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In this story the author examines another of the endless variations in sexual behaviour that makes human sexuality a subject of such fascination.
The modern developed world petty much accepts sexual relations between consenting adults whatever forms they take to be variations of the normal. There is no place for such terms as sexual perversity that were once in common use. As studies progress behavioural scientists are accepting more and more of the numerous variations, some of them quite bizarre, in the classified list of what they call paraphilias.
Just because they are variations of the normal it does not follow that being a paraphiliac is without concern. Exhibitionism, a common paraphilia, unfortunately often involves third parties and that brings it to the notice of law. There are others that are closet activities between consenting adults but nevertheless can cause problems of different sorts. In the story that follows we examine one such paraphilia.
I am Ruth. I am 37 years old. I have a strange story to tell. Some may find parts of the story unpleasant. It is but fair that I warn squeamish readers to stay away; but I assure them that they will thereby be missing a glimpse into one of the many fascinating facets human sexual experiences abound in.
My husband, my two year old son, and I came as immigrants to the U.S.18 years ago from a part of the Euro-Asian continent that is not quite European and not quite Asian. We were well off because my husband was an expert in maintaining electric motors and in the States he found good value for his services. He passed away a year ago.
After my husband’s passing I have no money problem but I am very lonely. I do not have friends, only acquaintances. In spite of 18 years in the States we never melted into the community. I have not learnt to speak English the American way. Though heavily accented it is still the English that the English speak. I always spoke our native language to my husband and my son knows it too and often we speak in that tongue. No doubt my accent persists. Incidentally American readers will have to bear with my language that they may find uncomfortable. I cannot help it.
My son did very well in school and is in college on a scholarship. Like his father he likes engineering.
One afternoon my son, who is twenty years old, came and sat down by my side on the sofa.
“Mom, are you OK today,” he asked.
“What do you mean OK today. I am OK today, yesterday and the day before too,” I said with some heat.
“The day before, yes but not yesterday; it was the first day of your periods.”
I looked up from the magazine I was reading. My son met my eyes without even a blink.
“What’s wrong with you Seth, every month for the past six months or so you are passing some comment or other during my periods. It’s a personal thing for a woman in which men are not supposed to get interested, least of all the son.”
“Your Dad never even mentioned it.”
“But he stayed away from you on those days.”
“Stop Seth. That’s enough.”
“I cannot understand why you women are so sensitive about something that is normal physiology.”
“With what other women in their periods did you discuss this topic?”
“Your girl friend?”
“Correction, former girl friend. Well I never hugged or kissed her with feeling. I just did it because she expected me to. I got an intense desire to hug and kiss only when I knew she had her periods. She said she was unwell for a day and the next day I knew the problem from her body language or maybe some sixth sense told me. I wanted to hug and kiss but she would not allow me. I got angry. ‘Why are you making so much fuss, after all it is only blood that is coming out,’ I said. I was in a parked car when I said that. You know what she did? She kicked me out, that’s what she did; literally kicked me out. I rolled out of the car. She took off without bothering to help me up.”
“Susan?” Susan was his friend before Lori came into his life.
“Same thing Mom. I was watching TV in her house. I was burning with desire for her that day for she was having her periods. She was giving broad hints that she would prefer to be without my company. ‘Darling,’ I said and slid closer to her. ‘Not today Seth,’ she said. ‘Why not Susie, why are you making a fuss about a bit of bleeding,’ I said. She there upon got up and showed me the door. ‘Don’t see me again,’ she said.
“Interesting Mom? Your only fatherless child is in such a tragic situation and you find it interesting!”
“You will get over it in due course.”
“That’s correct, when I am eighty? Look here Mom you know nothing about these paraphilias. The books tell me that they stick like leeches.”
“Paraphilia? The word is new to me.”
“I’ll explain. I know a lot about it. The sight of a nude woman will arouse most men. That’s normal. An erotic story would and that is normal too. Handling a woman’s knickers kartal escort bayan arouses some men. That’s not quite normal but is not too abnormal. When nothing but woman’s knickers can arouse a man he has a problem. These men are paraphiliacs. Sadism, masochism are examples. There are more than 500 described paraphilias. Scientists have given names for these. We need not bother to know them as many are tongue twisters.”
