THE REAL MEANING OF INCEST: Mother and son agree not to have incestuous relations...

By Leonard Gilbert

 This book brings a tale of incest which will leave you swollen and tingling in all the right places.  

 Prepare for a literary trip filled with passion, sensitivity, and the promise of happily-ever-afters that will remain in the heart long after the last page is turned.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Leonard Gilbert
• Release date: Dec 29, 2023
• ISBN: 9798869090409

Book preview

THE REAL MEANING OF INCEST

Mother and son agree not to have incestuous relations...

By

Leonard Gilbert

This is a fictional work. Names, characters, settings, and happenings are either made up by the author or utilized fictitiously. Any similarity to real people, living or dead, businesses, events, or locations is completely coincidental.

@ COPYRIGHT

All right reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without the written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotation in a book review.

I was raised to know God's love. My religious convictions helped me get to the age of 18. Within a week after hitting that milestone, I lost my virginity to a lady.

I'll never forget that day, or the intense lovemaking I had with Chloe. It was the most physically and emotionally thrilling experience I'd ever had. I believe I had always been sexual, but had been limited by the religious milieu and my parents' protective bubble.

What I believed would be a mutual love and fellowship connection with Chloe gradually deteriorated. I'm not sure my confidence in her was ever really established: we started a secret relationship, got into emotional trouble, and then terminated with treachery all within a few months.

The treachery occurred on our last night together. It was uncomfortable from the start. We were both clinging to the shards of an incredible night of sex and honesty. Our disparities were too great.

We proceeded to a pub she knew, and it wasn't long before she introduced me to two male acquaintances. We danced, and I only had one drink. At one time, Chloe and one of the men were both gone. The other informed me that they had gone to clear their heads. That was plenty for me. I turned to walk away, but the man grabbed my arm. He became agitated and was jumped on by a 'friendly' elderly man and security. He was quickly taken out of the building.

I accepted the kind man's offer of a drink in gratitude for his assistance.

That's the last thing I remember.

I awakened in an out-of-town hotel room. The light streamed in through a window. I was nude and alone on a bed.

The sheets were all around, and I was twisted in a blanket. I untangled myself and took a glance about me.

Nothing.

I started sobbing into the wrinkled sheet in my hand.

My mind was racing, so I went to the shower and just let the water run over me. I cleaned everything with the little bar of soap until the soap was gone. My body was whole, but my vagina felt strange and was hurting. Very painful. My inner thighs had blood stains on them before I cleansed them.

I can only presume the 'nice' older man gave me a medication. Other than the knowledge that I was raped, I know nothing else. I have no recollection of it.

My kid, Jason, was the only solid evidence that someone had intercourse with me.

I kept the events of that day hidden from everyone. I vowed to abstain from Chloe, booze, and sex. I dedicated myself to God and the church's fellowship. I missed two periods before taking a pregnancy test, which came out positive.

My life was flipped upside down and became a complete shambles. I was not going to abort, and I had the backing of my parents, despite the fact that I had brought immense humiliation upon them.

I had no desire to discover or know the father. The dude was heinous. I endured the accusations, accusing, name, whispering, poor self-esteem, and 'pointed' looks. I would not have made it through without my religion and the support of my parents.

I let go of my guilt at six months and concentrated on becoming a mother. I felt a weight lift off my shoulders at that time.

Jason was born precisely 19 years after I was born.

Jason's birth altered my life. I thought he was stunning and unique. I got the impression that the Lord God had bestowed upon me the most divine of his gifts, the life of a child. Everything became about Jason, and I even placed him before God.

He was like an immaculate creation to my parents. Anyone's thoughts were unaffected by how he came to be. He was just mine...ours.

My mother treated me as if I were a second kid since I was an only child. It was like having a son for the first time for my father. And, yeah, I stayed with my parents because I had few other alternatives. Furthermore, they would not have had it any other way.

My life was jam-packed. I was able to attend a local college and study history part-time, as well as take a theology course. I worked part-time at the local library and remained active in the religious community. Raising my baby with the aid of my two great parents was what kept my life full.

Jason was a clever young man. He was a serious thinker. I recall him asking me when he was five, Why is the world round? What makes rainbows? Why do birds make nests in spring? Why don't I float into the sky? Why can't we breathe underwater like fish? and so on and so forth. And at least a dozen times a day, he'd say, I love you, Mummy.

He enjoyed playing football almost as much as his granddad enjoyed watching him play. He was astute and attractive, with his tidy black hair and charming grin.

Jason enjoyed drawing as well. He had been sketching from the first time he took up a pencil. I recall the very first thing he ever drew. It was two stick figures, hands meeting, one tall and one short, and as he delivered it to me, he murmured, You and me, Mummy. It made my heart melt. He often drew the four of us, but his favorite was You and me, Mummy.

He was lovely by the age of 10. People adored my son, which made me wonder about his father, but I ignored the possibility. Jason was all mine.

My mother died of a heart attack right before Jason became 11 years old. It was a horrible period for all of us. I'm still hurting from her death. She had such a soothing and beneficial impact on my father and myself. She was Jason's second mother, and she left a void that seemed insurmountable.

But time passes, and years pass. Jason began high school, went through puberty, and his shine faded a bit, but he was still a lovely person. I was madly in love with him.

As he got older, his sketches evolved into paintings. He worked his way up from pencils