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Incest pregnant story

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What's New? Page 1 of 2 1 2 Last Jump to page: Results 1 to 25 of Thread: well i got my mom pregnant.

My mom and dad got divorced about six years ago. I get to see my dad once a month as he lives in Toronto and I live in Calgary.

This caused my mom to fall into an emotional breakdown and she was pretty fucked up that night. I came home from work and she was completely drunk.

She was telling me about the phone call and how she wished my dad would just die. She was really open with her feelings and emotions and she was telling me a lot.

She offered me some Vodka and I accepted, as I go crazy for that stuff. I love Vodka and I really just wanted to help her out. The last thing I wanted to do is refuse something from her and then have her start crying again.

I had about seven shots and I started to get a little tipsy when she put her arm on me. Just love for your child I suppose but this time, I just accepted it I was really too drunk to care.

What happened after this was completely unexpected. My mom told me to shut my eyes, and she kissed me on the lips.

I was completely stunned. She then started kissing me furiously and passionately. She then pulled off her shirt and mine and pretty much, well pushed me onto the floor.

She was on top of me and there was really not much I could do. I was being seduced by my own mom. Then we made a huge mistake…we had sex. We finished up and she left to go to the washroom to clean up.

I gather my father stopped using condoms during his visits. I imagine her lover complained about using them, as did the lover in her book; and so, shouldering the birth control burden herself, she began using a diaphragm with him.

In the very scene I first turned to in discovering her memoir-novel, the heroine is languorously enjoying a second lovemaking session on a hilltop picnic towel.

Her sense of spiritual completeness causes her to hold her lover to her, to capture the full joy of unity with Nature.

Later, as they lay snuggled together, still warmly bonded, she wonders if her sense is premonition; and despite her usual precaution, it does seem the soft circle of rubber was dislodged in the perfect afternoon of lovemaking.

Thus, did I enter the world. This realization took some years to sink in. Everyone had always commented that my brother and I looked like my mother, while my sister took after my father.

This apparent contradiction was the source of a long-standing family joke. By carefully piecing together snapshots and the accompanying timeline, I believe that within days of missing her period, my mother flew to Turkey and spent a long weekend with my father--sufficient explanation for my birth eight months later.

In any event, my slightly premature birth was unremarkable. Her lover certainly bore a resemblance to her husband, but not strikingly so.

Without becoming too dewy-eyed, I think my mother responded to the duty she undoubtedly felt to her unborn child.

She paused, trying to remember any difficulty, and seemed to fail. A second child would have put those thoughts to rest.

Or perhaps she feared my father was infertile, and that he would begin to question her initial pregnancy if nothing came of their unions.

With my mother, both of these are entirely possible, since both would conserve the marriage and family unit equally well. But given my own current confusion, I tend to distrust any conclusions about my mother, or my own situation, that seem too facile.

My mother was fortunate to find a trustworthy lover who was blessed with a distant marriage of convenience; his requests for transfer to Hawaii never seemed to get granted, and so he stayed on in D.

I am not sure what instigated his eventual transfer, be it bureaucratic machinery or his own decision to leave D. In any case, my biological father left when I was six, and my mother quit her job shortly thereafter; she then housewived her three children until my father returned for good several years later.

Apparently the following affairs she tried were not so fulfilling or lasting; and eventually, I think her unhappiness forced my father to forego the overseas assignments which might have boosted his rank to Colonel.

He returned to a D. If he felt bitterness over the cost of her happiness to his career, he never expressed it to me. Now I wonder, in a sort of distaff irony, if he would not have been happier if my mother had found another willing and kind lover to satisfy her for another four years, until his overseas duties could have borne their final fruit.

Yet I think not, for even as I try to distance my own affair from her book, the powerful emotions and sexual joys she describes are too natural and imperfect not to be drawn from experience.

I cannot doubt that she did make love one perfect afternoon on a remote Virginia hilltop, or stood nervously awaiting her husband with the dampness of a morning tryst still on her skin.

And yet I am wary of that conclusion, too, for it serves too neatly as a sort of generational justification for my own affair. Just as my mother was the lonely woman far from her husband, so the woman I furtively meet is in the Bay Area, far from her husband in Honolulu.

And it would please me, too, if I could believe that I was like my mother, sustaining myself to be dutiful by means of this affair. But I cannot believe it, for it strikes me as false on so many counts; first of which is that my wife and I have made no unspoken pact, as my parents did.

