Taboo: A Memoir Ch. 01-03

Now that I was no longer holding her, I grew afraid: So near yet so far—maybe something terrible would happen—she might reject me. My face trembled and my limbs quivered.

Seeing my anxiety, she hugged me to her and held her cheek against my erection, cupped gentle fingers around it. Mom's touch calmed me instantly, and I stopped shaking. I knew I would get home, that everything would be all right, that I would have her at last.

My shorts came off and my member swung free; we stared at it and then into each other's eyes. Within her dilated pupils I saw my tiny reflection splashing and playing like a baby. Bowing to a force greater than ourselves, we folded into each other's arms.

I eased her down onto the rug, and she raised her hips to let me remove the last silken barrier between us. As the panties came off, what they had been hiding emerged, its red lips and black hair wet and glistening. Its musk mingled tantalizingly with the scent of her perfume, making me want to inhale it, burrow into it, devour it.

Her Place was just as bold, proud, and triumphant as its co-conspirator between my legs. Perhaps even more so, because it had given birth to all of me. My manliness had passed through her womanly portal once before and was finally coming back for a more pleasurable visit. From our middles, our genitals commanded us like generals marching to victory.

Except that I had no idea what to do. I stared at her riches with awe, but seemed in suspended animation. With a smile, Diana pulled me on top of her. The feel of her breasts, belly and legs under me, all of her soft, supporting structure, made me swoon.

Mom took me in her hand, placed me where I needed to be, and led me back through the gates of life. I pushed inside her and felt her moist heat enfolding me, drawing me into heaven. Her center encircled me, surrounded me with a pressure that flexed and flowed in rhythms of delight. As I pushed in deeper and filled her up, she wrapped her legs around me, wanting me as much as I wanted her. A happy, wordless burble poured from deep within her. She gazed up at me like she couldn't believe it was me, her son, doing this to her. "Ooh...my boy," she said in appreciative amazement.

It felt so good and I loved her so much I wanted to cry. "I'm back inside you...finally...so wonderful."

With a pounding rush I exploded gloriously into her. "Oh mommy!" I cried in delirium.

She clasped me in her arms and held on. "Oh Tommy!"

Chapter Two

I was dreaming my penis was a candle, and mother leaned over and lit the wick with a match, not to burn it but to inflame it with passion. She had to get quite close, but it didn't hurt at all and the wick took fire and the whole candle glowed with translucent blue light that shone over our faces.

I woke up in mom's bed holding her in my arms and thought I was still dreaming. We were nude and I watched her sleep, breasts rising and falling as she breathed. They seemed like twin worlds, each complete in itself yet complementing the other in their double glory.

Think of what you did! an inner voice yammered at me. Now you're a motherfucker. That's the worst, the pits. You're a freak, a geek, a weirdo. My throat tightened—the voice was trying to strangle me.

For relief I stared at the curved fullness of Diana's tits and thought of how they had thrilled me last night. I yearned to suck them again. Now the nipples were smaller, softer, paler, blending in more.

The sight of them relaxed my throat, and I breathed deeply. You're just an uptight square, I told the voice. Last night was fantastic...far out...revolutionary. The revolution begins at home. We're the Che Guevaras of sex.

Mom's thick russet hair was tangled around her sprightly face. The nostrils of her slightly upturned nose swelled and contracted slowly as she breathed. Dotting her cheeks were faded brown speckles that had once been youthful freckles. I hoped mine would fade someday too. Her mouth was closed, lips puffed out a little, their color now a pale pink with all the crimson lipstick kissed away by me. I had seen her face wearing so many expressions, but never this one of deep rest. I was stunned by how beautiful my mother was, so unworried and peaceful. Love for her welled up in me in great waves. Twelve hours ago I would've scoffed at the idea of loving my mother. Now the feeling was so strong all I could do was enjoy it.

One golden-brown eye opened, looked at me, and closed. A groggy murmur emerged from Diana's lips. She opened the eye to look at me again, then opened both eyes. Her oval face sharpened with a shock of recognition. "Tommy! What are you doing here?"

Rather than answering, I smiled, tried to look innocent, and snuggled up against her. She patted me reflexively, then caught herself; her eyes widened as memory returned. "Oh...no!" She snatched at the sheet to cover herself, then shook her head, mouth gaping in disbelief. "We didn't!"

