Incest/Taboo The Therapist's Journey

I

My First Session with Theresa -- Friday Afternoon

I reviewed the patient information sheet for the day's final client. It was her first consultation. She was a thirty-six year old accountant who worked at the local firm that did my taxes. Her health was good; she took no medication other then birth control pills. Her forty-four year old husband was an executive with a local commercial construction company. They had an 18 year old son. She has left the line asking for the reason for the consultation blank. This was not unusual. Many clients were cautious about disclosing their most personal issues in writing to what were effectively strangers. My staff had ensured she had the proper insurance. I buzzed the reception room to send her in.

I greeted Theresa [I have changed her name to preserve confidentiality] at the office door. Anxiety was evident on her face. She wore little make-up and was dressed in a brown pants, sensible flat shoes, and a colorful loose-fitting blouse. Nonetheless, she was a striking woman. She stood about 5 feet 5 inches tall. Her long wavy almost-black hair was pulled behind her head, reaching beyond her shoulder blades. Her dark complexion revealed her Italian ancestry and her slender face featured deep brown eyes, a narrow nose, and thick lips on a relatively small mouth. The blouse, although loose, could not wholly hide her charms. Considering her thin frame her breasts were ample. We shook hands. I directed her to my leather couch. I sat in my chair.

She was nervous. After a brief exchange of pleasantries I decided to open with a question to which I knew she knew the answer. "Theresa, why did you choose me?"

"Well, Dr. Barry, should I call you Dr. Barry?" She asked.

"Sally, will do. Why did you call me? There are many skilled therapists in this community."

"Some friends recommended you. I was also told you have a teenage son."

"That is correct," I replied. Was this about her son? My mind flitted to all the people who come to my office or corner me at parties asking how to bring their son, who is really a good boy but just has a few bad friends, under control. "Call 1 800 ASK-GODD," is an answer no one appreciates.

"And what brought you to my office," I asked as I leaned forward. This was both for effect, I wanted Theresa to know she had my full attention, and because Theresa was soft-spoken, a trait I initially attributed to her obvious anxiety about our meeting but which turned out to be her normal voice tone.

"Well, I'm not sure if I am here looking for permission, or a way out, or to be told I am bad, or good, or simply to make sure I am not crazy, or to see if any damage I am causing can be cured." I waited. Theresa's background and manner confirmed her intelligence. She knew she wasn't saying anything I could use. I was learning that she was confused and worried and looking for me to help. It would take a bit more coaxing before she would tell me why she was here.

I asked if she wanted some water. When she said yes I walked to the back of my office and retrieved the imported bottled-water my clients prefer from a small refrigerator in one of the cabinets. This short interruption was not an accident. Theresa needed a moment to compose herself, something she would do more effectively if I was not staring at her. My mind worked through the usual suspects of issues that would bring a thirty-six year old women with a teen-age boy to my office. I handed Theresa the water and sat down.

"Everything you say in this office stays in this office. All our conversations are confidential. The walls are practically sound-proof. The people out there," I gestured to my office door and staff beyond, "don't know what you and I are talking about. I don't even let them handle my notes."

Theresa considered my words, leaned forward, and said, with her voice tone dropping a level and her eyes on the floor, "Dr. Barry, Sally, my son and I are sexually involved."

My initial thoughts were not exactly clinical. They were, in no particular order, "Omigod, I did not see this coming," and a graphic mental picture of Theresa and her son, who I had never seen but imagined to be as attractive as his mother, making love. I pushed my mind back to professional mode. The look on Theresa's face indicated my face had not betrayed my thoughts.

I had no significant training in incest. Theresa, was troubled, had chosen me to help, and the confession she had just made was tormenting her. She had asked me to be her therapist. Telling her I had to shuffle her off to an expert was not what she needed - it might come later, it would not come now.

I asked her to tell me her story. She said she was not sure how. I asked her to tell me the story in the way she tells it to herself. She seemed reassured.

