Thanks so much for the comments and feedback for the first chapter. Please keep it coming, I’d really like to hear what people think, and what they would like to see in the future.
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What can you do with memories which you cannot explain?
Do you put them back in the same dark space where they so long lain dormant, pretending that there is nothing there? Do you simply shake your head and say that it never happened even when you know in your heart that it must have?
Can you simply choose to forget?
I do not know. I only know that I could not. Could not explain, and could not forget.
In the days that followed my daughters graduation and the flood of memory provoked by a spill over brunch, I could not clear the memory from my mind. The image of my mother, naked and bent over the kitchen table, moaning in pleasure as some faceless form laughed in the background of my mind.
I could not forget the whispered words which I was then sure my mother must have uttered.
“Dominate me, baby…”
It was a problem without any answer, for I was not about to call my mother, the renowned author and social activist, and ask her to explain to me something that may have been nothing more than a dream. The very thought of such a conversation with my mother mortified me, and it was not a call that I was willing to make.
My relationship with my mother had always been good, but it had also been one dominated by propriety. My mother, May, had always been out to set an example, as a woman of color, as a social activist, and as a single mother. She was not the sort to laugh along with a dirty joke, and the idea of discussing a sudden memory of her sexuality might well be the sky falling on our heads. No, I was certainly not going to speak to my mother.
I suppose that I could have gone right away to Simon. Yes, my husband would surely have thought it was weird, and even troubling, but we had been married more than twenty years and even though he was busy with his political campaign, I still knew that he was my rock, that I could go to him with anything and that Simon would share the weight of any burden. But I did not go to my husband.
It was too small a thing really, and it was too embarrassing to make so much over something trivial. After all, my memory was clearly of my my mother having sex, and if that is alarming for a child it is not actually that unusual. I was not by any means proud of the fact that all of my children had sooner or later caught their father and I in the act, but it had happened. Thankfully they had all been at an appropriate age, where Simon and I were able to sit them down and explain some things, doing nothing I’m sure to make the situation less embarrassing, but at least demonstrating that consensual sex between adults was nothing to be ashamed of.
I was most embarrassed I suppose by the effect that it had on me. After all, I was a forty three year old woman with three grown children, I had not been foolish enough to imagine that my mother had given birth to my sister and I through immaculate conception. If I had once seen her engaged in intercourse, even somewhat shocking intercourse, so what? She had been an adult after all, and she had been a woman with needs just like any other. The memory should have simply been something that I shrugged off, went on with my life, even forgot.
But of course that was not what happened.
I was troubled by the image, the laughter and the words which echoed in my head for some days after the incident at the brunch had brought them up. It seemed like every few moments my thoughts would drift in that direction and leave me confused and embarrassed all over again. There seemed no escape, but I was determined not to let it show. I continued to work at the firm as I always had, I showed no sign of distress in my interactions with my husband or my friends, and I resolved to myself that my current worries and concerns were simply something that would pass.
It might have gone that way had it not been for the incident with my daughter Corrie, who stopped in at home for a visit about a week after her graduation.
It was the usual visit, one part friendly chat and one part an occasion for Corrie to do her laundry for free in our machine, and perhaps most of all it was a way of asking for a little money, as all twenty somethings fresh from college and as yet without work will do. I did not mind in the least of course, no matter the reasons for her coming. It was a Saturday afternoon and I was free for the weekend, while Simon was hobnobbing with CEOs and political movers at a golf tournament. What better way to spend an early summer afternoon then hanging out with one’s own daughter?
I am sure we didn’t talk about anything important, though at this point it is rather hard to recall exactly. Doubtless we discussed Corrie’s search for a job, she was hoping to find something in marketing while she toyed with the idea of grad school, and probably we discussed her many friends and their own bursa escort plans for the future, and maybe even we discussed Simon’s campaign and Tim and Joanne’s trip to Europe . I do not know.