My affair feeds me, but it also distracts me; it does not enable my duties as husband and father, it cripples them. Yet in saying that, I also wonder if the rot did not start with her, and that in glorifying her balancing of infidelity and duty, I may be trying to let her off the hook for the subtle damage she rained on her children.

But that very path ends in letting me off the hook, swinging the responsibility from myself to her. Perhaps that is illusion, too, but I cannot honestly say I felt the uncertainty that children feel when their parent is weak, distracted or vulnerable.

My mother seemed to know what she needed, and found it without burdening her children. Again, this caused many problems with others and sometimes men would become very angry with me.

There were women, as well, who would avoid me, who knew what was in my heart. Sexually I went far beyond women, for my mother had introduced me to enough feminity for a lifetime.

I was not only revolted by women-I was bored! But that is another story. Life, though, teaches us many things and with the help of my God, a different kind of father than my own, I have straightened my life out.

I no longer speak with my parents. They want to continue in the old patterns. Someday I will marry and be devoted to one woman and reap the benefits of a healthy relationship.

But I am thankful that I have changed and I am thankful that at least my mother let me live. Hello, I came across your story earlier today and finally got a chance to read it just now.

I was blown away with your detailed claims. They are extremely close; so close that it actually pushed me out of the picture.

These were just some of the things that led me to believe that there may be something more deep than a mother-son bond.

One time the young man went as far as laying in the bed with us as we were cuddling. This led to an argument between myself and her.

I still have no closure as to the true nature of the situation. If you have time to response please email me biggctime yahoo.

Thank You!! VN:F [1. Tags: control , Family , Incest , Mother , power , rape , Son. December 13, Close Menu.

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It was a strong emotional relationship. I was her confidante and sympathizer. I thought that my father was an evil, awful man. I felt that I was closer to my mother than he was.

I would tell my mother what to wear, what to cook for supper, what to say etc. I was always complimenting her on her looks and her person, demeanor, etc.

She wanted this from me she needed it from someone , and in return for this personal attention she would pay attention to my wants not needs.

If I wanted a chocolate bar she gave it to me. If I wanted pizza, she made it for me. She spoiled me and made me first in her life.

This, of course, created tension with my father who was supposed to be first in her life. The problem was that he wanted me to be with her because he knew it made her happy he even told me this and so for the most part I spent time with my mother and he left us alone.

My mother, before and after the actual incest, did dress in a revealing way toward me and would allow me to see her in her lingerie.

Who needed Playboy when I had my mother? She was not interested in my body; she only wanted me to be interested in her body.

I call what happened with my mother incest and not rape. There is a big debate among psychologist as to whether a man can be raped.

Perhaps this is true but for me it was incest. My mother waited for me to take the first move. She did, of course, present herself to me in an attractive way but in waiting for me to make the first move she smeared me with the guilt.

If I had not made the first move then she would have ignored me and eventually I would have been homeless. But in the process of becoming homeless my mother would have insured that my father and all others around her would have thought it was my fault.

My mother, in public, is a regal figure and has fooled most people and her opinion holds weight. Being a military person, he knew how to cook and do other simple household stuff.

Therefore, he managed to convince my mother that he will take care of us. I can clearly recall, it was a hot afternoon when my father asked me to come to his room.

He was stitching some of my clothes. I went inside and stood next to him. He got up to close the door and came back. He asked me to unbutton my pants.

As I did that, he made me take them off and lie on the bed. He went away, I thought he has gone, so I got dressed and was just about to leave when he returned.

He had gone to get some oil. He again made me take off my pants and other clothes as well. He did the same to himself, and applied the oil to his penis.

He pushed himself inside me, and did it repeatedly. After he was done, he ejaculated on me which I earlier thought was piss.

I got dressed and left. He asked me to never tell this to anyone and he will give me chocolates for that. The second time it happened was just a couple of days later.

He was drunk this time. I was making teddy bear in my drawing book and watching Jurassic Park with my brother when he came to our room.

He asked me to follow him to his room and my brother to continue with the television. There was no one whom I could tell all that. I was too scared of him now.

The next time my father forced himself inside me was when my mom had gone to attend a funeral. It happened just like before. After my mom came back, he continued abusing her.

She is a nice person. When I heard my mom telling how he forced her as well to have sex with him, I finally blurted out everything. My mom and my aunt hugged me and cried.

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