Eternally Bound Pt. 02

CHAPTER 12 - THE PITCH

The day of my Human Sexuality class presentation finally arrived. Everything I had learned about this mysterious lifestyle was now going to be articulated in an open, and hopefully non-hostile, environment. My spin on the topic would be "opening minds" and trying to let go of what we were taught, and my argument was: Who are we to judge others?

I was feeling especially hopeful on this bright winter day because the next morning I would be westward bound to see the woman I was deeply in love with.

"Genetic sexual attraction," I began. "A loaded phrase, isn't it?" A few classmates laughed. I could sense that this was going to be a long day for everyone, since the subject invoked such strong opinions and viewpoints.

"Value accrues over time," I began. "In terms of relationships, which people in our circles do we place the most value on? It's often the ones we have known the longest. Think about it-our parents, our family."

As I delved into the presentation, I cited several fascinating findings that my questionnaire revealed. I had taken care to survey as wide a range of people as possible; my respondents were multi-generational, multi-racial and ranged in age from 21 to 54. There was also some variety regarding sexual orientation, with 65% of those polled identifying as heterosexual and 35% as homosexual. Of the 35 people who responded to my questionnaire, 28 of them said they had, at one time or another, considered a relative sexually attractive. More than half of the heterosexual respondents admitted to having some type of consensual sexual or intimate relationship with a family member. This was the case for less than half of the homosexual respondents.

"So what does this say about us?" I asked. "Data can be twisted to support or deny any position. Does this mean we're all a bunch of perverts? Freaks? Absolutely not. Let's look at the proper context of our society now versus, for example, 100 years ago, back when we were an agricultural based society. Einstein married his 1st cousin. In fact, 1st-cousin marriages were commonplace throughout the world. In some developing countries, a rite of passage for the males in some tribes is the successful breeding of his own mother. In fact, it's expected."

I felt a pang in my stomach as I envisioned Mom swimming in our pool in the late afternoon sun.

"But who are we to pass judgement on what's right or wrong? Are we tied to sloppily translated text from the Bronze Age, written in the most illiterate region of the Middle East? In answer to that, I pose another question for you: Would you treat a headache with a Bronze Age medical treatment like drilling holes in your head? Or would you go with a more current treatment plan?"

I felt I had a strong argument, but needed to make it a grand slam.

"Guilt and sex have been bedmates for centuries," I continued. "A more contemporary approach is that if no adult is being hurt, coerced or injured, then adults should be able to do as they wish. Look at the current debate about homosexual rights. Look at how hard it is for some people to let go of their religious teachings regarding that issue. But the overwhelming majority now favors equal treatment and fairness for all sexual orientations without believing they will be punished with eternal damnation."

I then went on to present the data I had collected. "I conducted research for this presentation in the form of a questionnaire. I found that adults who had a previous romantic and/or sexual attraction to family members in their youth were twice as likely to consent to a future relationship with a family member as adults."

The class fell silent. In the back of the room, I saw Shannon smile.

"A 2013 study conducted by the Harvard Research Institute polled 100 married couples in the previous year, asking if their sexual relationships had improved or declined since marrying. Over 90 percent said their sex lives diminished considerably. In comprehensive questioning and analysis, more than half of the couples admitted strong curiosities for incestuous roleplay, citing the forbidden element of sex that had made the possibility so intriguing.

My presentation delved into not just incest, but also examined the thought processes behind the morals handed down to us by our parents and authority figures. My goal was to weave the class through a well-thought-out and logical presentation of facts compared to myths. Of the sparse facts on incestuous romance I was able to find throughout history, I circled back to highlight the romantic taboos that existed at various times throughout human history. My most persuasive argument was based on an extraordinary case in the 19th century where an 18-year-old English son took the hand of his 32-year-old mother in marriage. Hounded by his peers and the police, the son happened to be a lawyer and defended his marriage all the way to the highest court of England. He was, however, ultimately unsuccessful and spent three years in prison under hard labor while his mother awaited his release. Upon their reunion, the man and wife left England for a life in America to raise the two children they had conceived together.

