My parents divorced when I was ten years old. It was the early 1980's and for some bizarre reason, the family court judge ruled that my mother got full custody of my sister and my father got full custody of me rather than splitting custody or giving one parent custody of both kids.
And so my mother and sister moved out of the house and across country (from southern California to Michigan) while dad and I stayed in the only home I'd ever known.
Dad was never an emotional guy. He didn't say "I love you" often and he wasn't a hugger or a back slapper. In fact there were times you'd catch him staring at you kind of confused as if he couldn't quite believe he had kids. Maybe that was part of the reason mom left, I really don't know.
Because he was an emergency room physician, dad was away from home a lot. In fact, I could go weeks and weeks without ever really seeing him much at all. Which was cool by me. I was kind of an independent sort by nature. But I'd get bored.
I took to exploring the house in my long hours alone. At first I didn't really find much. But in my dad's big walk-in closet, way at the back I discovered an old shoebox full of color Polaroid photos. I took them to my room and looked through them. There must have been a couple of hundred and they were all of my mother having sex with different people or posing nude all by herself.
Apparently my parents had been swingers (although at the time I had no idea what swinging was). I looked at photos of my mother being fucked by 2 men at once, having sex with black men, having sex with other women, inserting different things inside of her vagina and anus. Pictures of her smiling into the camera, her face covered in cum. By the time I finished looking through them all I had an almost painfully erect hardon.
I put the photos back and was ashamed of my arousal. I'd only just began to go through puberty and these experiences were still new to me. But I understood what they meant and I was disgusted with myself for feeling excited by photos of my own mother.
As the days turned to weeks and the weeks became months, I found myself drawn back to the closet and those photos more and more. Despite my initial feelings of shame, my reluctance to view the pictures faded. And before too long I began masturbating to them.
All through my teens I harbored a secret incestuous sexual attraction to my mother. But I refused to act on my feelings. All I ever did was masturbate to fantasies.
Finally in college I traveled to Europe to attend classes in the UK. While there (in Wednesbury, West Midlands) I met an older woman named Helen who looked so much like my mother, they could have been twins. I immediately began flirting with her and despite her initial reluctance to date a younger man she gave me a chance. I went all out to win her hand as my girlfriend and she finally gave in.
We were together for two years and the sex was unbelievable. Each and everytime we'd make love I lived out a fantasy. Of course it ended badly. When she finally saw a photo of my mother, she called me a perverted little shit and walked out on me. But I still remember her to this day.
Maybe I am a pervert. maybe I am disgusting. But I never went too far. I never acted on my impulses. To this day my mother hasn't any idea of the way I feel and she never will. It's my most heartfelt hope to find another woman someday that reminds me of her as much as Helen did. Oh the times we'll have.
And so my mother and sister moved out of the house and across country (from southern California to Michigan) while dad and I stayed in the only home I'd ever known.
Dad was never an emotional guy. He didn't say "I love you" often and he wasn't a hugger or a back slapper. In fact there were times you'd catch him staring at you kind of confused as if he couldn't quite believe he had kids. Maybe that was part of the reason mom left, I really don't know.
Because he was an emergency room physician, dad was away from home a lot. In fact, I could go weeks and weeks without ever really seeing him much at all. Which was cool by me. I was kind of an independent sort by nature. But I'd get bored.
I took to exploring the house in my long hours alone. At first I didn't really find much. But in my dad's big walk-in closet, way at the back I discovered an old shoebox full of color Polaroid photos. I took them to my room and looked through them. There must have been a couple of hundred and they were all of my mother having sex with different people or posing nude all by herself.
Apparently my parents had been swingers (although at the time I had no idea what swinging was). I looked at photos of my mother being fucked by 2 men at once, having sex with black men, having sex with other women, inserting different things inside of her vagina and anus. Pictures of her smiling into the camera, her face covered in cum. By the time I finished looking through them all I had an almost painfully erect hardon.
I put the photos back and was ashamed of my arousal. I'd only just began to go through puberty and these experiences were still new to me. But I understood what they meant and I was disgusted with myself for feeling excited by photos of my own mother.
As the days turned to weeks and the weeks became months, I found myself drawn back to the closet and those photos more and more. Despite my initial feelings of shame, my reluctance to view the pictures faded. And before too long I began masturbating to them.
All through my teens I harbored a secret incestuous sexual attraction to my mother. But I refused to act on my feelings. All I ever did was masturbate to fantasies.
Finally in college I traveled to Europe to attend classes in the UK. While there (in Wednesbury, West Midlands) I met an older woman named Helen who looked so much like my mother, they could have been twins. I immediately began flirting with her and despite her initial reluctance to date a younger man she gave me a chance. I went all out to win her hand as my girlfriend and she finally gave in.
We were together for two years and the sex was unbelievable. Each and everytime we'd make love I lived out a fantasy. Of course it ended badly. When she finally saw a photo of my mother, she called me a perverted little shit and walked out on me. But I still remember her to this day.
Maybe I am a pervert. maybe I am disgusting. But I never went too far. I never acted on my impulses. To this day my mother hasn't any idea of the way I feel and she never will. It's my most heartfelt hope to find another woman someday that reminds me of her as much as Helen did. Oh the times we'll have.
- That's Juicy! 10
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