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Text:Tom Hathaway - Memoirs of Forbidden Love/Curious by J.O.

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My son had a terrible accident when he was ten. He almost drowned at scout camp when the canoe he was riding in capsized. He was under water for several minutes before he was dragged out unconscious. The medics resuscitated him, but he remained in a coma for two weeks. After he emerged the doctors told me he had suffered brain damage and was now mentally “challenged.”

Josh stayed a ten year old: charming, playful, and enthusiastic about everything. Although he needed lots of care, he was fun to be with and we usually got along fine. He was bright and clever, but in a ten‐year-old sort of way. He attended classes at a special education center and made good progress with basic skills, even the internet.

His body developed more slowly, and he didnʼt enter puberty until he was eighteen. I could tell then because he became curious about my body. He often stared at my breasts and sometimes “accidentally” touched them. He asked me questions that showed he knew very little about female anatomy. Since sexuality was now going to be a part of his life, I got an illustrated book about the human body, and we sat down together with it. The book made me realize I didnʼt know all that much myself.

Then he wanted me to show him. I pointed to the drawings, but he said they donʼt really show what those parts are like (he was right). He wanted to see me.

My first impulse was just to tell him no. But then I got to thinking that would just send him to searching the internet, and those porn sites are so awful, so degrading to women. I didnʼt want him to find out that way. He didnʼt have girlfriends yet at the special education center, but he probably would, and if he didnʼt have the proper knowledge, especially about birth control, he could get into all sorts of trouble. What he needed was knowledge.

He kept asking to see my breasts.

I thought and thought about it, even prayed about it (and didnʼt get any mighty message, Donʼt Do That!) and finally decided that to supplement the sex‐ed book, I would show my son my bosom, so he knows what that part of a woman is like. But in an atmosphere of education.

I did it midday in the living room so the setting wouldnʼt be too intimate, and I didnʼt make a big deal about it, just told him it was natural for him to want to know what the other half of the human race looks like. Trying to be matter‐of-fact, I pulled off my top and undid my bra.

His first reaction made me think, Oh no, this was a bad idea. His mouth hung open and his eyes got big and he smiled. I blushed with embarrassment. But it was sweet how curious he was about them. I turned around so he could see them from different angles. He said they were changing, now the tips were sticking out more and getting darker and wrinkled, and asked me why that was.

I told him because the air was cold on them. But that wasnʼt the reason. It was because of the way he was staring at them. I thought I should maybe stop this right now. But if I stopped so soon, he would get the impression I believed something was wrong about the human body, and I didnʼt want that to happen.

He wanted to touch them, but I didnʼt let him. But I did explain how the milk is made inside and then flows out the nipple when the baby sucks on it. He wanted to know all about how it was when heʼd done that with me, and I told him it was a special time for both of us and it brought us very close.

He asked if it was hard to walk with them and how I kept from bumping into things. I told him you get used to it. Then he wanted me to walk around so he could see them move, so I paraded around the rug and did a few aerobics while he stared mesmerized.

I figured that was enough, so I started to put my bra back on, but he wanted to know all about the bra, how it worked, did it hurt. While I was explaining it, though, he was paying more attention to my bosom up close, and he managed to lean against it with his arm. I said, “End of lesson” and put my bra and top back on. He asked again if he could touch me there, I said no again, and that was it.

After our anatomy lesson, my son couldnʼt take his eyes off my breasts. He was always watching them. Now that he knew what they looked like, he must have been imagining them under my bra. That made me uncomfortable, and I told him several times to stop staring, and each time he said, “Oh sorry, forgot again.” I donʼt think he meant to do it, he just couldnʼt help it. I had to admit it was flattering being the object of such avid attention, and I guess that was part of what made me uncomfortable. While he was staring, I could feel myself breathing deeper and my nipples getting erect.

Josh kept asking when we could do it again. I told him we didnʼt do anything, it was just an anatomy lesson, and now it was over.

