The Shrine

"Mom! Just checking in. Is everything okay? Did you have a good day?"

My mouth opened, but nothing came out. I could hear my son's voice, but now there seemed to be even more to it -- the very timbre and enthusiasm in his voice giving his words meaning beyond simple sounds. Finally, I managed to speak, "Um, Hi, John. I...um, yeah, I guess so."

There was a pause at the other end before John replied, concern evident in his voice. "You sure you're okay, Mom? You sound funny."

Part of me wanted to blurt out, "You'd sound funny too if you discovered your son's greatest dream was to fuck you!" but I took a deep breath and said, "Just tired and all. I guess what I've done -- what I'm doing is finally -- really sinking in."

"Well, don't worry about anything, Mom," John replied. "I've got your back. Anything you need, I'll give you, Mom. As far as I'm concerned, you never have to go back. I've got plenty of room in Chicago, you can stay with me forever!"

I could hear his words making me shiver -- "anything I needed," indeed. I was pretty sure I knew what my son thought I needed and he was just dying to deliver it to me. I felt a tear run down my cheek as I said with my voice quavering, "Thank you, sweetheart."

There was an awful silence that followed. I know what I was supposed to say and I knew he was waiting for it. Finally, he said it first. "Mom, I love you." My god, he said it with so much honesty and need and love and although a day ago I would have seen his remark as the innocent response of my beloved son, it was now freighted with so much more meaning. I knew he meant it, but he meant it in a way that was so much more than simply a son's love for his mother. I could almost feels his hands on me as he said it, hungry for me in a way that I had never realized before.

I struggled to keep my voice under control, but could hear the strain in my voice as I murmured, "I...I love you too, John."

Tears were flooding my eyes so I could barely see. I struggled to not break down into a sobbing mess as after another uncomfortable pause, my son said in a soft, caring tone, "It's going to be alright, Mom. I'll be back tomorrow night and I promise I'll take care of you. You're my girl, after all, right?"

"Yes," I whispered. "I'm your girl, son." Part of me was horrified that I would even play along with this madness after my shocking discovery. The sane part of me scolded the rest of me, insisting that I shouldn't be adding fuel to the fire of my son's madness.

John chuckled as he usually did after this exchange, but now I could hear something underneath the humor in his voice. Something hungry...something lustful, a sexual undertone I had never perceived before! After we disconnected, I began to shake so badly I could barely put the phone back into its cradle. Suddenly, I was sobbing hysterically and I fell onto the bed, curling up into ball.

I had no idea what to do. Who do you go to for help in a situation like this? Call your priest or minister? Your best friend? How the hell do you tell someone, "Hey, my son wants to fuck me, what do you think I should do?"

I think I laid there for maybe an hour before I cried myself out. I crawled a bit unsteadily from the bed and noticed through the doorway that I'd left the light on in that other room...that shrine my son had created. I couldn't face the prospect of going back in there to turn off the light and instead retreated to the bathroom, deciding to take a shower.

I peeled off my clothes and was astounded when as I peeled off my panties to discover how sticky they were. I ran a hand down between my legs, feeling the dampness in my thick bush and then further to discover how slick and swollen my labia were. I looked at myself in the mirror, still gently, awkwardly fluttering fingers through my pussy and was astounded to see my nipples absolutely swollen to the point that they ached. I watched as my expression changed from one of puzzlement to one of horror. Did I -- had I gotten a bit aroused by all of my son's fantasies. WAS I ACTUALLY TURNED ON BY THIS MADNESS?

I jumped into the shower, not letting the water heat up and cried out as the cold water hit me as I tried to wake myself up out of this nightmare. I shivered until the water warmed and grew hot and then tried to lose myself in the pulsating torrents. It didn't work as I soaped my body up -- suddenly aware of my own voluptuousness. My hands caressed my large tits, teasing my still swollen nipples before sliding downwards over my round tummy and between my legs. The tensions of the afternoon's shocks came to a head as I spread my labia and jammed several fingers into my suddenly horny pussy.

