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The Notebook

By: Ursus arctos



Last week I flew to Tucson upon hearing of my father's death. He'd lived a good life, had been a school-teacher, and had been married for fifty-three years and raised three kids. Our mother had died six years earlier and he'd continued living in their little duplex in Green Valley, Arizona, surrounded by his books and extensive classical music collection. As neither of my younger brothers could stick around after the funeral, it fell to me to go through and dispose of his possessions and get the house ready to be sold. I had taken a couple of weeks off of work, so I had the time to carefully go through all of his stuff.

After a few days I had arranged to for Goodwill to come and pick up much of the furniture and salvageable clothes, and kitchen odds-and-ends. This left me with all of the bookcases containing my father's major collection of books, some of which were rare titles associated with his primary love of astronomy. Each morning I would put on some good music on dad's superb sound system, boot up my laptop, and start carefully going through and cataloging each of the books. There were some that I wanted to keep, and some I knew that my brothers might want, and others I felt could be sold via on-line booksellers. And this was how I found the leather-bound notebook.

I had carried a stack of books over to the table where I was working and sorted the books into a couple of piles. One of them was a black leather-bound journal-like notebook. I casually opened it up and riffled the pages. It looked to contain approximately 100 pages, or so, in my father's neat, but crabbed, handwriting in black ink. I sat down and started reading from the beginning. After several hours I was done, and my prior perspective about my family was now completely stood upon its head. The only way to explain it is to simply share some of my father's story verbatim with you. Obviously, I have changed the names to protect my family's privacy. Here is the first part of "The Notebook".

***

November 1953

I think I truly fell in love with my mother the day I returned home from nearly three years of combat during the Korean War. My mother had single-handedly raised me from my birth in 1930 until I enlisted in the Army in 1950, at the age of nineteen. I never knew my father, and she never talked about him either (well, not until much, much later). All I knew was that I was raised by a woman who loved me dearly and did her very best to give me a good life during the depths of the Depression and the long years of the Second World War. We lived on a small farm in western Nebraska that she had inherited from her father. Between the two of us we managed to raise a few dozen head of cattle, pigs, and farmed a couple of hundred acres with corn, mostly for feed for our own livestock and what was left over to be sold to neighboring farms.

My mother's name was Margaret, but everyone called her Maggie. She was tall, nearly six feet, long-legged, with a mane of long black hair that she typically kept in a braid that went halfway down her back. While I suppose one couldn't say that she was movie star beautiful, she was strikingly good looking. As I grew older I did notice that a lot of men kind of surreptitiously looked her over as she walked past when we went to town. Hell, to be honest, I did too.

Mother was eighteen years old when she had me, and she got the farm where we still lived when she was 24 and I was just a little fellow of six. I do remember that when I was a little boy and really wasn't able to help around the farm, Mother had hired an older man I just knew as "Mike". He came by three or four days a week and worked several hours doing the heavy chores that she couldn't manage on her own. But by the time I was 14 or 15 she was able to let him go as we managed just fine on our own. I had grown into a strapping young man of nearly six and a half feet tall, big, raw-boned and full of piss-and-vinegar.

I enjoyed working with her. My mother was a patient woman, light-hearted, a bit of a practical joker. Looking back on her over all of these years I realize that she was absolutely amazing in how she dealt with the privations of the Depression, the war, and trying to raise a child and run a farm all on her own. Talk about independent women, frankly my mother was the perfect example.

My mother had graduated from high school and she was adamant that not only would I graduate, but that I would go eventually to college too. Well, the Korean War kind of put those plans on hold for a few years. When I received my draft notice in the fall of 1950, I thought my mother would completely go to pieces. She was terrified that I was going to be killed and that she'd be all alone for the rest of her life. It was a tough few weeks around the farm before I left for boot-camp and then Korea.

I am not going to recount my experiences over the three years that I was in Korea during the war—it was terrible from start to finish—but suffice it to say that I wrote my mother, at least a few lines, just about every day that I was there. Interestingly enough, she took each one of those letters and home-made cards that I made for her and mounted them in a series of scrapbooks that she treasured for the rest of her life.

