Conscience Doth Make Cowards of Us

Norton stayed with me, his penis contracting inside me. His first concern was my weeping that still continued.

“Oh mother, have I hurt you?”

“No, no, my love, I’m crying with happiness.”

It took the poor boy some time to understand that.

Norton seemed to have a wonderful sensitivity to my needs. Apart from the fact that he did not seem to want to separate from me at all, he appeared to instinctively know when I was ready for his withdrawal.

It is at this point, when the couple separates, that the testing point of their relationship and what they have just done together emerges. More with men and than with women, so I understand, there can be a feeling of rejection and disgust. It is the moment, as it is said, that the man “wants to get his pants on and run.”

I knew my own feelings that were those of overwhelming love and gratitude for what we had done.

Norton sat on the edge of the lounger, looking at me as if he would consume me completely with his eyes.

“Mother, I’m sorry I had to take you by force, but…”

I interrupted him. “But it might never have happened otherwise?”

“Yes.”

“It’s all right, my love, I’m glad of your courage. I’ve wanted to have you for years, but could never summon the nerve to approach you.”

His sperm was trickling out of me onto the lounger, so I clamped my hand over my cleft to hold it in. It was not for the sake of the lounger I did this, but because I wanted to have something of him inside me still. I had initially protested that he might make me pregnant, and on that basis, I should have been trying to get his sperm out of me. I have heard that sperm can remain active inside a woman for some time so if pregnancy was my fear…?

Norton was gently caressing my breasts, and looking up at him, I gave a little laugh.

“Yes, darling, that’s where I gave you your first nourishment.”

He said, “You have nourished me for another hunger, now, my lovely mother.” He touched my breast again and said, “I knew you’d be beautiful.” He had never seen my breasts naked until now.

He leaned over me and took a nipple into his mouth, suckling very tenderly.

I lay with him at my breast, stroking his hair and murmuring my love for him.

I had never experienced a more exquisite moment in all my life. Our coupling and its aftermath ranked with his birth as supreme moments in my life.

Now, I not only loved my son, I was ”in love with him.” I loved him not only as a mother, but loved and desired him as a man…as my lover.

His hands began exploring my body, touching me as if I was a priceless art object. He kept saying, “You are so lovely.”

I was taking in his body with my eyes, the beauty of its muscularity, the sensitivity of his mouth, and those eyes, his father’s eyes, so brown and tender. I was on the sweet rack of love, longing to be stretched – to feel the exquisite agony of loving deeply and unconditionally.

His penis was slack between his legs, so I reached out to touch it, and almost immediately, it began to stiffen.

I broke off the wonderful moment saying, “Another swim, Norton,” and I flung myself into the pool. He followed.

His sperm flowed out of me, soon to be replaced. With Norton standing in the pool, I wrapped my legs round him, and I let myself slowly slide down him until his penis entered me. The water buoyed me up, and I moved on him, both of us gasping with passion. I had often had a fantasy of being taken in water like this, now it was with someone I adored more than anyone in my whole life.

He shot into me. I had no orgasm, but his mere presence inside me was enough.

When he had finished we still clung together, and he said, “I shall never leave you, mother.”

I think I knew that, and certainly, I was determined. My thought was “No other woman shall have him now. He is mine until death.”

That night I took him to my bed. During that night, I had my first experience of receiving instead of just giving, oral sex.

Norton began by kissing my lips, but then gradually explored my body with his kisses. He finally parted my legs and put his hands under my hips, raising my vagina, then pressing his lips to it.

I thought this was all there would be, a kiss, but then I felt his fingers part the outer lips to expose my inner lips. I felt his tongue enter me softly probing, striving to enter deeply.

I gave a little scream and putting my hands behind his head, I pulled him in tightly to me. After a while he freed himself from my grasp, and I felt him lift the little hood over my clitoris, then his tongue was swirling round it.

I think I went somewhere out into space. I was beside myself, and my little scream became a very loud one, tailing off into a wail of ecstacy.