I found myself leaning against the shower wall and positioning the nozzle to massage my clitoris as I began plunging three fingers in and out of my sodden cunt. No foreplay desired, I sought release, wanting pure pleasure to wash away my stress. Without warning, the image of my son's naked body as portrayed in the painting in the other room snuck into my thoughts, the image of that immense cock dominating my mind's eye as I wondered if it was really that big.

I tried to focus solely on my fingers, trying to bring myself off quickly, but suddenly I had a vision of my son in the shower with me -- between my legs, feeding me that tremendous cock and I cried out as my orgasm washed over me while I wondered how a cock that big would feel inside me.

My legs trembled with effort -- thigh and calf muscles bulging as I struggled to stay upright -- my ass cheeks scratching against the stone of the shower wall as I cried out with sweet pleasure, plunging my fingers inside me as deep as I could, swirling and twisting them in a vain effort to simulate the sensation of being filled with cock. In the end, I slowly slid down the wall and had another good cry as I recovered from the aftermath of my orgasm...feeling both relief and shame at what I had done.

I eventually emerged from the shower and changed into a nightgown, my tension somewhat relieved, but still feeling as if some immense doom hung over my head. I passed by the room I was now thinking madly as the "Shrine," trying to ignore its presence and into the kitchen where I fixed myself something to eat although I had no appetite. Having eaten though, I decided to raid my son's supply of scotch again and for a few minutes sat in the living room, the lights off as evening deepened, sipping at the scotch and wondering what I would do next.

Eventually, as the dark increased around me, the light of the Shrine room drew my attention again. I tried to pretend that the room wasn't there -- that it didn't exist, but it wasn't long before I was up and like a moth drawn to the deadly flame, found myself standing in the middle of the Shrine room staring at the portrait of myself sitting on my son's bed, offering myself lewdly to him -- spread wide and wet.

A tremble went through me as I tried to grapple with the knowledge that my son wanted me sexually -- that he saw me as a desirable woman. Despite my horror at the thought of my son's incestuous desires, I had to confess that as I stood there, I could not help but feel a bit flattered. Being admired by a young man was a boost to this middle-aged, soon to be divorced woman, no matter how perverted it was.

Once again, I felt my nipples hardening under the soft cotton of my gown. I could feel heat and moisture building in my loins, my body betraying my mind which acknowledged how wrong this was. A shiver of delight rippled through me as I walked over to my son's writing desk and picked up the journals of his that I had not yet perused. With my pussy lips sliding deliciously together as I moved, I curled up in the comfortable recliner and began to read again. Perhaps it was my imagination, perhaps not, that as I began to read, I sometimes caught a whiff of what smelled like a man's semen -- something that evoked memories of cleaning my son's room and changing his cum smeared sheets.

As I read my son's musings on becoming a lover, I tried to tell myself that I was simply seeking insight into his obsession and tried to ignore any stimulation it was evoking in me. That I could feel any trickle of warm wetness between my thighs or an ache in a throbbing nipple as it swelled with blood was only the result of the sheer power of John's writing...nothing more. Even the most devout Christian could be aroused by well done pornography -- it was simply human nature.

I sometimes wonder how many men Mom has fucked? I imagine she's only been with Dad and that bastard, Benny. What a shame she's had to be stuck with that dickless wonder all these years. I wonder how many positions she's been in and which is her favorite. No doubt she's familiar with missionary -- probably the only position asshole Benny will use if he can even get it up anymore. Not to say I wouldn't like to fuck Mom missionary style -- feeling her legs wrapped around my waist, tightening and making me drive deeper into her pussy -- so wet and tight and fucking hot, creaming around my cock as I fuck her.

But often when I imagine fucking Mom, it's not in the missionary position. I see Mom riding my cock, maybe squatting over me or kneeling on top, her knees on each side of me. I can see Mom's big, meaty tits flopping and bouncing as she slides up and down my long dick, making me go damn near nuts as she takes me, burying my cock inside her, grinding that hairy bush against my crotch, drool hanging from her lips as she fucks herself into the mother of all orgasms!

Or I see Mom on her hands and knees -- fingers gripping the headboard of my bed until her knuckles are bone white while I take her from behind, burying my cock deep inside her cunt and making her scream with pleasure while my hands are filled with her hanging tits, pinching her thick nipples until she goes damn near insane while I pump my load into her womb.

