Taboo: A Memoir Ch. 15-18

"That sounds wonderful," I said. "I can't wait. Then we can stand up in front of the world...without having to worry about it crushing us." I gazed at that face I'd loved all my life. "This has been tough...but it was all we could do."

"And we did it pretty well."

"And quite often," I added, leaning over and kissing her wizened cheek.

Diana squeezed my hand, but frailly. "This could've been a tragedy," she said slowly. "Instead it was a wonderful life-long...love affair. Thank you, my dear son and husband." She gave me a V sign.

"Thank you, my dear mother and wife." I kissed from her cheek down to her lips, and rested my hand lightly on her breast. "I still want to know what's between your buttons. Let me kiss it again."

She gave a wan but willing smile. "So you still want this old body that bore you?"

"Yes, indeed. It bore me, but it's never bored me."

Mom tugged at her hospital gown. "Unfortunately these damned things don't have buttons. They don't have bottoms either." She looked around to make sure we were alone.

I pulled the screen around the bed in case a nurse blundered in, then undid the ties in the back of the blue gown and helped her slip half way out of it. Keeping the scarred side covered, she pulled the cloth away to reveal her breast, sagging, webbed with tiny lines, beautiful, still graceful in its softness. The nipple looked the same as it ever had: a bold, reddish-brown fountain of bliss. I sat by her bed and took it gently between my lips and kissed and sucked. The breast was smaller now, so I could get almost all of it into my mouth. The same ambrosia as fifty years ago flowed into me, calming me, making me whole.

She sighed and relaxed into the bed, then reached towards my groin. "Let him out."

I stood and unzipped my slacks; my erection poked out, pointed as always right at her. "You're the one he wants...the only one he's ever wanted."

"Hello!" she said. "Nice to see you again." She kissed the tip, then sucked the whole thing long and lovingly. With one hand I stroked mom's withered breast and with the other her wispy gray head. We both knew this would be the last time and wanted to draw it out in all its sad sweetness. She nibbled my column with her teeth and swirled it with her tongue. She hummed a cheery little tune on my balls, then squeezed them with her hand while she moved her mouth up and took the shaft deep in her throat. She slid her lips up and down the length of it, making me feel like a mighty redwood. Except redwoods don't weep. Finally with a groan of joy and loss I came, my seed surging into her mouth as I held her breast. "Oh...I love you very much."

Cradling my happy cock in her hand, Diana swallowed with some difficulty and looked up at me with that same wicked twinkle in her brown eyes. "So much better than the hospital food!"

This woman could laugh in the face of death!

I got into bed with her, and we held each other. She pressed her hand against my chest as if envying the solidity of my body. "You...you...you...are my dear."

As I hugged her she was running through my fingers and disappearing. "Wait for me...over there," I whispered.

Gasping back tears, she squeezed me tighter and nodded into the crook of my neck.

Next day she slipped out of consciousness under the painkillers. I held her hand and thought of all the other times I'd held it: at our first Rolling Stones concert as we discovered an irresistible attraction, picnicking nude by the beaver dam, striding boldly along the streets of Key West, pledging our wedding vows in Central Park, and hundreds of other quiet, loving moments. Mixed with my sorrow was gratitude for being able to share my life so completely with hers.

In her last hours mom began seeming younger and younger; a beatific smile graced the lips I had kissed so often; the wrinkles and pain lines left her face; her skin glowed with light from her inner spirit which was now coming to the surface; she became a child again, full of brightness. When her soul was ready to go, her pulse began to flutter, then falter, and finally it stopped. I could feel a presence rise from her body and waft around me in a loving caress. But it was an embrace of farewell. Diana had other places to go and things to do. She really was leaving. Her presence diffused away, evaporating like dew in the sun. I was left alone with a small bag of flesh that no longer contained her. She was gone.

I cried. I unclasped the chain from around her neck and took off the pendant—the heart that touches its own. I kissed the golden heart, then took off her wedding ring and kissed it. I cried some more. I slipped them both onto my chain so they all swung together, united now that we were separated. I cried again.

I still miss her terribly. My life feels incomplete. I seek her in my dreams.

Years ago we had wondered if we'd be punished, if something terrible would happen to us. Now I realize that my punishment is that no one can take Diana's place. Her loss has devastated me. She was both wife and mother, and that seems to not just double but square the grief I feel.

Afterword

Writing this memoir has been an incredibly cathartic experience for me. I'm hating to end it now—it's like having to say good-bye to Diana once again.

Despite the pain, I'm so glad to have known and loved her in the way I did. We were so close for so long. This love was right for us, the most rewarding and joyful part of our lives.