With her breasts now hidden, I resisted the urge to pull the sheet off. "We did," I said, "and it was great."

Her covering herself had uncovered me; she stared at her son's morning erection, then blushed and averted her eyes. "Tommy, get out. This is awful." She began to cry, holding the sheet to her face. "What've we done?" A wail burst from mom's lips and tears spilled from her eyes.

The sobs that wracked her body also wracked my heart. For the first time I understood how painful it is to see a person you love in pain. I stroked her head and cuddled in close to her, trying to reassure her. "It's OK...everything is fine."

"No!" Diana persisted. "I can't bear to think about it." I rubbed her shoulders to soothe her while she cried and snuffled into the sheet. I pulled a tissue from the bedside table and gave it to her. She blew her nose with eyes closed, unable to look at me. She was like a hurt child, and I longed to comfort her. I rose above her back, which was heaving with sobs, and began to massage her, my penis swaying heavily as I moved.

"No...no!" she chanted again.

I rubbed her back with both hands, trying to knead the knots of tension away. "Don't talk, just cry."

Mom obeyed me. I was amazed. She cried in long breathy moans, a little calmer now. I gave her more tissues, and she nodded in thanks. I felt so tender towards her. I wanted to tell her how much I loved her, but I was afraid to get words going because they might rouse her fears again, so I hugged her through the sheet. She cried louder, and I rocked her in my arms. The motion uncovered her breasts. As I drank in their beauty with my eyes, the nipples stiffened and darkened. They knew they were being admired and wanted more of it. They really did have a mind of their own; they just couldn't talk, so they had to send me different signals. I certainly wanted more of them.

I slipped under the sheet next to her, sighing with delight at her warmth and smoothness. "No," her chant began again. As I kissed a motherly breast, she rolled away from me, turning onto her side. "We can't...it's wrong."

Since I was confronted with the sleekness of her back, I began to rub it again. I looked down at her rear end, so round and curvy, the cheeks almost like breasts in their double voluptuousness. I didn't dare stroke them yet for fear she would leap out of bed, but I very much wanted to. I spooned in close behind her, though, and brought my legs against hers.

My thing brushed Diana's buns and began throbbing with excitement. Her crying had quieted, but at this touch it grew louder. I pulled my organ away to keep her from bolting, and rubbed her back some more. This calmed her again, but I was wild with frustration. My hard-on was straining out towards her, bursting with eagerness, furious at being repressed. I looked down and saw a sheen of moisture at the top of her legs. The hairs were wet and glistening like last night. She wants it too! Maybe I can get in from this side.

Very slowly I edged up against her again. Mom's bottom was cool against my warm member. This touch increased her crying, and her body heaved with each sob. Each time she moved, I pressed a little deeper between her legs, seeking passage. I didn't know much about female anatomy, but I knew my goal was somewhere in that area. I wanted to get back inside her more than I'd ever wanted anything, and this made me creative. I kept timing my moves to hers to avoid alarming her. Her buns now pinched my cock tantalizingly, but my tip kept nudging up against solid ground. Finally it felt slick dampness and began following the trail, sliding towards the source. Fortunately she had a nice compact rump so I could get in close.

Things got wetter and warmer, and I got more excited knowing I was on the right track. I bumped into a wall, though, that stopped me. Her body froze as she felt me there. "No!" mom wailed and tried to wiggle away, but I held her hips. As she continued to wiggle against my shaft, her motions and my pressure parted the wall and let me enter. I had found her secret passage.

With a gasp of pleasure I pushed deeper inside. The divine feeling of last night returned. I was home, back where I belonged, plugged into the source of everything. I pressed into my mother, and the farther inside her I went, the better it got.

"Oh, Tommy, my god, don't!" Diana's voice was raw from crying but also from passion.

I reached up and encircled her with my arms, clutched her brimming breasts, and held her tightly against me. "We have to," I said and I pressed on. With a yielding moan she tilted her pelvis towards me so I could enter all the way. As I plunged into her maternal glory, she lifted her chin, jutted out her throat, and groaned.

It was so wonderful entering her that I wanted to do it again. I pulled out almost to the top and pushed back in, feeling waves of delight from the tight clutch of her vagina. She gave a low grunt of satisfaction. I'd never heard my mother make a sound like that before. It thrilled me that I could push that sound out of her.

