Phone Recordings with Mom

I'm standing by the bedroom window reflecting on where it all went wrong. I'm not a bad man, I swear. I did all the right things in life and I'm an ordinary person. I'm looking at the view of this quiet suburban neighborhood filled with neat houses lined in a row. It's a place where everyday life unfolds in a calm and ordinary way.

The love of my life is undressing behind me. This should be heaven, but it's not that simple. A wave of unease washes over me, reminding me that intimate relationships are complex and navigating the intricacies of love isn't always straightforward.

We're both naked and I admire her slender, youthful figure. Pink nipples erect. Her shoulder-length red hair is straightened and parted to the side and she's wearing a lot of mascara with matching dark red lipstick.

I sit on the edge of the bed. She kneels on the floor, getting between my legs. In the few years that we've been doing this, I've never been comfortable. Neither has she, but she gets a bigger rush from it than me. As conflicted as I sound, my body reacts and I have an erection that grows near her face.

She looks at my cock, happy with what she sees, then grabs her phone on the bed. The camera is activated. She hands me the phone, holding it with both hands as if I'm a king and she's a servant. Recording this is a terrible idea but it's what she wants. She takes my cock in her mouth and I point the phone in her direction. I see lust in her eyes. That unholy lust.

It's late afternoon and I step naked into the apartment living room to grab my clothes, still buzzing with shame and euphoria. This isn't my home. I shouldn't be here. I'm a school teacher of all things. I wear my panties, then I reach into my wallet and leave $300 on the table.

Rather than getting dressed and leaving, I check the time and see that I still have a few minutes on my schedule. So I go back to the bedroom where a 25 year old white girl is laying naked on the bed, with short red hair that's tucked behind her ears. I'm always struck by the contrast between us. My dark brown skin compared to her snow white complexion. My modest curves compared to her skinny figure. We are an erotic sight when our bodies are intertwined.

She's laying stomach down with her feet crossed and she's playing on her phone. She usually greets me whenever I approach, especially with my breasts still out, but this time she keeps her attention on the phone. She's always busy.

"You look beautiful in that pose," I say.

Anna smiles. "If you only knew what I'm looking at."

I walk over and sit on the bed, right next to her, my hand stroking her skin. It's the whitest skin I've ever touched and I always feel guilty touching her, as if I'm taking advantage of her. But I remind myself that she always invites me back. I remind myself of the orgasms we share.

"Anything interesting?"

"Exclusive content I'm working on."

"Always busy. I like that."

"Want to look?"

"Sure."

The young woman swipes and presses the screen, then shows me the video. Anna is on her knees and she's naked giving oral sex to a much older man. The cocksucking is passionate and intense with stroking and plenty of eye contact with the camera.

"A blowjob video worth a thousand dollars," she says.

"For that one video?"

She winks. "For this one video."

"Your patrons must love you."

"What can I say? I aim to please."

"So who's the lucky guy in the video?"

"My father."

"Your father?" I ask.

"Real incest is some of the most lucrative content in the adult business."

I look at the video with fresh perspective. Her father? The man's body in the video is certainly old enough. I've been a school teacher for nearly two decades and the video makes me cringe, watching Anna give oral sex with such zest.

"How did this happen with your father?"

My approach is non-judgmental and open minded. Judging is never the best approach at the start. It's all about listening and understanding, figuring out what's going on.

Anna puts the phone away and stretches her arms like a kitten while laying on the bed. She looks up at the ceiling, still enjoying the effects of an earlier orgasm, her long pink nipples protrude from her flat chest. God she's beautiful.

"It's a long story," she says.

"That's okay. I'd like to hear it."

"Because it makes your pussy wet? Or because you think I was molested?"

"I'm a teacher. I'm trained to look for these things. And I care about people. I care about you as a person. I care about your wellbeing."

"Your comments are appreciated. I care about you too, Salumeh, but this is totally consensual and I'm an adult."

"Still, I'd like to hear your story if that's okay."

