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by Meredith Jaussaud
Published by Lot’s Cave
Eternally Bound, © 2017, by Meredith Jaussaud
All Rights Reserved
Cover by Meredith Jaussaud
All Characters In This Book Are Age 18 Or Older
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only and may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this ebook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this ebook and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to the Lot’s Cave website and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
A Lot’s Cave Novel
Chapter 1 - Find Your Way Back
Chapter 2 - Echoes From My Past
Chapter 3 - Hot for Teacher
Chapter 4 - Focal Point
Chapter 5 - A Whole New World
Chapter 6 - The Winds of Change
Chapter 7 - Curious Musings
Chapter 8 - A Groovy Kind of Love
Chapter 9 – A Divine Feast
Chapter 10 - A Little Patience
Chapter 11 - Giving Thanks
Chapter 12 - The Pitch
Chapter 13 - Coming Home
Chapter 14 - Dangerous Liaisons
Chapter 15 - Tender is the Night
Chapter 16 - A Different Corner
Chapter 17 - The Love You Take
Chapter 18 - Skullduggery
Chapter 19 - The West is the Best
Chapter 20 - Possession Obsession
Chapter 21 - Within You without You
Chapter 22 - Day after Day
Chapter 23 - Checking In
Chapter 24 - Homeward Bound
Chapter 25 - The Undiscovered Country
Chapter 26 - Go West Young Man
Chapter 27 - Meeting the Circle
Chapter 28 - Watching the Wheels
Chapter 29 - A Decent Proposal
Chapter 30 - Soul Provider
Chapter 31 - Eternally Bound
Chapter 32 - Afterglow
Find Your Way Back
“HUMAN SEXUALITY - 3 CREDITS
01:00P-03:30P Dryden, S 80 Seats 0 Available 2 Waiting
Above class meets first eight weeks only
IUB GenEd S&H credit
General Course Objectives:
Students find themselves confused or in conflict about some of their early sexual leanings. This course will attempt to help students reflect on their own personal experience, development, background and value stance while becoming acquainted with research findings, current concepts and diverse viewpoints about human sexuality. It is hoped that as a result of their experience in this class, students will:
Be more aware and accepting of their own individual sexual lifestyle and value system and develop an intelligent and responsible sexual lifestyle and be more aware and accepting of the lifestyles and sexual value system of others, especially those which are divergent.”
I was hooked. This course looked very promising. I had just happened to come across it while waiting in line at the bursar's office in late July before the new semester started at Indiana University. The word “sexual” certainly got my attention, as I'm sure it does for every other red blooded male in his early 20s, especially while sitting in such a sterile, unsexy atmosphere as a bursar’s office.
But what held my attention was the “early sexual leanings” phrase. That phrase stuck with me and I kept coming back to it over and over again. As most people naturally do, my mind repeatedly processed those words during my half-hour wait. Where did my desires and cravings lean toward, and why? This course sounded easy and fun, and it had the three credit hours I needed to round out my schedule.
As a Computer Information Technology major I had a lot of tough and time-consuming classes on my required list. I felt that this class could help me focus on my major classes, only requiring me to easily dash off the occasional “read and react” assignment, and still leave time for my part-time gig at the campus coffee shop. This would allow me to enjoy my life as a 20-year-old student with a few dollars in my pocket.
Or so I thought.
When I was finally called up to the line, I immediately added those extra hours to my course load and felt a pang of excitement as I walked out of the bursar's office. I was always game for learning more about myself; plus the class had a female professor, which made it that much more thrilling since I had a soft spot for older women. I found their confidence sexy as hell, and loved their wisdom and their bubbly, outgoing personalities.
A lot of that came from my mom who had a huge impact on my life and still does to this very day. As a single mom she did an extraordinary job in getting me this far, and I absolutely adored her. Her footprints on my life were easy to see and it was no secret that I looked for the same qualities in every girl I chased and made love to. Mom had always told me never to sleep with a woman I wouldn't marry, and I always felt that helped mold me into the deep romantic I had become.
I loved coming on to the girls hard and fast. I knew I came off as too intense for some, but some girls found it to be irresistible. I was just coming off a devastating breakup with Natalie, a gorgeous, svelte blond emt technician who I had fallen hard for the previous Christmas. The lovemaking was breathtaking and daring. The intensity of our sex was spellbinding, and I desperately ached for that level of intensity again. But it was in my heartache that my imagination began trickling into my thoughts and dreams. Being a millennial I was raised with the internet, and not a lot was weird or taboo to me. But I found myself becoming more curious about certain fetishes. Older women. MILFs. Cougars.
