Chapter 5

"Him": that's how I now thought of Ryan. Not as my husband, though I knew it was true. And not as Mark's father. But simply as "him", someone I knew; an acquaintance. I didn't have any ill feelings toward Ryan, and I did still love him, but the truth of the matter is, I now loved Mark more. In fact, there were now three things making me feel closer him than I ever had to Ryan: a deepened sense of love, beyond the parental or amorous; a physical lust for one another and fervid desire to entice and tease our bodies into orgasm; and the incestuous relationship we now shared and an equally passionate disregard for it.

All of this surfaced and mollified that night. There was something about what he did, having me watch as he ejaculated into body. Mark was only doing as he stated: trying something a bit out of the ordinary and without ulterior motives, though he had no idea how deeply it would cut into me. It was as if we had gone through a rite of passage: a transition from one phase of life to another. I knew all along that we were having sex for no more reason than because it felt good. I knew it was wrong and morally repugnant. Yet we did it because we were curious and aroused and for no other reason. I showed him my body over the Internet because I wanted him to sexually desire me. I had intercourse with him because it felt good. A door had been inadvertently opened and we should have closed it, but we didn't. Mark was a young man and, like most men his age, his brain is constantly urging him to breed. Ryan was the only man I'd ever had sex with, and I enjoyed it, but over the years it had become routine. I missed the excitement and thrill of making love to someone for the very first time. And Mark, with his heightened sense of sexual fervor, willingly provided this. There's so much more to sex than simple physical stimulation. A great deal of it is deeply phrenic; a mental state of being. And not only was Mark someone new for me, a change from what I had ever since I was eighteen, but there was also the exhilaration of breaking the rules; of throwing caution to the wind and daring to make love to someone strictly forbidden and knowing, at least believing, we would never be caught. And after the first time he filled me with his seed, I didn't care if we were. When I took his cock into my mouth, I was simultaneously sickened by my own foul actions, yet highly aroused by the indifference I felt. When Mark gave me his gift of semen, I knew he felt the same about me. I was actually pleased I had been able to help him overcome his most base instinct to reject me, his mother, as a mate. Before last night, he and I had been little more than naïve lovers, sneaking away behind the woodshed to show each other our bodies, snickering and sometimes reaching out to steal a quick touch and elicit a petty sigh. But it was entirely physical and superficial. We tried to fool ourselves into believing it was part of some noble scheme to deepen the bond between mother and child, but that was a blatant lie. That notion now lay in ruin. Then we pushed the lie far enough until it blinded us and we fell into the abyss, where we were carried away by the torrential force of our own selfish, carnal desires, tapping into something more primeval, and brute-forcing our way through the natural barrier separating parent and offspring. When Mark ejaculated into me last night and I watched, that barrier was shattered. Before that act, we had been mother and son, but by intentionally inseminating me, both of us watching him try to fertilize my womb and breed with me, we crossed the line, destroying what Evolution had spent eons creating. And the more time I spent with my new mate, the more my instincts desired him to mount me.

Though I came to understand all of this, knowing full well that the path Mark and I traversed could become treacherous, I simply didn't care. My lover was all that mattered to me now.

Toward evening, after stopping to get a bite to eat, Mark and I returned to our room. I went into the bathroom to undress and, just as I had removed my jeans, heard him ask if he could use my cell phone. I said sure and pushed my panties down my legs, tossing them outside the door atop my jeans crumpled on the floor. Then I walked out of the bathroom, while unbuttoning my blouse.

"Who ya callin'?" I asked, as Mark sat on the bed, leaning back against the headboard.

He poked at the keys on the phone. "Beth," he replied.

Instantly, I felt a surge of anger course through me. Not at him, but at the sound of her name: the person also vying for the affection of my lover.

"Hey," he said happily, when she answered.

My lips quivered, as I slowly walked to the bed. Mark glanced at me and winked. I climbed onto the mattress and straddled his legs, as he continued talking to her. My blouse hung open loosely, as I began fumbling with his belt. Then he chuckled, as they talked. In the back of my mind, I growled angrily, as the bitch stole his affection right in front of me; stole emotions and feelings I felt were rightfully mine and not hers. My hands worked quickly, pulling his belt away and throwing it over my shoulder. Then I fumbled with his zipper and, when I finally had it open, sat up on my knees and jerked his jeans down, yanking them off his legs and hurtling them across the room. Then I wildly pulled my arms from my blouse and threw it away, as well.