Sometimes though, my favorite way to see Mom is the two of us in my recliner, her atop me, legs spread wide over the arms, my cock buried in her hot pussy and my hands cupping her breasts and holding her tight as we slowly fuck -- Mom hunching her hips back and forth on my cock as she leans her head back on my shoulder and we kiss slowly and deeply, my tongue fucking her mouth like my cock fucks her pussy!

Suddenly, I seem to be aware that my son's words are coming true. I feel his body beneath mine, muscles tense and strong, sweaty and hot. I am full of my son's cock. It's huge and long inside me, barely moving while I squirm atop him like a child that needs to scratch a terrible itch. My breasts ache with passion as I feel his fingers maul them, squeezing handfuls of my flesh, palms scratching against my swollen nipples, making me even crazier than I already am.

As orgasm begins to swell up inside me, radiating outward from my penis-filled cunt, I arch my back, throwing back my head so I can turn and look at my son's handsome, lovely face -- a childlike smile of utter contentment on his lips that compel me to lean in to kiss, his tongue slipping into my mouth to greet my hungry tongue, twirling together to emulate the joining of our bodies.

I reach down and play fingers along the little bit of exposed cock, feeling my juices making his long, hard shaft so slick. I flex my hips to take all of him into me, feeling his cock head nudging my cervix and then I hear myself screaming as pleasure I never imagined existed rakes over my body -- taking me without mercy and I am devoured by my son's lust and love and I give myself willingly to John -- offering him his mother's love unconditionally! Pleasure takes me like I never imagined...

And I am awake and squirming about in John's recliner in the midst of orgasm, my pussy feeling full and so good. I am calling out my son's name as I hunch over in orgasm and then feel my legs stiffen as I rise up from the cushion -- blanket now askew and as my orgasm peaks, I scream in ecstatic delight, "FUCK ME, JOHN!"

Then I collapsed onto the recliner, my breath heaving and moan softly as I reach down and slowly pull out a long, green cucumber I'd picked up with the other groceries, thinking to make a salad for myself and my son. I am stunned to see it thickly covered with my cunt creams, so thick in places it almost looks like sperm. The blanket below me is soaked with my juices which are still ejaculating from my pussy in little bursts as pleasurable tremors continue to echo through my now naked flesh.

It was several minutes before I was calm enough to consider the situation. I had no recollection of masturbating earlier. I had been reading my son's erotic journals and suddenly found myself living in his fantasies. I had a wisp of a memory of hurrying to the kitchen to retrieve the thick, green vegetable and a sudden need of something to fill my aching pussy.

As I tried to calm down, I found myself again and again considering the lewd and nasty portrait of me, legs spread with an evil, inviting smile on my face. My dream doesn't fade and I began to cry again, wondering how it was possible -- even for a few moments, to allow myself to be that version of myself in that portrait.

Finally, feeling a bit the fool, I stumbled to my feet and left the Shrine Room, turning the light off and locking the door behind me. Naked and with my pussy still throbbing from masturbating, I fell into my son's bed, rolling myself up in his quilt. For a moment, all was peaceful as I tried to push it all out of my mind, but just for a moment. Then I could smell my son's scent again on the comforter and the sheets and now it triggered a new response in me -- more than feeling safe, now I could feel my body returning to its recent aroused state...my nipples growing hard once more and my hands finding their way between my legs -- inhaling the aroma of my son and losing myself in mad, perverse imaginings.

I fell asleep with wicked thoughts of committing incest with my John, fingers keeping me near the edge of orgasm as my dreams overtook me. Mad, sexual images kept my unconscious mind reeling throughout the rest of the night as my son's descriptions of his fantasies came to life in my dreams and I'm sure I tossed and turned like I was possessed as I dreamed of John fucking me in so many different positions and fucking me so hard, making me sob and scream with utter pleasure. I dreamed I was kneeling before my son, sucking his cock slowly and lovingly, taking the immense shaft down my throat -- the thick head tickling my tonsils before erupting in my mouth. My dream self took utmost pleasure in being a talented cocksucker, something I hadn't engaged in since John's father had been alive.