My human sexuality class and my budding curiosities seemed to come together at the right moment, and I was thrilled that the new semester began when it did. This was going to be a piece of cake.
“I'd like to tell you a story that many would view as epic; a true lifelong romance. A sexy and thought-provoking tale of overwhelming love, respect and intimacy. Greg was a tall, strapping young man studying to be a railroad engineer. He was a brawny outdoorsman with an almost perfect, chiseled physique of power and muscle. His English and Italian heritage gave his skin a perfect olive complexion. As a helpless romantic, Greg pursued and married his childhood sweetheart Ann at 17 years old. Both still children by many definitions, Greg and Ann struck out to build their family and nest-egg to provide for their daughter Dawn, born just a year later.”
The speaker, Professor Shannon Dryden, was an alluring, auburn-haired woman in her mid-30s. I’d never really been attracted to redheads, but Shannon—that’s what she’d asked us to call her—had a lush, voluptuous figure and that peaches-and-cream skin that made you hungry for a taste. As she spoke, she moved around the classroom distributing copies of her syllabus to the dozens of students gathered for the first day of Human Sexuality 101.
“Barely 18 years old, Greg worked three jobs to make sure his bride and daughter were taken care of. He adored his family and his actions mirrored his deep love for Ann and Dawn.”
“However, Ann’s young life was tragically struck down when she lost her life to a drunk driver late one cold February night. This tragedy would echo throughout the rest of Greg and his precious daughter’s lives, reverberating with consequences both anticipated and unforeseen.”
“As Dawn grew, Greg worked tirelessly to ensure his daughter's future. With wonderful neighbors and a caring network of family and friends, Greg watched his daughter blossom into a gorgeous young woman by the time she graduated high school in 1979. Greg had built a nice nest-egg for Dawn, enabling her to attend any college of her choice and not have to work as she studied.”
“So why on earth am I telling you this story on the first day of a human sexuality class?” Shannon paused for a moment, then said: “Greg and Dawn are my biological parents.”
I blinked, as I’m sure every student did. The immediate reaction was confusion.
“Yes, Greg and his daughter Dawn had a child together: Me. A handsome, doting father and his beautiful daughter mutually consummated their love for one another as consenting adults, entering into a romantic, committed relationship with each other that has lasted to this very day. And, like it or not, incest has always played a role in the story of humankind. From royalty to rock stars, from political gains to prurient desires, coupling between related individuals has gone on for thousands of years.”
“Take a look at the syllabus I’ve just handed out, please,” Shannon requested.
Unlike the majority of syllabi I’d seen during my college career, this one was only one page long—and not even a full one, at that. There was a phone number, email address, and office location for Shannon, a brief explanation of the class, and one assignment. I turned the page over to make sure I wasn’t missing anything.
“For those of you who thought this class would be a breeze, this is your rude awakening. There will be no regular class lectures for this class. Instead, you will contact me and schedule individual meetings every two to three weeks so that we can discuss your questions and your progress on the class project. You’re all grown-ups so I will not be chasing you to come and see me; however, I will keep a record of our meetings. You’ll have access to my personal library of books and other media, and you can contact me as often as you like. There will be no quizzes or written assignments for the class; your grade will be based solely upon the presentation you give at the end of the semester. Please take a look at the description of that presentation now,” she instructed us.
I quickly wondered what her parents looked like paired together. I imagined Dawn as a curvy, buxom beauty in the arms of her ruggedly handsome father, being swept off her feet. Her story resonated with me as I immediately thought of mom. I could almost hear the brakes of mental shame crash into that thought.
Glancing down at the page again, the presentation requirements weren’t difficult to find. Just one sentence appeared under the “Class Project” heading: “At the semester’s end, you will give an oral presentation on the history of incest in the human race—its benefits and failures, its ethics and applications, its attractions and repulsions.” I had to admit I was intrigued by the story of Shannon’s parents, and the more I saw of Shannon herself the more I liked her style.
