Taboo: A Memoir, Chapter Three

by Tom Hathaway

Click for Chapters: ONE, TWO, or THREE

(Sliptongue is proud to serialize the first three chapters of Tom Hathaway's novel, TABOO: A MEMOIR, published by Dandelion Books.)

Chapter Three

As you can tell, mine wasn't the typical mom. She was a rebel from the start, and to understand her, you need to know about her background.

Diana grew up in Denver, which despite its tourist image is a rather ordinary town, a city of the plains rather than the mountains. The Rockies float off to the west, distant blue peaks on the horizon. But visitors come here expecting the city to be special, and that affects the place. It makes Denver suspect it could be greater, that it has missed an opportunity.

In the late 1940s and early 1950s, when Diana was a teenager, the city attracted a stream of rebellious drifters. They were similar to the high plains drifters of the late 1800s who had made it their base, lone outcasts, many of them burnt out by the Civil War. The later group emerged disillusioned from World War Two. They too were restless seekers for ever-new beginnings on an open frontier, this time a mental one. They were fleeing themselves and the constricting propriety of the homes that had produced them. The dislocation of the war had blown off society's lid and given these discontents a vision of other worlds of possibilities. They developed a disdain for the mainstream and its bourgeois concepts of normality. Anything that smacked of "nice" was anathema to them.

This was the Beat Generation, with the writers Jack Kerouac, Allen Ginsberg, and William Burroughs as their verbal leaders and jazz musicians Charlie Parker, Dizzy Gillespie, and Thelonius Monk as their musical leaders. Some of them were drawn to Denver by Neal Cassady, a street kid, car thief, and master seducer who grew up here. Cassady was brilliant, handsome, and possessed of an insatiable and omnivorous sexual appetite. He became an apostle of free love, of liberation from puritanical restraint, of just doing it. Women and men were both fair game for him, and he enjoyed them all, declaring, "The worst sex I ever had was great!"

He chronicled his exploits in endless raps and long letters that inspired the shyer Kerouac and Ginsberg to throw off their restrictive upbringings and express their full personalities, both sexually and artistically.

The Beats created an art of the moment, of spontaneous expression of feelings, of nonstop, nonjudgmental enthusiasm for life. Through their lives and works, they helped to summon back the Dionysian spirit that had been forced down into the subconscious of our culture.

The Greek god Dionysus personifies ecstasy, impulsiveness, surging life energy that demands free release. When he has sole reign, anarchy ensues. But when he is banished, as under puritanism, the joy and creativity wither in the human spirit. Dionysus' return from exile was spurred by the Beats, broke into the mainstream with the Hippies, burgeoned out with the sexual revolution, and is still going on. This memoir of our forbidden love will take it the inevitable next step further.

A credo of the Beats was movement, as expressed by Cassady's mantra, "Go!" They were travelers, ever restless, shunning the stay-put, routine, settled life. Dowdy Denver turned out to be a handy stopping off place on their journeys along the great triangle of New York-California-Mexico City. All these factors combined to give Denver an itinerant bohemian subculture, small but vital.

The Beats attracted Diana, who was the rebellious daughter of a conservative banker. She rejected the material comfort and emotional sterility of her family, and instead sought out this new wild breed. Rather than becoming a debutante like her mother, she became a teenybopper beatnik, hanging out in the coffee houses and jazz clubs that made up the Denver underground. She imbibed be-bop, free verse, action paintings, and philosophers of protest such as Albert Camus, Jean-Paul Sartre, and Wilhelm Reich. She wore her hair long and let it grow under her arms, European style. She was cute, sassy, and uninhibited, so attracted many men. She had brief flings with Cassady and alto-sax man Sonny Stitt before taking up with Jacquot Funk, a self-named anarchist poet and importer of Mexican herbs.

When I made the scene, Jacquot decided fatherhood was a bring down. Rug rats weren't his style. He packed his rucksack and went back on the road. Mom got a postcard from him once from Tangier but nothing else.

