Meeting Mother

"Who...how could it hurt him?" I asked.

She drew in a deep sobbing breath and said, "To put it simply, your father was my father."

I was staggered and I struggled for a response.

"You...you mean the man who should have been my grandfather was really my father?"

"Yes," she replied, even looking a bit relieved now it was out in the open.

"My God April, he raped you and made you pregnant."

"No Mark," she said sharply, "it wasn't like that. I know people always think it has to be like that, but it wasn't for me. He was so gentle and loving, and I did love him, very dearly."

"You mean you...you wanted him to do it?"

"Yes, even before my mother died I wanted him. It took a year after her death, but one night he came to my bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed and touched my hair. Then he said, 'My beautiful girl." I knew what he wanted to do and I wanted him to do it. I even said to him, "Daddy, I love you and it's all right."

"We became lovers, sleeping together. After the first time I was going to go on the pill, but it was too late; he'd made me pregnant that first time. If it got out about our relationship that would have ruined his career and so I never told anyone who the father was. When you were born they told me I was too young to bring you up, and so I signed things and they took you away. That's how it happened."

"Did you hate him after that?" I asked.

She looked at me uncomprehendingly for a few moments, and then said, "Hate him? Of course not, I told you I loved him and wanted him, and he was a wonderful lover. I went on the pill and was his lover until he got ill and died."

Her hand went down to her genitals and rested on them as if she was remembering those times when her father had been her lover.

I was trying to get my head around all this, and so while trying to find a response I sidetracked saying, "You said you'd been married, what happened?"

"Oh poor Harold," she sighed, "he was such a nice man, but I just couldn't."

"Couldn't?"

"Couldn't give him the emotional satisfaction he needed."

"You mean the experience with your father had traumatized you?" I said, remembering things I read about incest and its aftermath.

"For goodness sake Mark, I've told you I loved my father, I enjoyed sex with him. There was no trauma; it was simply the case that I felt there could never be anyone to take his place. I shouldn't have married Harold, it wasn't fair to him, but I did think we could make it at the time. I tried, but he knew I was trying, and when you're making love with someone you don't want to feel they have to pretend."

"And so you divorced?"

She shrugged hopelessly. "Yes, he found someone who didn't have to try or pretend with him. I believe they have three children now."

* * * * * * * *

We both fell silent, she probably wondering if she should have told me, and I still trying to come to terms with it. Finally, for want of something better I said, "So my name is really Blake?"

"Yes."

"And you've never regretted the...the..."

"Incest?" she supplied. "The only thing I've ever regretted is that I didn't keep you. Knowing you now I think of all the things I've missed...we've missed. Watching you grow up, doing all the birthday and Christmassy things with you, the holidays we might have had and...and...oh, it's as if there's a big black hole in my life I didn't fully realise was there until we met."

"You're sorry we met?" I asked.

"No...no...not sorry because after all I can see that you've grown up and there's nothing wrong with you."

It sudden struck me why at our first meeting she had asked me about my health and mental well being; because I was the child of an incestuous relationship she'd thought I might be defective in some way.

I smiled at her and asked, "Have I grown up satisfactorily?"

"Yes," she replied, "and your so like my...your father."

She started to cry and I didn't know what to do and what I did, I suppose, was pretty inept. I said, "Well, we've got a lot of catching up to do."

That made her cry even more and she sobbed, "How can we catch up, it's not possible, you can't call back lost years."

"No," I said, "but we can make the most of the time we've got."

"Yes," she said, "but I can't have you as a baby, and a child and a teenager."

"No," I replied, "but you can have me as an adult and I think I've grown to love you."

She stopped crying and taking some tissues from a box on the table beside the sofa she wiped her tears and blew her nose.

She looked at me quizzically for a few moments and then said, "Do you mean that?"

"What?"

"That you love me?"

What could I say? "Yes, of course," I replied.

"Why...why do you love me?"

That had me floundering. I don't think I'd ever told anyone I loved them before, and if I'd thought about it at all I suppose I'd assumed you didn't need to explain why. Should I tell April that I loved her because she was so attractive, that I wanted to fuck her; that I dreamed and fantasised about being her lover?

No, that wasn't love, it was lust, although I suspect that a lot of people think its love, but I wanted to reach out beyond that, but didn't know how, I suppose because I'd never had any practice at it. You might get a lot of things in an orphanage but you don't get a great deal of practice with loving.

I said rather lamely, "I suppose I love you because you're my mother and you've been...er...very generous."

She was looking at me now rather like a cat watching a mouse and making up its mind if it was lunchtime.

"Do you think I love you, Mark?" she asked.

