Dreamworld

This is another mother/son incest story, so please be aware. It is also a next part in a continuing saga involving me trying to understand that which lies beneath and is hidden from sight and yet which colors and perfumes everything.

Please be aware that some of you may feel a bit uncomfortable reading this.

*

At 4.30am I step out of my city apartment and into my low dark car, fire it up, and roll off into the fog and out of sight. At this time of the morning the city is a brooding sullen thing - its black towers loom over me, its shopfronts are bleak and lifeless and its parks are desolate. The city seems to be on fire in the murk, as if the fog were a smoke rising from the slick wet streets and the rainwater drains. It's a smoke which curls sullenly around the skyscrapers and pervades the parks, turning the trees into ghostly silhouettes under the gloomy street lights. By 5.30am I am clear of the city and the fog and am racing along the coastal road with the thin golden line of daybreak exploding on the horizon to my right. The dawn spreads its warm coral touch across a dark plum sea -- I can see the early morning light appearing upon the churning surface of the water as I drive around the coastline.

I am driving north and am expecting to be on the road for five hours or more. I will keep close to the coastline most of the way, passing through small seaside villages, clinging precariously to the steep undulating hillside to my left. Those places are rather wonderful to visit as they feature the most stunning sort of scenery and all sorts of unusual cottages industries, but I am really keen to just drive and get to my destination as soon as I can, so no stopping today. The second part of my journey will take place after following the northern coastal road for about four hours. I will take the turn off to my left and leave the thundering glittering sea behind me and take to the long winding road west and travel on it for just over an hour. Then at the end I will be home.

I am not sleeping very well at the moment and am hoping this trip will help me. I seem to be constantly falling into shadowy dreams, some of which make no sense to me or else cause me to wake with a start, my bedsheets soaked with perspiration and my heart pounding in my chest. Other times I am haunted by images from my past which force their way into my mind and demand my attention. I'm not completely sure why these dreams and images are present, but I'm hoping this trip home can provide me with some answers. All my dreams and images concern my mother.

Sometimes I see an image of my mother in her bedroom with the windows open and the lace curtains rolling and unfurling in the early afternoon breeze. The sunlight is streaming in and she is standing in her room, dressed in her translucent sundress and she is smiling at me invitingly and yet somehow enigmatically, as if she had something important to impart to me. I can see her soft brown hair about her shoulders and her dark eyes -- she looks ephemeral, captured by that light -- she looks like she could dissolve before my eyes and slip away formless, her essence dissipating in the humid air. I can see the shape of her beautiful body through her dress, the curve of her large breasts and her broad hips, her abdomen and her thick limbs. It's the strangest sort of image to hold as if it were a sort of symbol or sign I cannot quite decipher.

Then at other times I awake from dreams which stun me and leave me confused and angry. I have never been this jealous when it came to my mother, but I am now.

I dream of my mother walking down to the waterline by the lake behind our home in the reserve. It is late at night and the whole lake and surrounding fields are caught in a silvery glow of moonlight. It seems as if a dark violet wash were applied to the skyline by hand, a rich color only punctuated by the moon and an almost infinite constellation of sparkling points -- a vast sweep of stars across that strange sky. In my dreams I imagine the moon is an enormous shining orb dominating the horizon and its face is upon the water of the lake. I am somehow always expecting something dark to come crawling and creeping out of the water -- it never does, but I cannot quite shake the feeling that something will.

My mother stops at the waterline and takes off her clothes, carefully placing each item in a neat pile at her feet. She then stands there looking out across the lake, which seems at first endlessly wide, the far bank nowhere in sight. But then a moment later the far bank forms itself out of the darkness and I can see that my mother is watching a blinding yellow glow in the distance, on the other side of the lake. There are people there, a horde of young men, who seem to dance and cavort like black shadows against the blazing yellow firelight. My mother can see them and I sense that she wants to join them -- she is naked and she wants to join them on the other side of the lake. I'm not sure why I have this dream disturbing my sleep or why it alarms and angers me so much.