While on the issue of offspring, I spoke directly to the urban myth that all children born from incestuous relationships were born disfigured, or with severe emotional or physical disorders. I cited studies from the New England Journal of Medicine and Stanford University, emphasizing that their findings showed absolutely no proof of any physical or mental issues from children born from people of any close relations.

At the end of my 17-minute presentation, I was applauded by a very delighted Shannon and a few enlightened students. Shannon mouthed "A plus" while making a thumbs-up sign as I sat down. I felt I knocked it out of the park, but in the back of my head the real examination would come in three more days when I faced the muse for my presentation.

"I wish she had been here to hear this," I thought. It would have had a stronger impact on mom in an academic setting. Then I remembered that Shannon had all her classes video-recorded for the benefit of her online students. An idea quickly formed: Maybe I could leave this video conveniently open on my tablet or laptop sometime over Christmas break for Mom to stumble across.

If my presentation did anything for me it was to confirm my belief that I had to act. I knew I would be risking alienating a woman who had come to mean so much to me.

CHAPTER 13 - COMING HOME

She waited for me at the passenger arrival area, patient and sure. I sighed at the mere sight of her, the most beautiful woman I had ever known: My mother, Beth Monroe. Her gorgeous 5'7" hourglass frame was accentuated with a cascading mane of long golden hair that was as lush now as it was when she gave me life 20 years ago at the tender age of 17. Mom squealed in delight upon seeing me, her glowing smile as warm and as captivating as ever. She threw her arms wide open in joy as she ran toward me for a hug. I dropped all my fears and laughed; Mom's delight was always contagious, always making me happy no matter what.

Closing my eyes, I held her tight as I savored the orchid-scented fragrance of her soft, flowing hair. I loved how Mom fit in my arms, and this hug was extra special considering the emotional spectrum I had been pulled across since the semester started.

We finally pulled apart and made our way to the baggage area as we caught up on life and school. Thankfully, the crushing weight of worry and dread had evaporated. It was great to be home again in San Diego, in the sun and splendid weather. As much as I tried to be "normal" around Mom, inside I was fondly gazing at her through the lens of a long-lost lover. I admired her self-assured stride as we made our way to the car, noticing the breeze wafting through her golden strands of hair. My stomach knotted as I watched her hips sway from side to side with each step. She wore especially tight, expensive designer jeans, stylish Dingo cowboy boots, and a sleeveless white blouse that perfectly said "free-wheeling, hip mom" all the way. I had to look away as I noted how the jeans accentuated the long, flowing curves of her thighs and her full, ripe backside. "Fuckin' shit," I mumbled under my breath as I looked at her pear-shaped ass, taking special note of the long, sweet taper down to her thick thighs. I quickly imagined my fingers digging into those succulent thighs, a man hell-bent on marking his woman... This was a key point I had made in my presentation-the innermost primal need of all men, the insatiable fire within a man to breed with his chosen woman. As Shannon said, most guys are not aware of it but sense it when they are sliding in and out of their woman. It's pure instinct, raw and in its most primal form.

While Mom drove us home my phone suddenly beeped. A text from Shannon.

"How does she look?" she asked.

"Absolutely amazing," I replied.

We arrived home, and I unpacked my bags and settled into my old bedroom.

Mom had been able to keep the house after she and dad split. A nice monthly "maintenance" payment from dad made it unnecessary for her to work, but she did part-time hours anyway at a friend's law firm. She was all alone in our five-bedroom house in the La Jolla part of San Diego. It had been that way since I graduated high school, but she kept busy with her trips to the gym, with running and with being the social butterfly she was. Since I was an only child, Mom had a lot of free time to do what she wanted.

Mom bounced into my room in the late afternoon announcing that she had news, twirling around the door frame like a teenaged girl. Her long golden hair flung about, flooding my nose with its delightful scent.

"Hey stud muffin," she quipped.

"Hey Mom, wazz up?" I replied with a warm smile.

"Have those hot buns in your Sunday best by 5:30-we're going to the Wharf tonight for some din-din."

I did my best to ignore her compliment, trying to pretend I hadn't heard it. "Cool, I love that place!"

"Yeah, I kinda thought it would be nice for you, being home and all," she continued, taking a step into my room.

Then, changing the subject, she said "Hey, I wanted to show you something," and held her palm out to me.

"What is it?"

