I can state that my first verifiably real memory occurred in late summer of 1945 when I was still 3 years old. In the middle of the night my oldest brother John came walking through the back door of the bunkhouse, as we called the back bedroom of our house, and scared me to death. I was sleeping alone in the big room and awakened to the sound of the screen door opening. I looked and saw a huge monster with a big hump on his back filling the doorway as he entered. This event really happened. My brother John, who left for the war the year I was born, was returning home from the war with his Army duffel bag looped over his shoulder which gave the hunchback effect I thought I saw.

I know that was a real memory because later on my brother John confirmed that the event happened just as I recalled it happening, although he wasn't aware that he had scared me to death. Before that, and after it, for that matter, I have vague recollections that feel like real memories floating in my head, but I can't be sure. We all have these early life memory sensations. The psychologists call them pseudo memories, fake memories. Some of us swear by our early memories: "When I was two, I remember seeing..." and so on, but such memories rarely stand the test of closer examination.

When Lexi was two, a tornado came through our town and destroyed her house. Lexi has vivid memories of that tornado as it wiped away her home. She remembers her father holding her tightly, keeping her from being blown away. She remembers watching the family dog being sucked up into the vortex and disappearing. For years and years she had horrible nightmares of the terrible event.

Which never happened. Lexi was at our house the night of the tornado, safe and sound. All of her memories, so vivid in her mind, were imaginary, based on a real event, that's true, but still imaginary.

Permanent memories don't begin until we reach 4 or 5 years of age, and so I can't really say that I recall my earliest years. I have vague recollections, of my mother feeding and bathing and taking care of me, and the memories,likely based on actual events like Lexi's tornado memories are, feel warm and loving. I think I can recall being in the bath with her when I was 2 and 3 years old. I think I can recall her fondling and stimulating me in a loving way as she bathed me, but I can't really know that. No one can.

And so my earliest continuous memories of my life with my mother Laura, the preacher's daughter, begin in the post-war year of 1946. Those are the real memories. She was into her 40s by then, but it doesn't feel that way in my early memories. I don't mean to say that she seemed young but that she was ageless, neither young nor old, a very nice-looking lady looking like nice-looking ladies looked and dressed in the post-war years with her hat and straight-lined dress showing a hint of the curves in her full figure.


Laura was a proper lady. She would not have dreamed of stepping from the house not properly attired in a conservative dress of muted color, flesh-toned nylons with seams straight as an arrow, high heels but not too high, a respectable hat on her head and often as not, gloves. Her hair would be properly coiffed and her makeup perfect, just the right amount of rouge, lipstick, and eye makeup, eyebrows perfect. Her posture was correct, shoulders back, but not militaristic. That would have been wrong; she projected friendliness and kindness, a ready smile of greeting.

As any proper lady would, underneath the conservative dress, form-fitting but certainly not too tight, would be her fancy nylon slip, and under that would be her fancy nylon brassiere, as she always called it, often with matching nylon panties so popular following the war. Never would she have left the house without her talcumed roll-up girdle to which the nylons were attached.

It's a marvel to think she had delivered eight babies. Her face and figure were remarkable. She was a full-bodied woman, not at all thin but with firm, large breasts, a flat stomach, no sag in her butt cheeks, and no flab anywhere on her. She was a handsome woman, that's how I would word it, and she took care of herself. I recall people speaking of how beautiful my mother was, but she never liked that, blushing and demurring when they did. She was much too proper and refrained for such strong compliments.

All of us siblings were proud of our mother, a stately, dignified woman. When modernity came on the scene to unburden housewives, bringing with it things like running water and electricity followed by washing machines, refrigerators and cook stoves, things which removed the heaviest burdens of running a household, she chose not to lie back and relax like most housewives did back then. Instead, she found work outside the home working as a real estate agent, a job generally reserved for men at that time. We were all proud of her.

Laura was the preacher's daughter; none of us siblings ever forgot that. Mother was proper, always proper and dignified. Cursing and foul language was not exactly forbidden in our house, not with our father and brawny grown sons, but a word misspoken and mother would blushingly leave the room. If a story even touched on the risqué, mother's head would drop and her cheeks would redden with embarrassment.

