Taboo: A Memoir
Confessions of Forbidden Love
By Tom Hathaway
Copyright 2006 Tom Hathaway
Smashwords Edition
Republication of this free ebook is permitted, provided it is for noncommercial purposes and Smashwords and the author are notified and credited.
For Diana
Foreword
I've had an unusual life, and now that the unusual part of it is sadly over, I feel the need to communicate it to others, although doing so will expose me to risk. My mother's and my memoir is sure to offend, even enrage, some people because it challenges a deep-seated phobia in our culture. The forces of repression and shame are strong, both within us and in the self-appointed watchdogs of our society who want to prevent change.
The love affair we enjoyed contradicts the establishment dogma that all incest is sick, dangerous, perverted, sinful. Although it had its stresses, this relationship was the right path for us, a powerful bond of mutual devotion and commitment and a radical opposition to patriarchy. We discovered that other people too are daring this forbidden love.
The reactionaries view this as a great threat. They know the next and most fundamental stage of the sexual revolution is beginning, and they are trying to stop it with scare stories and punishment, just as they tried in years past against masturbation, oral sex, premarital sex, and homosexuality.
These guardians of the status quo use the very real danger of child molesting to generate hysteria and blanketly condemn all incest. I agree with them that child molesting is inexcusable. Adults can do great harm to children by sexually aggressing them. Children aren't autonomous yet, they're not fully formed, so having sex with a grown up, especially a parent, can make too deep an imprint on them.
Incest between consenting adults, however, is a different issue, one of personal freedom, really no one else's business, especially now that birth control has removed the genetic risk. Once we get over the superstitious dread, it becomes another private preference, an activity that will appeal to some people and not to others. As with many matters, we can live and let live, love and let love.
An ancient myth is about to be exposed. As this boogie man fades away, we humans may learn to accept our basic but currently banned urge.
What you are about to read is the story of two people, both of legal age, discovering an irresistible attraction for each other. In short, a love story.
I have tried to reconstruct the past as vividly as I can, to preserve it in my memory now that I no longer have her.
One
"Do you want to go to the Rolling Stones concert tonight?" my mother asked with a smile. She stood in our living room, just home from work, holding two tickets in her hand. Long auburn hair cascaded over her boldly colored blouse. Tight jeans tapered down above a pair of leather sandals.
"Well ... uh ... who with?" I replied cautiously.
"With me, you toad. Isn't that good enough?" She slapped me with the tickets.
"Hmm ... I guess ... yeah, OK," I said in my teenage mumble. I loved the Stones and had never seen them live, but the idea of going with mom wasn't a thrill.
Diana's pert, lively face fell into a disappointed frown. "You don't seem excited." Her small white teeth sank into her crimson-colored lower lip.
"Yeah, well ... like ...."
She snapped the tickets into her purse. "I can go with someone else."
"No, it'll be fun." I backpedaled, not wanting to miss out on the concert. "It's just that ...."
"Yeah, I know. Mom's a drag." She understood me so well that I couldn't hide anything from her. I was eighteen and she was thirty-six, but in some ways she was as much of a teenager as I was. Most of my friends' parents seemed to have forgotten what it was like to be young, but she remembered.
"Well ... uh ...." I groped for words. There was no point in lying. She could always tell.
"You want to go or not?" Diana put her hands on her hips and raised an eyebrow in a way that said, Don't jerk me around.
"Sure. It should be cool," I said, getting more enthused. "Where'd you get the tickets?"
I could tell by her quick smile she was glad I wanted to go. "Allen at work gave them to me. We were going to go together, but one of his cases fell apart. Witness disappeared. So he has to stay late and track him down."
My mother had been dating one of the other lawyers in the Public Defender's office. I thought he was square, with his crew cut, tab collar, and Hubert Humphrey for President button. Mom — with her long hair, peasant blouses, and Angela Davis for President button — thought so too but said he was an "OK guy" and they were "just friends."
"The Stones will be groovy," I said. "Let's do it."
This was 1968; change was everywhere in the air; even our hometown of Denver wasn't dull anymore. It seemed that music, protest, and free expression would soon create a very different world. Each day brought new possibilities.