Diana pulled herself together and, at eighteen, accepted her new role as single mother. It was difficult. She was a free spirit, and now she had a huge responsibility: yours truly. She decided she needed a college degree, so she pushed aside her Beat disrespect for academics and enrolled in the University of Colorado at Boulder, majoring in cultural anthropology. Maintaining her nonconformist ways, she became active in the Young People's Socialist League and the Congress of Racial Equality. She toted me along to classes, to civil rights demonstrations, and to the Ten O'clock Scholar and the Sink, the hang-outs for the few fifties' fringies at the university.

Her parents footed the bill. They'd been mortified by her pregnancy and were relieved when she "left that disgusting milieu and got back in line by going to college."

Diana discovered she liked mental work and poured herself into her studies. She went on to law school, an outgrowth of her political activism, and became a criminal defense attorney. The Denver Public Defender's office offered her a position, which she accepted.

Most attorneys use a stint as a Public Defender to gain experience before moving on to big-time criminals who view large legal fees as CDB: Cost of Doing Business. But Diana stayed with it, defending poor, uneducated people who made mistakes out of desperation.

Early on, while she was still naive, she fell in love with one of her clients, a charming, good-looking crook who stole her cash and jewelry. This happening after Jacquot's desertion must have soured her on men. In the years that followed she dated and had an occasional affair, but it didn't go beyond that, and she became pretty much of a career woman. But when I got rheumatic fever and had to miss a year of school, she cut her hours back to half time so she could take care of me.

Mom and I had a good relationship until I hit puberty, and even then it wasn't terrible, just typical. Since we knew each other so well, we could still communicate, but it was too often a communication of anger and frustration. I was sullen and rude, she nagging and high-strung. The tension between us was palpable, blocking us from each other, pushing us away. In retrospect I can see that we were fighting our urges, trying to alienate the other person to avoid embracing them.

Once we discovered the joys of the embrace, there was no going back. Our passion was unstoppable.


That evening, though, while we were still in shock, Diana had an attack of conventionality and tried to call a halt to it. We were in the living room, she sitting in her leather chair and I sprawled as usual on the matching couch, watching a new TV show, Saturday Night Live. John Belushi and Bill Murray were playing astronauts who had landed on the moon only to discover Gilda Radner sun-bathing there in a bikini. Both men instantly fell in love with the moon maiden. After much pulling and tugging John managed to get out of his space suit but then floated away into the void as soon as he stepped towards her. Bill swung her over his shoulder and started to carry her into his lunar landing craft, but she yanked out his hose and he shriveled into a little pile of plastic. Mission Control kept calling, "Eagle, come in, Eagle," while Gilda blithely went back to sun-bathing.

The commercial came on, and Diana turned to me with a grave look that brought out lines on her lovely, auburn-framed face. "I've been thinking about what happened." She spoke carefully, as if she'd rehearsed the speech, but as she continued, her voice crumbled. "I think we should just...pretend it didn't...happen...forget it. We would never've done anything like that if we hadn't been tripped out. Even on grass we wouldn't have done that. It was the mescaline. So...we should just write it off as a bad trip...and get back to normal." She tried to give me her little mom smile, but her face was bleak and baleful.

I felt as if a wrecking ball had crashed into my chest, crushing it to a pulp. My throat was pinched so I couldn't breathe. I stared at her, and she glanced away from my stricken face. I burst into tears. Humiliated to be crying in front of her, I hid my face. She couldn't just cut everything off like that. It was too cruel. I wouldn't let her. I marched over to her, weeping and distraught.

Mom opened her arms to comfort me, and I collapsed into her, tears streaming, face scrinched. After our two frolics I'd been feeling so grown up and sophisticated, but her words reduced me to a bawling little boy. Resenting her power over me but needing her all the more, I burrowed under her baggy pink cotton sweater. It was cozy underneath, like a tent. She was so warm and soft and smelled so good. She couldn't take all that away and leave me with only two memories.

