My Incestuous Summer of 1996

"Scott (uugh) please Scott (ooooooh). I beg you, stop (moan)."

But as she was asking me to stop, Marianne started bucking back so that her ass cheeks met my every entry into her ass. She was starting to make sounds that sounded like she was enjoying this, but I could tell that she didn't want me in there. But I couldn't help myself. My fantasy was coming true. And she was liking it a lot nonetheless.

I was riding her, now as hard and as rough as I could. Each thrust of my hips was an explosion of muscle, speed, and passion. I thought at one point that I'm going to have bruises on my thighs and pelvis from slamming her ass as hard as I was. This was not gentle. But I was loving it. Just as I reached orgasm, it occurred to me that I didn't have a condom on which meant I shot an extremely large amount of my semen into Marianne' asshole. I exploded. And Marianne was screaming out in so much ecstasy that I swear people could hear us over the thumping of the music and the laughter of the people around the keg. They had to have known that some serious fucking was going on in the dining room.

I collapsed. Then, after a few gasps for air, I pulled out of her. I looked down and saw that my dick was raw. It twitched from the ride I gave it. I kissed Marianne's body all over, starting with the top of her head, then her neck, shoulders, back, ass, back of her thighs, calves, and when I reached her feet, I grabbed my boxers, and retrieved my jeans. Marianne stayed glued to the top of the table. She didn't even move a muscle to pull her skirt down or fix her hair.

I didn't know what to say. I had just forced Marianne to have anal sex with me. Not what I came to this party to do that night. I never imagined I would have to force her to do anything. My guilt and shame rushed over me, making my head spin. I had to get out of there. I turned to open the kitchen doors when Marianne said the oddest thing.

"My father is going to be so upset with me. He's the only one allowed to fuck my ass, and I'm afraid he's going to know I was fucked there and it wasn't by him. But that sure was fun. I knew for a skinny geeky boy, you would know how to fuck me good. Thank you, cowboy." And she stood up and walked on over to where I stood, kissed me hard one more time, gave my dick a squeeze, and let me exit the room.

WTF????!!!!!!!

I ran out through the kitchen to the back yard through the gate and around front to my car, grabbing a six pack, and a bottle of vodka along the way. Feeling ashamed that I had probably by the definition of the law "date raped" Marianne, and utterly confused by Marianne's confession, I drove home jugging bottles, and listening to my music as loud as I could stand it to be. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I pulled into my parent's driveway and turned off the car. So many thoughts raced through my slightly drunk, utterly confused brain:

- What the fuck, Scott! How could you do that? I'm a good person. I don't force a girl to fuck me. Even a slut like her. Jesus! I raped Marianne.

- My father is going to be upset because he's the only one allowed to fuck my ass.

- Holy shit! How long has she been having sex with her own dad? How sick is that family? Wow. I wonder if that's why she's such a fuck fiend. She has way too many daddy issues. But she's like, what, 24 now, and she's still fucking him. He's fucking her in the ass too to boot.

- Oh my God. No matter how fucked up that girl is, I still shouldn't have raped her. I looked myself in the eyes through the rearview mirror of my car, "Jesus H. Christ, Scott. You raped Marianne – you sick fuck! This is the most fucked up night of my life."

And I pounded my fist into my stirring wheel of my car which of course made the horn go off at a time in my neighborhood that folks aren't used to having a car horn go off. "Shit."

On the way home from Ernesto's party, I had turned the radio up as loud as I could take it. The rage of the music along with the contents of the baggy that I had swallowed, and the two beers that I slammed, plus the few healthy pulls on the bottle of vodka, all shaken together with all the shit that had hit the fan with Marianne, meant that I was starting to feel the effects of being wasted.

My car radio wouldn't shut off until I opened a door, even though I had taken the keys out of the ignition. And it was still blasting. I knew between the horn and the radio, I had woken up half the neighborhood, and I'm sure my parents heard them too. I needed a shower. I needed to wash off this night and all the weirdness that came along with it. And I needed to go to bed. Hopefully, with the sun rising, my guilt will melt away. Getting out of the car and into the house was a bit trickier than I anticipated. I didn't know what kind of pills I had stolen and ingested but they were doing a real number on me.