Diana let me drive her VW Beetle to the concert. She sat beside me and tried not to be a front-seat driver.
The concert was one of those Happenings that haven't been duplicated since that era. The crowd was half the show, all these new freaks with their long-suppressed weirdnesses coming out, finally able to show their hidden sides, still tender and fresh. Everyone greeted one another with open, accepting eyes. The mood was peace and love, but spiced with the high-energy mania that the Stones do so well. Mick pranced around in tight pants showing off his buns and singing, "I can't get no satisfaction."
I could identify with that. I was still a virgin, which is now a rarity but back then was a normal teenage affliction. Although curious and eager, I had so far been unsuccessful in convincing any of the fair sex to share theirs with me. The music roused my frustrated lust.
The crowd was awash in marijuana smoke. People were passing around an endless stream of joints and offering tabs of acid. Diana and I declined the LSD but toked on the grass pretty heavy. We had both smoked before but never together. She hadn't wanted to encourage me, but here it was unavoidable. It was also super strong, a blend called M&Ms, Michoacán mixed with mescaline into a psychedelic cocktail that took us high-higher-highest. We floated through the rhythms and melodies as if they were the protoplasm of our cells. The music, the whole universe even, seemed to be coming from inside us. We found ourselves holding hands, overwhelmed. After the last encore, Mick mooned the crowd and scampered off.
Royally stoned, neither of us could drive, so we rolled home in a cab and headed straight for the fridge, munched out on rocky road ice cream. We were having a great time, giggling like kids, more relaxed and free than we'd been around each other in years. We were really whacked out of our skulls.
We started talking about the great songs they didn't play, and dragged out their records. Soon the stereo was blasting. The Stones' music is, of course, solid sex, the lyrics and beat obsessed with Eros. That made us more nervous here alone than it had at the concert. Since it'd been a sit-down event with no dancing, we had a pent-up need to move and burn off tension.
While Mick sang, "Let's spend the night together," we kicked off our shoes and boogied around the living room, both of us in jeans and multi-colored shirts. We didn't have the same dancing style, and we were too bombed to be very coordinated, but that didn't matter. The important thing was to have fun shaking it to the music.
At first we were each more into ourselves, woozily bopping and grooving. Then our eyes met more often and we started getting into dance as communication between us. We laughed and did little routines together, twirling around, bumping shoulders. She flipped her auburn ponytail in my face. Each time we looked at each other, so many emotions poured between our wide-open pupils: shyness, apologies for old hurts and harsh words, fear, nameless yearnings, defiance, and strongest of all — love.
The slow tempo of "No Expectations" brought us into a ballroom pose, like Ginger Rogers and Fred Astaire. With me a millimeter taller, we glided around trying to be elegant, but she hiccuped from having eaten the ice cream too fast, and we broke up. While Mick crooned, "Never in my sweet short life have I felt like this before," I held her manfully and bent her down into a low dip, my leg between hers. I could feel her warm midsection pressing against me and see the bulge of her breasts beneath her Mexican blouse. I almost dropped her, but managed to raise her back up. She must've felt something in my middle too, because she skittered away.
The next song caught her, though, and we were off on a fast one. To not fixate on her jiggling chest, I focused on her eyes. They were the same shade of brown as mine, but seemed flecked with sparkling gold.
With the psychedelic vision, it was as if I could see into her personality, all the churn of her thoughts and emotions, and then beneath that even to her soul. Before, I'd just seen her as Mom ... or a Lawyer. Now I could look through that surface to her feminine essence — the most beautiful and desirable woman I'd ever imagined. Her female core drew me like a magnet.
I could tell from her surprised, embarrassed glances that she was seeing me as a man.
We played eye games, staring into each other's and dancing closer and closer as if hypnotized, until it got too intense and we darted away. Finally we found ourselves just standing there two inches apart gazing into each other through a great silence. The song was over and we weren't dancing.
The next cut snapped us out of our reverie, and we were off again. "You're ten thousand light years from home," Brian Jones sang. As we danced, we continued watching each other. It was as if we were each the first human being the other had laid eyes on. We were similar but different, familiar yet strange. Our seeking eyes glided over skin, taking the other in.