"We're going over today's time limit, but who cares, right? Here's the short version. My dad bought a new house with a pool. I was 21 and moved back to the neighborhood after college. We swam together a few times. We had this flirty vibe in the pool, you know? We started showering together after going inside the house, eventually I gave him massages, he did the same for me. That turned into blowjobs. My doing, my curiosity, his reluctance. Eventually I thought about selling this content to my subscribers, managed to convince my dad, now here we are."

Her long pink nipples are erect and her eyes have a dreamy quality about them as she tells this story. It's almost like she's reliving a favorite memory of hers, one that she often replays in her head. I know when she's aroused. Her nipples always give it away.

"How much money have you made from this content?" I ask.

"Tens of thousands, just this year. It's still a new aspect of my business."

I reach over and touch her white belly and rub her small breasts, playing with her nipple, seeing my brown hand over her milky white skin. It's not a sexual act, not this time. It's about being protective of her. It's about caring for a much younger woman.

"My honest opinion, and please don't feel like I'm judging you in any kind of way -- just stating my opinion -- but a dad is supposed to protect you from harm, not touch you, not flirt, not shower with you, not receive oral sex from you. Dads are supposed to love you, protect you. What's happening is that he's inappropriately showing you how to love."

"That's your conclusion from my story?"

"It's the only sensible conclusion I can make. I stand by my comment. I think your father is abusive towards you. Even if you initiated certain acts."

"Love has many forms," she says.

"Including that?"

"What do you mean? A blowjob?"

"Yes, that. That's not love and you know it."

"It's how I choose to love my father. I enjoy it. My dad enjoys it. The people who buy my content definitely enjoy it. These are facts. I know it's not for everyone, but it's a choice I've made with my body."

"Your father knows right from wrong. You're following his lead. I don't think you came up with performing blowjobs on him. He started the whole thing by touching you and enticing you. He's taught you the wrong way that a father should love a daughter. That's my sincere opinion and I hope you reconsider."

"Let me show you something."

Anna sits upright on the bed and flips through her phone. She hands me the phone, which now shows a different clip where she's having sex while laying on her back, her short red hair splayed across white sheets. It's the same male body and I assume it's taken in her father's bedroom, which makes me queasy. The video zooms in on Anna's lascivious facial expressions which manages to turn me on in the most inappropriate way.

"Your father's bedroom?"

"Yes. I love him as a person. He's also a fantastic cameraman."

"The irony. My entire career I've been trained to look for signs of incest to report it. Now here I am, sitting with this video and having your confession, and I'll have to ignore it."

"Ignore it? You'll be thinking of this video for the rest of your life. Admit it, Salumeh, you're aroused that I'm fucking and sucking my dad. You could hardly peel your eyes away from those videos."

"Nonsense."

There's a twinkle in Anna's eye. "Here's a test. Show me your pussy and we'll see if it's wet."

"This might be the only time I'll refuse to show you."

"Can I make a suggestion?"

"Sure."

"We should become business partners," she says. "A hot Persian MILF school teacher like yourself would be a huge hit with my audience. I could sell the content and we could split the money. I'm hoping to move into a new apartment and this would help so much."

"Me?"

She tweaks my nipple. "Yes, you. Or to make things more clear, you and me. There are other potential avenues to make tons of money. Think about it. You and your son."

"My son?" I ask.

"Horrible, I know. The worst. Get over it. The thought came to mind, just now as we're having this conversation. Everyone wins. The sales will help me move into a better apartment, you could have a side hustle, and it'll add the spice you're missing in your life."

"I'm not as boring as you think."

"You've been sexually repressed your whole life, Salumeh, that's why you're drawn to my pussy."

"It's one thing to go down on you. But my son? That's a different league of fucked-up. It's immoral. It's a terrible sin."

"Immoral according to who? A sin according to who?"

"You know that I'm very religious. I've always been upfront about that."

Anna shakes her head. "The same God that forgives you for being a quasi-lesbian would also forgive you for being happy with your son. Our creator knows us, whether we fully abide by their rules or not. They did just that. They created us."

I should be furious that she's using my religious viewpoint against me and I can feel the rage bubbling up. Early in our relationship I confided in her that I pray after our meetings -- for me and her -- and she thought it was sweet. But how can I be angry whenever her big nipples are exposed? I calm down because I know she means well. We have a fundamentally different perspective on sexuality and I've known that from the start.