"Aw, I miss you, too," he said in a sickeningly pathetic voice.

I leaned down, grabbing the waistband of his underwear, and shot my eyes to him and glared. But Mark only smiled and winked again.

"... fucking whore," I mumbled softly, nearly ripping his boxer shorts off.

But when I saw his cock standing straight up and gently swaying, I knew he was mine. I knew where his true thoughts lie.

I moved forward until I was poised directly over his shaft. Then I reached down and grabbed it, lowering myself and roughly rubbing him against my bald wet slit. And when we were both lubricated enough for penetration, I thrust my body down onto him. Mark's mouth slowly opened and his eyelids fluttered. An evil grin curled my lips, as I thought to myself, the bitch could talk to him all she liked, but his body, his heart and soul, belonged to me now.

I rested my hands on his abdomen and began humping against him, grunting and snarling my lips. In short time, my mind was filled with that highly addictive euphoria, and I began breathing harder, as my body undulated. I looked down at my lover and could see the same effect occurring in him. His eyes were half closed and he struggled to continue talking to his whore. Then he slowly raised his free hand, drunkenly reaching out for my chest. I leaned forward so he could touch me. The tips of his fingers slipped under the straps of my bra and pushed them over my shoulders, and then with great effort pulled the cups down, revealing my breasts. As I worked my body on his cock, I could feel them wobble and bounce, as rivulets of sweat raced down my head and neck. And when his fingers began pinching and twisting my sensitive nipples, I grimaced and smiled at the same time, moaning softly.

Mark's eyes were closed now. "I gotta go," he muttered, straining to keep his voice from revealing the unholy mating ritual he was engaging in with his mother. Then he snapped the phone shut and dropped his arms out to the side, as I continued to ride him.

For the remainder of the night, we followed this simple theme. We had sex, rested, and had sex again. Late into the night, we finally fell apart, wholly exhausted. While Mark slept on the bed, I dragged my aching body to the bathroom. I flipped on the light and quickly covered my eyes, stepping over to the toilet. A minute later, I stood and flushed and went to the sink. My entire being, body and mind, felt thoroughly depleted. Every movement of my muscles seemed to require Herculean effort. I turned on the faucet and leaned down, splashing water over my face. Then I rested my hands on either side of the bowl and stared down at the swirling water. Everything had changed. Everything I knew was different now. My life, my relationship with my son and husband; it was all being smelted and recast. But still, I managed to smile and closed my eyes, reveling in this new life Mark and I had forged together.

I slowly trudged out to the bed where my lover awaited. Climbing onto the mattress, I carefully took his flaccid penis into my hand, as he slept. It was beautiful; a tool, an entire being; my consummate lover, which I had created and given birth to. Nothing governed the love and passion we felt for one another any more.

That Sunday morning, while my husband and daughter were attending mass, I kneeled before the bed that served as our altar and took my son's body into mine, worshipping his magnificent cock.

But the time came when I had to leave, and doing so was almost unbearable, nearly more than I could endure. I sniffed back my tears on the way home; back to what I felt was a drab existence. I had to go back to him, and Mark had to return to her. I knew, at some point during our separation, she would kiss him. She'd take what I felt was rightfully mine and mine alone. She had no idea, of course, but I didn't care; I blamed her all the same. And I worried what Mark would be thinking, when he held her in his arms at night. Would he share a bed with her? Enter her body, as he did mine? Would he fill her with the same exuberance I had felt so many times, whenever he took me? Before I left, I swore to my lover that I wouldn't have sex with my husband. But when I finally arrived home, when I saw my husband outside working in the yard, my heart sank. I still loved him passionately and perhaps more so now. Coming home was like stepping out of a thick fog, and now I could see clearly once again.