I do know that after an hour or so I left my daughter in the living room and went to the kitchen to fix us some more tea. My laundry room is right next to the kitchen and so as I refilled our mugs I realized that the clothes that Corrie had put in the washer had finished, and just out of habit I went to transfer them to the dryer myself. Just like any mother might, on any normal day.
Things went strange at once however, for the first item that I pulled out of the washer was not some top or a pair of jeans but a pair of crotchless panties of black lace. I was rather surprised, of course, as any mother would be. I was well aware that my daughter was sexually active, I had met a half dozen of her boyfriends over the years, but I had never really thought of my sweet Corrie as the type of young woman to wear such provocative lingerie. It had never been my style at all, the closest I came to such revealing garments was the occasional thong, which I actually found a bit uncomfortable but it always drove Simon absolutely wild to see the skimpy cotton disappearing between the round globes of by ass…never in my wildest dreams however would I have considered something so openly provocative as those panties I pulled from the washer.
I was not going to make a big deal of it, I simply threw them in the dryer and went about transferring the rest of the wet clothes out of the washer. When I had finished however, I received another surprise, and this one a little harder to wrap my head around.
When I moved all the clothes from the washer, I checked one last time, making sure I hadn’t missed some single sock or other small item that Corrie would miss. The washer was clear, all save for a small scrap of paper which must have been in the pocket of some pants or something. I reached in and quickly removed it, to throw it away in the small wastebasket beside the washer. Yet when I held the scrap in my hand I realized at once that it was not paper at all, no crumpled receipt or scrap of note.
Instead what I held in my hand was a photograph, the kind we used to get from the old instant cameras. The image on the crumpled Polaroid had not weathered the washing well, the colors had run and swirled and in several places along the crumpled surface the image had bled away all together. Yet what remained was enough to shock me to my core.
I held in my hand a tattered photo of my twenty two year old Corrie, my beautiful and brilliant daughter, but in a way that I had never dreamed of seeing her. My beautiful girl, the one who looked so much like me…so much that It took me a moment to be sure I was not viewing some nightmare version of myself.
The photograph had been taken close up, and it showed a young white man from behind, down on his knees with his legs spread wide and his rear thrust high in the air. His face and upper body, mostly worn away by the spin cycle must have rested down on the floor between my daughters dark knees, as she crouched over him. Both of her hands wrapped tight around the young man’s slender penis, just below his hairless scrotum, and her chin rested in the cleft of his pale ass cheeks. As her long pink tongue lolled from her painted lips and pressed against the exposed and wrinkled hole of the boys ass. Corrie’s face was lowered to her task, her dark curls falling over her left eye, but the right was raised and staring out at me and at whoever had taken the photo, and I had no doubt that the message of that gaze was one of pure delight.
As I shuddered at the image, I heard once again that mysterious laughter from long ago echoing in my head, and I heard again my mother’s pleading whisper.
“Dominate me, baby…”
And I should have thrown that photograph away, I certainly meant to. It was none of my business, and I had enough going on in my head already, I did not need to puzzle over any more. But I did not throw it away. Instead I his the still wet photograph beneath a bottle of fabric softener on the shelf, and putting on a calm exterior I went back to the kitchen to finish pouring the tea.
When I returned to Corrie in the living room she must have seen that something was troubling me, and she asked me several times if I was alright. I assured her that I was fine, but even so she seemed increasingly nervous around me. Maybe it was the way that I kept staring at her full lips, the red lipstick she was wearing was just as in the Polaroid, or the way that I shivered a little bit each time she opened her mouth and gave me a flash of her tongue.
Finally she put down her tea and she asked me directly.
“Mom, what’s going on with you? Your staring at me and it’s freaking me out…you did it in the restaurant last week too…seriously, what’s up?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I just have some things on my mind is all. Your dad’s campaign, a case from escort bursa the office…I’m just distracted a little. I don’t mean to stare. Really baby, nothing’s wrong.”
To change the subject as quickly as possible, and perhaps to learn more about the photo I had found I asked Corrie if she was seeing anyone, which provoked from her the usual eye rolling and a reply that there was nobody serious, not even anyone worth mentioning. No word of the young man with the nearly hairless body, whose penis she had cradled in her hands, whose ass hole my daughter had licked.