Our father was gone so much of the time, driving his trucks coast to coast, that we all thought it was lucky our mother had no sexual interest or knowledge. We joked about how confused she must have been the few times our father stuck his cock in her. She must have wondered what he was doing. We knew her father, the fire-breathing Baptist preacher, and the way she was raised, and we were completely confident that her ignorance about sex could not have been more complete.

This was who our mother was to all us siblings, and we treated her with the utmost respect as did everyone who met her. She was a businesswoman before there were such things as businesswomen, but more than that her presence and bearing commanded respect. She was a proper lady.


None of the older siblings ever suspected that our mother had changed since moving back to our father's home place in 1938 because outwardly nothing had changed. Joy and I were born after the move so we had no previous experience to draw on, but still we felt no differently about our mother than the older siblings. We said "Yes, ma'am" and "No, ma'am" the same as they did.

But life was different for Joy and me growing up with mother. We never knew the hard times of the Depression years like our older siblings did. We never experienced carrying water to the house or soiled water from the house, nor did we know outhouses or the dark smokiness of kerosene lanterns. We never knew hitching a mule to a plow or a horse to a wagon so we could go into town. Our life was easy, as our older siblings constantly reminded us.

I was the last child, born in 1942, 4 years after our father had moved the family back, some 3 or 4 years after the night our father's cousin Hubert Nelson first sneaked into mother's bedroom while father was somewhere out on the road to give the preacher's daughter her first fucking to introduce her to the Nelson family tradition. I was the last child left for mother to raise, in a house where all the older siblings were grown and gone. Joy was around, of course, but her place was in the girls' wing of the house. Looking back today I can see that Joy was largely on her own. Mother took interest in me, much more than Joy. Growing up, it was always me and my mother.


Mom's bedroom was off the front living room, and inside her bedroom was her very own bathroom. On the opposite side of the house was the kitchen and behind it the girls' bedrooms with their bath. When Joy became the only daughter left, that was her domain entirely. To the rear of the house was the large room we called the bunkhouse with its bathroom. This was where the boys had slept before they grew up and moved away, leaving the bunkhouse to me alone. The old house, originally a small house on a dairy farm, sprawled with all its additions for our large family.

From my earliest memory, I was always welcome in mother's bedroom. No one else was, not even Joy. The door stayed shut, and if anyone needed mother they could knock on the door and await an answer. No one dared open that door unless she said, "Come in." But I was always free to come and go as I wished. Back in the bunkhouse was a shower which I used when I got older, but as a boy I bathed in mother's tub in her bathroom inside her bedroom. That's one of my earliest true memories, taking baths with mother.


Sex was something I always knew about, from the time I was born. It was always a natural thing for me because I never knew anything else. Joy and I sucked the Nelson men's cocks whenever they let us, and the men were always fondling and playing with us sexually. Joy had been taking me with her to our park ever since I could remember and there the men used us sexually and gave us money for letting them. When I was 4 and Joy began school, she started using me as her sex toy to show off for her friends from school. Sex was a natural, every day part of my life.

But Joy and I both knew it wasn't the same around mother and our older siblings. We always knew, perhaps instinctively, to keep our sexual life away from them. We knew to behave one way when mom and our older siblings were around, and another when it was just us and the men or other kids.

We felt absolutely confident, all of us siblings, me included, that our mother was completely ignorant about sex. None of us could imagine she even had any sexual desires. Our father was gone all the time so her sex life had to be practically non-existent, other than the times he knocked her up with another child. We assumed she had no idea what he was doing when he stuck his cock inside her. And we certainly knew our grandfather, her father the Baptist preacher, and the way he would have rasied her. She certainly learned nothing of sex growing up except that it was something evil and sinful.

It wasn't until 1990 when my old Nelson cousins Darlene and Doris began telling me the truth about our mother that I learned that we were the ignorant ones, not mother. We were the ones who were clueless, not her. She was a Nelson woman, and had been since Uncle Cliff and the other men spent the day gang-banging her back in 1938 or 39. We thought she didn't even know what sex was, while she was busy going several times a week to spread her legs for the Nelson men.