"I met my husband when I was eighteen. It was the summer before my senior year in high school and I was working in the bookkeeping department of Coliseum Construction [again I have changed the name to preserve confidentiality]. He was eleven years older than me and worked as a job superintendent, running construction projects on a day-to-day basis. He was strong and assertive and tough and I had an instant crush on him."

I took some notes, but mostly paid attention. Her choice to start with her marriage told me that whatever was happening with her son had a lot to do with her marriage.

"Pretty soon we were dating and pretty soon after that I was pregnant. I was not a virgin when I started sleeping with him, but I was fairly inexperienced and what experience I had was with high school boys who knew less than I did. Our sex was not gentle. Foreplay was not his thing. He loved intercourse, and he loved it hard and fast.

"A few years after our son, Miles [again I have changed the name], was born I went to college and received my accounting degree. My husband steadily advanced at Coliseum. He was promoted to project manager and then vice-president. His first love was his work and he was not around as much as I would have liked, but I loved my son and my job and, to be honest, the lifestyle our success brought us. The frequency and length of our sex decreased; his tendency to," here she briefly paused, "mount and quickly dismount increased, but most of my girlfriends reported husbands whose declining libidos were complemented by atrophied skills. I accepted it as inevitable.

"To be honest, I was also no longer that attracted to him. He hadn't taken care of himself. He happily complied with the construction industry's norm that men display beer bellies. On the other hand, my professional success increased my own confidence and our financial success allowed me to take care of myself. I became a far more social animal. I liked to dress nicely, I liked men's eyes on me, and I became something of a flirt. I was well aware of the advantage that an attractive woman has in the business world and had no hesitation in using it. However, although I had plenty of opportunities to cheat, I remained faithful."

She shifted in her chair. Her story was about to take a turn.

"My husband, son, and I spend a week each summer at the beach. We have friends who are kind enough to lend us their beach house. We go at the same time each year to coincide with my son's birthday and this year, like most, we had a passel of his friends with us. It's a big place that can accommodate quite a crowd. We had fun. The atmosphere was loose. It felt good to relax and to know I still look good enough in a bathing suit to attract the attention of, and even a little flirtation from, young men.

She stopped for a second. "I don't want to sound too self-centered, some of those boys had a few beers in them."

I moved to validate her, "I doubt any alcohol was necessary, you're a striking woman."

She smiled, "Thank you, you're sweet." Turning back to her story she said, a bit wistfully, "It was nice, even the distance between my husband and I seemed submerged by all those happy teenagers.

"The kids packed up and left on Sunday. We planned to stay through Thursday, but my husband announced on Sunday night that he had to be back to work on Monday and would leave the next morning. We had a few words, which I am sure my son overheard, and we both went to bed angry.

"The next morning, however, he had that puppy-dog look that told me he wanted to have sex. I let him know that I wasn't interested; he insisted. I pointed out that the last thing he told me the night before was that I was a selfish bitch who was happy to spend his money while complaining he spent too much time making it. Then it occurred to me: I did not particularly want his company. It was better to let him satisfy himself and leave. He crawled between my legs, thrust vigorously a few times, and came. I didn't, and I didn't even pretend. Within an hour he was on the road. I showered, threw the sheets in the washing machine, put on a robe, poured myself a cup of coffee, and took it to the porch to drink. The sun was bright, the sky blue, and I started feeling better.

"My son soon joined me, carrying his own cup of coffee. He asked if I needed a refill, which I did. After he returned, he sat down. After a few minutes of small talk he suggested that we take advantage of his father's absence and go out on the town dancing. Now I love to dance. My husband and I had often done so while he was courting me and then occasionally during the first few years of our marriage, but we hadn't gone in years. And another thing," she now looked at me shyly, "it always aroused me. I am not sure if it is the dressing up, or performing in front of a crowd, or just the physical activity. After dancing I was always ready for serious love-making."

"Did your son know this?"

"It turns out he did. Several years before he had been at a family dinner when my sister, after a few glasses of wine, pronounced that back-in-the-day I could be a wild women after an evening on the dance floor. I had forgotten all about the conversation. He had not. I also found out, later on, that he had been on the porch outside my bedroom that morning when my husband and I had our spat and its resolution."

"Do you think he was spying on you?"

