My Mother, My Wife and I

My silence to Alamu's challenge said it all. Having got me where she wanted she presented her case. She discussed about what we call incest. Yes, Alamu was right about incest. There was no word for incest in Tamil. Her reasoning is that that there are circumstances where sexual relationship between close relatives like brother and sister, father and daughter, and mother and son are acceptable. Labelling such relationships with a derogatory word may be unjust to those who perform a necessary act. She quoted an example in the bible where two daughters seduce their father in order that their tribe would not go extinct. During her college course in sociology Alamu has done fieldwork on her thesis on incest. In one of her cases an unmarried girl was having sexual relations with her father and two brothers with the knowledge of the wife and mother. Were the sons having sex with the mother? Alamu did not know. Probably they were. It amused me to note that if it were it would be a well-knit family in the complete sense of the word. And what of my neighbours Meena and Shanker? Yes, I often have seen them on the scooter with Meena holding her brother by the waist with her cheek pressing on his back. Once in the football ground nearby I saw Shanker teaching his sister to ride the scooter. They were pretty close, and were clearly enjoying the intimacy. Meena would pretend to lose balance and her brother would hug her and both would laugh boisterously. I agree with Alamu that they were kissing and fondling and maybe even having sex. Why not? It was harmless fun. I am amused that my wife was able to convert my views of family intimacy with such ease. She had brought me round to a stage when I no longer viewed her suggestion with horror and abhorrence though I could not accept it.

For the next two days Alamu never referred to the topic. I assumed that having had her say Alamu considered her job over. I was mistaken. Alamu had a plan. On the third day Alamu was leaving to a nearby town nearby for a family wedding. She was giving final instructions to me.

"You must help Athai shampoo her hair during her oil bath tomorrow. Her shoulder pain is still there. She can't take her hand to her head." Mother back was turned and Alamu smirked and winked a prodigious wink that could mean only one thing.

4

I am Meenakshi, Krishna's mother. I was 35 years old when my husband died after a three-day illness. I now live with Krishna, my only child, and his wife. My daughter-in-law Alamu is a gift from heaven.

I am sex starved. My husband was very active sexually. When were young we used to have sex every day. After he crossed 35 we used to have it at least twice a week. The day before his hospital admission for his last illness we had sex. He was in fact very vigorous that day. Now for three years I am suffering abstinence. Every night my son and his wife drive me to bursting point. Like his father he has it every night. My keen ears can hear the rhythmic creaking of the cot, and following that the sound of water sluicing in their bathroom. From the way water splashes I can say whether it is my son or Alamu who is washing. 'Is he washing her?' I'll ask myself and this thought racks my body with desire for my husband always insisted on washing me and after that I washed him. His hands were as soft as rose petals, and his touch on my vulva was a delightful experience.

I have another problem, and that is very serious indeed. The object of my fantasies is my son. I know it is satanic but I cannot help it. No, I do not want to think of any other man. That would make me a slut in my estimation. I have tried various ways of getting out of this infatuation. I tried to involve myself in religion. I attend all forms of religious discourses. Nothing helps. Once the preacher, a holy man clad in saffron gown whose ashram is in the Himalayan foothills, spoke of my problem. I wondered how he could know my case history. Apparently what I am suffering from is the norm for young widows in India. He said that because Hindu religion prohibits widow remarriage sashtras allow widows to have discreet relationships with close members of the family. He said that narrow-minded men who dominate our society have not only not allowed women to make use of this liberal provision in the sashtras, but have also prevented its very existence from being known. I wanted to ask him if close relations include the son, but with my friends surrounding me there was no way I could approach him during the question session.

The only way I could cool the heat to some extent is by some discreet exhibitionisms. I will put on a thin low-necked blouse and allow pallav to fall off when my son was about. At times I will go round my chores with a thin sari and no skirt on. I could see my son watching me with excitement. Once I was on a low stool reading a magazine. My sari was awry exposing my thighs. I allowed more and more of my thighs to get exposed. Krishna was watching and I, while pretending to set my sari right, moved my thighs in such a way that I exposed my vulva for my son to see. I held the posture for a while pretending to be engrossed in my reading. I hope my son feasted on the sight. He must have for I could see a bulge of sexual arousal. As the months went past I was convinced that it was my fate to lead the life of abstinence. I was mistaken.