Mark and I were lovers now. I came to accept this. The only I guilt I felt was in not feeling enough of it. Ryan and I still made love, but I could never leave him. Not even for my son and lover. Over time, I slowly accepted that what Mark and I were engaging in wasn't quite what we initially thought it would be, what we attempted to trick ourselves into believing. Both of us wanted this and we had no desire to stop. We would meet now and then to stoke the flames of passion between us, and then we would tacitly return to our other lives. And very slowly, those lives were going back to the way they had once been, before we started our sexual relationship. I'd visit him once a month, we'd go to a movie, to dinner, engage in some otherwise platonic social activity, and then we'd return to my room and have sex. Then we would go to sleep and I'd leave in the morning. The passion had toned down considerably, leaving only the simple act of copulation behind. To us, it became no different, than if we were merely engaging in some otherwise benign activity together.

By the following December, things had finally returned to what I felt to be an even keel. Rachel was now in college, attending the same school as her brother, so when I went to visit, I did so for both of them. And, as a result, Mark and I spent less time alone and being intimate. Eventually, our sexual relationship began to peter out. When they did occur, our encounters were usually brief and sporadic. And by the time the school year came to an end, and Rachel moved back home for the summer, it was almost embarrassing for me to think of what Mark and I had done only a year before; flirting with each other over the phone and via email, not to mention our sexual liaisons.

I did feel closer to him, however. A deeper emotional bond had been created, though only by default, rather than being an actual contrivance on our part. We did once talk about what we had done, and what we continued to do from time to time. It had become one of those things we tried hard not to openly acknowledge. When we had sex, we didn't pause to consider whether or not we should. We simply did and that was the end of it. But that one conversation helped alleviate some lingering tension hanging between us.

Summer had ended and Rachel moved back to the resident halls and the start of a new school year. In early September, I drove up to visit them. Mark and I hadn't been sexually intimate in nearly five months. The strong desire that had once driven us to excesses of passion was now beginning to strongly wane.

Mark and I were sitting in a restaurant one Saturday night, while Rachel was out with her boyfriend, which gave us time to be alone.

"So," he asked, dropping his napkin to the table with a smile. "What'd ya wanna do tonight?"

I sat staring at my cup, poking my straw through the floating ice, and shrugged.

"I dunno," I replied. "Up to you, I guess."

"Wanna rent a movie?"

I shrugged again. "Sure."

After paying the bill, we walked out to my car and drove to a video rental shop. A short time later, we went back to Mark's apartment.

We walked into the living room and he turned on the lights, while I unzipped my coat and tossed it on a chair. Then I plopped down on the couch with a huff, as Mark started the video. He turned around with a happy smile, but when he saw me just staring at the television, it slowly faded.

"Something wrong?" he asked.

I glanced up and blinked.

"Hmm?"

He gestured to me, as he stepped over to the couch. "You," he said, as he sat down. "Something the matter?" I leaned forward to the coffee table in front of me and picked up the remote control, clicking off the television.

"You alright?" he asked.

"Yeah," I sighed. "I guess."

Mark chuckled, replying, "What's that mean?"

I tossed the remote to the side and turned to face him. Mark grinned and I couldn't help but do so in kind.

"I take it Beth isn't around?" I asked.

Mark shook his head. "Nah," he said, crossing one leg over the other. "She's home for the weekend. She'll be back tomorrow, though. Sometime in the afternoon."

I nodded and let my gaze drift across the room.

"You want me to spend the night?" I asked quietly.

After a short pause, he said it was up to me.

I looked back and gave him a hesitant smile. He inched a little closer and I let my eyes fall to the empty space between us, placing my hand on his thigh. Mark's arm was resting on the back of the couch around me, and I moved slightly closer to him. And when we were sitting side by side, our bodies touching, I felt his hand behind my head gently stroking my hair. I rubbed his leg, squeezing it softly, and glanced up at him. He smiled and I turned away with a blush, embarrassed at being this intimate with him.

From the corner of my vision, I could see him leaning closer. I grinned, taking a nervous breath, and slowly turned to face him. Mark laid his hand against the back of my head and brought me slowly to his lips. I closed my eyes, and when our tongues met, my apprehensions faded.