Horny Mom Incest
🛑 ALL INFORMATION CLICK HERE 👈🏻👈🏻👈🏻
Horny Mom Incest
Comment Disclaimer: Comments that contain profane or derogatory language, video links or exceed 200 words will require approval by a moderator before appearing in the comment section. XOXO-MN
There’s mom fantasy and then there’s mom reality. I used to be one of those smug moms to be who swore she wouldn’t let herself go. Post baby life will be glorious! My meticulously styled hair would whip slightly in the gentle breezes, I’d smell like a Bulgarian rose, and frolic at the playground with my two cherubs all day long.
My reality as a mother is beautiful, but it’s the kind of beauty only another mom would appreciate. Beautiful but not always pretty. There is sometimes shame. Secrets I keep to myself and hold on to tightly. In the spirit of camaraderie, I’m opening the vault. Fellow moms, you are not alone. Or maybe my shameful self is alone.
Either way here are a few of my shameful mom confessions for your reading pleasure.
I thought it’d be super cute to make my children little mugs of hot chocolate with a dollop of marshmallow fluff on top after a few hours spent playing in the late autumn cold. They were seated and enjoying themselves so I seized the moment, left the room, and got to work on a pile of dishes. Bad idea. My two-year old daughter rubbed the marshmallow fluff into her hair like candy shampoo while my three-year old soon gleefully cheered her on.
As I picked the large chunks out of her hair I checked the clock. Bedtime. Do I delay bedtime and wrangle two cranky kids into the tub alone, or go about my business as if nothing happened? That’s right. I let my child sleep with some marshmallow fluff in her hair.
I was exhausted and in no mood to endure the horrible shrill screams my daughter subjects me to during shampooing. No, thank you. She wasn’t carried away by a colony of ants in the middle of the night and I gave her a bath in the morning. Shameful? Maybe but I got some much needed sleep.
I wear yoga pants, but I hate yoga. I know I’m not alone but I take yoga pants wearing to shameful new levels. I buy yoga pants with the precision and meticulous research normal people save for purchasing their first home. They’ve got to have the right cut, stretchy fabric, and some sort of stomach panel.
I know what you’re thinking and yes I really should get back to my 18% body fat pre kids shape, but until I have the time to spend two hours a day in the gym – again it isn’t happening. For now yoga pants are my secret weapon. I look fantastic in them and that secret stomach panel keeps everything where it should be like a set of bootleg Spanx.
Of course on days when I have to go somewhere yoga pants aren’t appropriate and try squeezing into my jeans I’m shocked . Where did this weight come from! I looked so good in those pants yesterday! Oh, right I live my life in a deceiving yet flattering casing known as yoga pants.
Oh well. Oh and once I went out in my dressy yoga pants and when I came home changed into my more comfortable hole in the crotch home yoga pants. That’s when I knew I hit rock bottom.
If those aren’t bad enough for you here are a few hall of famers:
What’s your most shameful mom confession?
We've joined the BHM Digital family of websites and have updated our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy.
By continuing to use this site, you agree to our updated Terms of Service and Privacy Policy.
MadameNoire is a sophisticated lifestyle publication that gives African-American women the latest in fashion trends,
black entertainment news, parenting tips and beauty secrets that are specifically for black women. Black women
seek information on a wide variety of topics including African-American hair care, health issues, relationship
advice and career trends - and MadameNoire provides all of that.
MadameNoire ® Copyright © 2022 BossipMadameNoire, LLC All Rights Reserved | BHM Digital
Help us keep MadameNoire's content free! Please turn off your ad blocker.
By Nicole Jankowski Published: Nov 27, 2015
Advertisement - Continue Reading Below
Advertisement - Continue Reading Below
We've been independently researching and testing products for over 120 years. If you buy through our links, we may earn a commission. Learn more about our review process.
What seemed like a depressing situation evolved into a critical part of my healing.
I moved out of parents house and in with my boyfriend at the ripe old age of 19. One day, I lay dreaming in a twin bed in my mother's basement, the next I was playing big girl pretend in a one-bedroom apartment in a boxy building complex.