There was very little about the topic of sexuality that bothered me or made me uncomfortable. My family was pretty liberal in thinking and attitude, and I felt I had something of an advantage over those who were raised to associate sex with guilt or embarrassment. I prided myself on my ability to express my thoughts, desires and intimate feelings with a lover, but I often found myself disappointed by the lack of that ability in my peers. That disappointment, coupled with my insane class schedule, was probably responsible for the breakup with Natalie. I worked off my pent-up sexual energy by either running to the gym for a quick round of weightlifting or by watching a little porn and masturbating. Both were completely acceptable in my book, and the lifting gave me a hard body to show off.
And yet, emerging from deep down in the forgotten lapses of time I recalled one of my first memories of seeing the most beautiful, shapely woman in the distance. The “one”. Her. Through the shadows of thought and fear, I could remember familiar whispers of a kind and loving voice. Hopes and deep desire. Then came the memory of swimming inside her feminine body. Free. A pureness I had forgotten about since childhood. It was in this moment that the two memories connected. That woman was my mother.
My heart leapt from my chest. I couldn’t believe this epiphany I just had. Surely this didn't mean what I thought it meant. Did I really just tell myself I had the hots for my mom? Aside from wanting to immediately throw up, a flood of horrible fears started screaming in my mind, and my emotions were a mix of disgust, rage, anger and guilt. How on earth could I even consider such a sick act? I sat, trying to ward off those evil thoughts. I hid my head in shame to silently curse my existence.
Having zoned out of the professor's lecture, after a few minutes the shock of it all slowly lost its painful sting. My mind gradually drifted to mom’s sexually charged looks, and all the years of crass comments on mom’s body from my friends. Mom had sweeping long locks of pure blonde hair, not once colored or dyed, but truly “tout naturel” as Mom liked to say. I always told her that if Marilyn Monroe and Suzanne Somers had a child together she was it. She had lush, golden skin that turned a nice dark hue of bronze after a few hours in the sun. She came up to just below my shoulders at 5’7,” and her daily workouts helped her maintain a perfectly sculpted hourglass figure that simply rocked. I once caught a glimpse of her 38c-35-47 measurements on a Nordstrom receipt she left on the kitchen table last summer. I remember saying “wow” under my breath. Now it made perfect sense why I desperately loved buxom blondes.
“Goddammit, quit thinking about this!” I screamed internally.
As righteous curses echoed in my mind, Mom’s beguiling looks came into view in my mind’s eye. Thanks to some wise investments Mom had made with her divorce settlement, she and I had a nice nest-egg to live off of. Mom had used some of her earnings on a boob lift two years ago but man, even without that enhancement she was the epitome of every MILF you could imagine. Begrudgingly, I realized how much I admired how Mom never flaunted her looks or trashed it out. She had this air of elegance about her. An unmistakable confidence that blended nicely with a dash of devilish eroticism. My heart skipped several beats, reminding myself over and over that this was my own mother I was mentally sexing up. My breath grew shallow as I failed miserably in trying to reign in my wicked thoughts. As strong as my opposition was, the allure of it all gradually stirred something I had never felt before. An intoxicating haze of confusion mixed with a comforting sense of familiarity came over me.
Unasked questions seemed to begin answering themselves. Mysteries of my life were subconsciously solved. I could see her before me. I could see her sashay those dear wide hips at just the right moment, casting a look of sinful greed as she gazed at me through the brow of her eyes. I only caught occasional glimpses of the wanton vixen I knew she was, but those brief glances made a lasting impression.
But don’t get me wrong, Mom wasn’t the Barbie doll of all MILFS. She had flaws, as all women in their mid-30s have, with stretch marks and the dreaded “hail damage” on her thighs; but damn, she rocked a tight skirt better than any woman. And I loved how easily she silenced a crowded room with her red shoulder-less mini dress she wore at Christmas. I briefly wondered what the same crowd would do if they saw her in that provocative black one-piece bathing suit she always wears to the pool.
But I think what captivated me most was how her curves jutted out at just the right points and apexes. Her ass filled out her skirts and jeans so nicely, as if her flesh was poured into them with tender loving care. Mom also had the sexiest “thighbrow,” that lush dark line that cuts her thigh, which accentuates the fold where the upper thigh meets the ass.
I heard some muttering from the students around me, along with a few sounds of disgust and annoyance. Looking up from the paper, I saw Shannon standing calmly at the front of the room.
“I’ll be happy to answer any questions you may have now,” she said.