Then he switched tactics. He asked me to tell him more about what it was like when he was nursing. I told him that although it was very nice, sometimes he sucked too hard and it hurt, so I had to switch him to the other nipple, and that afterwards the milk dribbled down his chin, and I had to wipe it off. I told him about wearing a nursing bra, and he asked me if I still had it, he wanted to see it. I told him I didnʼt have it anymore, Iʼd given to my sister when sheʼd had her first baby, so his cousin had got to use it.

He said he really needed to nurse like that again, and this time he wouldnʼt suck so hard. I told him no, nursing is for babies and he was too old for that.

I hoped that would settle the issue, but he kept asking to nurse. When I told him no, he started crying. I tried to explain that big boys donʼt nurse their mothers anymore. But it didnʼt do any good. He was really weeping, totally miserable. It reminded me of how heʼd cried as a baby when he was hungry and as soon as I would slip my nipple into his mouth, he would turn totally content and begin gurgling. I knew it was in my power to take his tears away and make him happy again.

Maybe I shouldnʼt have done it, but at the time it felt right. My maternal instincts shut off my brain, and as if sleepwalking, I led him into the living room. I didnʼt want to do it lying down, so I had him sit beside me on the couch, and I unbuttoned my blouse. He wanted to undo the bra, but I said no and did it myself.

He gasped when he saw them this time. Before I could do anything, he leaned over and put one in his mouth. He started sucking too hard, just like heʼd done when he was a baby. I said, “Youʼre hurting me!” and he mumbled “Sorry” and did it softer. His tears stopped instantly, his face became totally happy. I sighed with contentment, and we swooned in bliss together as the peace of that long‐ago time settled over us again. I could almost feel milk rising up inside me and flowing into him. Heʼd been such a dear baby, Iʼd loved him so much and still did. Whatever anybody said, this canʼt be wrong, I knew.

He was bracing himself with one hand on my leg, and his other hand held my breast, stroking it. The last sniffles from his crying were running onto it from his nose. The warmth and pressure of his hand spread up my thigh, and I realized I was sopping wet. I could see the bulge in his pants … and had to admit I wanted it.

I thought about how shocked but fascinated I was when heʼd gotten erections as a baby while he was nursing me. When he was handed to me right after birth, the first thing Iʼd noticed was his penis, larger than I could have imagined, purplish red and bulbous. I had wanted it, I realized now with a flush of shame, even then.

I was appalled at myself. This wonʼt do. This canʼt go on. No!

Panting, I pulled the breast out of his mouth. My nipple was hard and his saliva clung to it like milk. The nipple, like him, didnʼt look at all happy about the sudden separation.

His mouth hung open in dismay. “Wh‐whatʼs wrong?” he stammered. “Am I doing it too hard?”

“N‐no, dear,” I stammered back, “but thatʼs enough. You did it and now itʼs enough.”

Josh looked crestfallen and disappointed, and I felt like a monster for taking his happiness away from him, but it was either stop now or never.

He said sullenly, “Iʼll stop, but only if you let me do it again.”

“Uh … weʼll talk about it later. Now we need to go to bed.” I instantly regretted my choice of words, a true Freudian slip, so I said quickly, “Youʼve got school and Iʼve got work. Goodnight.” I kissed him on the cheek, wanting to kiss him on the lips, and left the room.

In my bedroom I fell apart, crying and shaking with shame and desire for him. I couldnʼt help it. I had to masturbate, and I couldnʼt help thinking about making love with him, imagining him on me and in me. I had a tremendous orgasm but afterwards cried some more because masturbation is so lonely.

I knew if I let him nurse again, I might not be able to stop. I was afraid of what might happen if we did go all the way, and afraid of what might happen if we didnʼt. I kept hearing these heavy condemning voices inside my head, but I was just being honest about desires that most people have.

