Eternally Bound Pt. 01

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Exploring the mystery and beauty of mother-son romance.
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Part 1 of the 4 part series

Updated 06/08/2023
Created 02/11/2017
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mejau71
mejau71
1,759 Followers

CHAPTER 1 - FIND YOUR WAY BACK

SPH-F 255 HUMAN SEXUALITY (3 CR)

CLSD 30253

01:00P-03:30P MW WH 003 Dryden S 80 Seats 0 Available 2 Waiting

Above class meets first eight weeks only

IUB GenEd S&H credit

General Course Objectives:

Students find themselves confused or in conflict about some of their early sexual leanings. This course will attempt to help students reflect on their own personal experience, development, background and value stance while becoming acquainted with research findings, current concepts and diverse viewpoints about human sexuality. It is hoped that as a result of their experience in F 255, students will:

Be more aware and accepting of their own individual sexual lifestyle and value system

and

Develop an intelligent and responsible sexual lifestyle

and

Be more aware and accepting of the lifestyles and sexual value system of others, especially those which are divergent.

I was hooked. This course looked very promising. I had just happened to come across it while waiting in line at the bursar's office in late July before the new semester started at Indiana University. The word "sexual" certainly got my attention, as I'm sure it does for every other red blooded male in his early 20s, especially while sitting in such a sterile, unsexy atmosphere as a bursar's office.

But what held my attention was the "early sexual leanings" phrase. That phrase stuck with me and I kept coming back to it over and over again. As most people naturally do, my mind repeatedly processed those words during my half-hour wait. Where did my desires and cravings lean toward, and why? This course sounded easy and fun, and it had the three credit hours I needed to round out my schedule.

As a Computer Information Technology major I had a lot of tough and time-consuming classes on my required list. I felt that this class could help me focus on my major classes, only requiring me to easily dash off the occasional "read and react" assignment, and still leave time for my part-time gig at the campus coffee shop. This would allow me to enjoy my life as a 20-year-old student with a few dollars in my pocket.

Or so I thought.

When I was finally called up to the line, I immediately added those extra hours to my course load and felt a pang of excitement as I walked out of the bursar's office. I was always game for learning more about myself; plus the class had a female professor, which made it that much more thrilling since I had a soft spot for older women. I found their confidence sexy as hell, and loved their wisdom and their bubbly, outgoing personalities.

A lot of that came from my mom who had a huge impact on my life and still does to this very day. As a single mom she did an extraordinary job in getting me this far, and I absolutely adored her. Her footprints on my life were easy to see and it was no secret that I looked for the same qualities in every girl I chased and made love to. Mom had always told me never to sleep with a woman I wouldn't marry, and I always felt that helped mold me into the deep romantic I had become.

I loved coming on to the girls hard and fast. I knew I came off as too intense for some, but some girls found it to be irresistible. I was just coming off a devastating breakup with Natalie, a gorgeous, svelte blond EMT technician who I had fallen hard for the previous Christmas. The lovemaking was breathtaking and daring. The intensity of our sex was spellbinding, and I desperately ached for that level of intensity again. But it was in my heartache that my imagination began trickling into my thoughts and dreams. Being a millennial I was raised with the internet, and not a lot was weird or taboo to me. But I found myself becoming more curious about certain fetishes. Older women. MILFs. Cougars.

My human sexuality class and my budding curiosities seemed to come together at the right moment, and I was thrilled that the new semester began when it did. This was going to be a piece of cake.

"I'd like to tell you a story that many would view as epic; a true lifelong romance. A sexy and thought-provoking tale of overwhelming love, respect and intimacy. Greg was a tall, strapping young man studying to be a railroad engineer. He was a brawny outdoorsman with an almost perfect, chiseled physique of power and muscle. His English and Italian heritage gave his skin a perfect olive complexion. As a helpless romantic, Greg pursued and married his childhood sweetheart Ann at 18 years old. Both still young by many definitions, Greg and Ann struck out to build their family and nest-egg to provide for their daughter Dawn, born just a year later."