“So, you want like a pro and con talk?” asked a female student behind me.
“That’s up to you. We can certainly talk about format in our first individual meeting.”
“This is a pretty gross subject, don’t you think?” asked a guy to my left.
“That’s not up to me to decide,” Shannon countered.
“Well, I think it’s nasty and evil,” he shot back.
“Some people think homosexuality is nasty and evil, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t learn to look at things objectively. Let me be clear. We are not talking about anything here that is forced, coerced or against anyone’s will. We are not talking about passing judgment or resetting anyone’s moral compass. We’re talking about consenting adults, we’re talking about choices, and we’re talking about something that has clearly attracted attention—whether positive or negative. If you can remain unbiased and keep an open mind you’ll not only have a passing grade but you’ll have learned something. That’s what the college experience is about.”
Yeah, I liked Shannon’s attitude a lot, and began to fantasize about a hot encounter with this fair and fiery vixen.
“This is disgusting,” one student claimed as she rose from her seat. “I’m going to file a complaint with the Dean’s Office.”
A few other students grumbled in assent and got up to follow her.
“Do as you like, but all class syllabi have to be submitted to and approved by the Dean every semester. This course has his full consent and I’ll be happy to show you the email confirming that,” Shannon told them.
Most of the small group returned to their seats, brooding over their defeat. The leader looked disdainfully at Shannon and walked out the door, presumably on her way to drop the class.
“Other questions?” Shannon asked.
As she deftly handled some other basic inquiries, I flipped open my notebook and chewed on my pen cap thinking about how to tackle this very unique project. I looked up at Professor Dryden and she smiled as her eyes met mine. I smiled back and gave a slight nod, and then it hit me. Taking the pen from my mouth, I wrote one word in my notebook:
Looking at the word on the page made me feel excited. This was brilliant—I could pick Shannon’s brain about the topic, whip up a quick questionnaire and talk about the results. This was going to be a cinch. I quickly added a note to the page to remind myself to call for an appointment to see her as soon as possible.
As Shannon dismissed the class I stood and gathered my things, then turned and smiled and nodded at her again. She raised her hand to acknowledge me, smiling back. I left the classroom feeling like I was on top of the world.
The rest of the day was crazy busy. I went to two other class sessions in the afternoon, picked up materials from the campus bookstore, spent some time in the computer lab and headed to my shift at the coffee shop. By the time I got back to my dorm room it was a little after 10pm and I tossed myself across my bed, glad to be off my feet. I had hoped that the more time that passed since Shannon’s class the easier it would be to pass off my stray thoughts as absurdity. But as I lay in bed, the stillness only stoked the unremitting flames of sin for my mother.
I vividly remembered a dream I had when I was about 15, a dream that I did my best to forget over time. The dream was of me having the hottest sex with her at San Clemente State Beach. My hormones were in full gear by that age, and I remember the next day being spooked, but drawn to the dream’s intensity and meaning. In this recollection, a flood of memories and emotions started coming back to me.
A devoted boy’s promise to marry his mother at six years old. Visions of her curvaceous, buxom beauty on full display at our pool under the sweltering southern California sun. My memories were adored and replayed in arousing slow motion. Mom’s long, golden tresses of wet hair, matted to her neck and shoulders as she slowly lifted herself from the sapphire waters of the pool. Gazing in awe as thousands of water droplets cascaded down her silky bronzed thighs, licking the supple skin as I knew my lips could. My throbbing erection refuted any sleep as for the first time in my life, I masturbated to my own beautiful mother.
I couldn’t help but think about this taboo topic; I was completely mesmerized. As a kid, I had always wanted to know what made people tick and I drove my mother crazy with my favorite question—”Why?” As I got older, I developed an interest in how and why certain things turn people on, especially after I dated Patrice during my junior year in high school, my first variation off the blonde prerequisite. I sighed as I remembered Patrice, grateful to have found a path away from my wicked thoughts.
Patrice was a succulent, voluptuous brunette with sun-drenched skin and hypnotizing green eyes. She was in a few of my classes and I recognized her because she worked at the local gas station. I thought she was the right combination of curvy and outwardly sexy, even though she seemed kind of quiet at school. I started saying hi to her at the beginning of class, asking her about homework—basically trying to get her to talk to me—and it worked. We started going out and she opened up to me a lot more. One night we were at her house hanging out and she mentioned that her parents wouldn’t be back until after midnight. That night was the first time a woman asked me to worship her ass. I had absolutely no problem at all lavishing her wide shapely ass with all the adoration she could handle.