However, that doesn't mean it would be right for everyone. Our story shouldn't be seen as a blanket endorsement of incest. Like most human behavior, incest is a complex phenomenon. A relationship that works for one can be highly destructive and self-sabotaging for another. What brings joy and liberation to some can lead to depression, guilt, regret, and other forms of unwanted moods, attitudes, and outlooks—a life of gloom and doom—to others.

I find the way incest is often practiced to be deplorable, degrading, and usually destructive for all parties concerned. A father or mother aggressing their young children is harmful and wrong. Children shouldn't be having sex with any adult, especially a parent; it interferes with their emotional development. Children are still dependent and often haven't started building their bridge from parental protection and care to a place of self-love, self-esteem, and self-sufficiency. They haven't yet become persons in their own right. Thus, having sex with a parent can overwhelm them and interfere with this maturation process.

History has shown us that what a society represses it will then manifest to abnormal extremes. Prohibition in the 1920s in the USA is a good example. It led to excessive drinking and alcoholism for many who got high merely due to the allure of tasting the forbidden fruit.

Puritanical notions and religious teachings that link sex with sin have instilled fear and the threat of punishment in the American public. With such repression, we can safely predict the upshot: an inordinately large percentage of incest, especially among "God-fearing folks." Incest as a taboo is even more titillating than drugs and alcohol...or it easily becomes an add-on. The resulting fear of discovery and persecution can lead to a life of guilt and low self-esteem that is devastating for the parties involved.

The anti-incest hysteria is fed by fundamentalists (some practicing incest themselves) who are determined to force everyone back into the strait jacket of the '50s. They recognize the sexual revolution as a threat to their control. You can be sure, because of their hypocrisy, it will be their children who will be the first to experiment with any behavior labeled deviant by their parents.

It is now time for those who have followed their hearts' desires and had positive, loving incestuous experiences to speak up. Fortunately many persons, including myself, are now ready to tell the world about the happiness they have found, not because of, but in spite of a taboo.

As the truth emerges...as secrets are revealed, it might become evident that in regard to consenting adults the incest taboo is largely a superstitious phobia, an ancient fear that science has now rendered harmless through contraception. We can gradually free our psyches from this prejudice. The myth can slink back to ancient Greece where it came from and fade away. Then our primal urge will be freed from the closet of repression and shame into the light and fresh air of understanding. With the caveat that the lovers must be of legal age, society can gradually adjust to this basic but currently banned relationship.

The changes that will result from this are bound to be interesting. We might finally evolve into a society that is more wholesome and accepting of the many facets of love. The psychic energy now spent in restraining this desire, in chaining it up in the subconscious, could be freed for creative achievements. The old guilt trip might fade away. Some people may discover the fulfillment they've been seeking in life has been right there at home all the time. All they had to do is courageously acknowledge and embrace it.

By overthrowing oppressive authority, we might eventually be able to build a world in which the only rule is kindness. People would be free to follow their hearts' desires as long as it didn't harm others. Just imagine what that could be like!

The path to this liberation will not be smooth or easily traveled. Deeply ingrained belief systems often require generations before their change becomes evident. Inhibitions and anxieties must be cleansed from our systems. We must release our biases. Along the way we could make mistakes and find ourselves blundering into chaos. Undoubtedly there will be the conservative crusaders ready with their ropes to hang us. These diehards will fight us every step of the way. Have they not done that in the past, whether it was to lynch the black person, fearing him because they believed he bore the mark of the devil, or to burn at the stake a woman with intuitive powers—calling her a witch?

To oppose repression, prophets must step forward and lead the way, persons like Diana and me, willing to declare to the world that any love that comes from the heart and brings joy to those who experience it, should be celebrated. As Allen Ginsberg said, "If you want to be a prophet, you have to tell your secrets." He came out of the closet, and now we are coming out too.

One thing I can say for sure is that after making love to my mother for thirty-five years I don't feel like a monster, and I certainly don't feel like tearing my eyes out like Oedipus. In fact I feel like the luckiest guy in the world.

The End

Note from Oediplex 8==3~ (US representative for Tom Hathaway): Tom has changed his and Diana's names and the location of specific places for obvious reasons. He now lives somewhere in Europe, he can receive email but unlikely will answer any. In an ironic twist to this original and unique Oedipal saga (beyond the murder of his father), Tom is slowly going blind from cataracts; Oedipus put his own eyes out remember. We hope this narrative has brought you more than orgasms and entertainment, it was written as a tribute to his mother, but also proclaims a special message - that true romantic love is where you find it, even if it is with the one you are closest to. Indeed, that love should bring you even closer!

Oediplex can be reached through Literotica, where he posts also.