I stumbled out of my car and up the steps to my front door. I leaned into the door to rest, but my shoulders landed on the door a bit too heavily, and it made a loud "thump" noise. I fumbled for my keys, dropping them twice, each time making way too much noise. Finally, I opened the door, and started my way down the hall. I stopped briefly at the entry to the living room, where my younger sister and her boyfriend were cuddled up on the couch watching some horror flick.

"Hey Scott, have fun?" my sister asked.

"hey y'all. I had an ok time." I replied.

"Cool." She added absentmindedly. Giving me a look that said to keep on walking.

I easily obliged and walked up the staircase. I walked very very slowly up the stairs focusing on every step I took, not wanting to fall backwards due to my intoxication or walk to heavy so as to wake up my parents, whose bedroom was right at the top of the stairs.

As I made it to the top step, I was shocked to see that my parent's door was open. They usually had it closed, especially during the summer while I was home from college and working late nights. Maybe they wanted to be able to hear if any "funny business" was happening down stairs with my sister and her boyfriend. The light from the nightlight in the hallway cast just enough light into their room that I could make out the shape of their bed and two figures laying down on it. I peered in real quick to hoping to find them asleep and not even aware of me.

"Honey, Scott, is that you? Are you home?" my mother asked from her bed. She slept on the side of the bed closest to the door. My dad slept on the other side closest to the master bathroom. She caught my figure in the doorway.

"I'm home."

"Did you have a good time?" she innocently asked.

"It was ok. There were a few awkward moments between Marianne and I tonight. But I survived it." I didn't really know what else to say. But my mom and I had always been close. I knew I couldn't tell her, but truthfully, I wanted to spill my guts to her.

My mom sat up, and propped herself up with her elbows. She let the sheets nestle down by her lap. And she patted the bed for me to come and sit by her on the edge of the bed. In the soft glow of the nightlight, she had a curvy sexiness that I always had found appealing. I had fantasized about her a few times. I had masturbated to the idea of her giving me a blowjob, or fondling her tits, but I always excused such fantasy as normal Oedipal feelings that a lot of boys have for their mothers. But I never ever acted on them at all. We were close, but nothing like incest happened in my all too normal family.

She was wearing her very thin silk nightie that she always wore during the summer months. It was a few years old and it hung off to her voluptuous body perfectly. Her long neck drew a line down her body that led a man to instinctively look at her full D-cup sized breasts.

As I sat next to her, I caught a whiff of her scent, and noticed that she smelled great. She always took a bath right before bed, and she used a very fragrant body wash. She took my hand in hers and looked so lovingly at me that offered me permission to start to share.

"I don't know. I was just weird," I started, but was interrupted by my father pulling off the covers and sitting up on the other side of the bed.

"Don't talk too long you two. I have to get up early to catch my flight." And he pushed himself out of bed and took the five or six steps it took him to reach the bathroom. He closed the bathroom door. Under the door, you could see he had turned on the light. And you could hear the fan had been turned on too.

"Weird how?" My mom was an inquisitive one.

"I don't know. Just weird. It felt weird. I did some weird things that I didn't know I had in me." I was trying to beat around the bush. The fresh memory of my fuck session with Marianne raced through my mind, and honestly, the memory of ass fucking Marianne was starting to arouse me.

My mom's hand was so soft, and her thumb was stroking the palm of my hand. It was such a loving gesture. I paused for a long moment. The only thing I could think to say in reply was, "Do you think I'm gay?" It was a diversionary tactic. I needed to change the subject. I was feeling odd.

My mother put her hand on the side of my face, caressing it gently and lovingly. The touch of her hand on my cheek lit a fire inside me that I'm sure was aided by the alcohol I had swallowed. I burned with a strong oedipal flame at that very moment. My head was swimming: Marianne and I's fuckfest. Marianne' dad fucks her ass. Mom's breasts. Her hand on my cheek. Her exposed neck line. Her soft voice. My guilt. Her love. What would it be like to fuck my mom?