Patrice laughed as Mom did, and she proudly carried herself in a similar fashion. One night after work we were making out in my car with an intensity that was intoxicating. Her blouse had come off in the fury of our desperate kisses, as did her bra. Her supple skin glowed under the yellowish hue of the security light from above, accenting her big, delicious breasts mere inches from my thirsty lips.
“God you remind me so much of my mom,” I blurted without thinking.
I’ll never forget how she reacted. Unsure at first, all she could do was stare deep into my eyes, cradling my face with her hands. Then she lunged at me, planting the deepest of kisses on my mouth. Her vigor affirmed my lust for Mom as the intensity between our bodies exploded. It was like a switch flipped on inside her. We ravaged one another’s bodies with fast, sloppy kisses. Quick slurps of skin and flesh mixed with the sound of our frenzied moans as she coaxed me onto my back, hiking her skirt up over those lush, motherly hips I cried out for. The tall column of flesh between my legs vanished inside her as I instantly came.
Patrice was the first women to ever let me cum inside her, and I drank in the sweet glow of her instinctual receiving of my seed. Even at my young age, I grasped just a hint of what it meant. And deep down, I hoped that she might become pregnant. A living, breathing life that would forever embody the intensity of what she and I shared as one.
I wish I had told her that.
It turned out that quiet Patrice was into some pretty kinky things, and I was more than happy to indulge her in all of them. The times we shared and the things we did certainly cut my teeth on the finer points of being a thoughtful, caring lover.
With thoughts of Mom, Shannon and Patrice dancing in my head, I imagined all sorts of hot pairings between relatives and eventually drifted off to sleep.
Echoes From My Past
Over the next several days I found myself looking at couples and wondering if they might be relatives. That young boy and girl holding hands in the quad—were they cousins or siblings? The older man and younger woman sitting close together in the booth at the diner—were they a father and his daughter or an uncle and his niece? It was easy enough to hide an incestuous relationship in public; after all, how many times did people really ask if you and someone with you were related? Maybe incest appealed to people in a very deep emotional place that they never shared with anyone else. Maybe it was a lot more common than anyone suspected.
I combed over these thoughts again and again, doubting my memories and re-examining them as to how and why they affected me the way they did. Where did my attraction for Mom start?
Was it when she half-jokingly suggested that I take her to senior prom as my date? We had talked about it for 15 minutes as she even tried on the dress she wanted to wear: A strapless silver gown that accented the thrust of her bust, the narrowness of her waist and the eye-popping width of her hips. I had shot down the idea, as I thought it would’ve looked desperate to show up with my mom. Stupid me.
I kept trying to pinpoint where it began, but realized it had always been. Now it all seemed to make sense, the subtle, involuntary comparisons between the girls I chased and Mom. Each of them the stereotypical California girl with long blonde hair and deep golden tan, plus an hour glass figure. Mom even called me out on it with one girl.
“Wow honey,” she said, startled. “All she needs now is for her name to be Beth.”
Which, of course, was her own name.
These ideas filled my mind during the day and my dreams at night. I felt restless and was eager to begin working on my questionnaire so that my head would settle down, but I needed a path away from this madness. Finding the syllabus for the class, I called Shannon and set up an appointment to see her the following Monday.
Arriving right on time, I knocked on the door of Professor Dryden’s office and tried the doorknob. It turned in my hand and I opened the door, peeking in.
Shannon was standing near her desk with some papers in her hand, looking up at me.
“Hi. You’re Chris, right?” she said with a warm smile.
“Yeah, Chris Monroe. Hi.”
“Well, come on in and sit down,” she said, nodding to the chair in front of her desk. “And it’s Shannon.”
She looked absolutely delicious in her tight brown pencil skirt and cream-colored blouse. I instantly noticed that she had one too many buttons undone on the blouse, providing a tantalizing view of her ample breasts. It was going to be a grueling task to carry on a conversation with her and not stare at her deep, inviting cleavage.
“Great, thanks,” I said, taking a seat and trying to stay focused on her face.
She smiled, sitting down behind her desk and reaching for a folder on top of a nearby pile.
“So, you’re here to talk about your project for class, I assume?”