The surface of the lake is like glass as if it were solid, a shining flawless darkness. Owls with large bright eyes look down at my mother and the lake from tree tops, large silent lizards lie on their bellies and look out from the edge of the tall grass and study the situation endlessly and I just stare at all of it unnoticed. My mother descends into the water naked. The water ripples slowly outwards as she sweeps forward and disappears from sight, her body plunging beneath the surface of the lake. A moment later her head emerges and she begins to swim towards the far shore where the young males are.

She steps out of the water on the other side of the lake unnoticed by the males above. I am afraid for her as she makes her way along a narrow path of sand which winds from the waterline to the campsite above. She looks so beautiful as she carefully picks her way, as if she were a silvery ghost with slick streaming hair, the water running and beading on her skin. My mother actually steps into the middle of the young male's campsite and a dozen sets of predatory eyes slowly turn in her direction and the roar of voices and movement comes to a halt. She breathes hard, allowing herself to be captured -- the hungry young men will fuck her all night. And that seems to be what she wants. I wake up from this dream disorientated with my heart pounding. I don't know why I dream this - it is something I am hoping to figure out.

I decide to stop once before the turnoff towards home. I park in a spot above the thundering sea, get out of my car and stand and look towards the horizon. Sea birds wheel about above me and squawk aggressively. Below me I can see the ocean come crashing in and blast against the dark rocks, sending white spray high into the air. Old fishermen stand about, throwing lines in and dragging fish from the sea and noisy dogs scamper and leap into the ferocious water and float back and forth. I eat some lunch I brought along and then climb back into my car and drive on.

I think I possess a reasonable amount of self awareness. I mean I don't think I'm completely thick headed. Lately I have been engaging in philosophical speculation. I believe in perspectives, interpretation and relativism and I think looking at things that way may be useful when trying to figure out why I am dreaming about my mother in the way I am. I mean I'm not necessarily a highly moral person - I don't necessarily interpret everything as the moral majority believes I should. I don't demand that every person accept the meaning I attach to something and I don't punish people for their views, particularly if they're not really hurting anyone. Does this make sense?

I don't know what's happening to me? I think I am falling in love with my mother.

I have reached the turnoff and I make the turn and am now driving fast down a narrow and poorly maintained road with lines of overhanging trees and tangled shrubs on either side. It is almost as if I were flying through a winding organic tunnel, as if I were being pulled inside, deep inside, being sucked along. This road is like a sort of green vein which draws me in towards the heart.

I am sure the house I grew up in hasn't changed all that much during the time I have been away, and I am sure my mother hasn't changed that much either, but for a moment I can't quite shake the feeling that my mother can see me from miles away and that the house is entirely different. I think my mother can see me from a great distance and is causing my car to be dragged towards her through her magic. It is the strangest sensation and completely irrational I know. But then there are more irrational elements present in this unusual trip: why is it that I have packed a car boot full of suitcases as if I were travelling overseas for six months, when I am only visiting my mother for the weekend and why is the back seat filled with boxes of my stuff? Why have I paid up all my rent and the bills as if I were preparing myself to move out of my apartment?

The hour I drive the narrow winding road ends too soon - I slowly turn off the road and the car loses traction for a moment in the soggy mud, then it catches and I begin to slowly make my way down the leave strewn lane towards the house, past the dilapidated fence line and through the slowly crumbling gate. The house emerges from behind the surrounding trees as if it was a shy thing -- I am finally home.

I don't know why my heart is pounding and my penis is quickly growing in my pants. I bring the car to a stop in front of the house and shut it down and I am enveloped in complete quiet. As a kid this profound quiet never bothered me, but it seems to scream at me now, after a few years of living in the city with all its rage and noise. I am looking up at the worn porch, at the front door and then I get out of the car.

