Charlie loved his mother. Naturally, as most men love their mothers. But unnaturally too: he really, really wanted to sleep with his mother. He fantasized about it; he occasionally had wet dreams involving her. He could imagine no greater sexual thrill than having sex with his mother. In his more introspective moments, he rationalized his desire by pointing out that sons have probably been fantasizing sexually about their mothers ever since humans first evolved feelings. After all, she's the first female he's really aware of as such; the first one he's been in intimate physical contact with. He may not remember the details, but his body does and wants more.
What makes sex with one's mother so unique? Is it the just the thrill of forbidden pleasure? Or is it possibly something much deeper? Certainly, the Greeks knew about it thousands of years ago. Sophocles personified it for all eternity when he wrote Oedipus Rex.
It didn't help that Charlie's mother was a very attractive woman who had retained her good looks. She had generous breasts and had kept her waistline and shapely ass and legs. Compounding his problem, she was aware of her effect on men and was a bit of a flirt. She would occasionally tease Charlie, telling him what a handsome young man he had turned out to be, and how he must be having great success with women and was probably a very good lover.
In his musings about incest, Charlie came to the conclusion that the thing that holds us back from acting on those impulses is the very powerful inhibition that society has placed on us, especially mothers. It takes an awful lot for a woman to overcome that inhibition and make her a willing and receptive partner in an incestual relationship. Essentially, she is inhibited by a deep-rooted fear of societal condemnation, even though that 'society' is really what she has internalized all her life.
Charlie's harmless pleasant afternoon fantasies unexpectedly took on the possibility of reality when as a junior in college he witnessed a demonstration as part of a psych course. The professor showed a video of a mouse placed in a cage with a cat. Bizarrely, the mouse showed no fear of its mortal enemy. It ignored the cat, even cozied up to it, with predictably unfortunate results. The professor explained that the mouse had been treated with an experimental drug which blocked certain serotonin receptors in the brain that are normally involved in the fear response.
Charlie's subconscious chewed on this experience, and few days later, when he thought about his mother again, it made the connection. Here might just be a way he could actually realize his fantasy, if he had the courage. What would happen, he thought, if his mother's fears of violating her deeply held societal taboos could be removed? Might she accept his advances under those circumstances? Might she actually yield to his desire for her?
As a lab assistant, Charlie had access to the psych building at night. It was child's play to defeat the primitive lock on the professor's study. He emptied the professor's container of the drug into a small bottle and refilled the original with a matching powder. The professor would be surprised next time he did the demonstration, but as far as Charlie was concerned, that was his problem.
Spring break, Charlie was home for a week. He watched his mother with new eyes, studying her every move. He surreptitiously observed her physical charms, the sway of her hips, the soft mounds of her breasts, the casual flip of her long dark hair. He felt a growing ache in his groin, thinking that soon he might have a chance to see, to touch those lovely breasts, to exploit that sweet body.
Charlie's dad left for work every day around seven. His mom would come down in her bathrobe to join Charlie for breakfast. He found it hard to believe that she couldn't sense his new attitude toward her, but she seemed to remain oblivious to his covert stares as he watched how her breasts lifted the front of her robe or how the soft cloth clung to the smooth curves of her ass when she bent over to retrieve some item he had 'inadvertently' dropped. He was fascinated anew by her shapely legs extending below the hem of her robe, the curve of her thighs when she crossed her legs and her robe parted around them. The hint of cleavage between her breasts so casually revealed by in the opening of her robe. Her breasts. Her breasts.
Charlie watched and dreamed and planned.
He finally worked up the courage to act. That morning, he mixed the professor's drug in with her orange juice. She never noticed it. He chatted a bit with her until he figured that the drug had had time to work. Now to put it to the test.
"Mom," he said casually, "Could you come up to my room? I have something I want to show you."
"Sure, honey."
When the two of them got to his room Charlie closed the door and said, "Mom, you sit on the bed there. I'll take the chair here where I can face you."
She sat, carefully arranging her robe. She looked inquisitively at her son.
"Mom," he said, carefully watching her reaction, "I've been thinking about your breasts. I was wondering if you nursed me on them when I was a baby. How it felt. Have I ever told you that you have lovely breasts?"
"No, Dear," she replied in a quite matter-of-fact way, "I don't believe you have. Why, thank you. It's nice of you to say that."
"Does it bother you that I have been noticing your breasts?"
"No, I don't think so. Hmm. I guess it should, but it somehow doesn't seem to. I don't know why not." Her brow creased as if she were mildly puzzled.
"Good, Mom. Would you mind, then, if I saw your breasts?"
"I, I guess not. Do you really want to see my breasts?"
"Yes, I'd like that very much. Please open your bathrobe for me."
To Charlie's pleasant surprise, she did. She seemed a bit confused by all this, but there was no hint of fear in her voice at the norms she was shattering.
"Mom, they are truly lovely breasts," he said in frank appreciation. "Very youthful breasts. Your skin on them is very smooth and creamy. And you really don't need a bra, do you."