"Are you sure this is a good idea?" my friends whispered as they helped me lug a hand-me-down sofa up two flights of stairs.
"Is this really want you want to do?" questioned my mother, as she watched me untack my Van Gogh framed art and my Sarah McLachlan poster from my walls.
"For God's sake, people!" I countered confidently, tossing my New Kids on the Block scrapbook into a half-filled moving box. "I know what I'm doing!"
But — and I know you'll be surprised by this – it turns out, I did not.
The story goes like many young love affairs do. I married the boyfriend, we moved from small apartment to a feral cat ridden street just outside of Detroit. We got a dog and a KitchenAid mixer. We made love, we made children, and we made a huge, gigantic mess of our lives.
Fifteen tumultuous years after I bode a fond farewell to the four walls of my childhood bedroom, I found myself back home once again.
My husband and I had let our marriage die a slow, insidious death. Only when it was finally cold and lifeless on the floor, did we decide we needed to have an exit plan. Except we had no real plan at all. My husband moved into his father's house and I stayed with the children during the week, but nearly every weekend he would come and stay with the kids at our house, so that they would have the stability of being in their own home, around the things that made them feel the calmest.
On those weekends where I was displaced from my home, my mother graciously offered to allow me to return to the home of my youth. It was a wonderful, miserable proposition.
On Friday nights, I would load my sad belongings into a lumpy duffle bag and kiss my children, whom I had never been separated from before, goodbye. Then I would sob every second of the 20 minute drive to my mother's, turning up the sad songs on the radio and screaming out the lyrics to the empty car.
At first, there was something slightly humiliating about returning to my mother's house, something akin to shame over ending up in the very place I had so casually abandoned a decade and a half before.
But that quickly faded when I realized my mom had HBO. And a fancy cappuccino maker. I remembered all the wonderful things about being at home again, nearly instantly. She was a great cook and her house smelled wonderful and did I mention, there were no kids there? What started out as a dismal, depressing prospect — leaving my home on the heels of a divorce to return to my mother's house — ended up feeling like a weekly respite at a really, really nice bed and breakfast for free.
I'd stop at the drugstore on my way to pick up a six pack of beer, a copy of Cosmopolitan and a family size bag of peanut M & M's. I would get into my pajama pants when I arrived and my mother and I would eat take out Chinese food. I'd sleep late in the mornings and eat my mother's snacks and let her take care of me, in a place that reminded me of comfort, warmth, and of the soft surrounding of childhood.
It healed me, at a time when I needed healing, and it helped me breathe again.
When the arrangement ended a few months later and my husband bought his own house, I missed those times at my mother's house dearly.
People often say, "You can never go home again." Well those people clearly never had their mothers serve them a cup of coffee while they sat, as a grown woman, reading the newspaper on a cold, rainy Saturday morning. After my experience of moving back home part-time at the age of 34, I think the adage should really go a little something more like this: "You can never go home again, unless your mom has all the premium channels on cable and makes really great baked goods."
And then, by all means,go home, again.
I Adore Not Living With My Long-Term Partner
50 'Good Morning' Texts To Start Your Day
122 Love Quotes for Every Hopeless Romantic
30 Games to Spice Up Your Date Night
70 Love Quotes for Your Wife or Girlfriend
100 Birthday Wishes for Your Brother
I Was in an Abusive Relationship at 15
40 Best Fall Date Ideas You'll Love
Good Housekeeping participates in various affiliate marketing programs, which means we may get paid commissions on editorially chosen products purchased through our links to retailer sites.
©Hearst Magazine Media, Inc. All Rights Reserved.
The Standard Group Plc is a multi-media organization with investments in media platforms spanning newspaper print
operations, television, radio broadcasting, digital and online services. The Standard Group is recognized as a
leading multi-media house in Kenya with a key influence in matters of national and international interest.
Standard Group Plc HQ Office,
The Standard Group Center,Mombasa Road.
P.O Box 30080-00100,Nairobi, Kenya.