"I asked him about that and he says he was not. I believe him. However, he admits he hung out on the porch longer than propriety dictated."

"So what happened next?"

"I told him he certainly did not want to go out dancing with his mother. He insisted he did, since, after all, I was the 'foxiest woman' on the beach. I told him I had nothing to wear. He pointed out that we had credit cards. I said he was too young to get into a nightclub. He noted that he was sufficiently built and mature enough looking to pass for a twenty-one year old -- which is true -- and in any case everybody's eyes would on his hot date. I surrendered and agreed to go.

"He then looked at me, caught my full attention, and said 'Good, but I want no more back talk from you. For the rest of the day I am the boss. Your job is to obey and have a good time; is that understood.' I was not sure if he was serious, but I replied without hesitation, 'Okay, you're the boss. I'm in your hands.' 'Good,' he said, 'you and I are going shopping. But since a son picking out clothes to accent his mother's looks might seem odd, we need a cover. Since you can certainly pass for a woman in her twenties, pick out some clothes appropriate for that age. I will dress a few years older, and with sunglasses you should be able to pass for a society lady enjoying the summer at the beach with a young man she picked up along the way.'

She stopped for a second. "It seems so crazy when I say that. I was agreeing to pose as my son's beau, but at the time it seemed, well, if not normal, like it would be fun. I was going to spend the day with someone who was going to treat me like a date. That hadn't happened in a long time."

I nodded. It was supposed to indicate I had heard her. I think what she saw was that I fully understood her feelings.

"One of the girls who had spent the weekend had left behind a pair of jeans with strategically placed rips in them. I put those on with a white tank top, sandals, and an expensive pair of sunglasses. My son put on some Docksides, shorts, and a Hawaiian shirt. When I headed for the driver's seat door of my BMW he reminded me who was in charge and held the passenger seat door open for me. I got in. After stopping to buy him a pricy set of sunglasses, we headed for the shops.

"It was so much fun, and so easy, playing his beau. Imitating one of those teenagers who had left the day before I held his hand, leaned into his body, stroked his back and arms, and rubbed his leg with my toes.

"We tried on a variety of outfits but he finally narrowed it down to two: the first one consisted of tight jeans, a white spaghetti top, and boots. The second outfit was a black leather skirt that made it about half-way to my knee, a white smock top, and a pair of red shoes. He initially wanted six inch stilettos. I held out for something more practical for the dance floor, a four-inch, chunkier, heel. I loved trying the clothes on for him. He spent enough time touching me -- at times gently stroking my face, or putting his hand on my back, and once or twice (in secret, thank god) brushing my buttocks with his hand -- to let me know he appreciated playing the attentive boyfriend at his girlfriend's fashion show. After some consideration he told the sales lady, a pretty well-tanned blonde, we would take both outfits and both sets of heels.

"He then turned to me in front of her and instructed me on underwear. For the jeans I was to purchase thongs. For the leather skirt, I was to have panties, a garter belt, and black stockings. For both, sheer half-scoop bras with a good amount of support and the clasp in the front. At first, I couldn't believe he was so brazen, letting the sales lady know that I had no objection to publicly being treated as a sexual dress-up toy. But at the same time, I played right along. There was something about the craziness of it all, something about being treated for the first time in years as a sex object, that was intoxicating. After all, nothing would come of it and no one would ever know. I put my hand on his chest, looked in his eyes, and said, 'You are a bad boy.' He looked right back and said, 'We'll find out.'

"While I was with the sales lady picking out the underwear she handed me her business card, on which she has written her cell phone number, and told me that the two of us looked like a lot of fun and that we should call her if we had the chance.

I wanted to ask what happened with this lady, but I refrained. I did want not to slow the momentum.

"My son paid for the clothes, using my credit card, and we drove home. As we carried the shopping bags into the house, he told me that tonight I would be in leather and, graciously, the shorter heels. I spent the next few hours getting ready. When I joined him in the living room he let out an appreciative wolf-whistle and asked me to turn around, which I did. He took his time inspecting me. His face showed his approval. He, in turn, looked dazzling. He had taken the time to make sure that his appearance was perfect; the contrast with my husband's ever-slovenly presentation was manifest. At times I had noted that he was no longer a boy, but it was not until that night that I fully appreciated that he had become a beautiful young man.

