The Definition of Incest

I was raised to know the love of God. I reached my 18th birthday sustained by my religious beliefs. I lost my virginity, to a woman, within a fortnight of reaching that milestone.

I will never forget that day and the passionate lovemaking that I enjoyed with Chloe. It was the most physically and emotionally exciting thing in my life. I think I had always been a sexual person, just restricted by the church environment and the protective bubble of my parents.

What I thought was going to be a mutual relationship of love and fellowship with Chloe turned quickly. I am not sure my trust in her was ever really established: we launched into a hidden relationship, stumbled into emotional discomfort, and then it ended with betrayal, all within a couple of months.

The betrayal came on our last night together. It was awkward from the beginning. We were both hanging onto the remnants of one amazing night of sex and honesty. Our differences were too vast.

We went to a bar that she knew, and we were not there long when she introduced me to two male friends. We danced and I had one drink. At one point Chloe was gone, and so was one of the guys. The other told me they had gone to 'clear their heads'. That was enough for me. I went to leave, but the guy grabbed my arm. He got a little rough and was jumped on by a 'friendly' older guy and security. In no time at all, he was escorted from the premises.

The friendly guy offered me a drink, and I accepted in appreciation of his support.

That is the last thing I remember.

I awoke in a motel room out of town. The sun was streaming in through a window. I was naked and in a bed alone.

The sheets were all over the place, and I was tangled in a blanket. I untangled myself and looked around.

Nothing.

I began weeping into the sheet scrunched in my hand.

My head was swimming, and I made my way to the shower and just let the water flow over me. I washed all over with the small bar of soap until the soap was nothing. My body was whole, but my vagina felt different and was sore. Very sore. My inner thighs had signs of blood on them before I had washed them clean.

I can only assume I was administered a drug by the 'friendly' older guy. I know nothing else other than the fact that I was raped. I had no memory of it at all.

There was one concrete fact that proved that someone had sex with me: my son, Jason.

I hid the happenings of that day from everyone. I swore off Chloe, alcohol, and sex. I gave myself to God and the fellowship of the church. I missed two periods and then, suspecting pregnancy, gave myself a test, and it was positive.

My life was turned upside down and became such a mess. There was no way I was going to abort, and I had my parent's support, albeit I had brought great shame upon them.

I did not want to find or know the father. The man was vile. I rode the accusations, the blaming, the naming, the whispers, feelings of low self-worth, and 'pointed' eyes. Without my faith and my parents, I would not have gotten through it all.

At six months, I let go of the shame and focused on becoming a mother. At that point, I felt a weight lift from my shoulders.

And exactly 19 years after my birth, I gave birth to Jason.

The birth of Jason changed my life. I felt he was so beautiful and so special. I felt that the Lord God had given me the most divine of his gifts, the life of a child. Everything became about Jason; I even put him before God.

To my parents, he was like an immaculate conception. How he came into being was not a factor in anyone's thinking. He just was mine...ours.

I was an only child, so to my mother, it was like raising a second child. To my father, it was like having a son that he had never had. And yes, I continued to live with my parents, as I had few other options. Also, they would have had it no other way.

My life was full. I was able to attend a local college to study history part-time, and I also took a course in theology. I worked casually at the local library and kept up my time with the church community. What kept my life to the fullest was raising my son, with the help of my two amazing parents.

Jason was a very thoughtful child. He was a deep thinker. When he was five, I remember him asking me things like, "Why is the world round?", "What makes rainbows?", "Why do the birds make nests in spring?", "Why don't I float into the sky?", "Why can't we breathe underwater like a fish?" and so on and on and on. And at least a dozen times a day he would say the words, "I love you, Mummy."

He loved playing football, nearly as much as his grandfather loved him playing football. He was smart, and he was handsome with his neat black hair and wonderful smile.

Jason also loved to draw. From the moment he picked up a pencil the first time, he was drawing. I remember the first thing he ever drew. It was two stick figures, hands touching, one tall and one small, and as he handed it to me he said, "You and me, Mummy." It was so sweet and made my heart melt. He often drew the four of us, but mostly "You and me Mummy."

