I
I didn't see Mother for a month or two after the events I described in my previous tale. This gap in time left much of what had happened between us 'hanging in the air', so to speak. It was not initially deliberate on my part (work suddenly made a lot of calls on my time), but after a few weeks I began to find myself reluctant to contact mother again. To be honest, I didn't know what to say to her. I still felt very guilty about what I had done, and a deep sense of shame was growing in my mind. I suppose I felt that if I suggested a visit, she might perceive this as a desire for another 'lustful' experience (which it may well have been!).
In the end my growing reluctance to face what happened was ended by mother herself, who rang me up and asked me to visit her for the weekend. She sounded quite normal and untroubled, almost as if nothing had happened. She asked me, in a matter-of-fact way, if I would come down that weekend, or a weekend soon, as she wanted to get my advice on something. Nervously I agreed, no longer sure what to say to her. In fact I was embarrassed even speaking to her ... which may seem strange, but then I had effectively raped her the last time we met! I had forced her face down onto my cock and cum in her mouth, and such behaviour is not always conducive to good relations ... especially with your own mother!
It's strange I supposed, I was quite happy to forcibly and brutally fuck her face, but quite unable to say no to her request for a visit, but then relationships with parents are always odd at the best of times. There are flows of 'power' between parents and children that work both ways. We begin as obedient children to our all-powerful parents, and end up as powerful protectors to our weakening and increasingly guilty parents. It is as if the whole relationship reverses over time. Which is reasonable I suppose, as parents get back from their children whatever good or bad things they invested in their upbringing. My mother's overt sexuality around her son, for example, ended up giving her an unwanted mouthful of cum!
I say 'unwanted', but that may not be true. I suppose my biggest worry in seeing her again was my uncertainty in regard to whether what I had done was an outrage or an exciting outcome ... from her perspective that is. There were times during that night when I had definitely felt I was doing what she wanted me to do, but there were also times when I felt like a callous rapist. And if I am honest, one of the things that worried me most was that somewhere deep inside me I enjoyed feeling that way. I had tasted an unfamiliar power, but one that was dangerously seductive. For many nights after that weekend I had masturbated to fantasies of sexually dominating my mother ... of taking what I wanted with no thought for her welfare. But fantasy and reality are two very different things, and the prospect of facing her after what I had done to her scared me shitless! But in the event she had called me and I had to go. I guess that in reality I was in her power, and not she in mine. But then ... I kinda liked that idea too!
II
As before I arrived at her cottage late on the Friday night. But this time it wasn't raining. The night was clear, with the last traces of a red and yellow sunset still hanging mistily in the western sky. It was warm, humid almost, but the quiet calmness of the evening was not reflected inside my head.
I pulled up outside the front door, turned off the engine and sat there for a moment. I started to wonder how mother would be dressed. It suddenly seemed unreasonably important, and I thought about it for a long moment. If she was dressed similarly to the way she had been at the start of my last visit (and indeed all my previous visits), then it would mean that what had occurred last time was an aberration. On the other hand ...
The front door opened as I got out the car and she strode confidently out to meet me. Her honey-and-white hair was down on her shoulders, and she was dressed in a smart, business-like, two piece serge suit.. The jacket was buttoned down the front with the top button undone. She appeared not to be wearing a blouse under the jacket. The skirt was cut to just above the knee, and her legs were encased in smoky black tights (or stockings?). On her feet she wore back shoes with high stiletto heels.
The whole outfit was smartly tailored, and she gave a strong and entirely confident impression. She was like some powerful politician or business woman, totally in control of everything in her world. The image she projected managed to frighten and excite me, both at the same time, and for a long moment I simply didn't know what to do or say. Dimly, however, I was aware that she was answering the unspoken question that had occurred to me in the car. Clearly everything had changed.
She walked up and gave me a motherly peck on the cheek.
"Hello dear," she coed at me. "How are you ... well I trust?"
I smiled shyly. "Fine thanks Mum."
After unpacking my bits and pieces I came into the lounge to find that mother had prepared a small salad meal for us. She had also open a bottle of white wine. We ate in a slightly uncomfortable silence. Afterwards I cleared and she washed up, and then we settled back in the lounge chairs. She poured me a second glass of wine.
"I must admit John," She began, sipping her wine "that I was quite concerned about you after your last visit."
I felt a sinking feeling deep inside.
"I ... I'm so sorry about ..."
"Oh for God's sake shut up and let me finish!." She interrupted. "Will you please stop worrying and let me explain. It is precisely this reaction that concerns me so much."
I fell silent but kept my eyes down to the floor. I was, to put it mildly, embarrassed and confused.
"OK," she went on. "How can I put this?" She thought for a moment. "I have given a great deal of thought to sex in my life." She smiled a sudden shy smile. "Er, I mean to sexuality ... not that I haven't also thought about ... oh never mind!"
She took a deep breath and tried again.
"Almost everyone is a product of their initial sexual experiences. What excites us the earliest always manages to excite us the most ... especially if that experience has strong emotional components. Children that are abused, for example, often become abusers themselves. Links are made in our sexual minds that we have little or no conscious control over. Obviously we can and should control what we do ... but it is almost impossible to control what excites us. Do you understand what I'm saying?"
I just nodded, still with no clear idea where all this was going.
"Don't get me wrong, I am not for one moment tying to justify sexual abuse, especially of children. It is wholly wrong. But the effects on the abused child are more problematic than we often admit. The path to sexual maturity, as with the paths to emotional and intellectual maturity, is strewn with problems and pitfalls. All kinds of difficulties can emerge as the result of circumstance, and often these difficulties can blight our whole lives."
"You're talking about my incest fantasies?" I whispered very softly, still looking at the floor.
"Yes, sort of ..." she said, "but not quite in the way you mean."
She reached over, lifted my head up, and looked in my eyes.
"Just listen to me for a while." She said. "And stop, just for a moment applying it all to yourself in this judgmental way. Everybody, repeat EVERYBODY has some kind of sexual hangup. You're no different to anyone else."
I smiled thinly but said nothing.
"Most men initiate sexual activity in relationships," she went on. "They are the positive pole, the active partner. The 'Yan' if you like to the female 'Yin' ... or is it the other way round?. Anyway, as a result their sexual energies are strong and powerful, and can be, if they wish, sublimated to other causes ... nobler causes if you like. But sometimes this positivity can be blocked."
I looked at her, and the confusion that was obvious in my eyes made her smile.
"Hang on a moment," she laughed "and you'll see where I'm going with this."
Again I gave the thin smile.
"OK, let me take you as an example of what I'm trying to say. It may be easier that way."
She sat back in the chair and thought for a moment. "As I explained before, your father liked his women to be overtly sexual in nature. He liked his games and fantasies ... which is fine. But the problem was combing this with the appropriate raising of children. Somewhere along the line, probably because of something I inadvertently said or did, your normal Oedipal urges were reinforced by my implicit sexual acting and dressing. If you like, we got too close physically. This had a detrimental affect on you and prevented you attaching your normal sexual drives to someone outside the family, so to speak. I'm sorry if this all sounds a bit too Freudian."
"Go on" I murmured, intrigued by what she was saying.