"We went to the car, he opened my door, and I got in. I could see him admiring my legs. He let me know that proper etiquette required a young lady in a leather skirt and garters, while driving with her date, to make sure the garters are always visible. While I had not heard of this custom I did not protest. I scooted forward on the seat to comply.

"We arrived at Lilette, a French restaurant overlooking the bay. My son had reserved seats on the balcony, the better, he informed me, to show off his hot sweetheart. I was not presented a menu. My son had told the staff when he made the reservation that he would order for both of us. After placing the order he allowed me one glass of wine with the caution that he wanted to make sure I was alert all evening. The food was wonderful, the service warm and genuine, and the company great. He did have one unusual request after we finished coffee and dessert: 'I have so much enjoyed watching your cute tush when you have left the table, I think you need to wash your hands one more time.' I immediately complied, adding an extra jiggle to my walk when I went to the ladies room.

"I remembered the rule about garters on the way to the club, pulling my dress up to reveal several inches of the straps. We got there about ten. Although I heard that the place could rock until two or three in the morning, my son indicated we would not be out that late. He was right about getting in, we sailed right though the door, no one asked any questions or requested any proof of age.

"I sat down and he visited the bar, returning with a beer for himself and a pink drink for me. He told me it was called a pink lady. It had been popular in the 1920's and 1930's when proper women were allowed only lady-like cocktails. I tasted it and the look on my face must have revealed my disapproval. 'Too sweet?' He asked. I nodded. 'Then it fits you perfectly.' It was a goofy line, buy I couldn't help but smile. He placed his leg against mine under the table and took my hand is his. I found myself leaning against him, my head nestled against his shoulder. We sat there for about fifteen minutes, nursing our drinks and surveying the club. He asked me to dance. I agreed. We headed for the dance floor.

"It was wild. My son is a good dancer and the place was packed. I let myself go, allowing the music to flow through me and lost myself in the sweating gyrating bodies around me. We were on the floor for most of the next hour. Then the music stopped. My son put his arm around me and pulled me close while the DJ announced it was time for the featured dancers to take center stage. He then pointed to my son and I and we entered a circle formed by the other dancers."

"Do you know why he picked the two of you?" I inquired.

"No, I never asked. We were not the best dancers on the floor, but we were pretty good. It was a beach crowd, and they can be on the scruffy side. Maybe it was because we were the best dressed, maybe it was because we looked so comfortable together, or maybe it was just a magical evening. I don't know."

"I guess its not important," I said. "Tell me what happened next."

"The DJ played a sexy song, the crowd clapped and shouted, and my son and I put on a show. When the number ended we were both dripping with sweat and everyone cheered when I jumped in his arms. Then he kissed me. It was not a son's kiss, it was a lover's kiss. And I was right there with him. His tongue was deep in my mouth; mine was stroking his. I never knew something as small as a tongue could feel like it was exploring my entire body, but this one did. For a moment all I cared about was his body against mine and his tongue inside me. Then I remembered he was my son. He seemed to sense my thoughts. He broke the kiss, leaned down, and whispered that it was time for some fresh air. He took my hand and we headed for the door while people in the crowd whooped it up for us.

She looked at me. "There were all kinds of thoughts rocketing through my mind. I'm still not sure if I can explain it. It had been a game; then, all of a sudden, it seemed real.

"We walked outside to the club's deck on the bay. I leaned against the rail gazing at the water. He held me from behind, his arms wrapped around my shoulders and breasts and his body pressed tightly against mine. I could feel his cock...."

She stopped, and looked up. "I didn't mean to be vulgar."

Theresa, like I, had been brought up not to use such words. I moved to reassure her. "You need to use the words that feel right to you. If you don't, you will tell the story in a way that is not true for you. I need to know what it felt like to you. I don't want a sanitized version."