My son kept pestering me to nurse again, and I kept refusing, but then he switched tactics. He said I at least had to keep my promise to show him what girls are like. I said we did that already, but he said that was only the top half. Now he needed to see the bottom half. When I told him this whole thing had gone too far, he accused me of breaking my promise and that I had always told him how important it was for people to always keep their promises and here I was breaking mine. He knew exactly what to say to wear me down.

I made him promise not to tell any of his friends or anyone else about this and explained that the police would put us both in jail, and weʼd never see each other again. He got the message.

We went into the living room again. I left my blouse on but took off my jeans, then turned around so he could see my legs and bottom. “You have to show me everything,” he said, staring at my crotch.

The thought of pulling off my panties in front of him made me really uncomfortable — itʼs embarra**ing to be bare‐a**ed in front of your son. “You donʼt want to see underneath there,” I said lamely. “Itʼs … ugly.”

“You promised youʼd show me what girls are like!”

Had I really promised? I didnʼt know anymore. My head was spinning. I closed my eyes like an ostrich sticking its head into the sand to disappear, then pulled down my underpants. I heard him take a sharp breath and opened my eyes. He was staring at it wide‐eyed with the tip of his tongue between his teeth. He came closer and got down on his knees.

I covered it with my hand. “You canʼt touch it,” I said hurriedly.

“OK, but I canʼt see it there.”

I threw up my hands in exasperation. “OK, Iʼll really show it to you. Take a good look, because thatʼs all youʼre going to get.” I said this last as if trying to convince myself I was still in charge. I lay down on the rug and spread my legs. Somehow this was all the more obscene with my blouse on.

With an expression that showed fascination but also a bit of fear, he lay down between my legs and propped his chin on his hands. Under his gaze, my legs started to tremble, and I closed my eyes again to calm myself.

“Itʼs all wet. Is that pee?”

“No,” I said mortified, “it just gets wet sometimes.”

“Where does the pee come out?”

“The little hole up above. The big one below is where you came out,” I said and couldnʼt help thinking, And where youʼre going back in.

Guilt swept over me again. “Enough anatomy lesson,” I said. As I rolled over, I could feel a damp spot on the rug. I stood up and reached for my panties on the couch.

“Wait, turn around so I can see your butt,” he insisted. I did, and he spanked me. The sudden slap of his hand turned on every nerve ending in the region, and I almost came right then. “Sorry,” he said with a laugh, “I know I promised not to touch, but it was too cute to resist. Now itʼs all red. And soʼs your face.”

This man can get me to do anything he wants, I had to admit to myself. Youʼd better stop this right now! But I couldnʼt. Instead I tried to get control of my breathing while I pulled my panties and jeans back on, then headed straight for the vibrator and fantasies of him penetrating me.

I was really torn apart inside over this. Part of me was shocked and appalled about what Iʼd already done, let alone what I was thinking of doing. The other part said, Go for it! This is what youʼve always wanted.

I started having the strangest dreams about my son. The night after the anatomy lesson I dreamed he had me cornered in the basement, closing in on me. We were both naked. His foreskin was pulled back, and his glans had turned into an apple. I was scared. Later I dreamed I was nursing at a huge breast but the nipple became my sonʼs penis, and as I sucked on it, it squirted milk into my mouth. Both times I woke up wet and had to masturbate thinking about him before I could sleep again. The apple reminded me of Eveʼs forbidden fruit and also “an apple for the teacher.”

“You said I could nurse again,” Josh declared the next night.

This time I couldnʼt make even a pretext of objecting. “Do you want another lesson?” I asked, my voice catching in my throat.

He nodded silently, looking at me like I was already nude.

I made him again promise not to tell anyone, then led him into my bedroom. Desire had put me in a daze, and I was running on automatic pilot. Iʼd already folded the covers back and turned the lamp down. Iʼd already put in my diaphragm, which I hadnʼt used in a long time. “Since you touched me last lesson, I guess you can touch me again. But donʼt spank me. You can only spank me on my birthday.” I couldnʼt help but thinking, In my birthday suit.

“OK.” His hands were instantly on my breasts, feeling and caressing.