But we didn't know that. To us, our prudish mother knew absolutely nothing about sex, and that knowledge that she was clueless to all things sexual was the delight of my childhood. I could do anything, be as sexual as I wanted, and she had no idea. I thought she was as blind as a bat to all things sexual, and I relished in the knowledge.

From my earliest memories, I entered my mother's bedroom for the sole purpose of watching her dress and undress, to see her naked body, and my little pecker stayed stiff and hard as I watched. I made no attempt to shield my hard little cock. There was no need; she didn't know what it was, scarcely noticed and would have no idea why it was hard even if she did. That was the joy of having a mother like mine: I could play with myself right in front of her eyes and she had no idea what I was doing. It was a delight I relished and constantly took advantage of.


Mom bathed every night before going to bed, religiously. When she went into her bedroom to bathe, I often would follow so I could watch her undress as the tub filled. As she undressed she would look me over and if she thought I needed a bath as well, she would tell me to undress and get in the tub with her. If I felt like it, I might just undress on my own and get in the tub with her. She always bathed me, and I liked that.

After washing my face and ears, mom would have me stand in front of her, a foot to each side of her outstretched legs and resting my hands on her shoulders for balance as she washed down over my body, neck, shoulders, arms, chest, and I would tingle with excitement waiting for her soapy wash cloth to get down to my crotch. She would admonish me, "Always do a good job of washing down here, Jimmy," using her fingers to vigorously scrub my nuts and hard pecker. It felt so good, the feeling her fingers holding my stiff pecker.

As I got older, 9, 10, 11, even 12, I was still getting into the tub with mother, maybe even more often than I did when I was younger. By them I was too tall to stand so I would get up on my knees for her to wash me and it was an incredible experience, feeling mom's hands washing my throbbing cock as it grew longer and longer, 3-inches and then 4-inches and longer. These are my vivid memories, thinking how incredibly lucky I was to have a mother who had no idea why my cock was hard like that. I had older brothers, but still I felt sure that my little cock was the only one she had ever seen and it was totally foreign to her. She must have thought all boys had hard cocks like mine, and I was happy to let her think that. My sexually ignorant mother was an incredible stroke of luck for me, that's what I thought. It felt so good.


When I was 12 and Lexi 9, we were having a lot of fun fucking. I couldn't squirt real cum yet, but we were getting better and better at orgasming. Both of us were in elementary school, and after school we would rush to my house to practice our fucking.

Lexi beat me in the front screen door one day and by the time I got in she had her panties off and was laid out on the big padded arm of our couch, skirt up and ready. I had her legs held high and was slamming it into her when out of the corner of my eye I caught sight of mother peeking in at us from the kitchen. We hadn't noticed her car out front, sitting plain as could be.

I panicked and froze, but Lexi who didn't know mom was there kept yelling, "Give it to me! Give it to me!" so I started fucking again to quieten her down, waiting for mother to walk in and nail us. But she didn't, she stayed back behind the kitchen door peeking and watching. Not knowing what to do, I kept going, but it soon became apparent mother was not going to come into the room, and as I realized that I began to relax a little and then get hotter. I liked mother watching. As ignorant of sex as she was, I felt sure she was wondering what we were doing, and her knowing nothing about sex gave me confidence to give Lexi a really good fucking. Lexi was loud when she started orgasming. That's something we had discovered, that girls can hold their orgasmic spasms longer if they scream or squeal it slowly out. And besides, Lexi liked being loud. I joined in when I got off, and something about mother watching and wondering what we were doing made my orgasm all the stronger.

When we finished, we went back outside and that's when I told Lexi that mother had been watching. It was funny at first, but then we realized mother would tell Lexi's mother, my sister Abby, and Abby would no doubt kill both of us. We went from funny to pure fear in about a minute. But days passed by with nothing coming of it, until finally we realized that mother had not ratted us out. We both decided that because mother had no idea what we had been doing, she had nothing to tell Abby. It's pretty hard to exaggerate how sure we all were that mother was completely in the dark about sex.