She smiled, but still seemed unsure. Theresa knew basic Anglo-Saxon, but had been taught it was not lady-like to use it. I decided to help, "You said he leaned into you, pushing his hard cock into your ass."

She was still hesitant. I decided to give her, and me, a moment to compose our thoughts. I went to get another bottled-water. My inner-voice was screaming, "What the hell are you doing? She said she felt her son's cock. When did you decide to add a few details, like it was erect and jammed up against her ass." I wasn't only giving her permission, I was egging her on. While I could pretend my interest in her story was clinical, the truth was that I wanted to hear her account in as much detail as I could. I was getting turned-on. I was supposed to be a therapist, not a voyeur.

When I arrived back at my chair Theresa noted that I had left the water behind. I retrieved it, gave it to her, picked up my pen and pad, which had almost no notes on it, and asked her to continue. The clock stationed behind my clients showed her hour was up, but I was going to give her as much time as she needed.

In the short break she had gathered the resolve to go forward.

"His cock wasn't only hard, it was like a piece of iron. It was powerful and strong and I could feel it burning into me. As he held me tight he kissed the top of my head, then my cheek, then my neck, and then his tongue gently nuzzled my ear. His arms were resting squarely on my breasts and I could feel my nipples hardening. He whispered into my ear, 'You were amazing tonight.' I turned my head towards him and after a gentle peck on the lips, told him I could not recall having a better time. He softly kissed me.

"He turned me around to face him. I spread my legs and put my arms around his waist to pull him close to me. I could feel his erection pressing against me. Glancing down I asked, 'Does that fellow know I'm your mother?' He smiled, 'I've explained it, but it doesn't seem to bother him. He just knows your hot. However, while I may not be in charge of him, if I recall correctly I'm still in charge of you, so kiss me'

"These kisses were not like the one on the dance floor, which was all lust and excitement. These were gentle and sweet. His lips and tongue played with my lips, there were not a millimeter he didn't explore. While the tips of our tongues touched and caressed each other, he never pushed deep into my mouth. He did reach under my dress and pull my rump against," here she stopped a second, her determination temporarily faltering, and looked at me before resuming, "his cock, which was glued to my," again she stopped a second, "cunt.'"

My resolve not to egg her on dissolved. "Cunt and cock are fine words. I even know fuck and suck."

She smiled, "We'll get to those soon. I don't know if we were making out by the bay for five minutes or fifty. I did know that I have never been that aroused and have never felt so alive. When he leaned down and said it was time to go home, I was ready. I took his arm in mine. We walked to the car, he opened the door, and I got in. By the time he got behind the wheel I was not offering a hint of garter; he got the full view.

"As we drove home my son noticed the time of the clock. It was 11:45 P.M. 'When you ceded control to me for the day, I meant not a calendar day but a practical day, from the time we wake up til the time we go to bed.' The he paused and corrected himself. 'Make that the time we go to sleep.' He was not going to get an argument from me.

"When we got back to the house he told me to make the bed in the bedroom I had shared with my husband and meet him on the porch. Before I turned to go I remembered that I had put the sheets in the washer, but not in the dryer. He must have seen the confusion in my eyes, for he assured me 'Don't worry babe, I put them in the dryer.' I put my hands in his and leaned forward and kissed him.

"Sally, I don't know much about kiss theory, but it seemed to me that when we kissed on the dance floor it was about desire and excitement, and when we kissed by the bay it was about comfort and seduction. This kiss simply let him know how much I loved and adored him.

"When I returned to the porch he handed me a glass of wine. We danced to some slow sexy music he found on the radio. There was a full moon and I could hear the waves crashing into the beach. The scent of the salt water saturated the air. We were alone on the porch and had miles of beach to ourselves. With the heels I was the perfect height as he placed both hands on my ass and started to gently rock my cunt against his rock-hard penis. My pussy was on fire.