Now I didn't feel so much like a mouse as newcomer in a strange city without a street map, not knowing which way to go. I think April understood my dilemma so she said, "Just tell me what you really think Mark no matter what it is."

I could see my answer was important to her and I could also see that our relationship was at a pivotal point. I could see that we were two people in need of love, but also two people in an ambiguous relationship. A mother and son who had known nothing of each other for more than twenty years, and we were struggling to find a basis on which we could relate to each other.

Taking the plunge I said, "Yes, I think you do love me."

"You know, Mark," she said quietly, "we haven't hugged or kissed properly since we first met."

Was that an invitation to do just that now? I wondered.

"I...er...didn't know if you'd like me to do that sort of thing," I said cautiously.

She extended her arms to me and said, "Why don't you come over here and find out."

Wondering where this was heading I went to her and sat beside her. She put her arms round my neck and kissed me. I wasn't sure what a mother's kiss should feel like, but I got the distinct impression that this didn't feel like one.

She began to stroke my chest with her hand and then kissed me again, and this time I was sure the kiss wasn't motherly.

"You know Mark," she whispered, her lips very close to my ear, "My father and I had the best of both worlds."

"Did you...er...what worlds?"

"Father and daughter and at the same time lovers. Can you think of anything more beautiful?"

I actually could think of something if not more beautiful then at least as good, but I wasn't about to say what it was.

"It must have been very...er...satisfying," I said somewhat shakily. The erection I'd had for the last half hour had taken on a particularly insistent and throbbing reality.

"It was very satisfying," she said.

"Even though it was incest?"

"I sometimes think that an incestuous relationship is the best of all," she replied, especially when it's an act of love, what do you think?"

That left me floundering again for a few moments. How do you answer a question like that if you haven't had an incestuous relationship? I pointed this out to her and she said, "I think you'd like to have an incestuous relationship, wouldn't you?" she asked, laying a hand on my thigh.

"W-would I," I stammered.

"That lump in your trousers tells me you would, Mark. Why don't you kiss me?" she whispered.

I leaned into her and kissed her rather tentatively. It quickly became something more than tentative because when we broke from the kiss we looked at each other and then kissed again and again and again.

I felt her hand undoing the belt at my waist and then pulling down the zip of my pants. She pulled up my shirt and began kissing my stomach, working her way down until she reached my penis. She murmured something about, "It's been a long time," and kissed its head.

She ran a finger delicately over it making me groan as the nerves sent their messages.

"I think," she said, looking up at me, "mother and son as lovers could be as exquisite as father and daughter, don't you?"

Before I could answer she had the head of my penis in her mouth and began to suck it. I thought I'd found my way into Shangri-la.

She stopped sucking and looking up at me said, "I think it would be a good idea if we undressed."

She stood and let her negligee fall to the floor. Her body was superb but before I could take it in fully she said, "Well come along, stand up, it's your turn."

I was trembling so much I had difficulty in stripping off, so she had to come to my aid. When I was naked she pulled herself close to me, her small but nicely-rounded breasts pressed against my chest.

"Sit down" she said, giving me a little shove so that I plumped down on the sofa. She sat astride me and said, "A pity I haven't any milk to give you, but you can suck my nipples." With that she pressed a nipple to my lips. I took it into my mouth and suckled her.

"Does that taste like a mother?" she asked. I didn't answer because I was busy tasting that peculiarly sweet flavor of the female nipple, although I did silently agree, she did taste like a mother.

She was doing something with my penis and then it was slowly slipping into a warm, wet, satin smooth milieu, clinging to my length and sucking me in. I thought she was trying to swallow me completely.

I had to stop sucking her nipple as she began to ride my penis, slowly at first but with increasing pace. She was looking at me as she moved and kissing me intermittently and she was making faint murmuring sounds, "Mmm...mmm...mmm..."

Suddenly she cried out, "Oh my God..." and arching her back she began to pound frantically up and down in me crying out, "Come in me...come in me...I need it...come...come..."

I'd been struggling to hold back my orgasm but her invitation ended that. Sperm rushed up my length and burst into her. She must have felt it because she gave a long wailing cry, "Ooooowaaaa..."

I pounded my seed into her until I'd emptied myself. Her movements had slowed and she was breathing heavily and gasping, "I love you...I love you...I need you..." until her cries faded and her movements ceased.

Her hands were fluttering over my body and face and she said, "Welcome home my darling."

I made a half humorous response, "I think I'll stay home in future."

She smiled at me and said, "I don't think you'll need your bedroom in future, you belong to me now."

I knew then that I had the best of both worlds, a mother and a lover.

"I won't let them take the baby away this time," she said.

Well, in novels it's all about sex, but in real life it's about babies.