We chatted on for a while, once more it was about nothing, and Corrie did not seem to entirely believe the excuse I had given for the looks I gave her. Soon enough the dryer was finished, and then Corrie nervously asked me if she could borrow some money to tide her over until she found work. While she collected her laundry I wrote her a check, and then we hugged each other and said our goodbyes.
“Whatever is going on with you I hope you feel better mom.” Corrie whispered as we held each other close. “Whatever it is just forget about it, ok? It’s probably no big deal.”
And then she was gone and I was alone in the house on an early summer afternoon. With nothing in particular to do, and with no one to speak to, all alone with a head full of thoughts which I could not expel.
I am embarrassed to say that almost as soon as my daughter left I returned to the laundry room and retrieved the damaged Polaroid from where I had hidden it.
And why had I hidden it?
I asked myself a hundred times as I sat once again on the couch, the chair that Corrie had occupied just moments before sitting empty in front of me, and turning that awful picture over and over again in my head and in my hands.
Why had I hidden it?
Was it that I would have been embarrassed to put it back, as though Corrie might find it and assume that I had seen? Was it that I believed that by hiding the image I might somehow make the act less real, and put off the confrontation of my daughters apparently wild sexuality even as I struggled to cope with that of my mother’s? Or was it something else?
Could it have been how much Corrie looked like me in the remnants of the photograph?
As I stared at the image I tried to age the woman in the picture in my head, to slightly darken the hue of her soft skin, to fill out her body and weight her breasts. I added lines from laughter at the corners of her mouth and at her staring eye. I tried to tighten her curls, soften the lines of her nose, until I could close my eyes all together and I could see myself in some dark room by night, a young man’s body warm against my naked skin.
Imagined the feel of that long and skinny penis in my palms, how hard it was, the heat that poured off it. Imagined that it was my own tongue snaking out across my own full lips to press gently at first against the rim of a young asshole, and then harder, more firmly as I pressed inward…such lewd thoughts that shocked me in the instant that they formed, yet not enough that I opened my eyes. I simply accepted the shock and let my imagination run wild.
The man who held the camera was nude, and he was lithe and muscular, a man so dark that he seemed nearly purple in the dim light of our imagined room, and his prick hung limp and long and heavy between his muscled thighs as he watched my act and aimed the camera. Yet in a second the figure behind the camera had my husband’s features and I saw that he was grinning at me, that he was nodding and that he was urging me on, to go still further in my action, in my fantasy.
I would have begun to stroke the young man’s prick with both my small hands, up and down, squeezing him firmly, milking his pleasure even as my tongue pressed deeper inside of him. I imagined Simon, for by then it was wholly Simon, reaching down with his free hand to stroke his hardening prick while the other hand tried to hold the camera steady, while the flash went off and blinded me.
And when I could see again the young man would have been gone, vanished into the dark of that room of make believe, and I was the one upon the floor, the lovely firm ass of which I was so proud raised as high as I could lift it into the air, offering it up to Simon who crouched behind me and rubbed the head of his erection against the sopping wet lips of my pussy. I would have felt Simon’s left hand squeezing into the flesh of my hip as he thrust forward and tore his way inside of me, cried out in pleasure as he right curled itself into the tangles of my dark hair and began to none to gently pull my head back.
He would have whispered in my ear, “You like that baby? You like being a little slut for me?”
“Oh god yes! Oh God, yessss…”
But then I knew that I was moaning the words beyond my fantasy, that in waking life I sat upon the couch in my living room with my skirt pushed down around my ankles, and it was the fingers of my own left hand that worked in and out of my slick sex bursa escort bayan and flickered against my tender clit as in my right I held the image of my daughter.
I wanted to stop. I needed to stop. But I couldn’t stop. I was too close already.