Seth would have studied in depth. He always does.
“Where do you come in?” I asked
“I am a sufferer from Menophilia.”
“The name for my paraphilia. Women in periods arouse me.”
“Even if it the mother.”
“So it appears.”
“So what do you want?” He would not reply. I waited. The he did.
“I want to change your menstrual pad,” he said. I got up and physically pushed him out of the room and closed and latched the door. Soon I heard him drive off.
I was feeling faint. I sank on the sofa. I had a lot of self analysis to do. My mood was so strange that it surprised me. I was not annoyed; I was not worried that my son had a serious problem. I had no doubt that he would get over a youthful fancy for after all he was only twenty. What surprised me was that I was sexually excited. The very thought that my son wants me to bare myself before him for whatever reason made me tingle with pleasure. The fact of the matter was that I was tinder dry for sex ever since my husband passed away a year ago. From then on I have led a sex free life. At 37 I did not consider myself old enough not to have sex on a regular basis. Anyway I was sex dry and ready to soak up any moisture that came my way.
My son was my fantasy object. That is no surprise for he was the only adult male I was in close contact with. I always avoided thinking of Seth while masturbating but while climaxing his thoughts will fill me willy-nilly. I used to feel guilty about it but I could never get over it. I of course was not sharing my thoughts with him, but now that he himself was suggesting it I was all for it. The country of my origin was somewhat primitive and to us everything about menstruating was unclean. I shared that view but suddenly now that a way out of my sexual frustration was opening up I was seeing my periods in a different light. I tended to agree with Seth. After all blood is clean. What should my answer be if my son once again asks me if he could change my pad? Yes, the next time he asks me I will permit him. I put on a skirt that came just above the knees and a top that left a bit of abdomen exposed. I had no bra on and considering that I was menstruating with a decent flow I boldly wore no knickers as backup support for my pad. I waited.
I was an hour before I heard his car crunching the gravel. I could hear him turn the door knob and climb up. He went into his room and then silence. Was he into his Internet games? Thank God no; I heard his soft slippers on the wooden floor. He came in. He was wearing shorts with a loose shirt unbuttoned in front his usual summer style at home. I was standing next at the scenic window with the curtains partly drawn.
“Mom, are you still annoyed.”
“More important how is you mood; still on menstruating women?” I laughed.
“It is no laughing matter mother. I am tearing apart with desire with no remedy in sight.” I stood looking at me with a peculiar smile on his face. “Mom you look lovely in black top and skirt with the milk white abdomen showing in between. I think it is your height that makes it all the more beautiful.” I was of course pleased to hear him say that. I was always pretty vain about my height and slim build.
“I want to hug you Mom?”
“You don’t have to ask me my son. I want to hug you too.” So saying I spread out my arms and he fell in. He held me tight and I held him with equal fervour. I crushed my breasts on his chest and for the first time the feeling was intensely erotic. One palm of his was pressing my back and the other was wandering over my buttocks. Suddenly he felt the cord low down on my hips.
“Mom,” said Seth hoarsely, “I can feel the cord holding your menstrual pad.” He fingered for a while and then suddenly his mood changed. He got into frenzy. He was furiously rubbing his face on my breasts. He had a firm grip on the cord and was tugging it.
“Seth what’s happening. Are you OK?”
“Sorry Ma, my mind suddenly went blank,” he said. He was sweating profusely. I held him and took him to the sofa.
“Sit down. I’ll bring you water.” He drank the whole brimming glassful in one gulp. “Want some more?” He nodded. He drank another glassful. I removed his shirt that was quite damp with sweat. He was now quite composed. He lent on me and his hand went once again to the cord encircling my hips.
“Come to the bathroom. You can change my pad,” I said. He got up with alacrity. I held him by the hand and led him into the bathroom. I unpinned my skirt and allowed it to fall. I now stood in front of my son naked escort maltepe below the waist except of a thin strip of white cloth covering the slit of my vulva. Our eyes met.
“It is lovely,” he said. “How do you fasten it,” he asked. I showed him how I looped the strand on the cord and how the strand held the pad against my vulva.