She patted my head, but that made me feel worse because she was treating me like a child again. Without thinking, just reacting on instinct, I lifted her bra, and her creamy pink treasures flowed out to me, glad to see me again.

The patting stopped. "Please, Tommy, don't. We really can't anymore."

Don't pay any attention to her, her tatas seemed to tell me. Sometimes she's impossible. Just ignore her when she gets this way. Now give us a kiss.

Still weeping, I snuggled into them, loving their splendid roundness, their proud fatness. As a nipple slid into my mouth, I could almost hear it squeal with delight: Yes! That's what we want!

It was what I wanted too—wanted and needed. I gorged myself on her, gurgling with contentment like a nursing infant, and my tears stopped. I was still sniffling and my nose was dripping onto them, but they didn't mind. We all felt much better. From deep within them, their peace flowed into me, calming me like a magic potion. Everything was all right again.

Just don't let us go, they told me. We'll show her who's boss. Simple solution to the problem: hold on to us and keep sucking. She'll come around.

From beyond the pink, mom's voice droned, "Stop...this can't go on. We made a mistake, it was an accident, and now we'll stop...and get back to normal. No one will know...and we'll forget about it. Please, Tommy!"

I kept sucking one and squeezing the other, both so big and fine. I cupped my palm like a mouth over the nipple and nipped it gently, feeling it harden at my touch. Yes!

Diana sighed, but her hand tried to push my head away. "Do-o-on't," she drawled. She didn't push with much effort, though, and as I kept sucking and squeezing, the push turned into a stroke on my head, and she sighed again. Holding her tight, I nestled and slurped at her soft chest of wonders.

We slid off the leather chair together onto the thick shag rug, with me holding on for dear life. She tried to sit up, but I leaned into her until she gave in and lay back down. As she sensed my desperation, her maternal instincts took over; she wrapped her arms around me and mothered me with her body. "Don't cry," she crooned, "my"

My sniffling stopped and I reveled in her caring. I rolled on top of her, craving to be even closer. I also wanted to show her I wasn't a baby, even though right now I felt like one and loved her calling me that. With all mom's curvy contours underneath me, I relaxed totally, still very childlike and vulnerable, my head buried under her sweater.

I tried to part her legs by nudging mine between them, but they resisted. "Ple-e-ease," I whined, rubbing and tugging at her thighs. Gradually they opened to let me in. As I squirmed deeper, she hugged me with her legs but then began crying. The struggle within her poured out in great sobs, and she convulsed with shame. "I'm a monster. Only a monster would do this."

Now Diana was the desperate one. I left her breasts, emerged from the pink, and took her in my arms to comfort and cuddle her. "That's a lot of old lies. Don't believe it," I told her, wiping tears from her cheeks. "There's nobody here but us...and it's right for us." I held mom's crying face in my hands and kissed her snuffling mouth, trying to heal her hurt.

As I continued to kiss, she began nibbling back at my lips, like a little girl distracted from her tears by sweets. I wanted so much to soothe her and protect her so she'd never cry again. "You're so beautiful," I said, stroking her reddish-brown hair and fine-pored skin.

I was now enjoying being the powerful one just as much as I'd enjoyed being the baby before. But the lump in my jeans was becoming painful, so I pressed it into her jeans, denim to denim. As she felt my adamance, Diana reflexively arched her hips into mine but then turned her face aside, mortified by her urges.

"We need each other," I told her, fondling her breasts and pressing my bulge in an insistent circle against her groin. I kissed and licked the tense tendons of her neck until they relaxed and her crying stopped.

She drew in a long gasp through clenched teeth, dug her fingers into my back, and whimpered. Collapsing into my arms, mom offered up her mouth to me in a fountain of surrender and let me kiss her deeply. My tongue probed in, hers rose to meet it, and they thrust and twisted around each other in a dance of lust.

