not been too negative, was that there had been no immediate drama. There wasn't any confrontation, no screams or weeping, not any of the sort of hysterics and angry words that mom was capable of. That fiery redhead temper was not shy about making you aware of exactly what she was thinking. Her feelings were out there for you to see, she didn't hide them. She assuredly could be quite demonstrative in her reactions.
As I entered the kitchen all seemed normal. She was in her robe and making coffee, putting some dishes away from the sink, puttering around, typical mom. She came over to the table with two cups of brew, set one before me and sat opposite me. She tilted her head and looked at me with an odd expression. Then she smiled and took a sip before she spoke. "That was a . . . very unusual kind of story for a kid to present to his parent. May I ask what on earth prompted you to give me a copy - of that
specific
story? I mean it's weird enough to have a sexual fiction offered to you by your child . . . I know you're not a child, I mean one's offspring . . . much less an erotic tale of incest for a son to share with his mother."