When the record ended, I needed to look at something else, so nervously I picked up one of the jackets, Between the Buttons. The title seemed hilarious, and I cracked up, laughing to relieve the strain.
She came over to see and thought it was funny too. We pointed at the musicians' pictures set into flowers and giggled together.
"Between the buttons," I said. "What do you have between your buttons?" It seemed witty, and she reached out and tickled my tummy between my shirt buttons. We were blushing and our looks had turned daring. I tickled her in return, along her ribs then under her arms, and she squirmed and shrieked. We were both so tripped out that we did things we normally wouldn't've let ourselves even think about.
"The buttons!" I intoned in a mock basso voice. "What's between your buttons?" We stood close together panting with laughter. I touched her embroidered blouse and stretched my fingers between its wooden buttons as if measuring. A button came open and my hand kept going, into the soft fullness of her bra.
At that touch, every cell of my skin came alive, my breath hung suspended, and a different music drummed in my mind. I touched more, ran my hands over her luscious mounds. The other buttons came undone. "What do you have — ?"
"Whoa, you!" she cut me off and backed away on unsteady legs, rebuttoning her blouse. "Put on something a little quieter." Mom turned away and looked at the record rack. As she bent over to pull out an LP, her jeans stretched around her curvy bottom.
I forced a laugh to make it seem this was still just a game and pulled the tails of her blouse out from her jeans. She jerked up, turned around with a reprimanding but amused look, and waggled her finger at me. "OK ... stop now."
"Only if you give me a kiss," I insisted, trying to sound playful.
Diana puckered her full lips into a little moue, then began laughing through her nose, which made her sneeze. I lurched into her, held her in my arms, kissed her cheek, then her lips. She didn't return the kiss but let me continue. I brushed my lips gently over hers, trying to recall all my limited make-out skills. I slipped one hand under her blouse and up her back.
She broke the kiss. "Enough of that! Let's — "
I quieted her by covering her crimson lips again with mine. Hers now responded just the tiniest bit, and we kissed each other hesitantly, exploring these lips that we knew so well but not in this way. Inside each of us a voice was screaming, No! But another voice — long buried and now stronger — was screaming, Yes! We were awkward, as if we'd both forgotten how to kiss and were reinventing it. We nibbled at each other curiously, and I rubbed the taut skin of her back.
"You won't quit, will you," mom said, but didn't pull away. I remained silent, knowing talk could only distract us. Instead I drew her again into the swirl of our kisses. Her breath deepened into a sigh.
I brought my hand around to the front and petted a breast, felt her nipple under the bra, marveled as it stiffened under my touch.
"Don't do that!" She tried to twist away, but not very much, and I held her with my other arm, kissed her again, and continued to pet.
My thoughts were chaos. What was I doing? This was mom I was groping! That's the Big Don't. What if somebody found out? What would the kids at school say? I must be crazy ... freaking out. Quit it! But I couldn't. A wild roaring hunger drove me on.
I couldn't bear the nylon covering her breasts. I didn't know how to undo her bra, so I simply pulled it up. As they swung free, I plunged my hand into her soft treasures. Afraid to meet her eyes, unable to stop, I unbuttoned her blouse. There they hung: large lovely tits with nipples standing out boldly, waiting all these years for me to touch them again.
"Tommy ... don't," Diana managed to stammer.
The sight of them chased away the last of my inhibitions. I needed them, I needed her. I pressed myself against her so our eyes wouldn't meet and fondled them, squeezed them, stroked them. Gasping now, I pulled off her blouse and bra. They were round and magnificent, glad to be freed, not the least afraid, unlike us, who were trembling with shock. "Stop ... we can't do this," mom said through her heavy breathing. She folded her arms over her chest.
I met her eyes long enough to see terror and desire battling within her. I kissed her, and her lips opened. I pressed deeper, and our tongues greeted each other shyly. They had never touched before, and they seemed to like it. When I pulled her arms away from her chest, she encircled my back with them.
Somehow we found the couch, and as we sank onto it, my lips moved toward her breasts. From the black tufts of her armpits came a whiff of rancid fear.
With her mouth freed she began to cry and murmur, "No ... no ...." She pulled at my shoulders but without strength.