The speaker, Professor Shannon Dryden, was an alluring, auburn-haired woman in her mid-30s. I'd never really been attracted to redheads, but Shannon-that's what she'd asked us to call her-had a lush, voluptuous figure and that peaches-and-cream skin that made you hungry for a taste. As she spoke, she moved around the classroom distributing copies of her syllabus to the dozens of students gathered for the first day of Human Sexuality 101.

"Barely 18 years old, Greg worked three jobs to make sure his bride and daughter were taken care of. He adored his family and his actions mirrored his deep love for Ann and Dawn."

"However, Ann's young life was tragically struck down when she lost her life to a drunk driver late one cold February night. This tragedy would echo throughout the rest of Greg and his precious daughter's lives, reverberating with consequences both anticipated and unforeseen."

"As Dawn grew, Greg worked tirelessly to ensure his daughter's future. With wonderful neighbors and a caring network of family and friends, Greg watched his daughter blossom into a gorgeous young woman by the time she graduated high school in 1979. Greg had built a nice nest-egg for Dawn, enabling her to attend any college of her choice and not have to work as she studied."

"So why on earth am I telling you this story on the first day of a human sexuality class?"

Shannon paused for a moment, then said: "Greg and Dawn are my biological parents."

I blinked, as I'm sure every student did. The immediate reaction was confusion.

"Yes, Greg and his daughter Dawn had a child together: Me. A handsome, doting father and his beautiful daughter mutually consummated their love for one another as consenting adults, entering into a romantic, committed relationship with each other that has lasted to this very day. And, like it or not, incest has always played a role in the story of humankind. From royalty to rock stars, from political gains to prurient desires, coupling between related individuals has gone on for thousands of years."

"Take a look at the syllabus I've just handed out, please," Shannon requested.

Unlike the majority of syllabi I'd seen during my college career, this one was only one page long-and not even a full one, at that. There was a phone number, email address, and office location for Shannon, a brief explanation of the class, and one assignment. I turned the page over to make sure I wasn't missing anything.

"For those of you who thought this class would be a breeze, this is your rude awakening. There will be no regular class lectures for this class. Instead, you will contact me and schedule individual meetings every two to three weeks so that we can discuss your questions and your progress on the class project. You're all grown-ups so I will not be chasing you to come and see me; however, I will keep a record of our meetings. You'll have access to my personal library of books and other media, and you can contact me as often as you like. There will be no quizzes or written assignments for the class; your grade will be based solely upon the presentation you give at the end of the semester. Please take a look at the description of that presentation now," she instructed us.

I quickly wondered what her parents looked like paired together. I imagined Dawn as a curvy, buxom beauty in the arms of her ruggedly handsome father, being swept off her feet. Her story resonated with me as I immediately thought of mom. I could almost hear the brakes of mental shame crash into that thought.

Glancing down at the page again, the presentation requirements weren't difficult to find. Just one sentence appeared under the "Class Project" heading: "At the semester's end, you will give an oral presentation on the history of incest in the human race-its benefits and failures, its ethics and applications, its attractions and repulsions." I had to admit I was intrigued by the story of Shannon's parents, and the more I saw of Shannon herself the more I liked her style.

There was very little about the topic of sexuality that bothered me or made me uncomfortable. My family was pretty liberal in thinking and attitude, and I felt I had something of an advantage over those who were raised to associate sex with guilt or embarrassment. I prided myself on my ability to express my thoughts, desires and intimate feelings with a lover, but I often found myself disappointed by the lack of that ability in my peers. That disappointment, coupled with my insane class schedule, was probably responsible for the breakup with Natalie. I worked off my pent-up sexual energy by either running to the gym for a quick round of weightlifting or by watching a little porn and masturbating. Both were completely acceptable in my book, and the lifting gave me a hard body to show off.

And yet, emerging from deep down in the forgotten lapses of time I recalled one of my first memories of seeing the most beautiful, shapely woman in the distance. The "one". Her. Through the shadows of thought and fear, I could remember familiar whispers of a kind and loving voice. Hopes and deep desire. Then came the memory of swimming inside her feminine body. Free. A pureness I had forgotten about since childhood. It was in this moment that the two memories connected. That woman was my mother.

