I've asked myself more times than I can count, what it is about my mother, that attracts me to her?
She is my mom for gods sake! And everything and everyone would say I should be disgusted with sexual thoughts about her, that it is illegal and immoral. But I am not disgusted and I didn't care what others thought or gave a moments consideration about any consequences.
Mother was born 23 years before me - and since I'm 22 years old, that makes her 45 years old. She comes from a different age-group than I do - listens to different music, dresses different than girls my age, has different values and even goes to church which I haven't after I turned sixteen.
Her name is Ellen and guys my age would never even take a second look at her. She was just a 'mom', if you know what I mean? She looks middle-aged - not the hard bodied sexy things that you seen in magazines. Mother was short and had filled out with age - not fat, just bulkier. If you look closely, and I have, she had numerous wrinkles about her eyes and the backs of her hands were aged, she had stretch marks on her stomach that I had rarely seen as it embarrasses her so she keeps her midriff covered. But she also has these large full breasts, hung low perhaps, but with plenty of bounce - and her bottom is round and full, delicious. Mother's legs were curvy, with small feet and ankles, thick muscular calves that she kept them always smooth - with flaring wide thighs that looked so inviting. She had naturally blond hair that has started to go gray, which she carefully prepared daily so that it hangs straight to her shoulders. She has these green eyes that seemed to sparkle when she smiled or when she was a little drunk, that seemed to go with her wide full lips that just seemed to be smiling most of the time. A woman's body after two kids and after four decades of life - she did not look twenty, she did not act it.
My parents have been married for 24 years. And from my point of view, we were a normal family and my parents had a normal marriage. A regular suburban household.
I don't know when my fascination and lust for my parent started, therefore I like to think it had always been there, smoldering beneath my consciousness since I was born. She wasn't just 'mom', she was a woman, the one woman in my world that I compared all others too - physically, emotionally and mentally. I've never hid my love for her and she had returned it without pause in all my years.
The first time I saw mother as more than a goddess to place on a pedestal was when I walked into her room at the hotel as she was changing into her clothing. With her hair wet from the shower, standing facing the bed and sideways to me I barged in a like the dork I was and just stood shocked. Mother jerked her head my way and stood shocked as well before I retreated and nothing else was said about that moment. Yet it was so important to me - the paleness of her flesh, the surprisingly shocking width of her pink nipples, the delightful curves and the way her body drew me. She became something more in my fantasies, something raw and lewd that left me shocked at first - it became sexual rather than romantic.
Her bedroom door was locked after that, as was the bathroom - I tried to barge in again to recapture that magic. It simply didn't happen.
That didn't deter me though, I climbed the tree to sneak peeks of mother in her underwear, but never naked - I tried to use mirrors and looked through key holes. Only once, or rather on a trip to our extended family, we stayed at a cabin, I discovered a small hole through the wall that looked into the linen cupboard, if I left the doors open I should see into the bathroom. For five days I peeked and five times I saw mother naked coming and going to the shower, sitting on the toilet - doing things in private that thrilled me but would have shocked and humiliated her. She checked her armpits, wiped between her thighs, trimmed her blond curly pussy hair with scissors and gave me fuel for my fantasies. Looked at so casually, in her most intimate of moments - I simply wanted more, loved and desired her more. She was also the first real live naked woman I've ever seen - and I was giddy with those images ingrained into my memory, fuel for my incestuous fires.
At sixteen I began dating - it was what I was supposed to do right? My buddies were starting - the conversations outside school were always about girls and sex. This didn't mean my desire for mother lessened, only that the realities of life were staring me blankly in the face. Mother belonged to my father, whom I loved, and my desires were simply not realistic.
That didn't deter me to be more open with my feelings toward her - I returned to kissing her on the lips something I had not done since I was a child. I also held her hand while out, hugged her generously, put my arms around her waist or shoulder. Perhaps these actions were taken initially with surprise, but she quickly warmed to our closeness - in fact seeking it out.
That leads me to explain my parents marriage - how I never saw them kiss, never held hands or look longingly into each other eyes. Yet, unlike many of my peers, they stayed married. I guessed they loved each other but that the passion had been spend years before - or perhaps I was just hoping that the passion was spent for my own selfish reasons.
So as I drove mother to the grocery store, it was normal for her to place her hand on my upper thigh and talk more casually than she ever did when dad or my younger sister was around. And when I stopped the car I would tease her to get another kiss, which she gave with a big smile and her green eyes sparkling.
Our talks often lead to the girls I was dating - not that there was a steady string, but I often had a girlfriend at that time - she initiating the conversations. It was almost as if she were teasing or flirting with me and I enjoyed every second but always told my parent that not one girl lived up to my mom, nor could any girl take away how I felt about her. These conversations often led to a blush of her pale cheeks and an awkward silence until a new subject was found.
At nineteen I had a part-time job as well as going to college. That was the year that I bravely took my secret passion for my parent to a new level and was rebuked.