I dived for the nearest nipple, a rosy beauty prickled with readiness, and enclosed it with my lips. I held it and loved it and sucked it, and it grew, expanding under my attention. The flesh around it became firmer and jutted towards my mouth. The most divine, remembered ambrosia flowed into me. I was filled with a wonderful calm, a knowledge that all's right with the world. Stored up feelings came flooding back over me, and I was perfectly happy for the first time since I'd nursed there.
I opened my mouth to take in more of mother's swelling fullness, then covered her other breast with my hand, delighting in its softest smoothness, clutching as much as I could manage. From both breasts, more billowed beyond my touch. Her bounty was greater than my grasp, and I was brought to the contentment of Plenty.
She was lying against the arm of the leather couch, sobbing and sighing, stroking my head, my back, my sides. As I continued to feed, her breathing became deep shudders. "This is wrong," she mumbled with no conviction at all. "Please stop."
I knew that meant she wanted me to kiss her lips again. They were feeling neglected and certainly didn't want to be used for such silly talk.
I rose up and met her eyes just long enough to give her a look that said, Don't even think about stopping. I plunged back into her lips, and my tongue sought hers. Diana's responded with its own force, and the two wrestled boldly. Her breath through her nostrils grew rapid.
Being a virgin, I knew where my goal was but I wasn't sure what it was or how to get there. I touched between her legs, and she writhed. "No!" she cried from our joined mouths and wrenched away from me.
I knew I'd made a mistake. Ignorant but running on instinct, I took my hand away from The Place, embraced her more firmly, and kissed her lips gently. At first she resisted but gradually she grew still and began returning my kisses again.
Holding her tightly with one arm to make her more willing, I rubbed the other arm down her side. When I reached the danger zone, I skipped over it and stroked her knees, then risked a bit higher on her legs. They stayed closed but they stayed there.
I brought my hand back up to her breasts, knowing they were on my side in this struggle. I petted and fondled them and dropped down to kiss them again. Why did you leave us? they seemed to accuse me.
I was worried that with her mouth uncovered she would start protesting again, but now she needed it to breathe through in long, loud pants. Eyes closed, face contorted from the battle within her, mom slipped lower onto the leather cushions. From her breasts I gazed up at her with adoration.
I rubbed slow circles down her tummy to the top of her jeans, then skipped over the narrowing danger zone to her legs and rubbed circles on the denim, which felt like sandpaper compared to the softness of her skin. I gradually edged my hand between her thighs and stroked both sides until they parted just a bit.
My hand hopped over The Place up to her abdomen and pressed the blue cotton. Diana moaned at the touch. Around to the rear, I rubbed her bottom. The tension went out of her legs and they relaxed. I moved my hand through and clasped each side where the legs joined. As I caressed her thighs, they slowly opened. Aha! It was as if I'd finally found the secret lever to swing open the gates of the Great Pyramid.
I brought my hand to the front and placed it delicately right There. She gave a cry, but it wasn't No; she twisted, but didn't twist away. I probed gently into her firm but yielding center and kneaded it with pulsing pressure. Heat radiated through the denim.
I opened the top button of my mother's jeans. Her hand rose in protest, then fell limply to her side.
She's going to let me! I get to have her!
But suddenly she doubled her knees into her chest and turned away from me in one last paroxysm of resistance. I pushed my hand through her round cheeks and clutched and rubbed her groin. I held myself close against her. Reflexively she lifted her rear to me and cried out in surrender, her voice filled with shame defeated by lust.
Mom began pulling at the top of her jeans, trying to get them off. I helped her, and we slid together onto the thick Rya rug. Her Lady Lees came off, revealing graceful legs in white underpants so sopped I thought she'd wet them. When I touched her there, though, the fluid was thick, clear, and slippery. Little hairs curled timidly out from the sides of the silk.
Years ago I'd caught a glimpse of her getting out of the shower, half covered with a towel. I'd hoarded the image in my mind, but it had faded into vagueness. Now here she was in the flesh. The beautiful expanse of Diana's bare skin lay before me like a wonderland: the peaks of her breasts, the rippling field of her stomach, the canyon of her legs leading up to the mystery of her center, still tantalizingly covered.