Lush dark woods have encroached upon the property line as if the surrounding trees were engaged in some form of tactical warfare and were slowly advancing, readying themselves to devour the entire dwelling, my mother with it. The house needs a coat of color - the bare wood is showing in parts and the faded white paint is cracking. The stone walls are intact, but are blackened and moss covered from the warm streaming water which appears with the twilight rain and is then slowly boiled in the languid daytime heat. I can see the porch is starting to slump and the roof tiles look worn, pale and stressed. My mother just can't keep up with all the repairs needed, and I of course am ready to be all gallant and just step in and save the day, save the house and save my mother. Am I looking for an excuse to throw in my job, my city apartment and move back home?

I can understand the not keeping up part. This house is located in a steamy perspiring place -- trying to get something done here is difficult as the whole environment seems to resent and resist anyone making any sort of effort -- all you really seem to be able to do here is lie down or wander slowly about or take your clothes off and swim in the lake. The leaves on the trees are limp in the quiet tropical heat, the bright flowers hang lifelessly and the predators hide in waiting, expending the least amount of effort possible. And I stand there looking at my mother's house, the sweat popping from my skin, my penis obviously and uncomfortably erect.

This place is perfect for fucking. It rarely gets cold here and the breezes fill the open house with heat and the rich earthy scent of flowers and dark soil. There is not much to do here as town is miles away and there are few neighbors about and my mother refuses to keep a television or a computer. One can take long walks here or swim for sure; one can read or sleep, but these activities become rather tame after a while. What one can do though is have plenty of sex -- it is the one type of effort that the environment doesn't seem to resent. My mother and I both love sex -- it's just one of those collective passions, passed on through the genes, which you share with your parents. When I was younger I used to love listening to my mother have sex with her boyfriends. My father had died a few years before and I was over 18 so I didn't feel uncomfortable about listening in. I myself had my own girlfriends anyway, whom I was enjoying in the back seat of my car in the most secluded parts of the marshlands.

Strange how my thoughts turn back towards my mother and sex -- anyway I remember it all fondly. She was in the prime of her life -- a truly beautiful woman with dark curly brown hair, dark brown eyes and a curvaceous dark brown body, a great attractive smile and a soft deep meandering voice. She attracted men to her easily and she always had a new boyfriend or two -- I got to meet them all. There were always plenty of smiling faces and a lot of knowing laughter around my place.

I could never forget the sounds coming from the bedroom next door to mine -- my mother really knew how to make all her boyfriends happy. I can remember the soft encouraging sound of her voice and the regular creak of her bed late at night or early in the morning as the sunlight crept in under my blinds. I can remember the sounds of whimpering young males as my mother worshipped and dominated their trembling bodies in the most selfless sort of way, or listened in as she took much older men into her bed and grew all submissive beneath them. Unfortunately, I never had a chance to watch my mother have sex, so maybe I'm guessing a bit when it comes to what she really did or didn't do. She never would have allowed me to watch, but she knew I was listening in though and didn't mind that. I liked to tease her sometimes.

"You sounded like you had a fun night, last night," I would say with a smile.

"Oh, you get out of here and you just block your ears at night," she would retort smiling, "now out of my kitchen."

"Oh mom it sounded crazy."

"Out of here now boy and don't you go telling anyone what you heard!"

That bedroom became a sort of sacred place. My own meager sex life in the back seat of my car couldn't compete with the pleasure taking place behind closed doors in that big creaky bed most nights. There were the sounds of men reaching orgasm and their booming voices filled my ears and there were the sounds of my mother as she climaxed -- it was the only time I ever heard my mother sound urgent and intense. I will never forget her voice as she came: it was thick, deep and demanding.

My mother has opened the door, descended the stairs and is coming towards me. I suddenly realize why I have just dropped everything and have made this trip; I understand why I am dreaming of my mother constantly -- I realize I really am in love with her as soon as I see her. She is walking towards me with open arms and a smile on her face. I wonder whether I should kiss her on the lips or not. I enter her warm embrace and put my arms around her, closing my eyes while she presses up against me - I kiss her hair and her cheek softly. My mother's mouth is there to be kissed for a moment, if I want to -- surely she wouldn't mind. I am ready to do it, but my mother pulls away from me with soft laughter, slipping from our hug, her eyes dropping to my bulging crotch for a split second.