“Yeah, I’ve got an idea for something I want to include in the presentation, but I could really use some help and advice,” I told her.
“Well, that’s why I’m here,” she said, her eyes fixed on mine. “Tell me what’s on your mind.”
If only I could, I thought. At that moment the thought of my cock sliding up and down between her soft, squeezable tits was what was on my mind, but I had to act appropriately in the situation.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said during our first class, and I think that these kinds of thoughts and feelings might be a lot more common than anyone would expect.”
“Thoughts of incest, you mean?”
“Yeah. We don’t hear a lot of people talk about them because they exist on a very deep level and because the cultural taboo against incest is so negative—sort of like the elephant in the room. I don’t think that stops people from having sexual thoughts and feelings about their family members, but they sure as hell don’t want to admit it,” I explained.
“Wow, interesting ideas, Chris,” Shannon said. “I can tell you’ve really given this a lot of thought.”
“I have,” I started. “Plus, your backstory really got to me. I mean, wow. It’s just so amazing that your parents are father and daughter. It’s such a fascinating topic and I really want to hit a home run with this presentation.”
She smiled. “I’m sure you’re going to do very well, Chris. You’re the first student to come in for an appointment, in fact. Now, tell me, how are you going to conduct research on the subject and include these ideas in your presentation, and how can I help?”
“Well, for starters, I know I need hard facts. Real evidence.”
“I have to put it all out there in a less threatening way seems to be the way to go. I’m thinking a short, anonymous questionnaire that would ask things like whether the person had ever had incestuous thoughts, when they had them, which family members they’ve had them had them about, and if they’ve ever acted on them or thought about acting on them.”
“Wow, I’m really impressed, Chris. That’s an outstanding idea and you really seem to have your thoughts organized,” Shannon said, leaning forward in her chair. “Good for you.”
I licked my lips as her full, creamy breasts came into view, finding myself drawn to them like a moth to a flame. I was having visions of caressing each heavenly orb before bending her over her desk and worshipping her, just like….
Shannon cleared her throat. I looked up, knowing I’d been caught mid-fantasy and feeling incredibly embarrassed. I was surprised to see that she was smiling and that she looked pleased rather than offended.
She moved her hand to her chest, so that it covered the exposed area of her breasts, and let it drift ever so slightly over them.
“Have you ever created a questionnaire before?” she asked.
“No, I wanted to get some tips from you first,” I said, attempting to get my mind back on the business at hand.
“Excellent,” she said.
For the next 20 minutes she gave me a primer on questionnaire writing. I took copious notes, wanting to absorb everything she said. A few times I interrupted her in order to be sure of some point she was making, and she took every question in stride.
“Wow, this is fantastic, Shannon. Thank you so much. God, I would have made a total mess of it without you,” I said sincerely.
“Well, I’m glad you came in to see me before getting started. Hopefully, this will make things a lot easier,” she replied.
There were a few moments of awkward silence between the two of us, as if we were taking each other in. Savoring the moment, I could feel her eyes moving over my body and I loved it.
“Tell me, Chris, have you ever read any incest stories or seen incest videos on the internet?
“No, I can’t say I—”
Without waiting for me to finish answering, she turned to her computer and began typing something.
“You might want to explore what’s out there and to see the kinds of thoughts and ideas that people have about incest. A lot of people have some definite preconceived notions about what they think incest involves, but you seem like a pretty open-minded man,” she said, typing away.
“I’ll definitely take a look and see what I can find,” I told her.
“No, no,” she answered quickly. “I’m going to give you some places to start.”
A moment later, her printer spit out a sheet of paper and she handed it to me.
“Those are some great places to begin,” she explained. “You don’t need to waste your time sifting through all the crap out there when I can send you directly to where you need to be.”
“Wow, thanks. I really appreciate that, Shannon,” I said, glancing at the paper before sliding it inside my notebook.
“My suggestion would be that you get your questionnaire items together as quickly as possible, shoot them to me in an email so that I can let you know how they look and help you fix any problems, and then get it out there to as many potential respondents as you can.”
“Awesome,” I said. “I’ll have the questionnaire to you by Wednesday and I’ll send it out as soon as I get it back from you.”
“Wonderful,” Shannon said, smiling that warm, inviting smile of hers. “Shall we plan on meeting two weeks from today for a follow-up?”