***

I got off of the bus late in the early fall evening, hefted my duffel-bag up onto my shoulder and began the walk up the dusty county road toward our house and farm just before sunset. I hadn't told mother that I was mustered out and on my way home in my last note to her. I wanted to surprise her.

I reached the house just as the sun went down. I quietly stepped up on the porch and set the duffel down. I peeked in the living room window and could see mother in her robe standing in front of the range in the kitchen. It looked like she was making herself a cup of tea. I stepped back, snugged up my tie, dusted the dust off of my uniform and then lightly tapped on the door. After a few seconds she opened the door, she looked at me for a moment with wonder in her eyes and then she screamed with delight and leaped into my arms!

"Oh, David, David, David, is it really you?" she squealed, as she smothered my cheeks and lips with kisses. I held her weight completely in my arms as she had wrapped her legs around my waist as she hugged me tightly. Instantly I could tell that she was ready for bed as she didn't have any clothes on under her robe, and she smelled so damned good, almost like the soft sweet smell of jasmine on an early spring morning. It was simply intoxicating to be home and to be holding my mother again.

I slowly set her down, circled her waist with my arm, grabbed my duffel and led her into the house. I stopped and looked around taking in the familiar sights and smells, and plopped my bag in the rocker by the door. I kicked the door closed with my heel, looked at her and said, "I'm home, Mother, I'm home for good!"

Tears rolled down her cheeks as she took me in her arms again and kissed me and softly said, "I am so glad, Honey! I have been praying for this day for so long..." she tailed off as she reached up caressed my face and mussed my short bristly hair, "Come along then, honey, let's get you settled."

I grabbed the bag and made my way down the hall to my bedroom. I dumped the contents of my duffel bag on the bed and we both spent a few minutes hanging the clothes in the closet. Mother went over to the tall wooden bureau and opened a drawer. She handed me my old robe, clean and neatly folded and smelling of cedar chips. She smiled and asked, "Do you want to take bath? You've got to be dusty and tired after your trip."

I replied, "Hell yes, Mother, that sounds great! But first I want a whiskey—no rocks, no water, just whiskey."

"Coming up, darling. And I'll go start the bath while you change, and then go make your drink."

***

With a sigh I slowly sank down into the hot water in the large enameled claw-foot iron tub in the bathroom just off of Mother's bedroom. 'Jesus!' I thought, 'this feels too damn good!' I leaned back, up to my neck in the water, and closed my eyes.

A few moments later Mother tapped at the door, poked her head in and asked, "Are you in the tub, dear? Ahh, you are..." She came in, bringing a small wicker stool that she set down next to the tub.

"Yes, I am, and it feels so good...I think it has been three years since I last actually took a bath."

She sat down on the stool, wrapping her robe around her legs, and handed me the whiskey in a heavy glass tumbler. She had one for herself too. We 'clinked' glasses and each took a slug. The fire raced down my gullet and instantly warmed my stomach. The water, the whiskey, and just being finally home seemed to be washing the past three years away in a matter of moments.

We made small talk and caught up on the doings around the farm, town, and the Army. She told me that the crops had been pretty good this year and that we'd actually been turning a profit for the past couple of years. I asked if my salary from the Army had been making it home, and she told me that I had quite a fat bank account waiting for me down at Farmer's Trust on Main Street. 

I laughed, "Mother, that money was always yours and the farm's."

She replied, "Oh, honey, that is your money. The farm and I are doing fine, just fine."

I smirked at her, "Well, if that's the case, maybe I'll use my money and the G.I. Bill to buy myself a farm and house of my own."

A look of horror crossed her face, "Oh, no! Honey, don't do that! This is your home. I don't want you to leave...please, please don't leave!"

I laughed and reached out and grabbed her hand, "Don't worry, Mom, I'm just teasing you. I am so glad to be here with you, here in our home."