"You," she said hoarsely and began stripping me. She went right for my Lee Riders while I threw off my tie-dye shirt. On her knees, glassy-eyed, moving as if in a trance, my mother yanked my jeans off. My urgently red and swollen penis stuck out from the side of my jockey shorts pointing right at her. Panting and swallowing, lips drawn back from her teeth, she stared at its length with a mix of yearning and loathing, as if it were forcing her do something she wanted very much.
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!"
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."
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.
When I made the scene, Jacquot decided fatherhood was a bring down. Rug rats weren't his style. He packed his rucksack and went back on the road. Mom got a postcard from him once from Tangier but nothing else.
Diana pulled herself together and, at eighteen, accepted her new role as single mother. It was difficult. She was a free spirit, and now she had a huge responsibility: yours truly. She decided she needed a college degree, so she pushed aside her Beat disrespect for academics and enrolled in the University of Colorado at Boulder, majoring in cultural anthropology. Maintaining her nonconformist ways, she became active in the Young People's Socialist League and the Congress of Racial Equality. She toted me along to classes, to civil rights demonstrations, and to the Ten O'clock Scholar and the Sink, the hang-outs for the few fifties' fringies at the university.
Her parents footed the bill. They'd been mortified by her pregnancy and were relieved when she "left that disgusting milieu and got back in line by going to college."
Diana discovered she liked mental work and poured herself into her studies. She went on to law school, an outgrowth of her political activism, and became a criminal defense attorney. The Denver Public Defender's office offered her a position, which she accepted.
Most attorneys use a stint as a Public Defender to gain experience before moving on to big-time criminals who view large legal fees as CDB: Cost of Doing Business. But Diana stayed with it, defending poor, uneducated people who made mistakes out of desperation.
Early on, while she was still naive, she fell in love with one of her clients, a charming, good-looking crook who stole her cash and jewelry. This happening after Jacquot's desertion must have soured her on men. In the years that followed she dated and had an occasional affair, but it didn't go beyond that, and she became pretty much of a career woman. But when I got rheumatic fever and had to miss a year of school, she cut her hours back to half time so she could take care of me.
Mom and I had a good relationship until I hit puberty, and even then it wasn't terrible, just typical. Since we knew each other so well, we could still communicate, but it was too often a communication of anger and frustration. I was sullen and rude, she nagging and high-strung. The tension between us was palpable, blocking us from each other, pushing us away. In retrospect I can see that we were fighting our urges, trying to alienate the other person to avoid embracing them.
Once we discovered the joys of the embrace, there was no going back. Our passion was unstoppable.
Four
That evening, though, while we were still in shock, Diana had an attack of conventionality and tried to call a halt to it. We were in the living room, she sitting in her leather chair and I sprawled as usual on the matching couch, watching a new TV show, Saturday Night Live. John Belushi and Bill Murray were playing astronauts who had landed on the moon only to discover Gilda Radner sun-bathing there in a bikini. Both men instantly fell in love with the moon maiden. After much pulling and tugging John managed to get out of his space suit but then floated away into the void as soon as he stepped towards her. Bill swung her over his shoulder and started to carry her into his lunar landing craft, but she yanked out his hose and he shriveled into a little pile of plastic. Mission Control kept calling, "Eagle, come in, Eagle," while Gilda blithely went back to sun-bathing.
The commercial came on, and Diana turned to me with a grave look that brought out lines on her lovely, auburn-framed face. "I've been thinking about what happened." She spoke carefully, as if she'd rehearsed the speech, but as she continued, her voice crumbled. "I think we should just ... pretend it didn't ... happen ... forget it. We would never've done anything like that if we hadn't been tripped out. Even on grass we wouldn't have done that. It was the mescaline. So ... we should just write it off as a bad trip ... and get back to normal." She tried to give me her little mom smile, but her face was bleak and baleful.
I felt as if a wrecking ball had crashed into my chest, crushing it to a pulp. My throat was pinched so I couldn't breathe. I stared at her, and she glanced away from my stricken face. I burst into tears. Humiliated to be crying in front of her, I hid my face. She couldn't just cut everything off like that. It was too cruel. I wouldn't let her. I marched over to her, weeping and distraught.