I looked down to see a thin, gold ring in her hand. It was a cheap ring with several dents and scratches on it. But, judging by the warm smile on Mom's face, the sentimental value of it far exceeded the value of the ring itself.

"The ring my cousin gave me, remember?"

I had almost forgotten about the promise ring.

"Oh yeah!" I replied happily. "That's really it, huh? You found it?"

"Yep," she said, raising her eyes from the ring to meet my intense gaze. "Right where I left it."

I reached out my hand to take it, looking into Mom's sapphire eyes with a quick lift of my eyebrows to ask if I could touch it. She nodded yes.

"Wow, look at that," I breathed. "Probably cost a fortune for him to get."

"Yeah," she answered. "But worth every penny."

We both smiled. I felt a warm glow from the forbidden intentions associated with the ring, and I think Mom did too.

"Aw come on, Mom," I said. "You should really give him a call. Or at least Facebook him."

Her lovely smile faded as she shook her head no. A long sigh followed.

"It would do more harm than good," she said. "He's married."

"At least let him know you still love him." I replied.

"A youthful fling," she shot back. "It's different when you're older."

"But real," I said. "First loves are always the most important."

"Sometimes, yeah," she said, tilting her head slightly.

"The love of your life, isn't he?"

Mom snatched the ring from my fingertips. "That, young man," she said with a sly grin, "is none of your business."

With a quick kiss on the lips, Mom bounced out of the room.

"5:30 babe. Be ready." She sauntered down the hallway.

I blinked twice, having never been kissed like that by Mom before. It was a simple enough kiss, but was something new and unexpected. I stood there bewildered and amazed. Wow.

"Mom just gave me the sweetest kiss on the lips," I texted Shannon. "It was a harmless little one, but still awesome."

I spent the following 10 minutes trying to downplay the kiss, relying on Shannon's persistent coaching to keep my libido in check.

"Go enjoy the time with your mother," texted Shannon. "Win her heart, Romeo."

Dinner with Mom was wonderful. She wore a gorgeous sleeveless, knee-length black dress, and I had on a sharp button-down with ironed slacks. I felt confident walking alongside her up to the front doors of the Wharf. The restaurant, situated right on San Diego harbor across from all the yachts and the USS Midway, had been one of my favorites since my senior prom. It was the place I would have taken Mom to as my prom date, had it happened.

The sun was setting and I truly felt there was love blossoming between the two of us. Mom held my arm as I opened the doors for her, adoring her as the lady she truly was. I held her hand close to me as we gave the staff our name then made our way outside to the deck to wait for our table. The view of the harbor was breathtaking. Several times I stopped to gaze at the beautiful woman beside me as the golden evening sunlight kissed the statuesque contours of her lovely face. Mom was one of those women who could have and should have been a model. Men and women paid attention to her everywhere she went, but she never let her looks give her a big head.

"I love this place," I said to her. "This is where I would have taken you for prom."

Mom turned, giving me a piercing look. I could tell she had not forgotten that lost opportunity. "Mr. and Mrs. Monroe?" called the hostess. "Your table is ready."

Mom and I were snapped back to reality, caught off guard by the "Mr. & Mrs." title.

"Well, honey, that's us," Mom said as we shared a smile. She took my arm again as we made our way to our table. I did my best to laugh it off, but inside my heart was racing faster than a thoroughbred during the Triple Crown. I absolutely loved the fact that a complete stranger took my mother and I for husband and wife. I wanted to scream for joy.

We caught up on all of the news in the family and all the drama within her quirky social cliques. I intentionally steered our conversation away from Derin, Shannon and the questionnaire for most of the night until she brought it up after our entrees were finished.

"So, tell me about her," Mom started, leaning forward on her elbows. "Tell me everything!"

"Well, gee, I mean..." I stammered.

"And when did you get into older women, Mister?" she asked.

"Uhhh, hello, I've always been into older women, Mom," I replied teasingly. "I didn't even want to take Shawn to the prom, remember?"

She nodded slowly. "Ooooh that's right. I remember now."

"Didn't you talk me out of it because it would have raised too many questions at school."

"Yeah, that would have been a mess." A pause. "So what's her name? Shannon?"

"Yeah," I said.

"What does she look like?"