I was holding his head to me again, and once more, the shaking began. He clung to my thighs, forcing me against his mouth. I heard myself shrieking, “Don’t stop, don’t stop…”

The orgasmic wave burst over me, plunging me into its depths, unresisting and helpless in its grasp. Loved and loving, I was an offering to the goddess of love.

The climactic moment passed, I began to surface. Norton was moving over me, his penis searching for my opening. I reached down with my hand and guided him in. I was physically sated by my orgasm, so I lay, relaxed, stroking his body and face, speaking of my love for him.

He came into me with almost the urgency of the first time. When it was over, we lay in each other’s arms, his now slack penis still lying against my cleft.

We slept in the peace of passion temporarily fulfilled.

I knew this would not stop now. The bond that had always been between us was now reinforced, confirmed, by our couplings. What had once come out from my body, had returned to it.

All of this was a reality, but the dawn brought with it other realities.

What was now to happen with what was left of my relationship with Alfred? Even token sex with him was now out of the question. A clean break with him? Try to remain whilst refusing him his “conjugal rights”?

The coward in me reasserted its self. I would wait and see.

Norton was appalled. “How can you stay with him after what we have had. You don’t love him. You’re little more than his housekeeper, now. You can’t let him touch you after what we have had.”

“Be patient, my love,” I said, trying to placate him. “There are practical matters that have to be dealt with before I can just walk out, and I promise you that there will be no sexual contact with him.”

The argument went on for some time, but finally he accepted the situation, knowing that we could come together frequently as Alfred was of on “business” more than ever now.

The first overcoming of my cowardice was when Alfred got back from his trip.

“Alfred, I shan’t be sleeping with you any more.”

My place in his life was clearly shown when he simply shrugged his shoulders and said, “Suit yourself.” My female ego would have liked him to make some protest, but there was none.

Norton and I continued our sexual activity, and we were in danger of settling down comfortably in what was otherwise a rather unsatisfactory situation. Had Norton been some man I had brought into the house I might not have bothered to hide it from Alfred, but Norton, my son!

The preachers tell us, “The wages of sin is death.” Well, the wages of unprotected sex, is pregnancy. Thus, I received my wages.

This was the turning point.

When I told Alfred that I was pregnant, he sneered. “Thought you might be a bit of a slut. Fits in with having your bastard. Well, that finishes it.”

And so it did. He did not even ask me who the father was. Not that I would have told him anyway.

Is it not strange that men like Alfred can see no harm in the “playing the field,” sexually speaking, but if their wife takes a lover, they are “a slut”?

I had not told Norton of my condition. I wanted to get the revelation to Alfred over first.

When I did tell him he did not seemed surprised or troubled.

“After what we’ve been doing, it’s hardly surprising, is it. How do you feel about it, mother?”

I had wanted to get my question in first, to find out how Norton felt about it. After all, it was yet another test of our relationship. Would he now decide to flee?

Having failed to ask first, I answered as carefully as I could, and turned the question around.

“There are two people plus one involved, Norton, one cannot yet express an opinion. How do you feel about it?”

“Bloody wonderful,” he said. “Only trouble is, at this stage I don’t see how I can support a wife…I mean…you and a child.”

I laughed. “If that’s all that’s worrying you, there’s no problem. You know very well your grandparents left me well provided for.”

“Yes, but a man should support…”

“Don’t be so nineteenth century, Norton,” I laughed. “There’ll be plenty of time for you to satisfy your male ego. After all, if I have my way, you’ll have more than one child to support in the future.”

When the dust of divorce settled, I retained the house after doing what they call “paying out” Alfred. Norton and I continued to live there, together with Alice, when she arrived, followed by Robert and Sally.

For those interested, in his mid fifties, Alfred married a nineteen-year-old girl. I hope she can make a better go of it than I did.

Norton and I have lost nothing of the love that we experienced the day he “raped” me. If, however, you might be questioning not only the incestuous nature of our loving, but also the age gap, then I quote Norton. “Alfred was more than twenty years older than you when you married him. There’s only fifteen years between us.”

I stood with the Internet paper in my hand. I gave thanks that he had put his question. Without that and the response, we might never have come together.