I kept moving in and out, slowly to make it last longer. I was still groggy from last night, so I could prolong the sensations. I'd never imagined anything could feel so good. She was moving with me, eyes closed, mouth open, panting.

Our sex smell had festered and increased since last night, and now it billowed out, filling our nostrils, exciting us even more with its ripe odor. Twelve hours ago we had been mother and virgin teenaged son. Now we were two dirty lovers fucking each other. Nothing had ever been so fine.

I kneaded Diana's breasts gently, massaging out to the tips and fondling the erect nipples. They were such a wonderful blend of soft and firm, bouncy yet yielding, so much fun to squeeze and play with, especially with my cock inside her. I wanted very much to suck them, but they were out of lip range. You can't have everything...at least not all at once, I thought. Instead, I kissed and nibbled the back of her neck, then sucked it a long time to leave a mark that would brand her as mine. I felt incredibly possessive of her. I knew now I'd always loved and wanted her but had never admitted it before.

I looked down at our bodies working together in perfect coordination. Her bottom was nuzzled up against my tummy, and each time I pushed in, my force squeezed and flattened her buns, and she made that sound again. We rocked back and forth as our passion mounted. She clutched my hips as they drove into her.

I wanted to know more about mom's special Place, so I brought one hand down to explore it from the front. My fingers slid through a hot, mysterious realm of folds, crevices, and nodes, all of them wet. I probed and caressed her labyrinth while pumping her from the back. The sound of her breathing sharpened and grew faster; she thrust the fingers of my other hand into her mouth and chewed on them. Her hips swiveled as if dancing with my strokes. She cried out, "Oh, Tommy, there, there...yes...press, YES...again...PLEASE! Oh GOD!" Her body flexed and stretched, flexed and stretched, and she shouted long and loud, her voice becoming a waterfall, a hurricane, an avalanche.

The explosion of her passion pushed me over the edge, and I erupted into her, thrusting to the hilt, pounding against my mother's butt and thighs, clutching her dear body for dear life, streams of juice pouring from me into her, screams of joy pouring from my mouth. We were wild and helpless in our thrashing union, closer than we'd ever been since the cord had been cut.

Gradually we quieted and lay together awed and exhausted by what we'd given each other. The force of our lust ebbed into a peaceful calm, a bliss of togetherness. We held and petted each other, mumbling incoherent shards of sound that occasionally became, "I love you."

We turned facing. Still unable to look at each other, we sought lips and lost ourselves in deep kisses. In a merging swirl, each surrendered to the other, having finally found what we'd been seeking all these years. Eventually we spun back to ourselves and were able to gaze into the magic of the other's eyes with total acceptance, knowing there could be no turning back, but not knowing what lay ahead except more of this.

Diana managed to rouse herself to speech. "This is...really...too heavy." She looked at me as if she expected the world to fall on us. "What are we going to do?" As she propped herself up on her elbows, mom's breasts spread out, relieved from being squashed.

I gazed at them, and the world seemed fine to me. I was totally blissed out. I stretched my arms. "Let's eat breakfast."

She hit me with a pillow. Then she gasped and covered her mouth. "What if I'm pregnant!" She closed her eyes and counted to herself, fingers and lips moving, breasts swaying. "Whew, probably not. But we need to be careful."

I was glad to hear this last because it implied we were going to keep doing it.

First she made me shower, then she made me waffles, my favorite breakfast, with hot maple syrup that now reminded me of her syrup.

Trying to return to "normal," we sat at the kitchen table for a typical Saturday breakfast wearing our standard jeans and T-shirts. Diana's chestnut hair fell halfway to her hips, my brown hair halfway to my shoulders. Her gamine face was tense as she brooded on what we'd done, but underneath she was glowing with contentment. "So...I guess we...did it...didn't we?"

"We sure did." I gave her a waffle grin. "And it was fantastic."

Our faces kept falling apart as we looked at each other. The old facial expressions didn't work anymore, and we were having to invent new ones. My "son" look and her "mom" look had to change into something else now that we were lovers.

She shook her head as if she still couldn't believe it. "Nothing will ever be the same again, will it?"

I thought it was sweet how she was turning these statements into questions, asking me for confirmation. She'd never done that before with me. "No, it can't be," I said. "It'll be better."

Worries pinched the corners of her brown eyes and darted her pouting lips. "No one can know about this, Tommy. No one! Ever!"