All my life, even as a boy, I have always been an early riser, and mornings were even more erotic for me than nights in the bathtub with mother. She wanted me to make sure she was awake in time for work, so often I would get up and go into her bedroom while it was still dark outside, 6:30 or so, wearing only the white brief underwear I slept in, and crawl into bed with mother. Still mostly asleep, she would roll up on her side to wrap me in her arms and pull me close, and I could feel the warmth of her body underneath the light cotton nightgown she always wore.

I could lift a leg over her hip to push her back down on her back like she normally slept and that would leave me on top with my legs to each side, feeling my stiff pecker pressing into her tummy while my little hands massaged over her breasts. In her sleep she would make little pleasurable sounds as she hugged me to her, and I thought it was funny that my sexless mother found such pleasure in her sleep.

Now that I know better about my mother, it feels incredible that it never occurred to me that she knew what I was doing. I was still doing this wakeup routine with her when I hit puberty and my cock pressing into her tummy had grown to a good 5 inches long, and by then I was gently humping into her, careful not to "wake" her and just as careful not to cum on her.

When it was time, she would get up to go turn on the overhead light before taking off her nightgown, standing naked before me as I lay uncovered in the bed, carefully folding the nightgown before putting it away in a drawer. She stood at the bed chatting as she folded the nightgown which gave me a perfect view of her soft, auburn colored pubic hair. I thought then, and still do, that the color of mother's pubic hair was gorgeous.

The wonderful thing about having a mother who knew nothing about sex, as I absolutely believed back then, was her utter ignorance about all things sexual. I could lay there in my white briefs with my little cock sticking straight out, and it meant nothing to her. She didn't even seem to notice. Right in front of her, I could stick my hand inside my underwear and tug on my cock and she didn't notice, and this was true even as my cock grew to a full 5 inches long and twitched and pulsed inside my underwear. I was the luckiest boy in the world to have a mother so totally ignorant of sex.

I would continue lying in her bed as I watched her select the brassiere (mother never called it a bra) she would wear for the day and then the panties. Because of her work, so I thought at the time, mother always wore the latest fashions which certainly included her underwear. While some older ladies continued wearing pre-war silk underpants, mom wore fancy post-war bras and panty briefs made from nylon, often matching sets, and when she was dressing up for an occasion, she wore the very latest and fanciest ultra-sheer nylon panties you could see right through.

Once she had on her bra and panties, mom would begin her facial makeup, standing at her bathroom sink with its tall mirrored medicine cabinet over the sink. Powder, rouge, lipstick, eyelash curlers, eye liner, mascara, these are the things I recall and it took a good 30 minutes of diligent work. This was when I would get up, when mom began her makeup, because she became so engrossed in the makeup that she never noticed what I was doing.

This is one of my favorite memories of being with mother, while she stood in her bra and panties at her sink putting on her makeup. She was so zoned out in getting her makeup perfect that I could do anything I wanted with her body and she never seemed to even notice. As a boy, I loved her full, mature body. I well knew Joy and her friends' bodies. When I got to be 9, I began playing with Lexi and my nieces' bodies. But grown women were a mystery, and I used my mother's wonderful body to cure that.

This activity of mine went on from the time my eyes were waist-high on mom until they were at least shoulder high. Mom's elbows would be lifted as she worked on her face makeup as I stood beside her, usually beginning with one hand circling a butt cheek with the other on her tummy. I enjoyed feeling over the bristly ends of the soft pubic hair sticking through her panties, particularly when she wore see-through panties. I loved pressing my hand against the hair, feeling its sponginess as I let my hand curl on around her pussy mound to feel the slit of her pussy underneath. It was just another sign of how ignorant she was about sex that she never seemed to notice.

Just for fun, with my fingers clenching deeply into her butt cheek as the fingers of my front hand pressed up into her pussy I might say, "You really have a nice butt, mom." She might smile at the mirror in acknowledgement, or she might say, "Don't be silly, Jimmy," without looking down, and again I would marvel at how utterly clueless mother was. I'm feeling of her pussy and she doesn't even realize it. Likewise, I could crush my fingers into her breasts through her bra and say, "You have really nice boobies, mom," and get the same reaction from her. It was like she barely noticed.