5

One weekend my daughter-in-law went on one of her rare visits to the house of a relative in Kanyakumari at the very tip of the Indian peninsula. She was to be away for three days. Saturday was my oil bath day. As I had shoulder stiffness Alamu always shampooed me during my oil bath. She requested her husband to do that for me in her absence. But first a few words about this ritual that is practised all over Southern India. Sesame oil is rubbed on the scalp and allowed to soak in for an hour or more. In the bath that follows the oil has to be washed away using shampoo. Oil baths are refreshing. The problem is that one has to work vigorously on the scalp to get the best results. I confess that though my son would only be shampooing me I was excited at the prospect. The reason for my excitement was this: When Alamu does the shampooing I would be nude, which amongst women is natural. Would that be possible with my son? I would love to sit nude as he works on my head, but would I have the courage to do so? These thoughts kept me sleepless.

It was Saturday morning. The events of that day are unforgettable. I served him dosai, a very popular crispy dish, with coconut chutney just the way he liked it. His usual dose is two dosais, but that day he had three. After clearing the table I took an ounce of sesame oil and applied it to the top of my head and rubbed it in. One has to allow the oil to soak in for an hour or more. I went about my chores as if noting special was to happen. My heart however was thudding.

I arranged the low stool to sit on. I placed soap and shampoo on another stool. I closed the bathroom door but did not latch it. In the event the decision of whether to be in the nude or not presented no problem at all. This was a chance. I would be doing myself an injustice if I do not grasp it. I undressed to nudity and crouched on the stool. I asked Krishna who was outside to come in. I sat with eyes closed, in shame probably. I heard the door open and then close. Was my son surprised to see me in the nude? Was he excited to see me that way? I do not know. I could hear him open the shampoo bottle. He poured some on my head and started shampooing. He worked from behind me. He did it well. Now he had to come to the front to turn on the shower. He did it. How much of me did he see while he was in front? I do not know, but that did not diminish by one bit the thrill coursing down my spine. I was now in a frenzy to show my body to my son.

"Open the shower more fully and do my back." I said. I sat up with hands by the side and opened out my thighs. If my son turns in my direction he cannot fail to see my breasts and vulva. Krishna started with the back of my neck, and then the sides of the neck. He was not soaping me; he was caressing me. He did the front of the neck and as he rubbed under my jaw and chin I had to bend my neck backwards. I opened my eyes for the first time. We made eye contact, and I read desire in his eyes. He was bare crested with a towel round his waist, and he was making unsuccessful efforts to hide his erection. He was clearly as exited as I was. Whatever inhibition remained now evaporated.

"You need not have to hide behind my back," I said. He came round. "It is quite natural to have an erection when in front of a naked woman even though it is the mother." So saying I gently removed the towel round his waist. He was twisting and squirming. I cut it short by taking a grip of his penis, and I say to my great pride that it was very large.

"I have held it many many times before," I said. "Now bathe me." So saying I stood up. Krishna by now had recovered his aplomb. He stood in front erect penis and all and soaped my shoulders and arms, and then he soaped my breasts. He did a thorough job of kneading it and plucking at the nipples. He looked up. Our eyes met and we hugged. The shower was on and our wet bodies rubbing against each other under the shower was an indescribable feeling. I thrust my pelvis forwards, and he, with a hand on each of my buttocks pressed against me. I felt his penis touching my vulva. We held tight and kissed passionately on the lips.

"My own precious darling," I said.

He did my abdomen and thighs. I had to sit down in readiness for the key event. He sat by my side on another stool. He soaped my lower abdomen and then my thighs. I had to take the lead. Leaning on him I held his hand and placed it on my vulva. His palm was on my vulva. It was as soft as silk. He applied soap and rubbed. His middle finger was at times in my vagina and his rose petal soft index was stimulating every sensitive point in and around the clitoris with precision. I spread my thighs as far as they would go, and my feet were up in the air gently waving in my excitement. He worked with a deftness of touch that defies description. He brought me to the brink of orgasm.

"Take me to the bed, darling," I said. I was feeling were weak at the knees. He held me and gently took me out of the bathroom, both of us dripping wet, down the passage to my bed. I lay on my back. He came on top of me, and I held his penis and inserted. Mother inserting son's penis into her vagina must be an emotional event. It was not. To me at that moment it was the most natural thing to do. From his reaction Krishna could not have felt it differently. He gave me a massive orgasm, my first in over three years. We lay side-by-side hugging each other. I felt his wet hair.

"Get up Krishna and wipe your hair. You may catch cold," I said. He found this funny and laughed. I wiped his hair, and he wiped mine. We went to the bathroom and washed. I felt his soft hands once again on my vulva. I washed his penis. With pride I noted that his penis was already turgid.

"Dress up. I must serve you lunch."

I wrapped a thin sari round me and served him lunch. He asked me to eat too. I sat by his side and ate. After lunch I cleared the table. Krishna sat sipping buttermilk. He asked for water. I had to go to the fridge to get ice-cold water he always likes. He caught the pallav of my sari.

"Let me go," I said.