By the age of ten, he was charming. People loved my boy, and it did make me wonder about his father, but I dismissed the thought. Jason was mine, all mine.

Tragedy struck when my mother died of a heart attack just before Jason turned 11. It was such a devastating time for us all. I still feel the pain of her passing. She was such a positive and calming influence on my father and me. She was Jason's second mother, and she left a hole that felt impossible to fill.

But life goes on, and the years passed. Jason started high school, hit puberty and the gloss from him did wear a little, but he was still a wonderful human. I loved him dearly.

His drawings turned into art as he grew older. He progressed from pencils to watercolours. Everything he painted was natural and beautiful. He painted trees, beaches, mountains, beautiful architecture, sunsets, flowers, his friends, and our family Every birthday he gave me a drawing of him and me. Every birthday I was in awe of how he had progressed and how he had captured the life of us. He always wrote these words on the bottom, "You and me, Mummy". Stick figures had long ago been replaced by very detailed depictions of us holding hands.

Jason turned 18 in 2016. Late in that year, my father was diagnosed with cancer. In the February of 2017, Jason left for university in Melbourne to do his art degree.

I was always reminded of Jason because the house seemed so empty without him. I missed him terribly. Facebook kept me abreast of his life, as did the few calls I got each week. I took the progression of his birthday drawings and paintings and had them all framed, and they covered one wall in my bedroom. I was grateful he always used the same A4 size of paper or canvas. His depiction of us on my walls added warmth to the old home.

I cared for my father for just over two years until he passed. I had help from those in the church community and Jason as well when he was at home.

I missed my father so much. He was my rock, my biggest supporter, and my guide in life. He always asked the right questions at the right time and never offered unsolicited opinions.

I cried for weeks after he died, and things only got worse when Jason told me he was granted a scholarship to continue his study in London.

It scared me to be alone with him in another country and so far away. He had always been just two hours' drive from home, and that felt so close compared to what was going to be my new normal.

Jason flew out of Melbourne destined for London in March of 2019. I saw him off at the airport, clung to him, and did my best to hide my tears. In the car on the long drive home, I wept.

His parting gift to me was my birthday present for later in the year. An A4 frame wrapped in brown paper. He told me not to open it until my birthday, our birthday.

I had the big old family home all to myself. The house that used to be full of love, warmth, and joy was now mostly empty. I came home from work to chores and boredom. And the boredom brought on sorrow.

I was now managing the large regional city library and threw myself into my work. The church and church groups kept me busy, but I was always reminded of my parents at home. Their presence was everywhere -- their furniture, their pictures, their photos, and the absence of their love.

The need for something more in my life took a hold of me. I began to spend time surfing the internet for distractions, researching interests and finding things to do.

My search led me to an adult chat site. I thought chatting to others in my situation (if they existed) would be fun. I joined an anonymous site and soon found it to be a sex chat site. I logged off in disgust.

The following night I found myself back there. I met a lovely guy named Eric, and we chatted for two hours about life. I felt close to him. It seemed we had a lot in common and he was interested in me. Toward the end, he wanted to talk about sex.

At that point, I said goodnight and logged off.

All the next day I had warm feelings about Eric. That night I again logged on to the chat site. Eric apologised for his behaviour, and I assured him it was more about me than him. I opened up to him about my religious upbringing, my first and only relationship with Chloe, and even being the victim of rape. I told him about my son, my parents, my life, and the void that was my sex life.

He asked me a lot of questions and was genuinely interested in me. He asked about Jason, and I opened up about how much I adored him and how much I missed him.

We talked about his life. He was single and divorced. He had no children and worked from home. Life for him was largely about work, and he found his most intimate outlet was chatting anonymously with others. We seemed to be so aligned.

That night we chatted for four hours and agreed to chat again the following night.