Mom opened her arms to comfort me, and I collapsed into her, tears streaming, face scrinched. After our two frolics I'd been feeling so grown up and sophisticated, but her words reduced me to a bawling little boy. Resenting her power over me but needing her all the more, I burrowed under her baggy pink cotton sweater. It was cozy underneath, like a tent. She was so warm and soft and smelled so good. She couldn't take all that away and leave me with only two memories.
She patted my head, but that made me feel worse because she was treating me like a child again. Without thinking, just reacting on instinct, I lifted her bra, and her creamy pink treasures flowed out to me, glad to see me again.
The patting stopped. "Please, Tommy, don't. We really can't anymore."
Don't pay any attention to her, her tatas seemed to tell me. Sometimes she's impossible. Just ignore her when she gets this way. Now give us a kiss.
Still weeping, I snuggled into them, loving their splendid roundness, their proud fatness. As a nipple slid into my mouth, I could almost hear it squeal with delight: Yes! That's what we want!
It was what I wanted too — wanted and needed. I gorged myself on her, gurgling with contentment like a nursing infant, and my tears stopped. I was still sniffling and my nose was dripping onto them, but they didn't mind. We all felt much better. From deep within them, their peace flowed into me, calming me like a magic potion. Everything was all right again.
Just don't let us go, they told me. We'll show her who's boss. Simple solution to the problem: hold on to us and keep sucking. She'll come around.
From beyond the pink, mom's voice droned, "Stop ... this can't go on. We made a mistake, it was an accident, and now we'll stop ... and get back to normal. No one will know ... and we'll forget about it. Please, Tommy!"
I kept sucking one and squeezing the other, both so big and fine. I cupped my palm like a mouth over the nipple and nipped it gently, feeling it harden at my touch. Yes!
Diana sighed, but her hand tried to push my head away. "Do-o-on't," she drawled. She didn't push with much effort, though, and as I kept sucking and squeezing, the push turned into a stroke on my head, and she sighed again. Holding her tight, I nestled and slurped at her soft chest of wonders.
We slid off the leather chair together onto the thick shag rug, with me holding on for dear life. She tried to sit up, but I leaned into her until she gave in and lay back down. As she sensed my desperation, her maternal instincts took over; she wrapped her arms around me and mothered me with her body. "Don't cry," she crooned, "my baby ... baby."
My sniffling stopped and I reveled in her caring. I rolled on top of her, craving to be even closer. I also wanted to show her I wasn't a baby, even though right now I felt like one and loved her calling me that. With all mom's curvy contours underneath me, I relaxed totally, still very childlike and vulnerable, my head buried under her sweater.
I tried to part her legs by nudging mine between them, but they resisted. "Ple-e-ease," I whined, rubbing and tugging at her thighs. Gradually they opened to let me in. As I squirmed deeper, she hugged me with her legs but then began crying. The struggle within her poured out in great sobs, and she convulsed with shame. "I'm a monster. Only a monster would do this."
Now Diana was the desperate one. I left her breasts, emerged from the pink, and took her in my arms to comfort and cuddle her. "That's a lot of old lies. Don't believe it," I told her, wiping tears from her cheeks. "There's nobody here but us ... and it's right for us." I held mom's crying face in my hands and kissed her snuffling mouth, trying to heal her hurt.
As I continued to kiss, she began nibbling back at my lips, like a little girl distracted from her tears by sweets. I wanted so much to soothe her and protect her so she'd never cry again. "You're so beautiful," I said, stroking her reddish-brown hair and fine-pored skin.
I was now enjoying being the powerful one just as much as I'd enjoyed being the baby before. But the lump in my jeans was becoming painful, so I pressed it into her jeans, denim to denim. As she felt my adamance, Diana reflexively arched her hips into mine but then turned her face aside, mortified by her urges.
"We need each other," I told her, fondling her breasts and pressing my bulge in an insistent circle against her groin. I kissed and licked the tense tendons of her neck until they relaxed and her crying stopped.
She drew in a long gasp through clenched teeth, dug her fingers into my back, and whimpered. Collapsing into my arms, mom offered up her mouth to me in a fountain of surrender and let me kiss her deeply. My tongue probed in, hers rose to meet it, and they thrust and twisted around each other in a dance of lust.