My heart leapt from my chest. I couldn't believe this epiphany I just had. Surely this didn't mean what I thought it meant. Did I really just tell myself I had the hots for my mom? Aside from wanting to immediately throw up, a flood of horrible fears started screaming in my mind, and my emotions were a mix of disgust, rage, anger and guilt. How on earth could I even consider such a sick act? I sat, trying to ward off those evil thoughts. I hid my head in shame to silently curse my existence.

Having zoned out of the professor's lecture, after a few minutes the shock of it all slowly lost its painful sting. My mind gradually drifted to mom's sexually charged looks, and all the years of crass comments on mom's body from my friends. Mom had sweeping long locks of pure blonde hair, not once colored or dyed, but truly "tout naturel" as Mom liked to say. I always told her that if Marilyn Monroe and Suzanne Somers had a child together she was it. She had lush, golden skin that turned a nice dark hue of bronze after a few hours in the sun. She came up to just below my shoulders at 5'7," and her daily workouts helped her maintain a perfectly sculpted hourglass figure that simply rocked. I once caught a glimpse of her 38c-35-47 measurements on a Nordstrom receipt she left on the kitchen table last summer. I remember saying "wow" under my breath. Now it made perfect sense why I desperately loved buxom blondes.

"Goddammit, quit thinking about this!" I screamed internally.

As righteous curses echoed in my mind, Mom's beguiling looks came into view in my mind's eye. Thanks to some wise investments Mom had made with her divorce settlement, she and I had a nice nest-egg to live off of. Mom had used some of her earnings on a boob lift two years ago but man, even without that enhancement she was the epitome of every MILF you could imagine. Begrudgingly, I realized how much I admired how Mom never flaunted her looks or trashed it out. She had this air of elegance about her. An unmistakable confidence that blended nicely with a dash of devilish eroticism. My heart skipped several beats, reminding myself over and over that this was my own mother I was mentally sexing up. My breath grew shallow as I failed miserably in trying to reign in my wicked thoughts. As strong as my opposition was, the allure of it all gradually stirred something I had never felt before. An intoxicating haze of confusion mixed with a comforting sense of familiarity came over me.

Unasked questions seemed to begin answering themselves. Mysteries of my life were subconsciously solved. I could see her before me. I could see her sashay those dear wide hips at just the right moment, casting a look of sinful greed as she gazed at me through the brow of her eyes. I only caught occasional glimpses of the wanton vixen I knew she was, but those brief glances made a lasting impression.

But don't get me wrong, Mom wasn't the Barbie doll of all MILFS. She had flaws, as all women in their mid-30s have, with stretch marks and the dreaded "hail damage" on her thighs; but damn, she rocked a tight skirt better than any woman. And I loved how easily she silenced a crowded room with her red shoulder-less mini dress she wore at Christmas. I briefly wondered what the same crowd would do if they saw her in that provocative black one-piece bathing suit she always wears to the pool.

But I think what captivated me most was how her curves jutted out at just the right points and apexes. Her ass filled out her skirts and jeans so nicely, as if her flesh was poured into them with tender loving care. Mom also had the sexiest "thighbrow," that lush dark line that cuts her thigh, which accentuates the fold where the upper thigh meets the ass.

I heard some muttering from the students around me, along with a few sounds of disgust and annoyance. Looking up from the paper, I saw Shannon standing calmly at the front of the room.

"I'll be happy to answer any questions you may have now," she said.

"So, you want like a pro and con talk?" asked a female student behind me.

"That's up to you. We can certainly talk about format in our first individual meeting."

"This is a pretty gross subject, don't you think?" asked a guy to my left.

"That's not up to me to decide," Shannon countered.

"Well, I think it's nasty and evil," he shot back.

"Some people think homosexuality is nasty and evil, but that doesn't mean we shouldn't learn to look at things objectively. Let me be clear. We are not talking about anything here that is forced, coerced or against anyone's will. We are not talking about passing judgment or resetting anyone's moral compass. We're talking about consenting adults, we're talking about choices, and we're talking about something that has clearly attracted attention-whether positive or negative. If you can remain unbiased and keep an open mind you'll not only have a passing grade but you'll have learned something. That's what the college experience is about."