“You got it,” I answered, making a note of the date.
“Maybe we can delve a little bit deeper into the topic.”
Shannon was looking at me very intently, and while I wasn’t exactly sure what she meant by that, the twinkle in her eye made me think I’d enjoy such a delve.
“I’d really like that,” I said, rising from the chair. “It’s not every day a guy finds someone he can talk with about this kind of thing.”
At that second, I imagined the expressions that Shannon’s her mother and father must have had on their faces at the exact moment Shannon was conceived. I took a deep breath in awe of the eye-opening raunch factor of that mental image.
“I’d love to know more about your parents,” I stammered. “How did they… I mean…”
“Mmm,” she purred. Coming around to my side of the desk, she placed her hand on my arm, just above the elbow, and said “It’s okay, don’t be nervous.”
“It’s just, wow. I got so hard when you started talking about them in class.”
I nodded. “Especially when you said they were still in a committed relationship. Jesus, that just really got me.”
“Ah, so we have a romantic here.”
“Yeah. Helplessly and hopelessly,” I answered with a nervous chuckle.
“So you’ve always been intrigued by romantic incest.” She said it more as a statement of fact than a question.
A long pause followed. I could hear her slow, steady breathing. I glanced over to see her large bosoms swell and sink with each breath. God, those huge breasts were simply wondrous to gaze at.
“I always have too, Chris.” she commented. “But I’m afraid we’ll have to pick this back up later. I’m up against a staff meeting.”
“No worries,” I replied. “So, I’ll see you in a couple of weeks then?”
“Count me in,” she said warmly as she turned and opened the door for me.
Then, as I walked past her, “Oh hey, Chris?”
“Tell me your favorite memory you have of her at our next meeting.”
“Tell me at our next meeting,” she instructed with a wry, knowing smile.
She knew, as did I, but neither of us said another word. I nodded in agreement as I walked out of Shannon’s office.
Once I’d reached a safe distance down the hall I took a deep breath and let it out. Shannon was so hot I was almost sorry that I wasn’t going to lectures for her class three times a week. Then again, getting to spend time alone with her every few weeks might not turn out to be such a bad thing. I tried reassuring myself that chasing Shannon would help quell my forbidden thoughts.
Hot for Teacher
After heading to a couple of my classes, working a quick shift at the coffee shop and hitting the gym in an attempt to work off some pent-up energy, I headed off-campus to the local Denny’s to grab some food and start work on my controversial questionnaire. Grabbing a table way in the back, I ordered a Grand Slam breakfast and a pot of coffee, then flipped open my notebook.
Over the next couple of hours I hammered out questions that I hoped would evoke the deeper truths about incest. I referred to Shannon’s instructions and suggestions as I worded the items in a way that would get people to reveal not only their general feelings about incest but also their most personal ones. Clearly, the responses would be anonymous, but the question remained: Who would actually fess up to something that was widely regarded as a vile and evil taboo?
Satisfied with my progress, I headed back to my room to get some sleep around 5a.m. As I settled into bed for the night, Shannon’s recurring question about my favorite memory was subconsciously answering itself. I knew it was of my mother, but a distant memory started to emerge from the darkest fathoms of my mind. It was a cold winter day when I was around nine or 10 years old, and I was home sick from school. Mom had to stay home to watch me, and we were both in our pajamas. Walking past her room with her door nearly shut, I overheard her talking very quietly to a friend. I could tell she was crying, and I immediately stopped out of concern for her. I had never heard such a serious tone in her voice before.
“God, I just wish he would understand,” wept Mom. “I just want another baby so bad, I really do.”
I stood there, frozen in time. That moment made a lasting impression on me, even as a kid. I didn’t know why at the time, perhaps because it was the first time I saw my mother vulnerable. As kids, you always think of your parents as these infallible, hero types. Now it was clear why I had surreptitiously wanted to make Patrice pregnant all those years ago.
But even more than that: I wanted to be the man Mom wept for, the way she wept on the phone that day. Mom deserved better, and I wanted to be the man she deserved.
I awoke the next day around noon with a raging hard-on, thanks to some very hot dreams involving Shannon and that desk in her office. The idea of having her mature, curvy body against mine was irresistible, and I lay back and closed my eyes, giving in to the visions in my head.
