
Content warning: this story might contain sexual content able to trigger.
You are in love with your mother; you know it. You feel it when she walks into your bedroom every morning to take off your urine-soaked sheets. You watch her bend over, her entire body in motion as she struggles with the edges of the sheets. This love, you feel it when she runs her hands through your thick, unkempt hair and pulls you to her bosom. “It’s okay, my boy,” She says. “One day, it will stop.”
You are not bothered by the bed-wetting. You do it on purpose sometimes, anyway—like last night, when you stayed up late watching videos on the internet and felt too lazy to go to the bathroom. You are bothered about the near future, about leaving home and starting life on your own in school. You smile whenever your mother congratulates you. You have done well after all: you passed all of your final examinations and got admitted to the school of your choice, to study the course of your choice. Not many people are that lucky, you know it, but you do not want to leave home yet. You are in love with your mother.
“My father is a lazy man” You tell Nonso. “He doesn’t satisfy her, he is too lazy to satisfy even himself. I listen to them, I know it.” Nonso looks at you, bewildered. He calls you a fool. “People do not fall in love with their parents,” he blurts. You laugh, a dry, throaty laugh, and say you are only joking; that you you are not in love with your mother, that you do not watch her bathe through the little crack on the wooden bathroom door, that she is not the reason you are single, that you do not touch yourself; thinking about her as you do so.
You know that Nonso cannot understand you, even though you are best friends. He cannot know. He is not in love with his mother; the boy’s rather in love with your former English teacher. The beautiful albino lady with green eyes. She is in love with him, too, or something like that. They spend evenings alone at her house for extra-curricular classes that Nonso doesn’t need, seeing that he’s already passed. She lets him touch her, lets him play with her, but only because her husband is far away.
Today, you are leaving for school. Sanbora Polytechnic. The sheets are wetter than usual; it’s pee. It’s cum. It’s tears. It’s sweat. It’s pee. She has two fingers on her nose as she steps into your room.
“Donatus! This room smells so bad!” She shouts. You smile. Your eyes are reddened from crying and your cheeks are swollen. In the mirror before you, you look fat—fatter than you’ve ever been. She walks up to where you are seated, by your reading table, and pats your head. She tells you she will miss you. She tells you she is proud of you. She pulls you into her bosom for what should be the last time before you leave for school.
You will make the decision in quick seconds, the decision that changes everything. You will close your eyes, and grab her big breasts, tenderly. You will let go of all the emotions that have been pent up inside of you and squeeze a little harder. You will feel the satisfaction deep within you as you bite your bottom lip. Her hand will land on your face and leave marks that will remain on your cheeks for weeks. She will call you demonic, she will bathe you with olive oil and pray for you. Then she will send you far away. Very far away. For your own good. But you have loved your mother with your hands, at last.
The Author

Julia Akpoti is a budding Nigerian writer, editor and blogger. She studied English and Literary Studies at Niger Delta University. She works editing Fiction Niche’s issues. Her stories explore the concept of gender, love, and relationships, etc
This is so damn beautiful! It is wrong, I know. But it’s beautiful. Poor boy
Nice 1 Juls!!!.
This is awesome 💓 couldn’t get my eyes off it, till i was done.. Very beautiful.. 💪
Nice piece✌️😊
Lovely!!
Perfectly selected words. A very interesting read.
Beautiful piece! Tidy! No boring line. Beautiful!
If I admit to loving this, my mother might perhaps, bathe me in olive oil as well.
One is easily captivated by the language used in this piece.
A very nice read.