The smoothness of her inner thighs felt so wonderful and sexy. When I was smaller, I would wrap my arms around her thigh, pressing my pecker against her leg, and when I got older, I would wrap my arms around her hips and clamp my legs around hers so I could feel my cock pressing into her thigh. I could even pull my underwear down enough so I could feel my bare cock pressing against her flesh. She stayed so focused on her makeup she never seemed to notice anything I did.

With her makeup in place, it was time to put on her roll-on girdle. Playtex came out with panty girdles and leg girdles around 1950, but this is where mom drew the line on the latest fashions. Her girdles were fancy and lacy, but she only wore open-crotch roll-on girdles. That's what proper ladies wore, she told my sisters.

With the girdle in place, she sat on the bed to roll on her nylons, being very careful to keep the seam in back perfect before buttoning them to the suspenders on the girdle. As I got older, 8 or 9, sometimes if she wasn't in a terrific hurry she would let me roll on her nylons, and this was as erotic as it got for me.

I would get on my knees at her feet as she sat on her bed, and once I had a nylon perfect on her lower leg, she would move the other leg out of the way before lifting the leg on to my shoulder so I could monitor the seam's straightness as I rolled and worked the nylon on up her thigh, keeping it stretched so that I could button it to the girdle suspenders. Particularly when she was wearing see-through panties, with her crotchless girdle I would be staring straight into her pussy slit, as plain as day in front of my eyes. My hands would be wrapping her thigh as I worked on the nylon, and I could slide my inner hand on up the thigh to briefly press against the pussy, feeling its heat.

And this was when I got any sense of sexuality in my mother. Sometimes my eyes would get transfixed on her pussy, and when I realized it I would glance up to see her smiling down, watching me. That would make me so hot I could barely stand it. When I hit puberty, I would have wet dreams of pushing my mother down on the bed and sticking my cock inside that wonderful pussy with its gorgeous, soft, auburn hair. The older I got, the more often she would let me roll on her nylons, and I wanted to fuck her so badly it drove me crazy. She was so ignorant of sex, I imagined, that she wouldn't even know what I was doing.

One morning when I was 13 my lust was overwhelming me when she left for work, so I stripped off my underwear, got a pair of panties from her laundry hamper, sat down on the edge of her bed and began jacking off into her panties. I was taking my time because it felt so good when out of the corner of my eye I saw her about to walk back into her bedroom. Apparently she had forgotten something and came back to get it.

I panicked and froze, waiting for all hell to break loose, but when it didn't I realized she had stepped back out of sight and was peeking around the door watching me. At first I felt trapped, but as the seconds ticked by I felt my cock growing harder again. It was making me hot knowing mother was watching, and my courage was returning. I began to jack off again, thinking about her watching me, and laid back on my elbow so she had a good view as I pumped on my cock, and I had the best and biggest orgasm I had ever felt. When I finished, I took the cum-soaked panties from my cock and laid there, giving mother a chance to watch my cock softening. After a few minutes, I could hear her car start and take off so I tossed the panties back into her laundry hamper, still soaked in cum, and left the room. I didn't want to rinse the cum out of the panties until I had the chance to think about what had just transpired.

I spent the day thinking about what mother must have thought. I knew she had never seen anything like what I had just done before, and I wondered if she realized just what it was she had seen me doing. My guess was that it confused her, that she didn't have a clue. That's how certain I was of mother's complete sexual ignorance. She had watched, though, so it must have interested her. I decided that it was probably good for mother to see something sexual like that. Maybe it would awaken her to her own sexuality. The more I thought about it the more I thought it would be good for her to see the cum in her panties. Maybe she would learn something. I began to like the idea of her seeing my cum.

Early the next morning I was in her bed again, waking her up. I was plenty worried because if she was ever going to say anything, this would be the time. But it was like every other morning; she wrapped her arms around me and drifted back to sleep like she always did. I waited longer than normal, and then lifted a leg over her hips to push her back so I could lay on her. If she felt my hard cock pressing into her tummy, she gave no sign, so carefully I began moving on her, building confidence that this really was like any other morning. It appeared to be, so I began moving more, making sure she could feel my cock pressing into her. No reaction at all, and I had to slow down before I cummed. But my confidence was high.

