Mom the Nympho: Son Satisfies Her Needs (Incest)

I always thought our town was just like any other. I'm Rob, 19, and living with my mom Marissa in a small house downtown. Mom's a cop, been one since before I was born. She's tough as nails, always has been. Dad left when I was ten, couldn't handle mom's work schedule, he said. But I think it was more than that.

Our town looks normal on the surface. Nice houses, clean streets, friendly neighbors. But there's stuff going on beneath that perfect exterior. Stuff I never knew about until recently.

Mom's always working. She's a detective in the narcotics unit, dealing with the worst criminals in town. When she's not working, she's either sleeping or watching TV with me. That's our life. Simple, ordinary.

At least that's what I thought.

I'm in college now, local community college. Been studying business for a year, but honestly, it bores me to death. Numbers, charts, projections - none of it clicks with me. So when Professor Jenkins pulled me aside after class and said I had "natural counseling abilities," it got me thinking.

"You ever consider psychology?" he asked. "The way you listen to people, how you understand what they're not saying - that's rare."

That night, I decided to tell mom about maybe switching majors. We were in the kitchen making dinner - roast chicken and salad, our Thursday tradition.

"I want to switch majors," I said, tossing the salad while she checked on the chicken.

Mom didn't answer right away. She pulled the chicken from the oven, the smell filling our small kitchen. Her brown hair was tied back in that messy ponytail she always wore at home, so different from her tight, professional bun at work.

As we sat down to eat, she finally spoke up. "Alright, what are you thinking? Do you have a backup plan?"

"Yeah, I do," I answered, pushing salad around my plate. "I might want to become a therapist or psychologist. One of my professors said I have the right attributes for it."

Mom raised an eyebrow, and I saw something flash across her face - amusement? "And what do you know about psychology?"

"Only the two courses that I'm taking," I admitted.

"Have you looked into the job at all?" she asked, cutting her chicken into perfect pieces.

"I've done research," I told her. "Why? You seem... I don't know... like the idea is crazy or something."

Mom shook her head quickly. "I have a lot of respect for psychologists," she clarified. "I've never mentioned this to you, but I regularly speak to someone at the police department."

That surprised me. Mom never talked about getting help for anything. "Anything serious?" I asked.

She took a sip of water, looked straight at me and said, "Just the usual. I'm also a nymphomaniac."

I laughed. Had to. My mom making a sex joke? That was weird enough. "That's kind of a gross joke," I said, still smiling.

"Who said it was a joke?"

The way she said it - calm, matter-of-fact - made me freeze mid-bite. She was serious. My mom, the tough-as-nails cop who raised me alone, was sitting there telling me she was a sex addict.

"A nymphomaniac?" I questioned. "Like the Lars von Trier movie?"

She nodded. "Are you admitting that you've watched von Trier's Nymphomaniac?"

Shit. "Parts of it, I guess," I shrugged, feeling my face heat up.

"Don't be embarrassed. It's a great movie and I have to say that it's a fairly accurate portrayal."

My mind was racing. "Why are you telling me this? I mean, you're serious?"

"You'll have to get used to hearing these sorts of things from different people," she said calmly. "Imagine if you work in this field and you gasp every time a patient says something provocative. You'd have no clients."

"It's different from an actual patient," I argued. "You just caught me off guard, that's all."

Mom smiled at me then, but it wasn't her usual smile. There was something else there, something I'd never seen before.

"Before you settle on any career path, I'm going to teach you about psychology. I'm talking about a real world education."

I didn't know what that meant then. How could I? My world was about to change completely.

The next evening, mom came to my room with a thick book. She placed it on my desk without a word.

"What's this?" I asked, looking at the title: "Hypersexuality: Clinical Perspectives and Treatment Approaches."

"That's 500...