"Am I holding you?" he said smiling mischievously. I understood. I had to turn round and round to unwind the sari as I moved away. After two turns I was one layer away from nakedness. There was still more than a metre to go. Krishna tugged at the sari. I allowed it to go. He drew it up, folded it and sat on it, a grim smile on his face. I filled a tumbler and I walked back carrying it now quite naked.

"Get on with your work mother," he said. To humour him I went about my chores. After a few moments I found it quite thrilling going about the house with no clothes on under the exciting gaze of my son. I wish my husband and I had known of these games when we were young. I was arranging the vessels in the shelf when he cupped my breasts from behind and said 'guess who?' I laughed. Krishna embraced me from behind with one arm that went all the way round the chest to cup one breast. The other hand cupped my vulva. I turned my head around, and we kissed on the lips. In that posture we moved slowly step by step to the bed.

"I want to suckle you mother," he said. I was as eager to nurse him as he was to suckle. I sat cross-legged as Krishna rested his head on my lap and suckled. My hand was stroking his erect penis.

"You certainly were not holding my penis then."

"Some times I did that."

"It could not have been erect."

"More often than not it was erect in its own tiny way."

"Am I sucking as well as I did as a baby?" he asked.

"Then your mouth was small and you were toothless. You used to take in as much as you can into your mouth and munch like a toothless man eating banana. You were a greedy fellow. You would hold on till you became breathless and then let go and gasp for breath. Then you would search for the fountainhead waving your arms frantically. I would nudge you towards the nipple, and you would grasp it with your lips with both hands holding the breast just as you are doing now. I never had to tap your back for burping. When I lifted you up after a session you would burp like a beer drinker. The noise used to startle you, and then you would smile broadly." The recollection of that smile made me feel extremely tender towards him. I held his head with both hands as he bit my nipple with teeth covered by lips. Though it was a two decades ago that I last suckled I can say with assurance that the sensation he produced now, though pleasant, is very different from what I felt while nursing him. Suddenly every bite produced a thrill. I was chirping with pleasure. I shifted him to the other nipple and again I chirped. Suddenly the nipples lost all sensation. Instead my vulva became hot. I pushed his head down. He slid down. Resting on his elbows, with hands on cheeks, he crouched with his face close to my vulva. He was examining my vulva with intense concentration.

"Remember it?" I said. He chuckled.

"I must have been very tiny to negotiate this passage," he said. It was my turn to chuckle.

"Six pounds and eleven ounces," I said. I was pouring secretions that he dutifully licked clean.

"It's lovely," he said. And then spreading my inner labia he went for the clitoris. He did it expertly. Soon my buttocks were heaving up and down, and up and down. He stopped. I almost feared he was giving up when he recommenced in slow swipes. I cascaded in orgasm of an intensity I had never experienced before.

"Come up I can't wait," I said. He came up. I held his throbbing penis and inserted it for the second time. We had it in unison, and then he gave me two more. He rolled over and then did a trick that was new to me. With his hand he cupped my vulva and pressed. That gave me several mini shocks. We then rested in each other's arms.

We had in once in the evening and again late at night. I had orgasms every time.

"Darling," I said, "you have cooled all the heat that had built up these three years. I will tell you when I need you again. It would not be in the near future. You must promise me that you would never make the approach." He promised. He always keeps his promises.

"What would Alamu say when she gets to know?" I said mostly to myself.

"She would understand," he said. "She says that the sashtras of our religion that does not permit widow remarriage allow a lot of liberties to young widows to unite with close family members." My son and his wife must have certainly discussed my needs, but did they plan this encounter? Probably not. The fact that had talked about it gave me assurance, but I continued to be apprehensive of how I would react when I meet Alamu the next day. Thankfully Krishna would be in his office.

6

Alamu:

During the return journey by bus my thoughts were all on what had or had not happened during my absence between mother and son. As I stepped in my mother-in-law came out from a side room, and our eyes met. Her face lighted up in her happiness on seeing me. Then a strange transformation took place. Her eyes opened wide, and an unmistakable look of guilt took over. She averted her gaze. I went up to her and hugged her.

"Athai," I said. She sobbed bitterly. "There is nothing to cry about Athai darling. Your son did his duty to his young widowed mother as prescribed in the sashtras. Don't cry. God has rewarded your son for his sense of duty. You are going to be a grandmother soon." She looked up. Her tear stained face broadened in a beatific smile.

"True?"

"Of course it is true." She hugged me, but suddenly she let go of me and rushed into the puja room and came back almost immediately brandishing a pinch of kumkum. She applied it to my forehead. She then hugged me and into my ear she spoke the most beautiful words a woman can ever hope to hear.

"I prayed for a good girl for my son, but the Almighty gave me a goddess."