I am a 55 year old widow whose son, now 24, was a year old when his father was killed, and the compensation from his death allowed us to have a comfortable life, one I did not plan for, but which is what it is now. I live together with my son in a pleasant part of a moderately-sized town, where I hold a position of responsibility. I am also part of the few percent of women who has an ongoing incestuous relationship with her son.
Our incestuous activity grew out of a very innocent and frank discussion we had one evening at the dinner table a couple of months before he was graduated from high school and just prior to his last prom of the year. My son was 18 at the time.
It started with a simple question about what intercourse was like. My son and I have always been able to talk fairly openly about most any topic, and he had often asked me to confirm notions about sexuality that he had heard either in class or among his schoolmates. On this occasion, he came straight to the point, and I explained as best I could, which is akin to telling a man what it is like to give birth to a baby. When I asked after a somewhat clinical and sometimes halting description if he "understood" from my explanation, he said, "Not exactly." I don't know if what I said next was born out of my own sexual frustration or out of compassion for the genuineness of his question or a bit of both, but I inexplicably and completely contrary to my normally staid demeanor asked him if it would help if he were actually to experience it. There was one of those pregnant pauses and the look on his face went through several transformations until he finally smiled, averted his eyes from mine, and asked with a sheepish grin, "What are you going to do, hire an escort to have sex with me?" My answer to this even surprised me.
"No, son. You would experience it from me. I don't want you to get some kind of STD from a perfect stranger. Physical intimacy is something to treasure, because it is the closest you will ever be ‘one’ with another person. Some say that a deep, physical bond allows a person to understand ‘God’ so much better, because He is supposed to represent complete love."
After his initial and understandable shock and embarrassment, he said somewhat shyly that he did want to experience it. To be certain, this was very awkward for both of us, but the door was opened, and we muddled through it. I said that it would happen under some very clearly understood conditions. First, he had to swear to me that he would never, under did any circumstance, reveal this to anyone in any traceable way, no matter what. We would also experience each other in total darkness (I did not want him to see my face when in the throes of ecstasy, if that were to happen, but rather, I wanted him to "see" me with his body). We were just going to have intercourse (I did not until several months on consider it "making love," which I believed would be reserved for his wife if he ever married). He agreed and we finished the rest of our dinner in a strained conversation, cleared the table, wiped the dishes, and then stood in the kitchen and just hugged with tender understanding. I could feel that he was trembling.
I told him that I would be waiting for him when I went to bed that night, and that he was just to enter my room, close the door, and feel his way to my bed. My heart was pounding when I said that, as I am sure his was also, for we were both blushing. He has what one would consider a "soft" and refined look to him, a bookish cut (he is bookish), and he is not a footballer or a great athlete, but he is tall and muscular, thinnish, not hard to look at. His skin is very pink and his blushing was obvious, as was mine, I'm sure.

That first time we had intercourse was awkward, to put it mildly, because, as he has since told me, he was confused about initiating anything that might hurt or disgust me, and I know that I was wondering if I had opened a Pandora's Box that I would regret despite all of the awkwardness, it was nevertheless turned out to be pleasant and exciting, considering that I had not slept with a man for nearly as long as he had been alive, and he had never experienced a woman sexually. And that we had entered a path most forbidden in our culture.
When he entered my room, he whispered, "I'm here," as if I didn't know it, and I whispered back, "Come to the bed. The covers are pulled back," and he crawled in ever so gently and lay down next to my naked body. He still had his T-shirt and underpants on, and I told him to take them off and lie next to me for a while. He did, and it felt wonderful. I then whispered to him to begin discovering my body with his hands, which he did with such gentle and tentative movements that I became as excited as when I had first made love to his father so many years ago. At first he began asking if he could do this or that, and I told him as softly as I knew how that he could do whatever he felt moved to do. Of course, he suckled my nipples and explored my vagina, at first very hesitatingly and then in response to my body's movements and cooing he became more confident. I, in turn, explored his body and discovered that his manliness was not tiny as it was in his boyhood, but it wasn't enormous, either. After what seemed to be a very long time, I encouraged him with tugs and quiet directives to get on top of me. My clitoris was throbbing, and I was more than moist. I was as wet as if I had just come from a shower of thick water. Then I grasped his penis and guided it into my vagina, telling him to push on in, which he did, again very gently and tentatively. He came almost immediately, or so it seemed, and it was as if he had been storing his load all his life, for it oozed from me in great quantities, even before he withdrew himself. All he whispered when he was lying next to me a moment after he had exploded was, "Wow, mom. That was so much more than you could ever have told me," and I caressed his face, saying, "And this is just the beginning, that is, if you want to continue doing this with me. You have much to learn."
I had come only once, but it was powerful, mostly because of the thought that it was so forbidden and because it seemed so new to me, too, as if it were the first time, as it was with my husband. I honestly had not been with another man for nearly 18 years, not because I didn’t want to, but because I could not trust any. My husband and I met in the agency in which we worked as partners, and I knew I could trust him. Our lives literally depended on each other’s trust.
The following day at breakfast table was awkward, too, since neither of us could do anything but give each other very furtive glances, mostly in silence, but that has since changed. He began entering my room when he had a need, rolled down the "blackout" screen to the windows if they're not already down, and entered my bed. My tubes are tied, so there was no worry about pregnancy. Besides, I was in the change. It was in the beginning of our relationship always pleasant, always satisfying, most always done in silence or with very few words, mostly guidance talk, yet always with tenderness and respect.
Within a couple of months, during the transitional summer between high school and college, something very unexpected happened: I began falling in love with him, and I believe he was falling, too. When we parted when he took off for college, we made some lovers’ promises to each other, and since it was only about an hour away, he did come home for week-ends, very regularly.

By the time he was a junior in college, I “gifted” him with light, and we began making love in the soft light of candles. But he was so used to the darkness, that he continued to “see” me with all of his other senses,” which simply heightened the sensation of everything.
Obviously our relationship has changed from parent-child to loving and respectful lovers, and oddly, our "in-the-daylight" relationship has grown steadily warmer and stronger. He has since been graduated and works in the small town on the outskirts of which we live in a comfortable home surrounded by a couple of acres. We now live as husband and wife, although our curious neighbors know us only as that secretive woman and her bookish son. In Europe or South America we live very openly as “husband and wife.” I simply cannot compromise anything about me while in the States.
I write to have a dialog with another mother who may also share the same or similar situation that is my present reality with my son.