Chapter 4

So, I had had sex again with my mother. And, this time, we'd gone all the way: sexual intercourse ... fucking. It took me several days to really come to grips with the realization – I had fucked my own mother. It was qualitatively different from the first time. It was a bigger step -- the biggest step. I felt much closer to her, as if a new bond had formed between us.

But here's the weird, frustrating thing: just as she'd done after the first time, she acted exactly the way she always did. There wasn't the slightest indication in her behavior that anything had happened, that anything had changed. She was just Mom, the same as she'd always been, giving me light pecks on the cheek in the morning and evening, chatting about things as usual, doing my laundry ... I sometimes just looked at her in wonder – how could she not have been affected sufficiently to change her behavior in the slightest? It was absolutely mystifying!

And then the other frustrating part – I wanted more, more of her, more of us. But there were no openings; no opportunities. It's not like she would come over and sit by me on the couch and snuggle up; or come into my room at night; or anything remotely like that. There was nothing in our interaction that would open the door to sex. I hadn't even ever kissed her.

I tried to create openings, but it was lame. I once got the courage up to ask her if she wanted a massage. "No thanks, sweetie," was her reply. No dark look, no suggestive smile, no lifted eyebrow – nothing. I was amazed at her ability to compartmentalize, to block that aspect of our relationship out – to forget.

And then there was the sexual frustration. I would look at the sheer loveliness of my mother, her voluptuous curves reminding me of classic pieces of sculpture I had seen, her beautifully rounded buttocks curving down to softly tapering thighs, and at the joining angle of them, the tantalizing swell of her pussy mound – that pussy that had been so wet the day of the massage, that I'd slid my fingers into, that contained, between its flowering lips, that delicate bud that I had massaged into firmness and even into orgasm.

Other times, my eyes would settle on her magnificent melon breasts capped with stunning scarlet nipples. God, did I want to feel those breasts in my hand, to suck those nipples into full hardness! And her lovely eyes, set wide apart on either side of her long straight classical nose, regal above full, sensual lips. I had the feeling that she was the ultimate woman, so unlike the fragile, reedy ideal of woman foisted upon the American public by advertising agencies. She was a real woman, the way women were meant to be.

Now, you're going to think I'm sick when I tell you the next part of the story – and I probably am. But I was so obsessed with my mother and so horny that I think it affected my sanity. I don't know how else I could have done what I did. But I did it. Here's how it happened.

It was late evening, and I was supposed to be at a movie. But when I got there, they were sold out. I debated whether to watch another one, but there wasn't anything else showing at that time that I wanted to see. So I headed home.

I was walking from my car to the front door when I suddenly stopped, hearing a sound I couldn't identify. It was coming from the side of the house, to my left. Silently, like some kind of novice burglar, I walked around the side of the house, quietly opening and closing the fence gate. The sounds were more distinct now, and I recognized, suddenly, what they were – the sounds of a couple having sex. And the couple was my parents.

Now, if I'd been normal, I would have turned on my heel, walked back to the car and driven back to the movies. But I wasn't. I was obsessed. If I couldn't have sex with my mother, watching her have sex was close to the next best thing.

The window to my parents' room was partially obscured by a large Japanese maple. From the volume of the sounds, it was clear that the window was open. I crept closer, and the sounds became more distinct – my mother moaning ... gasping. I got closer and slowly moved a branch aside. I steadied myself against the side of the house and peered in the window.