"Whew!" she whistled, "I thought for a moment you were serious...I mean I know a lot of veterans are coming home and doing just that."

"Nah," I replied as I sipped my drink, "I just wanted to get a rise out of you. It has been a long, long time since I have been able to tease you, Mama."

"You big kidder," she said softly as she reached over and rubbed my shoulder and arm. I slid my toes up out of the water and slowly turned on the hot water to just a trickle to warm up the tub. She said, "Hmm, I'll get that for you, baby," and as she leaned over the tub and reached for the faucet her robe gapped open and I was treated to the sight of my mother's large, pendulous breasts with their large brown nipples.

It is worth mentioning that Mother and I had always been relatively casual about nudity around one another for most of my life. I can remember having bathed with her as a child, and it wasn't all that uncommon to see each other naked as we changed clothes, bathed or washed up as I got older.

Well, familiar or not, but I'd not seen a woman's breasts in some three years, and it was all I could do but to not just reach up and grasp and caress my mother's beautiful breasts.

Almost instantly my penis began to harden, and I tried to shift deeper into the hot water. The problem was that mother was leaning on the edge of the tub talking to me and the water was gin-clear and she could certainly see my stiffening manhood.

I guess I've always known since I was a teenager that I had a pretty big dick. Even in the Army I never really saw too many penises that were larger than mine. I haven't actually measured it, but it took two hands to completely cover my shaft when I was stiff and jacking off. I still have my foreskin too, as my mother, just after I was born, chose not to have my penis circumcised. 

I also share my mother's dark-hair color and have a thick pelt of hair on my chest, belly, back and legs. I was sometimes accused of being a Neanderthal by my fellow soldiers when they'd see me in the latrine or barracks with my shirt off.

I took another sip of my drink and tried to will my cock to relax, but to no avail. I was rock-hard and the bulbous tip was just breaking the surface of the water. Feeling embarrassed, I just leaned back and looked at mother.

Her eyes were glued to the tip of my penis bobbing in front of her, the glans half protruding from the foreskin. Her hand slowly slid off of my shoulder and she began running her fingers through the thick, curly patch of hair on my chest. 

She whispered, "I'm so glad that you're home safe and sound. I've missed you so much, baby. I was so worried about you every moment that you over there in that awful place. It scared me to death. I really didn't know if I'd ever see you again."

Quietly I said, "I know, Mom, I was pretty scared too. I am so glad to be back here with you, and I want you to know that I'm not gonna leave you again...ever."

"Do you mean it, David? Do you really mean it, baby?" she asked her voice quavering. 

I looked up into her dark eyes and reached up and cupped the back of her head in my hand and pulled her face to mine. We both paused for half a second and then we kissed each other on the mouth. I slid my tongue deep into my mother's mouth and moaned as I kissed her. She brought both of her hands up and held my head as she kissed me in return. 

I reached up and took her hand and brought it down to my damp chest hair and then slowly slid it down my hairy belly into the bath water and then into my crotch and placed her fingers on my hard cock.

She lifted her mouth from mine and whispered, "Oh, David, are you sure? We can never go back from this, baby...Are you sure? Please, please be sure?"

"Mother, I love you, I have always loved you, and I will always love you. I am yours now, Mother," I said softly as her hand slowly moved up and down the shaft of my dick under the water.

I handed my drink to her and then slowly raised up from the tub and asked her to bring me a towel. I stood in front of my mother naked and watched her as she looked at my body, the large erect penis that was jutting up from my hairy crotch, and large testicles hanging low in my red, dangling scrotum.

She picked up the towel and opened it up and beckoned me out of the tub, "Jesus, David, you are truly a beautiful man! I can't believe how beautiful and sexy you are! I can't hardly believe that I gave birth to such a beautiful creature," she said as she began to dry me off.