On the TV Dan Ackroyd was doing a Richard Nixon imitation. I reached up and clicked it off, then pulled off the pink sweater and untangled the bra from around her shoulders. Mom's tits, large and proud, smiled up at me in happy triumph. We can handle her—piece of cake, they seemed to say. Exhausted by her inner turmoil, she had become submissive. The resistance had vanished from her face, leaving it a placid oval of willingness. Her buttery brown eyes were unfocused, almost stunned, and her full lips parted wanly. Diana let me pull off her jeans, then watched with increasing focus while I stripped down to my shorts.

I snuggled next to her, wanting to touch as much of her warm smooth skin as I could. Our eyes met in a crossfire of desire, terror, and joy. The gaze was too intense; I was afraid it might start us talking, which could lead to problems, so I kissed the crinkled corners of her eyes until they closed. Then I kissed her ear, sucked its lobe pierced by a gold and coral stud, ran my tongue around the seashell rim, blew in it, listened for the sound of the sea coming from within her, licked down into the curlicued spiral to taste the bitter salt of her wax. She shivered with pleasure and inhaled deeply, dilating her nostrils.

With my fingertips I delicately traced the line of chestnut wisps from her neck, up over her temple, and across her high, broad forehead. Breath soughed out between her white teeth and red, kiss-glistening lips. My touch pleased her, which pleased me. As I explored her beauty, the inviting hollow between her neck and shoulder drew my attention, and I pressed kisses onto its thin, freckled skin. Mom lay back on the rug, conquered, compliant, open, willing to let me do whatever I wanted.

Not so desperate now, I took my time, grazing again on her breasts, getting to know the sides and slopes of them, the calculus of their curves. My fingers slid beneath Diana's pink panties and sought her center, exploring its brambly mound and damp grotto. Her cavern was alive and moved to my touch; amid her folds and tucks, hidden springs flowed with slippery juices. Heat filled its chambers from the center of her earth. This cave was my home; it had made me and now wanted me back just as much as I wanted to come back.

Mom tugged at my underpants but was too subdued to be very effective. I pulled them off, and my rod sprang out at her. She took one look at this long thick red thing she had made, then closed her eyes and clamped her jaw in a grimace of fear and craving.

I pulled her wetties off and gazed at her hairy hillock while inhaling its tangy lure, the scent of the ocean from which life emerged and longs to return.

Needing her urgently now but not sure of what to do, I lay on top of her. Diana spread her legs but was too dazed to do more. Somehow I thought it was supposed to go in automatically, but it didn't. It was bouncing against all sorts of interesting anatomy but was still an outsider trying to get in. Daunted by engineering problems, I was beginning to feel foolish, helpless, frustrated. Mom sprawled supine, hands back over her head, passive and ready. She had guided me in before, but now I had to learn to do it myself. I groped around the moist terrain, exploring overhanging ridges and angles of access, and discovered I was trying to enter from too high. I lowered my approach, nudging in from farther under, and the tip of my impatient shaft finally parted her folds to be greeted by a warm, wet hug. Good to have you again, her nest seemed to say. Glad you managed to find your way. Come in and play.

Wanting more of this intrusion, she moved her hips in a small swivel, and another inch of me slipped into her tight inner squeeze which flowed with fluid heat and encircled me with delight. My whole body, my whole being lit up with joy. This is IT! This is THE PLACE! This is HEAVEN! Just where Saint Peter belongs, I thought, pushing him in another inch.

A long moan sounded from Diana's arched neck and open mouth. Her lips and closed eyelids quivered. Her loins swayed to make more space.

Elated, I rocked in the cradle of her thighs. Exuberant, I frolicked belly to belly with her. Exultant, I buried myself in her middle and wrapped her in my arms, possessing her inside and out. Pushing deeper, I made her writhe and groan. I felt mighty now, and she clung to me, seeming small and vulnerable.