"Our secret," I agreed.

"I haven't begun to figure this out. Maybe it can't be figured out." Her head slumped into her hands. "I just know...we...." When I leaned over and kissed her, she relaxed, her face becoming smooth again. "I give up," she said with a shrug. "Love is strange...just like the song says."

"It's the best thing that ever happened to me." I meant every word of it.

"Then good, I'm glad." She squeezed my hand with an ironic smile. "I mean, what else are moms for?"

I cleared the breakfast dishes away and began washing them. Diana stared at me in stupefaction, and I realized I'd never done this of my own free will before. She'd always had to pester me into it. Now helping her seemed just another way of being close to her, the natural thing to do.

"Well, if I'd known it was going to make you do the dishes"—she tossed up her hands in amazement—"I'd have given it to you ten years ago."

Chapter Three

As you can tell, mine wasn't the typical mom. She was a rebel from the start, and to understand her, you need to know about her background.

Diana grew up in Denver, which despite its tourist image is a rather ordinary town, a city of the plains rather than the mountains. The Rockies float off to the west, distant blue peaks on the horizon. But visitors come here expecting the city to be special, and that affects the place. It makes Denver suspect it could be greater, that it has missed an opportunity.

In the late 1940s and early 1950s, when Diana was a teenager, the city attracted a stream of rebellious drifters. They were similar to the high plains drifters of the late 1800s who had made it their base, lone outcasts, many of them burnt out by the Civil War. The later group emerged disillusioned from World War Two. They too were restless seekers for ever-new beginnings on an open frontier, this time a mental one. They were fleeing themselves and the constricting propriety of the homes that had produced them. The dislocation of the war had blown off society's lid and given these discontents a vision of other worlds of possibilities. They developed a disdain for the mainstream and its bourgeois concepts of normality. Anything that smacked of "nice" was anathema to them.

This was the Beat Generation, with the writers Jack Kerouac, Allen Ginsberg, and William Burroughs as their verbal leaders and jazz musicians Charlie Parker, Dizzy Gillespie, and Thelonius Monk as their musical leaders. Some of them were drawn to Denver by Neal Cassady, a street kid, car thief, and master seducer who grew up here. Cassady was brilliant, handsome, and possessed of an insatiable and omnivorous sexual appetite. He became an apostle of free love, of liberation from puritanical restraint, of just doing it. Women and men were both fair game for him, and he enjoyed them all, declaring, "The worst sex I ever had was great!"

He chronicled his exploits in endless raps and long letters that inspired the shyer Kerouac and Ginsberg to throw off their restrictive upbringings and express their full personalities, both sexually and artistically.

The Beats created an art of the moment, of spontaneous expression of feelings, of nonstop, nonjudgmental enthusiasm for life. Through their lives and works, they helped to summon back the Dionysian spirit that had been forced down into the subconscious of our culture.

The Greek god Dionysus personifies ecstasy, impulsiveness, surging life energy that demands free release. When he has sole reign, anarchy ensues. But when he is banished, as under puritanism, the joy and creativity wither in the human spirit. Dionysus' return from exile was spurred by the Beats, broke into the mainstream with the Hippies, burgeoned out with the sexual revolution, and is still going on. This memoir of our forbidden love will take it the inevitable next step further.

A credo of the Beats was movement, as expressed by Cassady's mantra, "Go!" They were travelers, ever restless, shunning the stay-put, routine, settled life. Dowdy Denver turned out to be a handy stopping off place on their journeys along the great triangle of New York-California-Mexico City. All these factors combined to give Denver an itinerant bohemian subculture, small but vital.

The Beats attracted Diana, who was the rebellious daughter of a conservative banker. She rejected the material comfort and emotional sterility of her family, and instead sought out this new wild breed. Rather than becoming a debutante like her mother, she became a teenybopper beatnik, hanging out in the coffee houses and jazz clubs that made up the Denver underground. She imbibed be-bop, free verse, action paintings, and philosophers of protest such as Albert Camus, Jean-Paul Sartre, and Wilhelm Reich. She wore her hair long and let it grow under her arms, European style. She was cute, sassy, and uninhibited, so attracted many men. She had brief flings with Cassady and alto-sax man Sonny Stitt before taking up with Jacquot Funk, a self-named anarchist poet and importer of Mexican herbs.