"After a few minutes he whispered into my ear, 'Unbutton your blouse,' and allowed just enough room between our bodies for me to do so. I instantly obeyed, although my hands were shaking so badly that I fumbled with the buttons. I then heard him say, 'Drop it to the ground.' I did. A few minutes later he told me, 'Loosen your belt, and let your skirt fall to the ground.' While I undid my belt the back of my hand rubbed against his penis. I could feel its heat through his pants. As my skirt slid down my body to the porch, I reached over to fondle him, but then hesitated. 'Can I?,' I asked him. He nodded and I started to caress the thick hard bulge in his pants. He was huge. I couldn't believe I had spent years living down the hall from that piece of meat without taking advantage of it. I intended to make up for lost time.

"I felt his hand undo the front clasp on my bra. When he said, 'Take it off,' I let it fall from my body. Now I was dressed only in my panties, the garter, stockings, and heels, my naked tits pressing against him. He told me he wanted to look at me. I stepped away, standing in the moonlight. He asked me to turn around, which I did. I was so aroused that even the soft breeze across my naked breasts sent electrical shivers of bliss through my body.

"I like you in lingerie."

"Then that is how you will have me. Come to Mommy, baby."

"He did. As we kissed his hands explored my breasts, caressing and stroking them. Occasionally he would bend and take them into his mouth or lick them, paying special attention to my areolas and nipples, which were hard and erect. 'I love your tits,' he told me, 'They are as beautiful as I dreamed. But your nipples are magnificent.'"

I was staring at her breasts. I looked back to her face and asked in a pitched tone of voice,"Describe them for me, please."

"I've always been proud of them. My areolas are dark, close to a creamy brown. They are also wide, maybe two inches across. My nipples have a reddish hue, which helps them stand out against my areolas. I guess it would be inappropriate to show you."

We could make an exception is what I thought. 'You're right, I shouldn't have asked the question," is what I said.

"That's okay," she said. I wondered if she could sense my arousal. "At that point I started to undo his belt buckle while slithering down his body to my knees. I looked up, gave him my best pleading look, and half begging said, 'Mommy wants to suck her baby's cock.' He smiled, but placed his hands under my arms and lifted me up. "Baby wants Mommy to suck his cock too, but I want the first load of cum we share in your cunt. I want to leave it with the womb where I started. The first time I have you will be in the bed you share with your husband and my father. I intend to take you from him in the most intimate location I can find.'"

"What did you say?" I asked her.

"I don't think I said anything. I just headed for the bedroom. At that point he could have had me anywhere and anyway he wanted."

"He told me to sit on the bed. He kneeled and took off my shoes, stockings, garter, and panties, tossing them onto a chair in the corner of the room. He told me to take off his clothes. I slipped the shirt from his body and admired his delicious muscular chest. After I kissed and teased his nipples I started to lay his shirt across the chair. He shook his head, 'Put it on a hanger and hang it in the closet.' I did so. I removed his shoes and remembering his instructions, carried them to the closet. I had already unbuckled his belt, so I slipped off his pants easily. As I took off his pants my cunt, which was already creaming, went into overdrive. Whatever made that tent in his underwear was huge. I couldn't get it out of my mind as I stumbled around the closet looking for a place to hang his pants.

"When I came out of the closet he instructed me to lay on the bed, face down. I could hear him approaching from behind and felt the bed shift under his weight. The next sensation was something I did not expect. His tongue slid up the crevice of my ass, stopping to tickle and probe my anus. As the same time he slipped his hand under me, inserting his thumb in my vagina and caressing my clitoris with his other fingers. There was no build-up, I just came. I came like I had never come before. Laying there, my body shuddering, I could feel the orgasm from my cunt to the tips of my fingers and toes.

"After letting me catch my breath he rolled me onto my back and started gently kissing me. His right hand roved freely over my body. His mouth explored my neck and ears, then my breasts. He enjoyed my breasts when he was a baby; he liked them more now. He alternated between sucking my nipples into his mouth while lathering them with his tongue and kissing and licking the rest of my breasts.

"He then turned to my sex. 'Does Mommy want her baby boy to eat her pussy?,' he asked. He didn't wait for an answer. His tongue started at the bottom of my vagina and moved upwards in one long stroke. As he hit by clit, my body jerked and I thrust my hips upward.

"'Mommy has a sweet pussy. Does Mommy mind if I eat her sweet pussy?'