I gazed at the naked beauty of my mother stretched underneath me, yielding to me and needing more of what I was giving her. I wanted to feel all of her at once, but that was impossible. My lips dipped down and snagged a nipple, drew it up into my greedy mouth, sucked in as much of her as would fit. My cheeks bulged with her lovely boob.

" sweetie," she said. She was filling me and I was filling her; we were plugged into each other, joined in mutual fulfillment.

Her sheath loosened to caress all of me, and I could move in and out, plumbing her depths with long thrusts that made her grunt and gurgle. Diana drew my head back to look at me, as if to make sure it was really me making love to her, then she smiled and kissed me.

Mom undulated around me, hot and wet as a stormy tropic sea, and I was splashing and playing in her waters, happy as a porpoise.

It was too much, too great, I wanted it all right now and I was moving too fast for it to last. From deep within me, sperm throbbed up the channel of my phallus, building momentum with each of my frantic thrusts, pumping and pounding until it erupted forth and gushed out in long spurts of ecstasy.

As she felt the hot splash in her core, Diana held me tighter. "Yes...oh, YES! Give it to me!"

I was out of control, bellowing with bliss, mating with mother while she went wild beneath me.

My surges slackened and I flailed around on her in a swirl of sensations. I pressed my face against hers. "Whew...thank you."

"You're welcome," mom said. "Now...maybe you could give me...a few kisses down I can come too."

I didn't know she hadn't. In my ignorance and egotism I assumed she must've had the same experience I had. Now I wanted to make sure she did. Kiss her down there...that sounded interesting. Plus I'd get to explore her some more.

Diana's body was tense with anticipation as I moved over it. Satiated by my climax, I could focus totally on her. My eyes drank in her geography, seeing her midlands up close for the first time. Her flat tummy narrowed and gave way to broad hips. At her span of least diameter, I kissed the dimpled crater of her belly button, then moved my hand over to feel mine, the spot where I'd been joined to her. I imagined the umbilical cord running from my tummy back up into her womb after I was born, still connected and feeding me. It was like the cord between my legs that had just gone back in to feed her. I was so glad she let me, so much luckier than Bill Murray had been with his moon maiden.

I browsed the territory between Diana's hips, brushing my lips over the pale skin which sloped down to a little mound topped with a thicket of tight black curls. These vines cascaded over a cliff that disappeared into the steep ravine of her closed legs, leaving only a dark bushy triangle visible.

That's it, I thought—mommy's pussy. It seemed so delicate and shy. Kiss it. I planted my lips atop the mound. I expected her to explode into an orgasm, but instead she raised her knees and spread her legs, exposing the viney cliff. It was cleft down the middle, open, dark, moist, ready for examination. Eager to know more, I moved into the V of her legs and took a good look. What I saw scared the hell out of me. A furry gash like a raw wound gaped between her legs, as if she'd ripped the flesh when she'd spread them. In the center of this furrow, purplish red lips splayed out around an open pit from which drooled the gray gruel I'd given her. Swampy smells of our fluids wafted from it, enticing and repelling. It wasn't a pussy anymore but a lioness in heat, livid and bulging.

Now she was the strong one and I was limp. I gazed in fearful amazement at this hairy maw which had given me birth and had just taken me for a trip to heaven. It was so earthy, so primal. From each side of her trunk jutted wide, thick thighs. Beneath them spread her bottom, its puckered, pink hole and two lush cheeks forming a larger version of her front.

This groin of Diana's was like the basement of a building where the beams and girders come together with the plumbing and furnace. I was awed by her architecture. Aboveground her structure was beautiful and graceful; her fundament, though, was too powerful to be pretty. Down here was another world, the underworld, the ur-world of femininity. Confronted by all this, I felt tiny as a bug or a baby.

Worship me, it said.

And I did. Surrendering to its force, I stretched myself reverently before the red redolent shrine of the Goddess.

"Give it a little kiss," she said.

I pressed my lips into her fur, which tickled my nose.

"Inside...kiss it inside."