I stood on the bath mat and watched my mother as she knelt down and gently dried my legs and thighs, and after she had dried my crotch and belly, she leaned forward and nuzzled my erection with her nose and lips. She began kissing the hairy shaft of my cock and then my balls, her hands clasping and pulling my buttocks to her as she buried her face in my crotch. I moaned with desire as she took one of my hairy balls into mouth and sucked and licked it, nipping at it with her lips.

I reached down and began to undo the thick braid of her raven-colored hair. After I'd finished, I ran my fingers through it massaging her scalp as she continued kissing my sex organ and thighs.

"Oh, God, Mother, I love you...I love you so much...don't stop, don't stop...please..." I groaned.

She looked up at me, her face flushed and her dark eyes flashing as she replied, "Baby, we've crossed a line here, but God help me I crossed it long ago. I have wanted this—no, I have wanted you—ever since I knew you were leaving for Korea. I have needed you, David, my love, I have needed you so badly..." She leaned forward again and gently kissed the head of my throbbing cock.

I reached down and cupped her chin in my hand and said, "Stand up, Mother, come here...Come here, Mother."

She slowly rose to her feet, and I led her out of the bathroom and into her bedroom. I took her to the edge of the bed where she slowly sat down. I then turned and went and drew the curtains closed and lit the candles on her dressing table and nightstand. 

Neither of us had spoken a word since entering her bedroom, but then we didn't need to. We both knew what was next for us—what was going to happen. It was inevitable, my mother and I were going to make love to one another. Any other person on the planet would look upon us in disgust probably, it was incest that we were going to engage in, but I knew then, just as she did—and just as I still know now—that this was the purest form of love-making that could ever exist. A mother and son were going to love one another—my mother and I were going to love one another.

***

She was still sitting on the edge of the bed as I returned and stood in front of her nude in the soft yellow flickering candlelight.

"God, Baby, you are so beautiful," she said breathlessly.

I slowly reached down and undid the tie of her robe at her waist, opened it and then slipped it off of her shoulders exposing her naked chest to my view.

Mother's breasts were large, not firm and perky like a young woman's, but sagged full and lush on her chest. These were the breasts of a mature woman who's given birth and nursed her children. Her large dark areoles surrounded her thick and erect nipples. I reached forward and gently touched the nipple of her left breast. She gasped sharply never taking her eyes from mine as I caressed her. I weighed her breast in my hand, reveling in its softness and heft. I continued to gently pull and pinch her thick nipples. Mother reached up and began to run her hands up and down my chest and belly, her fingers seeking my own nipples in the forest of my chest hair. She stood up and I pulled her into my arms. We kissed one another deeply whilst wrapping our arms tightly around one another as we hugged and continued to kiss. I rubbed my chest against her nipples and boobs as we held each other, and she moaned into my mouth. Her robe slithered down her legs in a pile around her feet. My mother was now as naked as I was!

I pushed her back onto the bed. She slowly fell backwards across the comforter, her legs spread wide in front of me as I stood between them at the edge of the bed looking down upon her nakedness. Time seemed to stop as my eyes wandered over her body, from her beautiful face, down her chest and quivering belly, to the dense patch of dark curly pubic hair framing her sex, and then to her long, sexy legs hanging over the edge of the bed.

I got down on my knees between her legs and ran my hands up and down her thighs, spreading her legs even wider apart. Mother moaned as I touched her. I ran my hands up her belly, gently squeezing the sides of her waist and caressing the slight pooch of her belly. I reached up and tweaked and pulled at her big rubbery nipples causing her to groan even more.

I leaned my head forward and stopped when my nose was just an inch or two above my mother's hairy sex. I slowly breathed in the rich, fragrant, and incredibly heady scent of a woman's cunt—but not just that of any woman. This woman was my mother. This was my mother's cunt that I was looking at and smelling! I was so goddamned turned on at this moment that I could've pounded nails with my dick! In retrospect, I have come to realize that this moment was arguably one of the most erotic of my life.