We talked regularly. He filled my void. He felt like my soul mate. I shared my love of masturbation with him, and I admitted that it was my sex life. He was much the same and said he masturbated daily. He told me of a site he also chatted at called Literotica. He explained it as a wonderful site to enjoy erotic stories, sexual chat and masturbation with others.

Talking of masturbation aroused me, and I began to masturbate, and I told him. He said he was masturbating too.

We chatted about our bodies and things we enjoyed sexually as we masturbated together. He liked my body: my height at five foot four, he liked my long dark hair, my 34b breasts and my dark nipples. He liked my pale skin and my slim physique. He asked about my vagina. I looked at myself and masturbated as I shared every intimate detail.

He inquired about why I did not groom my vagina. The truth was, I just never got around to it or saw the need. We talked about shaving, and I told him about the one time I had shaved myself completely when I had enjoyed my first sexual encounter with Chloe.

That conversation brought us both to orgasm.

The next day I could not stop thinking of Eric. When I got home, I had a long shower and shaved myself as I had with Chloe. I was naked and bare when I logged in to chat with him.

He told me he had thought of me all day and had tried to find images that he thought matched my description. He sent me links to women who he thought looked like me. One was very close. A woman called India Summer. He then sent me an image of her naked and told me she was a porn actress. She did look like me, although she had, what I learned to be, a small landing strip above her vagina. I told him I had shaved smooth. He was so delighted that I had, and I told him it was just for him.

He shared a link of India Summer in a porn movie. She looked so much like me, and her mannerisms were similar. We watched it together, discussed it and again we shared a mutual orgasm.

After we signed off, I went to bed but could not sleep. I logged onto my PC and joined the site called Literotica. Then I searched for India Summer, found a porn site and looked at a number of her movies, masturbated to the porn and enjoyed another orgasm.

Then I slept.

For the next week, we watched porn together and masturbated and chatted.

Then Eric disappeared from my life. I never chatted with him again. He was gone, but every night I watched porn. Every night I was hoping to see him. Every night I masturbated to porn, and finally I entered the chat site that Literotica offers and began chatting with others.

I met many wonderful people and some not-so-wonderful. I explored my new love of porn, my desire for love and my growing craving for sex.

The church began to take a back seat as my enjoyment of chat and porn became an addiction.

One man I met on Literotica said I should try the family room. I entered it and began some amazing conversations about incest. That same man sent me a link to the movie Taboo, an incest movie about a mother and a son.

That movie touched me deeply. It started me on my erotic journey into sexual fantasies about my son, Jason. I often looked at his "You and me, Mummy" art as I masturbated.

On my birthday, in July, I went to dinner with a few friends from the church. It felt quite flat, and I realised they were not my people. The conversations that had previously stimulated me held no interest anymore.

When I got home, I took the package that Jason had given me. I unwrapped it, knowing what would be inside. It was a glorious addition to my wall of art. He depicted himself with the Tower of London behind him and his hand reaching out through a cloud to hold mine. I was sitting on a bench near our church, and I was smiling. It was so lifelike and captured the different seasons so well. It had a strong religious tone to it. The words on the bottom took my breath away. I expected "You and me, Mummy", but it said, "I love you, Mum."

Jason called me once a week, and he would update me on his life. He was not a great phone conversationalist. On this day, our birthday, I called him as soon as I had opened his present. He sounded light and happy. I expressed my love for his gift, and he then talked about how special it was to paint it, as it always is. He went into detail about the colours, the nuances, the shades and the emotion of it all.

I loved the sound of his voice, and as I listened I moved my hand to my vagina and touched myself.

He noticed a change in my voice and asked if I was ok. I pulled myself together and said that I was a bit emotional about missing his 21st birthday. There was a silence, and I heard another voice and he said quickly, "I am ok, Mum. I will miss you so much today as I do every day. I love you but have to run. Oh, happy fortieth birthday!"

After an exchange of goodbyes, he was gone. His life seemed so full and mine so empty.