Telephone number: 0203222111, 0719012111
Email: corporate@standardmedia.co.ke
More stories to check out before you go
I am a 28-year-old career woman, a banker to be exact. Unlike many girls my age who are getting ready for marriage and planning weddings, I am in a relationship people may call bizarre. I am in love with a man who cherished me as a baby and watched me grow up. This is the man who has never stopped calling me beautiful, whose love is broad-spectrum and is in and out of season. That man is my father.
Don't be hasty to judge me, I have no regrets nor am I ready to change my mind.
It all began when I was 13. Those were the days I badly needed love. My mother gave more attention to my two younger brothers and often I felt left out. She kept finding fault with me; throwing tantrums at the slightest provocation and blaming me sometimes for things my brothers did.
"You should be their role model," I remember every beating from my mother. Justly speaking, it was not all uphill with her; there were some good times but I can dare say that the bitter moments outweigh the good ones by far! I grew to hate her too. I am not embarrassed that I found love and consolation from her husband.
Daddy is a businessman; so many times he'd be away on business trips. When he came home, I would lie on his chest and cry asking him not to leave me behind next time he went for a trip. "Darling, you're still in school," he'd gently tell me and press me hard on his chest. I was only a little girl then. If my mother shouted at me in his presence, he'd reprimand her. Those were the only times I felt justice being done to me.
At the age of 12, after my first menstruation period, I dared my mother for a woman-to-woman chat. "Why don't you like me? Is it that you expected a boy and you got me? Did dad rape you on the night you conceived me," I recited what I had been coached by my peers. She insisted she loved me but her actions continued to be different.
Then, my hips started growing and I was turning into a pretty woman. I often caught my dad stealing glances at me especially at the dining table. I didn't know about man-to -woman love then and it's much later I that I realised my dad had fallen in love with me long before I knew it. My mother cautioned me against men generally and talked ill about all of them.
But dad was and is still different from all the men I have ever met. He's charming, caring, listening and willing to understand. I can describe my dad as my father, my friend, counselor and my lover. No man can match him! As a little girl, I could see jealousy written all over my mother's face and at some point I started enjoying it. I would sit on dad's lap and wrap my little hands around his neck just to provoke her. She'd make a face but not at any time did she ever stop me. Maybe if she had talked to me about incest then, things would be different today.
On my thirteenth birthday, Dad had a surprise for me: a trip with him to South Africa. I can't narrate the joy of being alone for a whole week with a person who loved me dearly and away from my mother's quarrels. A nice hotel in Jo'burg was my birthday place. I had a nice spacious room all to myself and dad's room was opposite mine.
On the second night he came to my room and without any preambles he held me tightly and gave me a long deep kiss on the lips. I felt a sense of belonging and a very special attachment to him. That is the night I gave my virginity to my dad. That night we discussed many things and he told me that he wouldn't mind telling the world that he loved me were it not for societal outlook.
We'd keep it secret though sitting on his lap and him hugging me and kissing my forehead or cheek would continue. I left Jo'burg with many presents but above all, feeling gratified that I had been ushered into adulthood by a man who loved me and whom I loved.
Our love blossomed by the day and we'd go out many times. He'd pick me from boarding school and we'd spend the afternoon together. The world knew dad loved me but perhaps their interpretation was different. This continued until I joined university.
At the University I could see my peers with their little boyfriends and at some point I thought I would give it a try. I got myself a boyfriend but the relationship lasted barelya week. He was childish, noisy and hyperactive! That is the complete opposite of my dad. My relationship with dad is mature. He has taught me to be calm and how to handle issues maturely. I am not surprised he pushes away any young man who comes close to me.
The day my mother caught me on her bed with dad, she faked surprise and I had to tell her bluntly to stop pretending. Was she so blind all those years to see dad was treating me better than her? He'd give me money to pay workers. We'd go shopping with him and have night-long loud-laughter chats in the study. We went for his international business trips together and even have a joint bank account! When she caught us and kicked him out of their bedroom, the poor man ran to me. I now share my bedroom with him without an iota of remorse. My brothers hate me but because my dad has always been there for me, I must fight to make him happy.
Though we denied it when summoned by the clan elders, thanks to my mother's big mouth, our love is not ending anytime soon. I know the science behind having a child with a blood relative that's why dad and I have kept it on hold.