I imagined that Simon rode me like an animal, his heavy thighs slamming against my own as he drove himself deep inside me, his heavy balls slapping against my skin with each furious stroke. As I begged him to fuck me, to ride me harder and harder, as I promised him that I loved to be his little black slut.
The imaginary room filled once more with the camera’s flash and then it was my daughter who held it. She stood nude before us but for the skimpy pair of black and crothless panties which perfectly framed the revelation of her dark sex, slowly spreading beneath the movement of her long fingers to reveal the soft pink within. Corrie grinning as she began to take more pictures as she began to stroke her clit fast and faster to the scene of her mother being fucked before her eyes, as I screamed out as I came.
“Dominate me baby!”
Screamed so loud that I felt sure the neighbors must have heard two hundred yards down the road. And as I trembled there upon that couch in the warm afternoon, as I lolled breathless at the intensity of my orgasm, I stared down at the image of my daughter staring back, and with the slightest flick of my little finger I touched my clit once more and came again.
After that came the shame.
What had I done, what was I thinking? I had pleasured myself to an image of my own daughter, I had conjured Corrie up to play a part in a very raunchy fantasy, and I had brought myself to orgasm while staring into my daughter’s eyes. What kind of mother did that, what kind of person?
And perhaps I would have been haunted by that shame for the rest of the day, and long after had it not been for the other sensation that assailed me in those long and troubled hours. That somehow, and undeniably, I was still incredibly aroused.
I wanted more, I wanted to return to that fantasy born from my daughter’s image, and wanted to cum again in that soft imagined room where there were no rules and even the forms were endlessly shifted. The shame of it would not allow me to take up that Polaroid once more, to pleasure myself to that washed up image, but the need burned in my stomach all that long afternoon, and my panties were so constantly damp from my arousal that I was forced to take them off and go without.
More than anything else ever could have, my arousal held off the questions I would ordinarily have been asking myself, and it became a long and rather frustrating wait for evening and for Simon at last to return home.
There was no preamble or pretense when Simon returned at last, my husband had no sooner walked through the door than I took his hand in mine and led him quickly up the stairs and to our bedroom.
“What’s wrong Gwen?” Simon teased me as I closed the door behind us and began to undo the buttons of my blouse. “Has it really been that long? Can’t a guy at least get some dinner first?”
But he was obviously joking, by no means was Simon going to turn down the opportunity to fuck his horny wife, and by the time I had finished with my last button and let the white blouse fall wide to expose my heavy breasts, Simon’s shoes had already been kicked from his feet and he was stepping out of his slacks, kicking them away from his ankles.
“I need you baby.” I told him as I stepped towards him, pushing my skirt down around my hips and stepping out of it, his eyes going a little wide as he saw that I was bare beneath. “I need you right now, and I need you bad!”
His penis was erect by the time that my soft hand closed around it and began to stroke, and he didn’t bother taking off his shirt as his arms wrapped around me, as his fingers worked the clasp of my bra to let the last of my garments fall away.
“You’re beautiful Gwen.” he told me, in the instant before our lips met, as the bulbous head of his dick pressed hot into my belly and his hands reached down to cup the cheeks of my ass.
I took my hand off of his prick, it had been a week since we had last made love and I didn’t want him to finish in my hand and have nothing left in the tank when it came time to fuck my aching pussy. He was certainly as ready for it as I was as Simon broke from our kiss and turned me , pushed me gently down towards the bed. He began to climb on top of me, his cock in his hand as he guided it towards my waiting entrance, but to my own surprise I stopped him.
“No baby, not like that…tonight can we do it from behind?”
” Jesus.” Simon grunted, a grin breaking across his face. ” What’s gotten into you honey? Is tonight some special occasion that slipped my mind? Should I have come with a present?”
What had gotten into me was the hazy memory of my own mother, her dark skin shining with sweat, bucking her hips back into something that I could not see and could not remember, laughter in the darkness of my mind. What had gotten into me was the frozen image of my darling daughter, my pride and joy who I had loved unconditionally since the day she was born, caught with a prick in her dark hands and her tongue to a stranger’s ass.