I imagine I mewled like a satisfied cat, writhing in my tangled sheets as my mind created images of my son and I locked together in lust -- naked bodies slick with sweat, sliding against each other as he buried his tool in me again and again, his mouth busy covering my body with kisses and licks and sucks while I relished the taste of his skin, his cock, his tongue and his seed.

When I finally opened my eyes, the sun was shining through the bedroom windows -- the faint noises of the city leaking through, I stretched and then moaned, my mind awhirl with conflicting emotions. The bed was damp from sweat and beneath my hips, a huge wet spot existed as my dreamtime orgasms had apparently caused my pussy creams to flood again and again. I held the comforter to my face, smelling sweat, pussy and John to combine into a heady mixture that screamed SEX!

For long minutes I reveled in the slowly fading memories of my erotic dreams, but then slowly reality came intruding back into my thoughts. Sadness and confusion again reigned dominant over me. I finally kicked my way clear of the comforter and the sheets and took a shower, allowing my sexual delights wash away as the water poured over me.

I put on jeans and a T-shirt and made myself a cup of coffee and had some fruit for my breakfast, trying to focus on what I was doing to keep my dilemma at arm's length. I found myself on the couch watching the banal morning talk shows on television, hoping to further distract myself from my problems, but it was no good. I knew my son wanted to fuck me and somehow I had allowed myself to imagine the same and to my horror, discovered that the idea aroused me. I finally admitted to myself that by myself I couldn't find my way out of this terrible problem, so I did as I had been raised to do, I turned to God.

Despite my irritation with Benny's devotion to religion -- not so much his faith bothering me, but his manipulation of the church to ease his own burdens, I have always been religious and it was my faith in God and his plan that have gotten me through many crises.

I turned off the television and got on my knees and began to pray to God for guidance. I poured my heart out to the Lord and confessed my sudden lusts for my own son and prayed that the Almighty would direct me to the proper path. I prayed until my knees ached in discomfort and continued to pray, hoping for divine inspiration. But, as I prayed, my mind kept drifting back to John's journals, a specific passage haunting my thoughts, finally becoming so strong that I stood up and returned to John's Shrine room.

I flipped through his journals, scanning his passionate words about me -- one book and then another and then finally, in the middle of the third book I checked, I found the passage he had written that wouldn't go away as I had prayed.

Even though it's been years since I came clean with myself about my love and my lust for Mom, I still sometimes ruminate over it's taboo nature, knowing that if by some miracle, Mom and I were to become lovers, it would be wrong both legally and by our culture's archaic beliefs, morally -- that we would be crossing one of the great taboo lines of the world. But then I ask myself, how can love be wrong between a man and a woman? How can love be wrong if both people feel that way for each other? And what love can be greater than that between a mother and son?

We are born of our mothers -- intimate in such a unique way for nine months -- being one being. She is our life-bringer and we are her purpose. We are the end all and be all of each other's existence. How can it be wrong if a mother and son both wish to reunite and bring that intimacy back together -- to unite to create that holy union -- sharing bodies and souls? There is no greater love than that between mother and child and maybe our denial of the ultimate actualization of that love is one of the great tragedies of our so called civilization. If incest were truly an aberration, would not we separated simply by instinct? I think that humankind was meant to evolve to recognize the ultimate expression of love once dangers of interbreeding could be countered.

I think that being able to become my mother's lover -- to realize the power of love on an infinite basis that could only be generated by the joining of a loving mother and son becoming intimate as husband and wife in that wonderful way that God has provided. I love my mother. I love her as a son. I want to love her as her lover and husband, joined together forever in God's sight and with God's blessing. Love in its ultimate expression. How could such a beautiful thing be wrong or sinful?

As I read those words to myself again, a feeling of peace came over me. The guilt and fear and worry of the last twenty-four hours faded from me. I found to my surprise that I was crying again, but these were not tears of anger or shame, but tears of happiness. I had the answer I had sought through prayer. I knew what I needed to do.

I put my son's journals back on the shelf, and before turning out the light and locking up, I took one last long look at the wicked portrait of myself -- lewdly and lustily offering myself to my son. I picked up the phone and called down to the lobby and asked them to get me a cab. "I'll be down in ten minutes," I told Anthony. "I have some shopping to do."