I placed his new painting on the wall. I took off my clothes and lay on my bed. One hand was behind my head, the other massaged my breasts and played with my nipples. I looked at each year in order, remembering the child he had been, the teen and now the adult. I slid my hand to my vagina and masturbated looking at his art and thinking about him. As I came, I whispered, "You and me, Jason."

In the months following my birthday, I eased out of my church groups, saying I was too busy with work. But in truth, my love of God was now almost completely replaced by my love of porn, erotica and sexual chat.

2019 proved to be an incredibly emotional year for me. It began with me in a state of, almost, depression. It ended with me finding a new source of pleasure that I had never enjoyed before.

I spent Christmas at my aunt and uncle's house in Sydney. They had a lovely place on the beach, but they were aging and not the most lively. I missed Jason and I missed my chat friends and porn. I did, however, receive a wonderful gift from Jason. He called to tell me he would be coming home at the beginning of March for a month. I was overjoyed by that wonderful news.

I have never known time to move more slowly as January and February did. This was compounded by the emergence of an illness called the coronavirus.

I could not wait for Jason to be home and safe.

Finally, the day arrived when I met him at the airport. He was like a vision of beauty walking out of customs. I ran to him and wrapped my arms around him.

He was so handsome. He had developed into a beautiful man. His hair was now styled, and it made him look like a model. He was six feet tall and had a wonderful smile. He held me tight, and I pressed my head into his chest and cried, "I have missed you so much."

All the way home he talked to me about life in London, the school he studied at, the friends he made and his few trips to France. He was becoming a man of the world, and I wondered if he was going to be lost to me forever. I was so happy to be with him but so sad that I only had four weeks to enjoy his company.

That night I made us dinner. He was exhausted and went to bed early, but not before he said, "I love you, Mum."

My heart swelled, as always.

We ate breakfast together most days. After that, he was off meeting friends and old school and university friends. He stayed out some nights, but always let me know. His life was indeed full.

I filled my days with work and on the nights he was not home I would chat to people on Literotica and tell people he was home and how much I loved him. I watched porn and thought of him as I masturbated.

He began to feature in most of my chats and my fantasies. Many online chat friends encouraged me to talk about how I felt about him, and some said I should tell him that I loved him, not just as a mother. Of course, I denied that life could be like that, but I masturbated at the thought.

With Jason home, I began to evaluate my life. My relationship with the church began to wane further as my addiction to chat and porn took a hold of me more completely. However, I did keep my moral compass intact. I knew right from wrong.

The strange thing about my sexual awakening was that I was never interested in a relationship in real life. I think I now exuded a more sexual vibe, and men would compliment me and ask me out. I was not interested. I felt I was getting all my sexual needs met with sex chats, masturbation and fantasies about Jason.

I sometimes felt I was living two lives. There was a working me and a night-time me. During the day I managed as a very professional woman. During the night I fell more deeply in love with the idea of incest and the idea of my son as my lover. I knew I loved him.

Meanwhile, the coronavirus was shaking the world. International travel was being questioned and the talk of lockdowns began. And then a week before Jason was due to return to London, the lockdowns did begin.

Jason was stuck in Australia and stuck with me.

Overall, he was very good about it, but I could feel the tension in him. I could tell he had a desire for something more. That intuition proved correct.

The house was no longer empty. However, one thing was clear to me, my son was now a man, not a boy. He needed space to do the things he enjoyed, and I felt a need to have a safe place for myself too. He cleaned up my father's shed and used it as a studio for painting. He would spend more than half of every day there. He needed privacy.

I moved into my parent's old, large bedroom. I put a desk in the corner and set up my computer there. I moved Jason's art to my new room and dedicated the wall behind the door to it.

This bedroom had an ensuite, which saved us sharing the bathroom. Unfortunately, the hot water system in the ensuite no longer worked, so we did have to share the main bathroom for showering and bathing.

I was glad to have a place in the house that allowed me the freedom to enjoy the things I had become accustomed to: porn, chat and masturbation. It was so difficult at times having the man of my dreams so close all of the time.