She was sitting on the edge of her desk and I was standing close to her. Her skirt was up around her unforgettably thick thighs because of how she was sitting, and her blouse was even more open than it had been yesterday. I was locked in her gaze and she was saying something.
“Come closer, Christopher.”
I did as she asked.
“You want me, don’t you?”
“More than life itself.”
“Mmmm, come and take me, my son.”
“Mother,” I whispered longingly. “Oh God, Mother…”
My eyes flew open and I bolted out of bed, looking nervously around my room. My cock was throbbing powerfully in my hand. Slowly and regrettably I let go of its heft, cursing the source of this bit of fantasy. I needed a shower.
Showered and dressed, I headed out to class and then made a beeline for the library to give the questionnaire one final look before sending it to Shannon. Looking over the questions, it became clear to me that I was not immune to having incestuous thoughts. Being immersed in the topic as I was, something inside of me just clicked. It felt good. It felt right to want my mother the way I did.
After a final once-over I felt pretty confident that the questionnaire was good, so I emailed it to Shannon. As I was closing my notebook, my eyes glanced over the page she had printed for me and I remembered the website references she’d provided. I certainly couldn’t look at them here in the library, but I had the rest of the evening free so heading back to my room was definitely an option. I gathered my things and left the library. I was on a mission.
Twenty minutes later I was settled in my room with my laptop at the ready. Although I had Shannon’s references, I wanted to see what would show up if I did some quick searching. I typed the words “incest stories” into a search engine and got a listing of pages that seemed to feature erotic stories and videos about consensual adult incest, as well as lots of other kinks and taboos. Clicking on some of the links, I found plenty of the kind of crap the internet is famous for, but I also found some true treasures.
Picking up the paper Shannon had given me, I typed in the address for a site called “Unrequited Love.” A very basic web page came up, splashed with the typical warning that the site contained adult material for those 18 and older only. Below the warning there were two buttons: One to leave the site and the other to enter. I clicked “Enter the Site” and waited.
I was soon looking at a page full of decent quality still photos and descriptions for videos offered on the site. As I scrolled down the page and read some of the captions, it was clear that the site covered quite a wide variety of taboos. I was relieved to see no sign of anything illegal, but I also had to admit that some of the stuff was pretty “out there.”
It didn’t take long to find the videos about “family love.” I clicked on one called “Intimate Callings” and saw a two-minute teaser, followed by instructions on how to purchase the rest of it. Returning to the main page, a title in the next row caught my eye: “A Mother’s Love.” Clicking through to the clip, I watched as a mature and sexy mother explained her needs to her college-age son. In return, he pledged his devotion to her and the two slowly walked hand-in-hand toward what was clearly a bedroom. I was taken by the sheer romanticism and high quality of what I had seen. I felt my cock twitch in my pants as I caught my breath. It was like gazing down from atop a skyscraper—that rush of blood and adrenaline. I couldn’t bookmark the site fast enough.
I reached over and picked up the paper from Shannon again, looking at the next site on her incredible list. Typing the address into the browser, I soon found myself looking at a bold banner:
“Welcome to Your Innermost Secret Desires—You Know Why You Are Here.”
This site had the same boring warning as the last one, but when I clicked “Enter” I found myself looking at an amazingly well constructed index. The top of the page explained that the site contained stories about a myriad of taboos, written by both professional and amateur writers. The professional and elegant style of the site and the obvious amount of thought and work that went into it made me think of Mom immediately. It reflected her panache to a T.
Taking it all in for a few moments, I finally typed “incest” into the search box and hit the return key.
It was the mother lode of forbidden erotica. I was stunned at the sheer volume of incestuous love stories on the site, never mind the variety of couplings. Granted, it was all fantasy and fiction, but the fact that these stories were being written, shared and commented on by an entire community demonstrated that consensual incest had a tremendous underground following. As my foray continued, I found the typical quick and dirty jerk-off anecdotes, but I also found some gems that were thoughtful, caring, well-constructed fantasies of deep commitment and unrequited love between adults who just happened to be related.
Within minutes, I came across a story called “Tender Moments.” As I delved into it, I discovered it was about a guy my age coming to terms with his very hush-hush love for his mother. As I read each tantalizing paragraph, I became enraptured with the extraordinary journey that would lead him into her arms—not as her son, but as her rightful lover. He treated her the way any man would treat the woman he so deeply adored: He sent her cards and love notes and showered her with flowers and gifts.