Yeah, I liked Shannon's attitude a lot, and began to fantasize about a hot encounter with this fair and fiery vixen.

"This is disgusting," one student claimed as she rose from her seat. "I'm going to file a complaint with the Dean's Office."

A few other students grumbled in assent and got up to follow her.

"Do as you like, but all class syllabi have to be submitted to and approved by the Dean every semester. This course has his full consent and I'll be happy to show you the email confirming that," Shannon told them.

Most of the small group returned to their seats, brooding over their defeat. The leader looked disdainfully at Shannon and walked out the door, presumably on her way to drop the class.

"Other questions?" Shannon asked.

As she deftly handled some other basic inquiries, I flipped open my notebook and chewed on my pen cap thinking about how to tackle this very unique project. I looked up at Professor Dryden and she smiled as her eyes met mine. I smiled back and gave a slight nod, and then it hit me. Taking the pen from my mouth, I wrote one word in my notebook:

"Questionnaire."

Looking at the word on the page made me feel excited. This was brilliant-I could pick Shannon's brain about the topic, whip up a quick questionnaire and talk about the results. This was going to be a cinch. I quickly added a note to the page to remind myself to call for an appointment to see her as soon as possible.

As Shannon dismissed the class I stood and gathered my things, then turned and smiled and nodded at her again. She raised her hand to acknowledge me, smiling back. I left the classroom feeling like I was on top of the world.

The rest of the day was crazy busy. I went to two other class sessions in the afternoon, picked up materials from the campus bookstore, spent some time in the computer lab and headed to my shift at the coffee shop. By the time I got back to my dorm room it was a little after 10pm and I tossed myself across my bed, glad to be off my feet. I had hoped that the more time that passed since Shannon's class the easier it would be to pass off my stray thoughts as absurdity. But as I lay in bed, the stillness only stoked the unremitting flames of sin for my mother.

I vividly remembered a dream I had when I was about 15, a dream that I did my best to forget over time. The dream was of me having the hottest sex with her at San Clemente State Beach. My hormones were in full gear by that age, and I remember the next day being spooked, but drawn to the dream's intensity and meaning. In this recollection, a flood of memories and emotions started coming back to me.

A devoted boy's promise to marry his mother at six years old. Visions of her curvaceous, buxom beauty on full display at our pool under the sweltering southern California sun. My memories were adored and replayed in arousing slow motion. Mom's long, golden tresses of wet hair, matted to her neck and shoulders as she slowly lifted herself from the sapphire waters of the pool. Gazing in awe as thousands of water droplets cascaded down her silky bronzed thighs, licking the supple skin as I knew my lips could. My throbbing erection refuted any sleep as for the first time in my life, I masturbated to my own beautiful mother.

I couldn't help but think about this taboo topic; I was completely mesmerized. As a kid, I had always wanted to know what made people tick and I drove my mother crazy with my favorite question-"Why?" As I got older, I developed an interest in how and why certain things turn people on, especially after I dated Patrice during my junior year in high school, my first variation off the blonde prerequisite. I sighed as I remembered Patrice, grateful to have found a path away from my wicked thoughts.

Patrice was a succulent, voluptuous brunette with sun-drenched skin and hypnotizing green eyes. She was in a few of my classes and I recognized her because she worked at the local gas station. I thought she was the right combination of curvy and outwardly sexy, even though she seemed kind of quiet at school. I started saying hi to her at the beginning of class, asking her about homework-basically trying to get her to talk to me-and it worked. We started going out and she opened up to me a lot more. One night we were at her house hanging out and she mentioned that her parents wouldn't be back until after midnight. That night was the first time a woman asked me to worship her ass. I had absolutely no problem at all lavishing her wide shapely ass with all the adoration she could handle.

Patrice laughed as Mom did, and she proudly carried herself in a similar fashion. One night after work we were making out in my car with an intensity that was intoxicating. Her blouse had come off in the fury of our desperate kisses, as did her bra. Her supple skin glowed under the yellowish hue of the security light from above, accenting her big, delicious breasts mere inches from my thirsty lips.

mejau71
mejau71
1,759 Followers