"Her skin is the purist shade of white. And she has long red hair."

"Ahhh, a ginger lover. I thought you liked blondes."

"I'll always have a soft spot for blondes."

A telling grin crept across Mom's face, illuminated by the low candlelight at our table. My heart ached at the beauty of her golden magnificence.

I showed Mom a picture of Shannon on my phone.

"Nice."

I wasn't about to have this be all about me.

"What about you?" I asked. "I mean, don't you get lonely?"

"Sometimes," she said, sipping her red wine. I watched Mom's long, graceful fingers cradle her wine glass. Even that looked sexy as hell with her manicured nails.

"Life's been a little dull between the sheets," she added. "Then add that to the questionnaire you sent, and it just... I don't know."

"I know, a little weird." "Exactly. Then I spill the beans about the whole Derin thing and show you our ring..."

"Hey, Mom," I said in my best reassuring voice. "It's alright. Really. There's nothing to be ashamed of here."

"I know," she said, but I saw her eyes glisten with tears. "Part of me just wishes you never grew up. That you could always stay little, and yet... well, you know."

"I know. It's okay," I said, placing both of my hands over hers.

I felt we were making good headway. As much as I didn't want to burden Mom with my own feelings, I felt that my efforts were beginning to chip away at the remaining barriers between her and me. It was so much to come to terms with: 20 years of a healthy mother-son relationship could change overnight.

I got the impression Mom wanted to blurt out "Why isn't that older woman me?" I could pick up that look in her eyes and body language. I instinctively knew her moods and could always gauge her temperature on things. As her son, I had that unfair advantage over all other potential suitors. My hands moved ever so lightly across the tops of her soft fingers. Mom's face froze, staring at our hands. Her mouth fell open as she watched my index finger trace her thumb.

"It's okay, Mom," I whispered lovingly.

"More wine?" We had been too wrapped up in each other to hear the waitress approaching our table.

Mom pulled her hands away, as if busted by her parents for going too far on a first date.

"Yeah, actually. That sounds good. You, honey?" she asked with artificial cheerfulness.

"Oh sure, why not?"

I wasn't sure if the tension was negative or positive, but it was undeniably there. I had never seen Mom this flustered before. My brief assurances had done little to ease her mind, so hopefully the wine would do the trick. My intuition told me to step back and push the proverbial elephant out of the room for the moment. I could almost hear Shannon cautioning me: "Easy, big boy. Easy."

I instantly steered the conversation back to Shannon, and within a few minutes Mom was back to her normal self, albeit with a little more wine in her. I held off on the drinks as we finished dinner and drove back to the house, where I had to help Mom inside. I got a little too close for comfort when I lifted her out of the car, feeling her large breasts press against my chest. The luscious fragrance of her hair and perfume momentarily paralyzed me, and I took a deep breath to shake it off. As I lifted Mom out of the car, her mouth brushed across my face and neck, and her breath warmed my skin.

"Ooooh," she whispered in what I could sense was a whisper of arousal.

I fought off my own arousal and neither of us spoke as I carried Mom inside and up the stairs to her bedroom, but I felt like a groom carrying his bride on their wedding night. With her arms draped around me, I felt suddenly empowered. My emotions were more intense in those moments than anything I had previously felt in my 20 years. Mom had already passed out as I lay her down on her bed. I lovingly tucked her pillow beneath her head and pulled the blankets up to her chest, then stopped to admire her peaceful slumber. Just as she had tucked me in me years before, I was now the one tending to her. The role reversal made me love her even more. I leaned over, kissing her forehead.

"Goodnight, Mother," I whispered. "My love."

The next day Mom got up after noon, disheveled and hungover. It was sad to see her in so much pain. I quickly helped out with some Advil and hot breakfast for her. I also gave her my Colts jersey to wear as it was big and comfortable and swallowed her curvaceous frame. "I didn't do anything I'll regret, did I?" she asked, groggy and sore. "Nothing worth repeating."

"Gee, thanks," she murmured as she sat at the table.

I held Mom's tangled hair back from her face so she could sip her coffee. Sitting beside her, I gently rubbed her back in long, soothing strokes. "Oh, honey," she protested. "You don't have to tend to me like I'm some granny. I'll be fine."