She began to say, "Scott, I don't care if . . ." And I'm sure she would have finished that sentence with " . . . you're gay. I will always love you. You're my son."

But I didn't give her the opportunity.

All my emotions plus all of the alcohol in my body caused me to go momentarily insane. I quickly and decisively pressed my lips to my mother's in such a passionate way that was not anything like a son usually kisses his mother. I kissed her so passionately right there and then, with my dad in the bathroom 12 feet away, and my younger sister downstairs with her boyfriend and the door to my parent's bedroom wide open. I didn't care. I had to do it. I needed to, I wanted to so much to kiss my mom like a lover. And so I did.

With mongoose like quickness, I put one of my hands behind her head, and pulled her into my lips. While my other hand of course had to fondle those breasts through her gown. I groped her messily, like the first time I had touched a girl's breast way back in 8th grade – you know, with just a little too much eagerness. But I put all my strength into locking her lips to mine. I wouldn't let her break the kiss.

My mother's hands went immediately to my chest as she tried to push me away. But I was too strong for her, and I wouldn't be moved. I attempted to part her lips with my tongue, but she wouldn't allow me access to her mouth. Even though her lips were not pressed together, my tongue kept getting blocked by her teeth. But she was definitely kissing me back. Her lips were full and wet. But she wasn't about to French kiss her son. This was as intoxicating as all the alcohol I had swallowed. But instead of deadening my senses, I felt alive. This lustful passionate kiss of my mother had awoken me.

It was as confusing as the situation with Marianne. Half of my mother was telling me no, while the other half was telling me yes. I opened my eyes to see if her eyes were open, and to my surprise they were closed. And not clinched, but relaxed. Just like the moral ambiguity of the dining room fuck of Marianne's ass had enflamed my libido, I was extremely turned on by my passionate kissing of my mother in her bed, as my father urinated in the adjoining bathroom.

I put my weight into her now, and started to lean her back against her pillows. My hand that had been on her breast , that had been kneading her tit, massaging it, had a mind of its own now. It left her ample breast behind, ran down her chest, and belly, went needed now to explore the softness between my mother's legs. This lustful move accomplished breaking her concentration on my tongue, and as soon as my hand found the fleshy insides of her thigh, her teeth parted, and my tongue gorged the inside of my mother's mouth. And her tongue was like a slave that had been set free to dance the sacred dance of liberty. Our tongues lashed at each other, danced with each other now. She accepted my French kiss with her own erotic abandoned. But she knew where my hand was hoping to find. And so she pushed me away with both her hands - as hard as she could - so that my fingers could not touch her holiest of places.

And then . . . the toilet flushed. Even in my drunken and sexual stupor, I knew that I had to let go of her. I released her quickly, sat straight up with the guiltiest look of a kid with his hand stuck in the best cookie jar ever, and placed the sheet that had been thrown down by her feet up across her lap. She straightened her nightie. I gazed at her breasts one more time, and saw that her nipples were as hard as a rock, as was my penis.

My dad opened the bathroom door. And the light from the bathroom silhouetted the man in shadows. He stood there for a moment to take in the dark of the room and adjust his eyes. But that momentary pause made my heart beat like it would jump out of my chest. Did he know that I had just kissed and fondled his wife, my mother?

But then, he simply turned off the light and stumbled sleepily back to his and my mother's bed – rubbing his own dick and testicles as he walked like he was a pitcher in the major leagues about to take the mound. He got under the covers, pulled the sheets and blanket up, turned his back to me, my mom, and the nightlight in the hallway.

"Scott, go to bed. We'll pick this up in the morning," my mother said. And so, I got up from the bed and made my way to their doorway.

"Sorry to wake you guys. I'll be quieter when I come home late. Have a good time in Houston dad."

"Thanks, Scott. Have a good week at work. I'll see you on Tuesday," my dad said, already half way to sleep again.

I turned to walk out of their room. And as I went to close the door, I turned around. My beautiful and wonderful and loving mother, was laying on her side, facing me, the sheets and blanket pulled up to her neck, so that all I could see of her was her face. And my mom's eyes locked onto mine and she never broke her stare until the door was closed.

What did that look mean?