In the bathroom as she put on her makeup, I took even more liberties with her, squeezing my fingers up into her pussy. Same as usual, no reaction. I pulled my underwear down to hump into her thigh, which I had done before only this time I held an arm around her hip and squeezed into her pussy as I fucked the cock into her thigh. I lost it and started cumming on her leg.

This time I got a reaction. Mother stopped putting on her makeup and looked down at me as I held fast to her, trembling as the last of my cum came squirting up on to her leg. "Goodness, Jimmy!" she exclaimed. "You get a wet wash cloth and clean that mess up." She went back to her makeup, muttering something like, "You boys! I can't believe what a mess you boys are."

That was the extent of that. Nothing more was said. The next morning in bed I cummed on her tummy, and she got mad about that. "Just look at my nightgown," she said as she took it off to carry it to the sink and rinse it out. "If you have to do that, do it someplace you don't mess everything up." As she rinsed the nightgown, I heard her muttering to herself, "Heaven help me, that boy is a mess!"

From then on, I jerked off in front of mother, and she never seemed to notice or care. I could only marvel at how absolutely clueless she was about sex. It was almost mind-boggling. The bravest thing I ever did was get in the tub with her and squirt my cum over her breasts. When I started, she began calling out, "Don't you dare! Don't you dare!" trying to push me away, but I held on to her shoulder to make sure the cum squirted out over her breasts. "My lord, Jimmy," she said when she finally got me pushed back, "That's no way to treat your mother," but I could see a hint of a laugh on her face. It was hard to believe how ignorant she was about sex, and now I know she wasn't.


It wasn't until 1990 when Hubert Nelson's daughters, Darlene and Doris, told me about my mother that my childhood memories began making real sense. Up until that point, I really hadn't given it any more thought than I had as a kid. Mother was sexless, or at the very least knew nothing about sex. She was always the preacher's daughter, above reproach or question, but we all doubted that she even knew how babies were made. As it turns out, though, the only real ignorance was ours. My sisters laughed about mother's fancy lingerie. She wore it because she liked to think of herself as fashion conscious, that's what we all thought. She had a modern job, really a man's job, being a realtor back then, and she very much wanted to appear professional and current for the times. Our sisters got a big kick that she extended that all the way down to drawers full of her fancy underwear.

As a realtor, mother's hours were flexible as she worked 6 or sometimes 7 days a week. She was always, without fail, in the office by 8 o'clock every morning, but during the day much of her time was her own. In the morning as she went to pick out her panties and bra I would hear her say something like, "I'm having coffee with Cora today," as if having coffee with Aunt Cora was the reason she selected a pair of her fancy see-through panties. She was always doing that, going to see Aunt Cora or Aunt Lou or one of the others who were really our cousins, not aunts. It was nice that mother was friends with so many of the Nelson ladies.

Mother never left the house unless she was "properly dressed," but I thought it was funny that included her underwear. But that was the way mother was. Two or three times a week she would be sure to wear her fanciest underwear, which included the latest fashion in bra, panties, and slip which back then often included sheer nylon panties, so sheer you could see right through them. None of us had a clue that she dressed like that because when she got to Aunt Cora's house, there would be men waiting to get underneath her dress.

It was 1938 or 39 when mother was turned into a Nelson woman, almost 10 years before my permanent memories begin of my life growing up with her. That's a pretty long time, and in my conscious, permanent memory I know it went on for at least another 14 years as I grew up and left for college, so for well over 20 years she was getting herself dressed up 3 or 4 times a week, each time to go get herself fucked by multiple men multiple times. We thought she might be totally sexless when the truth was that she may have been fucking 3 dozen times or more per week for twenty years or more! Is there any way we could have been more wrong?

When mother committed to become a Nelson woman, she conditioned it upon none of the Nelsons letting her children know about it, and that makes sense. For one thing her father was still alive at that time, and had he found out there is no telling what he might have done. In addition, all her children but Joy and I were grown or nearly grown, and they had grown up with a mother they knew as the strait-laced preacher's daughter. It would have been shocking had they knew how she had changed, and might have destroyed the family, who knows? I feel like she would not have objected to Joy and me knowing, except that there was no way she could trust the two of us not to tell our older siblings. So instead she kept it hidden from all her children, and it would have remained that way except for my almost accidental encounter with Hubert Nelson's daughters over a half century later.


