Family taboo, mom and son, sex stories, Mother son romance and sweet love, juicy lesbian sex…I opened up into yet another April morning- just another stereotyped drab edition of April mornings. The only difference is that it is my 39th birthday too. But nobody seems to have noticed it in my laconic domestic climate. I did not want to flash it, certain truths are to be understood without being told- that is the chemistry of familial warmth and unity. Thirty nine years and nineteen years of conjugal life ogled at me. Many more decades of dreary and desolate married life lay ahead of me fading deep in the distant labyrinth of destiny.
I stretched my limbs like a boring ritual, affected an exaggerated yawn and looked out of the tapestreid casement. Orange colored lily blooms had sprouted right across the landscape after the riotous vernal rains. The homestead was flooded with golden dandelions, velvet roses and blushing Chinese roses. The compound wall was smothered by the proud shock of sprawling jasmines. The morning was awash with a motley of flowers and the crimson sun was sending his slanting rays to design a collage of dancing shadows.
I moved to the kitchen to prepare black coffee for my husband Thomas, who will be ready by seven to go to his shop in town on his ancient moped. He is a man obsessed with and intoxicated by business. Nothing else matters to him. He is a successful rubber and spice dealer in town and a difficult person to deal with. We have long ago stopped making love. Ours is just an arrangement- he supports the family with his money and I manage the family. There is no exchange of words, there is no need. Everything functions in a settled rhythm. But I do not actually hate him, he could but be himself and I could but be myself. I am very romantic and sensual. My curvaceous body also is designed for that.
Once he scooted off on his senile, sputtering rickety two wheeler, I felt relieved. He will be back only at ten at night. (Certainly he could own the luxury of a car, but he chose to live a wretch) Now the house was left to me and to our dear son Alex. I have to prepare breakfast for both of us. He is the only being in the family that keeps me on the right side of sanity.
Whilst I was kneading the dough, I heard him stealing in behind me and hugging me from behind. I smiled to myself.
‘A very peaceful and graceful birthday to you dear mummy,’ he whispered.
I loved it, I needed it really. And I know that he was very sincere when he said so.
‘Thank you dear, but I thought that nobody in the family remembered it anymore.’
‘Not me. It is the most important day in the year, followed by Christmas, the birthday of another divine being.’
I laughed, ‘but don’t you think that your mummy should have some birth day gifts?’
‘Indeed I do. They are waiting for you on your bed. Check them out when I am gone.’ He softly ran his fingers in my thick hair and reverently swished a gentle kiss in the fluffy softness.
I smiled secretively. He came around and sat in front of me. Silence settled around us. I was busy with my dough, he was watching me, every part of me, with unbridled admiration. It is frightening to have a secretive admirer at home. A sly glance on him made me aware of my appearance. Whilst working on the flour, my gown had unhooked itself exposing my opulent boobs encased in 36D bra. He remained mesmerized and was transfixed on the pair of globular endowments on my bosom. I furtively looked down on me. The two flaps of the gown had given way and the glossy glands were rippling within the confines of the bra cups. The golden sheen of the upper uncovered half of the Dolly Parton assets was starkly available for my child to feast on.
‘These are not on display for eighteen year olds, they are only for suckling babies you know,’ I teased. He blushed and hung his head.
‘Be a good boy and hook me up,’ I said raising my messed up hands for an explanation.
He got up and came towards me like a somnambulist. His eyes fixed on my bust. His fingers were shaking uncontrollably. Due to his nervousness, his hands often dragged along the contours of my rich cleavage. I also was strangely flushed with nervousness. His fussy touch had a kinky effect on me.
Again, after a while I found the hooks undoing themselves. My child sat there hypnotized. I know that he is an avid admirer of mine and that he loves me more than anything in the world. But I had nearly never given him the chance to feast on my anatomy. Of course we cuddle and hug a great deal, but never in an un-motherly fashion. The thought of his adoring eyes on my feminine assets was strangely enticing.
During my entire culinary warfare he sat there feasting on me, following every movement of my body, often coming very close to me by way of assisting me. Once I found him running his fingers on my back, even playing with the hooks of my bra.
We sat together to have breakfast.
‘Being your birthday, I must feed you,’ he rolled up a small piece of bread and dipped it in the potato curry and pushed it into my mouth. In return I also did the same thing. Shortly we were feeding each other and giggling like naughty school girls. Somewhere down the process, I noticed that my index finger was deep in his mouth and his warm delicious tongue was sweetly caressing it. To my surprise I also was doing the same thing with his index finger. Both of us were oblivious of the surroundings, both of us were in a heavenly trance. My bust was heaving, heart palpitating and feet perspiring. His eyes were half closed, he was in a drugged dreamy world.
‘It’s wrong it’s wrong,’ somebody screamed inside me. I pulled out my finger. The spell was broken, he also pulled his out. He smiled at me innocently and the shame that had pooled up between us suddenly evaporated. I smiled back.
He got ready to go to his coaching center where he prepares for engineering entrance examination. He was a sight, a six feet high youth with no extra fat on his make. Manly muscles danced on him with a youthful vigor. His face was pleasant, just like mine. His nose is sharp and his forehead slightly bulging becoming of an intelligent man. He is just my masculine edition. He is just my image, my reflection, myself in all respects. I proudly absorbed him into my love laden soul. He came to me and hugged me from the front, which had never happened. Then he planted a soft and chaste kiss on my cheek.
‘Have a beautiful day, my godly mother,’ he said.
‘Stay away little devil, I am all ugly and smelling,’ I protested peevishly.
‘To be truthful,’ he winked again hugging me, for the second time in his life pressing my rich bust to his muscular chest, ‘I revel on your mesmerizing musk. The other day I even sniffed your used panties.’
He ran away and disappeared into the road leaving me flushed and confused. I sat back on the chair and reasoned that it is natural for a child to love the scent of its dam. Yet, more than that, it had a strange and diabolic emotional twang. It had an inexorable lure, a scintillating carnal appeal. It was preposterous at the same time it was euphoric.
Later in the morning, when the entire house was all to myself, I went to my bedroom to check out what he had left for me as a birthday gift. On the bed there was a bouquet of fresh roses and chrysanthemums. Attached to it was a paper which I plucked out and read with throbbing soul. I could not read it with the gentleness and softness of a mother reading her son’s missive of sweet nothings.
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