“Why don’t you use the modern internal protectors?” he asked.
“This is how my mother taught me way back in our native land and I find it good. Undo the knot at the back and removed the strand.” He undid the knot and removed the strand that went between my thighs. “Remove it altogether. I will hold the pad.” He removed the strand and placed it on the table. I stood there holding the pad against my vulva. ‘Now you take over,” I said. He placed my hand over mine and I gently slipped it away. It would have been a remarkable sight with mother standing naked below the waist and grown up son holding a tiny white bit of cotton on her slit as if to protect her modesty.
With his other hand Seth replaced the cover of the commode. ‘Sit on it, Ma,” he said. He carefully held on to the pad as I sat. I knew what I had to do. I spread my thighs and lifted up my knees with feet dangling. I remember him as a child undoing birthday gift wrappings and peeping in. He did the same now. Slowly he opened the pad as if it was a page from a book. ‘Menstrual blood’ he exclaimed as the stain came into view. He removed it altogether with his eyes focussed on the inner stain of the pad rather than his mother’s now fully exposed vulva. His hands were trembling and he was sweating profusely. He placed the pad soiled part facing upwards and then he turned and saw my vulva spread out for his viewing pleasure.
“Vow,” he said. He was not drooling, but his jaw had dropped. “Vow,” he said again. He got up and went to the sink to wash is sweaty face, and then he did some thing that perplexed me then. He poured some liquid from a bottle into his mouth and gargled. I thought he had done with me and was about to get up when he came back and pulling a low stool he sat in front of me
“Your vulva is lovely with all that blood smeared on it,” he said. He came closer and closer.
“No, not that,” I said but it was too late. He was licking the menstrual blood off my clitoris and inner leaves. The critical parts of the vulva have heightened sensitivity during the periods. The increased flow of blood to the pelvic organs is I believe the reason. In my case the sensitivity was already at breaking point owing to my enforced sexual starvation. When my son started licking the clitoris I screamed. I spread my thighs as far as they would go and lovingly cradled his head in my arms.
“My darling, it’s heavenly,” I said. Thus encouraged he licked with his long tongue working to and fro. He did the pubic mound and then the labial pads and then the lower U curve and then as a finale he worked the edges of the lips in long, steady sweeps. He swept from below up and every time he touched the clitoris I screamed softly for it was heavenly. My hips were moving up and down then he stopped. It was a long teasing pause that seemed to last for ever, and when he resumed in slow swipes I exploded in an indescribable climax.
“Enter me my son I want it now,” I demanded. He carried me to the bed and as I lay spread out on my back with my feet up he came on top of me. His penis that I was seeing for the first time erect was large and had an upward curve. I held it and guided it into my vagina. It stretched my vagina and I could fell it throbbing. I was conscious that my own son, the product of my womb, was having sex with me. How did I feel? Quite simply it added immeasurably to my pleasure. Both of us were so primed that we got the climax soon enough and with perfect rhythm. I could feel his semen filling my vagina. We lay exhausted in each other’s arms both panting as much from emotion as effort.
How long we lay in the huddle I do not know but suddenly he got up as if he had forgotten something. He inserted his arms under my thighs and back and lifted me up. ‘Where to?’ I asked. He rendered no verbal reply. He took me to the bath room and made me sit on the edge of the sink resting my buttocks on the marble top with thighs spread. He poured a generous quantity of liquid soap on his cupped palm and splashed it on my vulva. He then lathered my vulva. ‘Why are you doing this?’ I asked. Softly as if he was explaining to a troublesome child he told me that he did not want the bacteria in his mouth to infect the blood in my vagina.
When he was a little fellow he would come home after play with feet caked in mud. To clean up his legs I would make him sit on the bathroom sink very much like what he was doing to me now. He was five or six years old and I am not sure he remembered, but he now spoke to me the same tender way I used to as I scrubbed him clean. He spoke of bacteria and infection as his soft fingers worked on my inner lips, clitoral hood, and the clitoris itself. pendik escort
“From the way women hide their vulva one gets the impression that they consider it ugly, but not we men. For us it an object of beauty, and yours is the perfect specimen.”