“Letʼs lie down,” I said as my knees started to buckle. We kicked off our house shoes and plunged onto the queen‐sized bed. Lying beside me, he seemed unsure about what to do, so I stroked his head, then closed my eyes in shame and kissed him on the lips like you would a lover.

“Show me how you French,” he said.

“Where did you hear about that?” I asked.

“At school. Show me.”

I slipped my tongue between his teeth into his mouth. His tongue met mine, and the two stroked each other in greeting.

“Do you want to nurse?” I asked.

“Um‐humm,” he murmured, rubbing them.

This is incest, youʼre a monster! Quit this before itʼs too late! a voice shouted in my head. But it was already too late. I was gone under the tender urgency of his touch. I took off my blouse and bra, knowing I had to give him anything he wanted. And he wanted it all. As he was sucking my breasts eagerly, he was already touching me between my legs.

He was trembling too now — he mustʼve sensed he was really going to get it … and maybe it scared him a little. But that didnʼt stop him. I enjoyed letting him take over and be the active one, stripping me and exploring me. But then I took off his clothes and finally saw what Iʼd been seeing in his pants for some time now, standing up and staring at me so proud. I gave it a kiss of greeting, which was enthusiastically received.

My son wanted to find out all about me down there, so I gave him another lesson, this one centered on the clit and how to touch it. While he did his homework, I closed my eyes and lost myself in a whirl of feelings, skating the razorʼs edge between ecstasy and terror. I knew this was terribly wrong but also irresistible.

My son enjoyed satisfying his curiosity about my folds and caverns, but boys are impatient, and before long he wanted the main attraction. This took some additional lessons and hands‐on instruction. As I was touching his organ to put it back in me, one part of my mind was screaming, Youʼve sunk to the depths of depravity! and another part was saying, This is the most wonderful experience Iʼve had since giving birth to him.

As soon as he entered, he gasped at this new pleasure, then pushed farther in, plumbing my depths, moving faster and faster while sucking my breast. I stared down at my sonʼs slim hips and buttocks between my legs pumping in and out of me with rhythmic undulations, so beautiful and powerful, giving me such delight. “Oh, my boy! Yes!”

Out of control, he cried out and climaxed with wild thrusts. Carried away by his energy, I wrapped my arms and legs around him and clutched him to me. Ordinarily it takes me a long time to come, but as I felt my son coming inside me, I orgasmed, and we both exploded together, thrashing over the bed and screaming how much we loved each other.

As our spasms eased, we hugged and petted, overwhelmed with feelings, then snuggled together, too delirious to speak. Gradually language returned, and we exchanged loving whispers.

But guilt and fear of punishment also returned, at least for me. The voice said this was too wonderful to be allowed, something terrible had to happen to us now. Then I told myself thatʼs just a boogieman thatʼs been pounded into us to scare us into not changing. I looked at my sonʼs face — so happy now with a satisfied grin — and the guilt faded. We had the right to express our love this way. As long as we were guided by love, weʼd be OK. There was nobody here but us. “Thank you,” I said and kissed him on the lips.

“Letʼs do it again!” he said.

I was too exhausted, though. We slept together arm in arm, lovers now.


The next week was a marathon of sex. Whatever guilt that might have been left lurking in the background was overwhelmed by the sheer power of our intimacy. We were closer than ever before; we seemed to communicate telepathically. It was so gratifying teaching him how to please me, and he was such an eager learner. And the sky didnʼt fall in on us.

We found, though, that sleeping together every night was getting too intense. We werenʼt getting enough rest. We decided to share the big bed on the weekends when we had more time to enjoy each other.

Now we are a couple; an unusual couple, but a deeply loving one. We both know we need to keep doing this. Itʼs too wonderful to turn away from.

After Joshʼs accident, the doctors indicated his condition would shorten his life span. Sad as that is, it means our age difference isnʼt so much of a problem. Iʼll be able to take care of him for the rest of his life. And he can take care of me.


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