A Love story.

This book portray a consanguinamorous (incestuous) love story between a mother and her son, and one with a deep and abiding love between the participants which is the complete opposite of how most people view such relationships though it's how most of them look from the inside.

This difference, this clash of values, of perceptions is no small difference, you only have to watch the media frenzy when a relationship like this hits the headlines. Compare that with this story, which tries to show how such a relationship might feel to those involved in it. And watch what happens when that love collides with the real world.

~~~~~ PG Excerpt ~~~~~

…I went in and heard the shower running upstairs. I could do with one of those I thought, Perhaps I’ll join him. But I went into the kitchen to unpack first and I heard the shower turn off as I did. Too late. I unpacked the shopping into cupboards and freezers then stretched my body out, straightening out all the kinks — it’d been a long day. Have to start doing yoga again I thought, and as I did I felt my son’s arms snake around my waist from behind and his mouth kissing me on the neck. Of course, there’s other ways of limbering up the body…

“Hi mum” he said, nuzzling my neck.

“Hello darling” I replied and turned around in his arms so as to face him. His hair was still damp from the shower and he was wearing a bathrobe that wasn’t quite tied up. I was struck again, as I am nearly every day, by how handsome and well-built my son is and as I thought that he raised his mouth from my neck and kissed me.

My son is a wonderful kisser, at least with me. He’s tender and considerate yet also passionate and can be forceful and insistent when the mood is right. I ran my fingers through his still damp hair as my tongue found its way into his mouth and he did likewise with me… Looks like dinner might be a little late tonight.

Finally we broke off. “I love you, mum” he said, passionately and sincerely.

“I love you Paul” I replied, just as passionately and sincerely… “Lets go upstairs.”

A Mother’s Love I

Of course you’ll say that it’s not the same. The love between a mother and her son is maternal love, natural and normal. But romantic love, that’s different and I’m confusing the two. But love is love. I’m not saying that you can’t love someone deeply in a platonic way. But I am saying that you can also love someone deeply in a non-platonic way, that there’s no contradiction, no conflict.

My son likes to watch US superhero TV shows and I occasionally watch them with him. In one of them there was a serial killer who would kidnap newlyweds and place them in a deathtrap where one of them would have to watch the other die. And the only way they could stop it was if they took the death onto themselves, sacrificed their lives for that of the person they loved. The serial killer was trying to show that they didn’t really love each other and, as I remember, most of the victims didn’t take up the bargain.

I would. Without hesitation. I would give my life for my son, no question. Most mothers would, I think.

If that’s a definition of love then I love my son. And he loves me — I’ve no doubt that he’d accept the same bargain for me (though I’d hate for him to do that.) Furthermore, he’s the only lover I’ve ever had that I can say either of those things about.

My point is that whatever definition of love you come up with then not just me but most mothers and sons would satisfy it. But society draws the line at sex. Everything about the love between a mother and her son is the same as the love between a man and woman, but we’re supposed to draw a line when it comes to physical intimacy and say, “No, that’s different. That’s wrong.”

Is it? Why?

Stephanie Gwladferth