After first learning about my mother from Darlene and Doris, I spent the next 10 years reconnecting with as many Nelson descendants as I could locate, and the story has been consistent. Besides Darlene and Doris, probably the best firsthand accounts I heard about my mother came from Margie and Jessie, two granddaughters who were 9 or 10 when their father, Uncle Cliff Nelson, led the men in gang-banging my mother the first time, and they well remembered the morning the men gathered in their kitchen before heading over to take Laura, my mother, and how excited their father and the men were to be finally getting their hands on Laura. The girls were there as well when the men returned late that afternoon to sit around the kitchen table drinking beer and laughing about the fun they had with my mother.

Margie and Jessie also were able to tell me about the times my mother Laura would come to visit their mother we called Aunt Clarisse, although again a cousin, not aunt. It was an exciting event, waiting for my mother to show up. Their father and others would be gathered in the kitchen in anticipation of her visit to their house, and Laura would be greeted at the front door by Aunt Clarisse and led into the kitchen where mother would feign surprise. "Oh my, I had no idea you had company, Clarisse!" she would say, which sounds exactly like something my mother would say.

"Your mother was such a tease," Margie told me with a laugh. "She always acted so surprised! Margie and Jessie thought this was mother's way of being seductive, but it occurs to me as well that it may have been her way of dealing with her sudden promiscuity. With her upbringing, I can imagine that mother needed that projection of innocence and surprise so she could feel a sense of loyalty to her father's teaching by insisting the sex be forced on her. By being violated, she could maintain her sense of purity. I can see that being a psychological excuse for my mother. It's kind of how her mind worked. Of course, she could have also simply enjoyed playing the victim.

"Oh my, what is going on?" mother would say, backing up as the men approached and circled her to touch and begin feeling her up. "Oh, please don't do that!!" she would say, slapping their hands away, "It's not nice." She would struggle and resist as the men pushed her back on to the kitchen table, saying, "You should stop that," trying to hold down her skirt as they went under it to take off her girdle and panties. "Oh my goodness!" she would say at the sight of Uncle Cliff's big cock moving in between her legs. This was the funniest part for Margie and Jessie. "Your momma moaned like a cow when daddy stuck it in her," Margie said laughing. "She could start her orgasm just seeing daddy's cock, and it went on for hours." Jessie was laughing with her. "Laura loved fucking more than just about anybody I ever saw," she added.

Donie told me about her three older brothers and their friends fucking both her mother and mine when she came to see Aunt Claire, and that was a little different story in that mother was aggressive toward the boys. Boys were constantly coming to their house to fuck both Donie and her mother, and when my mother came, she was after Donie's brothers, helping them strip her naked and then crawling all over them with wild sex. Where Margie and Jessie saw mother as a tease, Donie remembered her as a hot sex machine. She commented about mother's ability to orgasm, as had Margie and Jessie.

In total, I talked with 9 Nelson women who were old enough to remember my mother, and each told me how pretty they remembered her being, what a disconnect there was between how she appeared publicly and how she behaved privately, and how much she enjoyed sex and fucking.


The biggest regret from my childhood is and always has been that I didn't fuck my mother. Over the years I have kicked myself time and again for not doing what I dreamed of doing, just sticking it in her. On any one of those mornings when I would crawl in bed with her all I had to do was pull up her nightgown and stick it in, the very same thing I have since learned that Uncle Hubert actually did. Why was I not as brave as him? Those were dreams I had most of my life, and now I know that mom would have loved nothing more than for me to have fucked her. At the time I thought she was simply so ignorant about sex that she didn't know what was going on, but now I can see that she did everything possible to entice me into fucking her. But how could have I? She was the preacher's daughter. Now it has an almost surreal feel to it. While I was thinking she was sexless, she must have been thinking I was sexually retarded.

I would give anything to have known then what I know today. After learning about her in 1990, the wet dreams returned.

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