"Being a lesbian is different than committing incest," I say.

"Sure, on a spectrum, but once you're broken that seal of taboo, it's broken forever. That's how I see it. Taboo is taboo."

"Are you serious? Oral sex between adult women is different from family relations. It just is. And I'm sorry if I'm sounding preachy or judgmental, but I care about your well-being."

"I remember our first meeting. You came here, nervous, and you laid on my bed naked. I went down on you. Afterward you said it was the best orgasm you ever had. Do you remember?"

"Yes, and I meant it."

"Well, that's how I felt when my father entered me, both mouth and vagina. It's a different kind of special. The more you think about it, the more you'll understand."

The conversation ends with Anna rolling out of bed and putting on her undergarments. Her nipples usually turn soft a while after sex, this time they're still erect as she remains stimulated. She smiles at me as she puts on her pants.

***

Work has consumed much of my time, with endless stacks of papers to grade and countless essays to read. The hours spent pouring over each essay have taken a toll, leaving me yearning for Anna so I can escape the relentless cycle of work.

I'm often told that I work too hard. I notice most teachers grade with ease. It's not that they don't care, they care about all students. It's more that I have compulsive tendencies and it's been that way my whole life. My mind cannot rest until everything aligns perfectly, leaving little room for relaxation. It's been that way since I was young, through college, now with my career, and also as a mother to a 20 year old son.

Being a mother. Yes. The pride and joy of my life. Being a mother is the center of my universe. The responsibility and privilege of nurturing him, guiding him through ups and downs, and witnessing his growth is both humbling and awe-inspiring. For me, there is no greater honor than being entrusted with the role of motherhood.

It's sad that this metaphorical sea of love is poisoned by the content Anna has shown me. But so far she's right, it's all I think about. The visual of Anna and her father having sexual interactions is ingrained in my head, sometimes I'll purposely wonder about it, sometimes it pops into my thoughts at random.

We haven't seen each other for two weeks, but we still text about normal things. She sends me videos, three total, and I never reply to them. I do, however, watch them. I suspect Anna knows I've been watching the content because she knows my curiosities.

All three videos have the same thing in common, a faceless middle-aged white man holding the phone camera and wielding the big cock that goes inside of her. She cums like crazy each time. The man is always faceless in the videos, but I regularly view Anna's social media pages and have seen pictures of her father and his Instagram account. It's definitely him. The father.

In the last few days, the dam broke and I masturbated to one of the videos. A clip of Anna on her knees giving her father oral sex in his living room, with family pictures in the background. Perhaps it was inevitable. It made me cum. Fast.

Porn was never my thing. To my taste, 95% of it is sleazy. I prefer artistic nude scenes in stylish movies or tv shows. Anna's content is basic homemade porn recorded with the latest in-your-pocket phone technology. It's not something I'd seek online for random couples. Again, I find it sleazy. But I like it because it's her and how euphoric she looks in these clips.

And if I'm really, truly, madly honest, I like that it's her father.

She's right that once the seal of taboo is broken, it's broken forever, whether it's me eating her pussy, or her doing these things with her father. I'm curious about learning more but I wouldn't dare ask her. I'm ashamed of liking this. I'm even more ashamed discussing this with her because she'll know I'm into it.

At night, as I sit down for dinner with my son Patrick, a lingering sense of unease taints our once peaceful meals. The weight of these perversions remains heavy on my mind. Everything feels corrupted. Beyond normal small talk, I'm almost at a loss for words as we're eating pan seared chicken with potatoes and salad.

"There's something I want to tell you," he says.

"Sure, what is it?"

"My professor is recommending me for a summer program. He'll personally write a recommendation letter. It's like a cool workshop, very realistic, I'll get to do lab experiments and be involved with different projects led by professionals. This will look incredible on my resume when I'm looking for a job."

The light in Patrick's eyes sparkle and I'm so happy for him. He's a smart young man, hard working, and his ambition is always fun to watch. He used to be a handful growing up, always up to something, always causing mischief around the house which pushed my buttons, but now he's channeled that energy into something positive.