I glanced up for a moment and saw my mother, propped on her elbows, looking at me. We smiled at each and then I leaned forward and buried my nose and lips in her hairy wet slit. She groaned and flopped onto her back on the bed and convulsed as my tongue began to sluice up and down her wet sex. Her warm and juicy cunt lips seemed to swallow my tongue and lips. The salty taste of mother's cunt was as intoxicating to me as her scent, and I wished that I could just somehow become completely enfolded back inside my mother's sex again. I know it sounds crazy or cornball, but it was my only thought at that moment in time and it has since never left me.

***

I licked and sucked my mother's pussy for the first time that night for probably a quarter of an hour until she was screaming and writhing on the bed. She had grabbed the quilted comforter in her hands and had pulled it up into a nest on either side of her as I orally made love to her pussy. Her legs and feet were draped across my shoulders and back as I feasted on her wet sex.


The Notebook



I own books. A lot of them. But in my extensive collection on astrology, demonology and other esoteric arts, there is one book I value above all others. My library could burn to ashes, yet if this one survived I would consider it a win.

It doesn't look like much for the world. A small leather bound notebook, a little cracked along the spine, with yellowing papers written in purple ink that has started to fade. To a layman, the pages will appear blank, their contents cloaked in powerful spells of illusion and concealment. Even to a sorcerer skilled enough to see through the illusion, reading the text will prove a challenge. Most of it is written in code it took me nearly three years to decipher.

The notebook belonged to my mother. I could say that it's all I have left of her, and it would be true, but that's not why I would go through fire to keep it safe. My mother was a prophet, a seer, and a spy. She had more names than I have allies, more secrets than the night sky has stars, and while she lived I only had an inkling of everything she was.

It's all in there. Advanced astrological calculations detailing events five, ten, fifty years hence. The secrets of the universe unravelled, the bones of creation laid bare. Principles of sorcery far beyond anything taught at the Academy, theories and methodologies that she could have been hung for. Long term political schemes, allies and enemies, and enough intelligence to topple a number of regimes. Even if just a fraction of it is true, that book is valuable enough for the right person to sacrifice lives for.

Two hours after sunrise, on the twenty-first, I realised I'd lost it. I turned my chambers upside down, accosted the serving staff, drove my friends up the wall, and had a screaming fight with Leah that made her slam the door hard enough to knock it off its hinges before I admitted to myself what I'd known right from the start: It wasn't there.

Someone had stolen it, and I had a pretty good idea of whom.

His name - or title, or moniker, or whatever you'd call it - is Disciple of Forbidden Arts, and his friends and enemies call him Disciple. He's as arrogant as he is skilled, as vain as he is beautiful, and in all the years we've been acquainted I have never seen him flounder. He's not exactly an enemy. He's definitely not a friend. He's sharp, brilliant and charming when he cares to be. 

Thinking back on our last interaction, I noticed every clue I'd failed to see before. The little smiles, the thinly veiled hints, so obvious in retrospective, delivered with self-satisfied amusement. He had it, and he wanted me to know it.

Disciple owns properties all over town. Or I suppose his patron does. Some are lavish, designed to entertain, others secluded, for privacy and comfort. His favourite is a rooftop apartment in the old part of town, sparsely furnished, almost bare, and remarkably at odds with the hedonistic persona he cultivates in public.

Courtesy calls for a messenger to be sent with a request for a meeting. It's rude to show up uninvited on someone's doorstep, but then, so is stealing. And unlike him, I had no reputation of class and sophistication to uphold. Three hours after I'd discovered that the notebook was missing I knocked on his door. A servant admitted me, showed me to the sitting room and asked me to wait.

I waited.

He entered at last, casually dressed, at ease and unhurried. "If I had known you were coming, I would have had refreshments prepared." He took my hands and kissed my cheeks in polite greeting, then sat down and gestured for me to join him. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

I didn't smile, nor sit. "I believe you have something of mine."

"Oh?"

"A notebook. About this big. Leather bound."

Disciple nodded thoughtfully. "I may have seen something like it."

"I'd like it back."

"And how do I know that it's yours?"

"You stole it."

"You have evidence, of course?"

