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Arnie and his daughter, Alana, discuss plans in the jacuzzi.

I discovered it was normal for young children to carry the `Oedipal Complex' but most people eventually grew out of it. I indulged my dark and unnatural ideas by looking at Internet sites but I found that quite a few of them appeared to be serious about the idea of incest and actually wanted it to happen. It was quite depressing and made me feel even guiltier about harbouring such fantasies about my mother. On the other hand, some erotic stories really were ludicrous and so far fetched that they cheered me up no end. The stories always seemed to have a set list of clich____s; the narrator was always a six foot plus, muscle bound, hung-like-a-horse, Aryan superman and the mother was a well preserved big breasted blonde. It was pure fantasy of course but I couldn't `get off' on it. It was too far from `my fantasy'. I mean, I looked for fantasy but I recognised that you need just a hint of realism. I stopped my masturbating and gazed at my reflection with a look of horror. There was realism for you, in all its glory; a twenty-one year-old five foot ten, wild bushy brown haired man with his hand wrapped around his penis.

As a teenager, I remember having countless wet dreams about my mother. One particular vivid dream saw me on top of her whilst I ripped open her shirt and sucked her breasts outside my bedroom on the floor. It worried me at the time and it still does. It wasn't particularly my mother's body which was giving me the thrill in the dream (if she was any other woman I would not even notice her), it was the sheer savagery of the act and the fact that she was loving it which has enshrined it in my memory. God, that dream scared me, was I capable of having such dormant desires as this? I also remember one morning when I was about twelve, when my mother asked me if I remembered the previous night. Apparently I had sleepwalked into my parent's bedroom and announced, "Bring me the sword!" I'm sure Freud would have had a field day with that one.

I glanced at the clock on the wall, Ten past Eleven. I had to meet someone at One so I decided to just run through a familiar fantasy about my mother. I built it up by imagining I was at a costume ball wearing a mask that covered the top half of my face and my mother was in a traditional Bavarian dress. I don't know why she was wearing the dress; it just makes it even more far-fetched I supposed. It's like an insurance policy, make the fantasy a bit surreal and you feel less guilty. Well, that's the theory. Anyway, the party starts to get a bit wild and I end up drunk in a bedroom with a woman who I do not realise is my mother.

That is a key point in my fantasies, I could never `get it on' with my mother knowing that she is the one who actually carried me inside her for nine months. I mean how perverted do you think I am. Anyway, back in the bedroom, the woman teases me by flashing the top of her cleavage at me and asks if I like what I see. I nod my head and approach her. She then fully reveals her cleavage and invites me to suck her nipples, which I do with some vigour. The woman then turns her back to me and lifts her dress over her, showing me her thong. She tells me to pull it down which really excites me. I approach her and slowly tease her by stroking her ass. I start to rub it and think how good it would look all oiled up. My index finger then moves towards her thong...

Suddenly I felt a hard rushing sensation in my penis.

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