"Again he didn't wait for an answer, but I am sure he could tell from my groans, from the sweat on my body, and the way I held his head tight against me, that I didn't mind. I would later learn that he has a real talent for holding a woman on the edge of an orgasm, extending and deepening the experience. That night, however, we, or at least this woman, were in a mad rush and my orgasm soon overwhelmed me. My arms and legs jerked randomly before they fell numbly to the bed. For a moment I blacked out. After I recovered I saw him wiping my pussy juice from his face. I also saw his penis; at some point he had taken off his underwear. It was beautiful.

By this time it was all I could to keep from slipping my hand into my skirt. Any hope I had of making a rational therapeutic decision was long gone. Which explains my next question. "Describe it to me."

"We never had him circumcised. He is about, actually I know exactly how long he is. We've measured it. Erect, its 8 inches." She held out her small hand, making an oval to demonstrate her next point. "When I hold his erection in my hand the tip of my index finger is about this close to my thumb."

The distance she demonstrated was about three quarters of an inch.

"It has a sightly purplish tint and there is a vein that runs its entire length along the bottom. When he is hard I feel its strength and power in my bones."

She stopped for a second; it was not hard to imagine what was in her mind's eye.

"I guess I got us off track, please continue," I said.

"He crawled forward, straddling me. His knees were between my legs and his hands, on which he held himself up, next to my shoulders. 'Put it inside you.' I took it in my right hand. Sally, it was so hard and hot, I could feel the heat from the blood inside it. I nuzzled its tip inside me. I expected him to push down hard. I guess I was used to his father. He didn't. He didn't move at all. Desperate to have him inside me I started to push my hips up. As I did, he lowered himself into me. We met in the middle and then he slowly pushed me back into the bed. Although he is much bigger than his father he slipped in easily; I was soaking wet. We started fucking. He kept constant pressure on me. His hips and body rolled across my clitoris while he moved his dick inside me. He visited places inside me I didn't know I had."

She stopped a second. "That is not quite right. Since that first time I have become very aware of how he makes love to me. That first time I was not. After he entered me the only thing I was aware of was my cunt. My being centered on the intense arousal between my legs. I do remember he occasionally licked and sucked on my tits, but they seemed connected directly to my vagina. Every time his tongue caressed my nipples I spasmed between my legs. He later told me that he actually held himself above me for a long time and studied my reactions. He said he wanted to remember the pleasure on my face the first time we made love. He finally lowered his body on to me. I could hear his voice in my ear.

"'I love you and I want you. I've wanted you for years. I want my sexy beautiful wonderful mother.'

"He went on. 'Your even tighter and warmer and softer then I imagined. I love your pussy. Its perfection is molding to and caressing my cock. Do you like your son's cock? It is hard enough for you? It is big enough for you? Does it make your cunt happy?"

"It was all I could do to groan 'yes'.

"But he wouldn't stop. I think he sensed how close I was too exploding. He went on, 'Who owns your cunt? Does it belong to me or to Daddy?' Who owns your cunt? Who owns Mommy's cunt?'

"I could feel my orgasm coming on like a wave. I pulled his head next to mine and started chanting,"Fuck Mommy, fuck Mommy, fuck Mommy." I grabbed his ass. Then I came. As it moved through me I felt his cock twitching. Then he groaned and filled me with his cum.

"Afterwards we laid in each other's arm, covered in a thin sheen of sweat and trying to catch our breath. It took a few minutes, but when I finally could talk I rolled over, my back to his front, his now flaccid cock resting against my butt, and his arm laying lazily across my tits. 'I didn't answer your question. My cunt belongs to you. My tits belong to you. My mouth belongs to you. I belong to you. I hope you were serious about wanting me for years, because I intend to make up for lost time.' He kissed me on the back of the head and we fell asleep."