Of course I did not. Of course, he knew. Just as I knew how the rest of this conversation would go, as though we'd already followed it to its inevitable end. I would accuse, he'd deflect. I'd throw truth in his face, he'd counter with easy lies, and without something to back my story all the hints and hunches in the world wouldn't cut it. 

"All right," I said, spreading my hands. "What do you want from me?"

Again he gestured for me to sit. This time I complied. 

"We both know that you've got nothing. If you thought you could get it back without me you wouldn't be here. But-" he held up his hand and smiled "-I'm not unreasonable. I can see that it means a lot to you, so I'm willing to return it." His smile turned sharp. "On one condition."

I hadn't expected to get it for free, but that addendum still sank in my stomach like a lead weight. He deals in favours. The first time we met, he saved my life in exchange for one and then kept me dangling on his strings for three years before he called it in. I wasn't pleased at the prospect of shackling myself to him again. But I needed that notebook, and I needed it fast, before he had a chance to crack the code or copy its pages.

"And what is that?" I said, rather harshly. "My soul?"

"Nothing so trite. All it's going to cost you is pride."

"Excuse me?"

"I want you to go down on your knees and ask me for it."

I stared at him, dumbstruck. My gaze darted from the ground at his feet to his deadpan face, and then I shook my head. "We could- I'm willing to-"

"This isn't a negotiation. I've stated my terms."

It made no sense. He could have asked for anything. Why would he go to all this length just to... humiliate me? I would die before I knelt to him. I shook my head again and got to my feet. "You're sick."

"Is that what your mother taught you? Pride before power?"

I froze. Because he was right. I knew exactly what my mother would say if she were still alive to see this. She'd say that arrogance was a luxury I couldn't afford. That the true path to power lay in humility and in knowing when to yield. 

"That's it?" I said, harshly. "Kneel and ask. That's all?"

He nodded, once. 

"What, here?"

Silent laughter sparked in his eyes. "Unless you want an audience?"

I gritted my teeth together. "Very well."

Though my mind agreed that it was a cheap price to pay, my soul and my body rebelled. I tried to make my knees bend, and they wouldn't. Each time I tried my knees locked, refusing to budge.

"Is there something about this arrangement you don't understand?" he asked mildly.

The look I gave him was one of pure hatred. With my fists clenched at my sides I sank down on one knee and fixed my gaze on the ground at his feet.

"Please," I said, a single frozen syllable.

Disciple rose. Something that might have been fear slithered through me as he crouched at my side and grabbed the back of my neck. I swallowed and stared straight ahead.

"Both knees." 

His voice was low and close to my ear, and the tone made me shiver. I gritted my teeth as I shifted to kneel the way he wanted me to. No sooner had I reached position than he began to push down. I knew what he wanted and I balked at it, until his grip around my neck turned bruising. Something about the pain cleared my mind and reminded me of why I was doing this.

All the same, the shame was sharp and vicious as I relented, allowing him to force my forehead to the floor. Blood pounded hard in my ears, the rage and the humiliation making it hard to think.

"Ask," he said. "I want a whole sentence."

I thought, I can't. But in that moment I knew that one of us would have to give, and it wouldn't be him.

"May I-" I closed my eyes, taking comfort in the coolness of the floor, the darkness behind my eyelids, "-have it?"

"No 'sir?' No 'pretty please'?"

My eyes flew up. "You son of a-"

"Ah, ah." There was laughter in his voice. "You were doing so well. Don't go ruin it now." 

He let go, and for one inexplicable moment I felt the absence of his touch as a loss. I blinked, then got to my feet as he walked over to the bookshelf and pulled out the notebook.

"It's a clever code. Took me almost an hour to crack." He tossed the book in my general direction and I lunged to catch it. It was my mother's book, no doubt about it. Whole and untampered with, as far as I could tell.

"What do you say?"

"You are one sick bastard."

He laughed again. On my way out the door he caught me by the arm, all serious now.

"Next time," he said, "it's going to take more than just asking nicely."