When the right time comes, I may opt to adopt. Meanwhile, I continue being dad's best friend and lover. We have never fought over anything over the years. Though people may call us insane, from my intellectual eye, I notice even the elders who stood to condemn us admire our relationship.
- The identity of the person telling the story has been hidden to protect her and others involved from stigma
Incest is a serious public health issue but it's usually ignored in order to protect involved families. Father and daughter incest is common in many African countries and as Allan Kimani, a counseling psychologist at Nairobi Counseling Services explains, many incest victims suffer from Stockholm Syndrome where they develop irrational empathy for their assailants.
"Whether the girl is a minor or an adult, consented or not, the girl remains a victim because the father has the upper hand in the illegitimate relationship", says Kimani.
Section 20 and 21 of the Sexual Offences Act stipulates that if two adults of close relation get involved in sex, the two are guilty of incest and can face a jail term of not less than ten years. Consequently, in the case of an adult daughter and the father, the two can be charged in court.
Dr Kevin Wamula, a psychiatrist at Mathari Hospital points out that incest is more of a criminal than a mental illness. He however notes that in extreme cases between a father and daughter, mental evaluation is paramount. "The evaluation can determine whether any of the two is suffering from schizophrenia or any other mental illness," he said.
Schizophrenia is a mental disorder which affects how a person thinks, feels and behaves. Dr. Wamula advises that should a person detect that they are sexually attracted to close relatives, they should seek either counseling or mental health services to prevent regrettable situations.
Scientifically, a baby conceived out of such a relationship is likely to inherit genetic defects and terminating the pregnancy would be the safer option.
Subscribe to our newsletter and stay updated on the latest developments and special offers!
The Standard Group Plc is a multi-media organization with investments in media platforms spanning newspaper print
operations, television, radio broadcasting, digital and online services. The Standard Group is recognized as a
leading multi-media house in Kenya with a key influence in matters of national and international interest.
Standard Group Plc HQ Office,
The Standard Group Center,Mombasa Road.
P.O Box 30080-00100,Nairobi, Kenya.
Telephone number: 0203222111, 0719012111
Email: corporate@standardmedia.co.ke
More stories to check out before you go
I am a 28-year-old career woman, a banker to be exact. Unlike many girls my age who are getting ready for marriage and planning weddings, I am in a relationship people may call bizarre. I am in love with a man who cherished me as a baby and watched me grow up. This is the man who has never stopped calling me beautiful, whose love is broad-spectrum and is in and out of season. That man is my father.
Don't be hasty to judge me, I have no regrets nor am I ready to change my mind.
It all began when I was 13. Those were the days I badly needed love. My mother gave more attention to my two younger brothers and often I felt left out. She kept finding fault with me; throwing tantrums at the slightest provocation and blaming me sometimes for things my brothers did.
"You should be their role model," I remember every beating from my mother. Justly speaking, it was not all uphill with her; there were some good times but I can dare say that the bitter moments outweigh the good ones by far! I grew to hate her too. I am not embarrassed that I found love and consolation from her husband.
Daddy is a businessman; so many times he'd be away on business trips. When he came home, I would lie on his chest and cry asking him not to leave me behind next time he went for a trip. "Darling, you're still in school," he'd gently tell me and press me hard on his chest. I was only a little girl then. If my mother shouted at me in his presence, he'd reprimand her. Those were the only times I felt justice being done to me.
At the age of 12, after my first menstruation period, I dared my mother for a woman-to-woman chat. "Why don't you like me? Is it that you expected a boy and you got me? Did dad rape you on the night you conceived me," I recited what I had been coached by my peers. She insisted she loved me but her actions continued to be different.
Then, my hips started growing and I was turning into a pretty woman. I often caught my dad stealing glances at me especially at the dining table. I didn't know about man-to -woman love then and it's much later I that I realised my dad had fallen in love with me long before I knew it. My mother cautioned me against men generally and talked ill about all of them.
But dad was and is still different from all the men I have ever met. He's charming, caring, listening and willing to understand. I can describe my dad as my father, my friend, counselor and my lover. No man can match him! As a little
Sit Outdoor
Product Private
Little Young Boy Ass