I keep my enthusiasm at bay because he's lingering, like he's about to drop a bombshell.

"But?" I ask.

"But it'll cost about $15,000 because the program is in MIT and the course and lodging are included. It's worth every penny, I swear. These are like the top people in the field. Like I said, my professor is willing to send a recommendation letter on my behalf. It's an exclusive thing, you know."

My immediate reaction, as a mother, is to agree wholeheartedly and hug him. He works part-time at the campus bookstore a few hours a week for modest pay and I'm happy to help him out.

Reality strikes me though. Could I afford to go upstairs and write a check for $15,000 and hand it to him with a smile on my face? Yes, certainly. But the fact is, I'm living on a teacher's salary and inflation has hit us hard. Since becoming single many years ago I made a conscious decision to spend a large portion of my income on a nice home to make up for Patrick being without a father. While I want nothing more than to support his continued education, I also have to consider the long-term implications.

Then a thought crosses my mind, something which has been weighing on my heart lately and sometimes my fantasies. It's an unconventional solution, one that would unleash forces outside of my control, and it makes my legs cross and I squirm in my seat.

I think of Anna.

"Everything has to be upfront?" I ask. "No payment plans? No scholarships?"

"These are serious people, so yeah, everything has to be up front. I can show you brochures and send you links to websites later. You'll be amazed by what they offer."

Once again, my thoughts return to Anna, her proposition lingers in my mind. The allure of fast money becomes too difficult to ignore despite the sinful nature of her offer. I sit and look at my son, my beautiful son, thinking about how much joining this program means to him. I get the sense that a number of his friends are going and he'll be missing a great time if he stays home for the summer.

"Maybe we can discuss this more tonight," I say. "After the dishes I'd like to look at the brochures for a better understanding. It sounds like a lot of fun."

He smiles. "So the price is okay, right? I can always pay you back in the future."

"We'll talk more tonight. For now, let's enjoy our dinner."

There's a queasy feeling in the pit of my stomach as we finish eating and there's a stirring sensation between my legs. Patrick is thinking about what a great time he'll have for this summer program at MIT, and like the average parent in this situation, I'm dreading the financial cost.

I still consider just writing a check and that will be that. We'd have to save money in other areas, order from restaurants less often, that sort of thing. I've always been fiscally responsible. We live an okay, middle-class lifestyle and I make a decent salary. But again, being a single parent has often meant that I compensate for a lack of a father figure, with finances.

Summer camps, the latest video games, nice clothes, digital subscriptions. These things cost money and I've always been happy to pay. But $15,000 in today's economic reality is a different conversation.

Patrick offers to wash the dishes but I insist, saying that I'm still buzzed from a coffee I had earlier. The truth is that I just want to be alone for a while. I need to think, to clear my head. I want to avoid destroying my life and my relationship with my son. A relationship that means everything to me, and it feels like my life is flashing before my eyes while I soap the dishes, wondering what kind of mother I am.

I undress in my bedroom with the door left open. That's uncharacteristic of me. I always close the door, but in many ways this is a test run, an exploration of possibilities, if it comes to that. I dig through my closet for a matching pair of red lace bra and panties. I've worn this for Anna who says it's a great combination on me.

When I stand naked in front of the mirror, I think for a moment, then decide to ditch the undergarments. I decide to wear cotton lounge pants, with a loose white camisole top, with an even looser robe over that. No bra or panties beneath. The robe I leave untied, looking at the finished product in the mirror. Way too much of my chest is showing, bearing the top curves of my breasts.

I go to Patrick's room where he's expecting me. But he's not expecting the way I'm dressed. His eyes look up and down, mostly at the round globes on my chest, sometimes at the top of my breasts where skin is showing. I wonder if my nipples are poking through the fabric yet. All of this happens within the span of a few seconds when I enter the room.

We sit on the bed and he starts discussing the trip, keeping his eyes away from my boobs. I think about what Anna told me before about her perspective on religion. It's all I can think about while listening to Patrick explain the different aspects listed on the brochure.