I have a rule about touching my clients. Unlike some therapists I do not hug or kiss my clients; I try to limit myself to a hand shake. There is so much emotional intimacy in what I do that I think it important to establish whatever boundaries I can. On a personal level, I am an attractive woman and too many clients, having bonded with me on some of the most intimate issues of their lives, believe that the bond should become physical. By keeping my distance from them I provide no unintended encouragement. Now, I converted my rule to a guideline. I left my chair and sat down next to Theresa, taking her hand in mine. I brought it to my mouth and kissed it. "I assume that I am only the third person in the world to know about this." She nodded her head yes and then turned to me, "You don't think I'm a bad person, do you?"

I gave her my best warm smile. "No. I haven't heard a single word that makes you sound like a bad person." I placed my hand on her back and rubbed gently. "It didn't stop with that one night, did it?"

"No, it didn't. We were scheduled to leave first thing Thursday morning, but that left him and I alone on Tuesday and Wednesday. I don't think we would have left the bed except for the fact that he wanted to fuck me on the beach, and in the sand dunes behind the beach, and on a island in the bay he had discovered the year before, and on the deck of the club where we first kissed. That last one was on Thursday at 5:00 A.M., as we were leaving town. I loved every second of it, but couldn't stop thinking abut the fact that I was in an incestuous relationship with my son. On Wednesday I decided that once we returned home it was over. He said he respected my resolve, but would not hold it against me if I fell short of my promise." She smiled, "that is how he convinced me that the 5:00 A.M. liaison was a good idea.

"We got home late-afternoon on Thursday. We didn't have sex, which wasn't that hard since his Dad was home. But we couldn't put aside our own physical comfort with each other. I found myself touching him constantly and his hands always seemed to be on me. That night, when we watched television, my husband settled into his Lazy Boy and I cuddled into my son's arms on the couch. He was good. He respected my wishes. I knew he wanted to caress me and his hands had easy access to my breasts. He had pulled a thick blanket over the two of us; he would have gotten away with it. I think he knew I would have offered no resistance. But still, he didn't. Instead he rubbed my neck and upper back and when his father announced it was time for bed, he let me go.

"My husband's uninspired love-making that night certainly didn't help. The next morning I cooked breakfast for my two men and kissed my husband good-bye at the door. As he backed out of the driveway I walked over to my son and kissed him hard on the lips and called the office to tell them I was extending my vacation another day. I am confident my son and I were naked in my bedroom before my husband got out of the subdivision. We haven't stopped since."

She paused, "The day off probably did me some good." She gestured between her legs, "it had gotten pretty sore down there."

She turned to me, now serious. "Sally, I need to know if what I'm doing is wrong. I need to know if I am harming my son. And if I am, I need to know how to stop.

I kissed her on the cheek. "Theresa, I can't understand, diagnose, and cure problems in one session. Sometimes it takes two or three." That drew a smile. "I have 4:00 o'clock open on Monday. I can see you then." She told me that she was free at that time and I entered her on my schedule.

I took her hand. She seemed reluctant to leave. There was something else she wanted to say. So I asked, "Is there anything else you wanted to tell me?"

She replied, "Its just that my husband will be out of town this weekend and I guess I was hoping -- I know its silly -- for an answer today so I would know whether it was okay to take advantage of his absence."

I stroked her pretty face with my left hand. "Its not silly. However, if I told you not to, would you do it any."

"Probably, he's mighty convincing," she answered.

"I bet he is. Since we can't start out our relationship by you ignoring my advice, I will have to take a pass on ths one. You need to make up your own mind."

She look disappointed. She wanted permission. And then I, contrary to my best instincts, gave it to her.

"I guess if you've been doing harm, there is probably not much more you can do in a single weekend."

"Thank you," she said.

As we got to the door Theresa turned and asked, "Sally, I know I've taken up a lot of your time, but is there anything else you need to know?"

There were indeed a host of questions rattling in my mind, like did you ever get to suck his cock, how often do you suck his cock, and how many times can he go a night? I thought it best not to share those with her.

"You told me just the right amount," I said. "I will see you Monday."

At that moment we both leaned forward and apparently moved by the same impulse, kissed each other on the lips. It seemed like more than a peck, not a lot more, but still more. We hugged and then I watched her walk to the elevator. We waved goodbye, she got in the elevator, and I closed the door to my outer office.​