"Welcome home baby, let's get you inside."

"I brought a lot of luggage this time mom. I hope there's room for it"

"You sure did baby; sure is large, but I have enough room inside. You should know that."

I smile at my mother and pick up my luggage and together we go inside. The house looks smaller than I imagined -- it is all narrow corridors and nooks and crannies. I enter my old bedroom and am astounded by the size. I drop my luggage on the floor and look down at the old narrow wooden bed I used to sleep in -- it is as worn as everything else in this bedroom. The free standing wardrobe and set of drawers are chipped and my old study desk is faded and scratched.

"Wow, it's so narrow mom; I hope I can sleep in it tonight."

"Yeah, you're a man now honey, so it will be a bit small for you."

"I'm just wondering if there's somewhere else I can sleep tonight?"

"Hmmm, let me think about it baby, we may be able to come up with something," my mother says with a smile. "We'll leave your stuff in here for the time being; now c'mon I'm ready for some coffee."

We desert my old bedroom and walk past my mother's bedroom and turn and then enter the kitchen. I sit down at the dinner table and watch her as she moves about, filling the kettle with water and reaching for cups. She is gorgeous looking woman.

"Are you ready for some coffee honey? Are you hungry? What do you want to eat?"

"Just coffee mom, I'll get hungry later on I'm sure, then I'll eat whatever you give me."

"You just better watch yourself honey or I might just eat you up," my mother exclaims happily as she spoons coffee and sugar into our cups and produces the milk and gives it a shake.

"So have you got a new boyfriend?"

"Oh baby, don't talk to me about that," she says laughing, "men are no good for me -- I am swearing off them."

"Really?"

"Well maybe I have one or two, but I am giving them up," she admits.

"I knew it," I say with a smile, feeling jealous.

"But they don't come around as much anymore -- while you're here I won't..."

"Yeah mom, I'm here now," I say gently, but firmly.

"Yeah, you sure are."

My mother brings the cups of coffee to the table and sits down. She purses her lips while cradling her cup in her hands and gently blows.

"It's going to be another hot one today baby."

"Yeah, it already is -- I'm feeling a bit hot now."

"All hot and bothered are you? It's a big drive."

"Yes, we should go swimming mom."

"Yeah, if you want," she says.

We sit there drinking our coffee and exchanging small talk about my life. My mother insists on knowing everything about me -- she thinks my job is too hard and busy, that my apartment is no good because it's in the heartless city and she looks annoyed when I tell her about my occasional girlfriends. I assure her I'm not seeing anyone at the moment though and smiles again. She then tells me about her life. I still want to kiss her.

The wet heat billows and everything cooks as the day continues. The house creaks, as its composition seems to change from the effect of the sun clobbering the roof and walls. Outside the door the grass looks limp and wet and even the trees seem to droop.

"Baby, I don't know how you'll sleep in there tonight," my mother says "I only have one fan and that old air conditioner doesn't work anymore. It'll be like a sauna in here."

"Mom, maybe I should sleep with you tonight?"

I can't quite believe I just asked that and normally I would expect my mother to laugh the idea off and just say no.

"Yes okay honey," she says solemnly, "let's move your stuff into my room then. Your wardrobe is far too small for everything anyway."

We get all studious so we can get past our awkwardness. My mother directs the operation, helping me to unpack all my clothing, lay it out on the big bed and then put it away carefully in the closet. She gives me drawer space for my t-shirts, socks and underwear. I keep looking at my mother's bed -- I can't wait to slip between those sheets and take her in my arms.

We decide to go swimming in the late afternoon before dinner. We walk side by side though the dark foliage, across the rich pungent earth, hand in hand and saying little. The sky is growing darker as banks of rain clouds roll slowly into place above us and the tropical oven grows even more silent, mysterious and humid. The perspiration runs down my mother's body -- it beads on her face and trickles between her large breasts; it shines on her belly and thighs. I'm sure my mother can see how much I want her; surely she can see the clear outline of my penis through my swimmers.