“In what way.”
“The vulva must bulge out. Flat ones are no good. Yours bulges out like a globe, but what gives it perfection are those inner lips and the hood of the clitoris. The inner lips are so often like crumpled up leaves. Yours are thick and firm and stand out boldly; the two lips converge on the hood of the clitoris making it an inverted ‘V’ canopy.” With his fingers he was softly playing his fingers over the parts he was describing. He then pulled off my shirt and he snuggled his face against my breasts and then he took hold of one nipple and sucked. True, the circumstances were unusual in the extreme, but it was a tender mother-son moment nevertheless.
Later he said that men who want to lick women during periods must give themselves dental checks and gargle with antiseptic mouth washes before venturing. To this I, after my initiation into membership of the club can add with force that women during their periods are sexually most receptive and should persuade even their reluctant partners to have sex with them unmindful of the mess. Women who have not had sex during periods out of squeamishness have missed the greatest sexual experience.
Now he was rubbing the clitoris as he was sucking. He took time off from sucking to clear a doubt.
“Is my sucking sensuous or am I doing it like a baby?”
“Darling son, I will tell you something you will not get in Internet browsing. Baby suckling is very very sensuous, almost erotic.”
Suddenly I was feeling moist. His sucking and his fingers playing on my soaped clitoris powerfully aroused me. I slid forwards on the marble table top till I was at the edge of the table. He was aroused too for I could see his erect penis approaching my vulva. I took some soap suds off my vulva and applied it on his penis. Our eyes met. He smiled and then he thrust his penis forward and so perfect was the height and the angle, and the vagina and penis so slippery from soap that his penis went in all the way in one plunge. Those who have not had sex after soaping should try it. It is delicious. Once again we had orgasms in unison.
“Now for the final clean up this time with sterile water,” he said.
“Where do you go for sterile water,” I asked.
“You have to produce it,” he said that placed as his palm against my slit.
“Take away your hand,” I said.
“No Mum, countless number of times I must have wetted every part of your body,” he said, “now it is your turn.” I laughed.
“You have, and once when I was playing with you it bed you did it all over my face.”
“You could have drowned,” he said.
“No way darling. Your bladder was no more than thimble sized then.” But my adult bladder was full and when I let go after initial hesitation he received it on his palm. After a final wash he wiped. When he was wiping my buttocks I was resting on his shoulder. I thought of the time when I would lay him over my shoulders to wipe his baby buttocks. He then nonchalantly placed the pad over my slit and fixed it expertly as if he has been doing it all his life. He allowed me to put on my shirt but said I have to be bare below the waist.
“You going about your chores with nothing more than that pad is the most beautiful sight imaginable,” he said. As I went about the house I could feel his eyes on me and I tingled with pleasure.
Whenever his charge was full I was moist with secretions we had it. I lost count of the number of times we coupled that day. It was full moon night and we cuddled naked on the balcony divan not caring if anyone would see us.
“Mom your next period is on,” he said mentioning a date.
“Possibly,” I said.
“What if you miss it?”
“Well I was not thinking of that possibility.”
“Would it mean that you are pregnant?”
“Most likely reason,” I said.
“In that case I would be the father and you the mother as well as grandmother of the baby.” I laughed. He pressed his cheek on my lower abdomen.
“Is it possible that she is already there in your womb?”
“Where did you get the idea that it has to be a she?”
“You are so intensely feminine that you can compose nothing but females.” he said.
“Quite poetic,” I said.
“As a matter of fact the idea is from Shakespeare. And Mom when she is old enough to understand we must tell her that she is the product of a son’s love for his mother; not sordid lust but pure love.”
“So you want your mother to bear your baby Seth?”
“The thought excites me. You Mom?”
“I don’t fancy going through a pregnancy at this age,” I said with decision.
“Mothers surrogate daughter’s baby and are proud of it.
“I believe they do, but I am not.”
“But do mothers surrogate for son?”
“I have not heard of that happening, but I am sure that when the son’s wife’s mother is unable the son’s mother may take on the role.”
“Fathers have had babies through daughters,” he said. “Lot in the Bible did that. I am sure it is happening all the time. Why not sons with mother.”
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