On the TV Dan Ackroyd was doing a Richard Nixon imitation. I reached up and clicked it off, then pulled off the pink sweater and untangled the bra from around her shoulders. Mom's tits, large and proud, smiled up at me in happy triumph. We can handle her — piece of cake, they seemed to say. Exhausted by her inner turmoil, she had become submissive. The resistance had vanished from her face, leaving it a placid oval of willingness. Her buttery brown eyes were unfocused, almost stunned, and her full lips parted wanly. Diana let me pull off her jeans, then watched with increasing focus while I stripped down to my shorts.
I snuggled next to her, wanting to touch as much of her warm smooth skin as I could. Our eyes met in a crossfire of desire, terror, and joy. The gaze was too intense; I was afraid it might start us talking, which could lead to problems, so I kissed the crinkled corners of her eyes until they closed. Then I kissed her ear, sucked its lobe pierced by a gold and coral stud, ran my tongue around the seashell rim, blew in it, listened for the sound of the sea coming from within her, licked down into the curlicued spiral to taste the bitter salt of her wax. She shivered with pleasure and inhaled deeply, dilating her nostrils.
With my fingertips I delicately traced the line of chestnut wisps from her neck, up over her temple, and across her high, broad forehead. Breath soughed out between her white teeth and red, kiss-glistening lips. My touch pleased her, which pleased me. As I explored her beauty, the inviting hollow between her neck and shoulder drew my attention, and I pressed kisses onto its thin, freckled skin. Mom lay back on the rug, conquered, compliant, open, willing to let me do whatever I wanted.
Not so desperate now, I took my time, grazing again on her breasts, getting to know the sides and slopes of them, the calculus of their curves. My fingers slid beneath Diana's pink panties and sought her center, exploring its brambly mound and damp grotto. Her cavern was alive and moved to my touch; amid her folds and tucks, hidden springs flowed with slippery juices. Heat filled its chambers from the center of her earth. This cave was my home; it had made me and now wanted me back just as much as I wanted to come back.
Mom tugged at my underpants but was too subdued to be very effective. I pulled them off, and my rod sprang out at her. She took one look at this long thick red thing she had made, then closed her eyes and clamped her jaw in a grimace of fear and craving.
I pulled her wetties off and gazed at her hairy hillock while inhaling its tangy lure, the scent of the ocean from which life emerged and longs to return.
Needing her urgently now but not sure of what to do, I lay on top of her. Diana spread her legs but was too dazed to do more. Somehow I thought it was supposed to go in automatically, but it didn't. It was bouncing against all sorts of interesting anatomy but was still an outsider trying to get in. Daunted by engineering problems, I was beginning to feel foolish, helpless, frustrated. Mom sprawled supine, hands back over her head, passive and ready. She had guided me in before, but now I had to learn to do it myself. I groped around the moist terrain, exploring overhanging ridges and angles of access, and discovered I was trying to enter from too high. I lowered my approach, nudging in from farther under, and the tip of my impatient shaft finally parted her folds to be greeted by a warm, wet hug. Good to have you again, her nest seemed to say. Glad you managed to find your way. Come in and play.
Wanting more of this intrusion, she moved her hips in a small swivel, and another inch of me slipped into her tight inner squeeze which flowed with fluid heat and encircled me with delight. My whole body, my whole being lit up with joy. This is IT! This is THE PLACE! This is HEAVEN! Just where Saint Peter belongs, I thought, pushing him in another inch.
A long moan sounded from Diana's arched neck and open mouth. Her lips and closed eyelids quivered. Her loins swayed to make more space.
Elated, I rocked in the cradle of her thighs. Exuberant, I frolicked belly to belly with her. Exultant, I buried myself in her middle and wrapped her in my arms, possessing her inside and out. Pushing deeper, I made her writhe and groan. I felt mighty now, and she clung to me, seeming small and vulnerable.
I gazed at the naked beauty of my mother stretched underneath me, yielding to me and needing more of what I was giving her. I wanted to feel all of her at once, but that was impossible. My lips dipped down and snagged a nipple, drew it up into my greedy mouth, sucked in as much of her as would fit. My cheeks bulged with her lovely boob.
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