I pulled back and stared into her wet chasm, the insides of which could swallow me up forever. Enter! it commanded imperiously.

As I buried my face in mom's wonderfully icky, sticky, stinky cunt, it greeted me with a burst of energy that made my body tingle. Hungry for more of this charge, I burrowed my nose, lips, and tongue through her labyrinth, licked her slick lips, and drank the salty, mushroomy cream I'd given her. I sucked her folds, nodes, and fluffy ruffles and inhaled her fishy bouquet.

Diana was panting and her body vibrating as it twisted into my face. As I continued feasting, she began writhing faster. She stroked my head and mumbled, " dear boy. Don't stop...don't ever stop. OH! Please! YES!"

She was galloping now, her crotch a soft slippery saddle. I almost lost hold, but her thighs squeezed me in where I belonged so I could ride her bucks and heaves as they built to a frenzy of release. My wild filly neighed and whinnied as she thrashed around the rug, and I held on, loving the ride she was giving me. She slowed to a canter, then to a trot, and finally halted. I rested my cheek on her thigh, hair in my mouth, face smeared with our mingled juices. "Wow!" was all I could say.

"Come up and give me a hug," my filly said.

As I moved back up, I noticed a rosy flush across her chest, and her nipples were firm, dark, and prickled as strawberries. I kissed each one and licked around its lusciousness, then kissed Diana on the mouth, wanted her to taste our broth. We clasped each other in a swarm of happiness, cooing and rubbing and patting.

"You convinced me," she whispered. "No more objections. What we've got between's too strong for me to fight. Have to just enjoy it. But not a word to anyone. The world isn't ready for this."

I put my finger, still fragrant, across my mouth. "My lips are sealed."

"With a kiss." Mom's lips fused with mine, long and lingering. When they parted, she propped herself up on her elbow and asked me: "Do you...uh, do this often...with girls?"

"You're the first," I said, "but I want to do it often...with you."

Her face wrinkled with dismay. "You were a virgin?" She clutched me to her and began sobbing again. "I took my own son's virginity? That's terrible!"

"That's great!" I hugged mom and kissed her cheek. "I can't think of a better way. I must've been saving myself for you...without even knowing it. And believe me, it was worth it."

She stared at the ceiling, stunned. "Who would've ever thought this would happen?"

I turned her head towards me and captured her brown eyes with mine. "Wasn't it good?"

"Well...yes." A smile broke through her tension. "Very. Now that you mention it."

"Then forget what the world says. It's between us." I stroked her back and rubbed our two very different chests together.

She sighed, her body relaxing in acceptance of a passion stronger than society's ban. "OK...I can't help it...I'm yours. So then...kiss me again." She pressed herself tighter against me. "Your first time...I'm so flattered that you picked me. I guess you weren't disappointed...because you sure came back for more. My bold boy...kiss me. Always."

I brushed my lips against hers. "I love you."

"Then love me always. That's the only way we can make it right." Her eyes were closed and her lips looked almost swollen as they merged into mine.

She touched me delicately with her fingers and I came to life again and while still kissing I plunged into her nether lips again and we rolled coupled to the rhythms of man and woman slowly now with delicious exhausted yearning until we grew and swelled and burst with joy and poured our juices together once again.

We were lying in our wetness, which had become a dark amoeba-shaped stain on the colorful abstract design of the Rya rug. On the far side, last night's stain had now dried to a matted beige. Mom tried to mop up the soup with her underpants, but they were already sopped, so she used mine. "We can have it cleaned," she said with a shrug.

"Maybe we should leave souvenirs," I suggested.

She kissed me again, lightly. "We don't need souvenirs. Now we can do it whenever we want. But not on the rug." She gave my damp cock an appreciative pat. "Well...maybe if we put a towel under us."


Click for Chapters: ONE, TWO, or THREE

For more information about TABOO: A MEMOIR click on the bookcover:

© 2005 by Tom Hathaway
All rights reserved.






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