A rude awakening was to be expected whenever my Aunt Luna was the one doing it. Usually she’d throw ice water on my head, tear the covers off, and throw a bucket of spiders on me or just outright punch me in the face.

That’s why I preferred either Mom or Celestia waking me up, Mom being the artist-formerly-known-as-Cadance, who was often much more gentle than my Ice Queen of a great aunt. So who was I getting woken up by today?

The answer was given as I felt a soft shake of my shoulder, and a gentle whisper in my ear:

“Honey?” my mother asked sweetly. “Are you awake?”

An evil scheme came into my mind at that point, one that would probably earn a light jab on the arm in response, but hey, fun was fun. Keeping my eyes closed, I pretended to still be asleep, knowing what she’d do in response.

“Richter?” she asked, leaning close and whispering into my ear. “C’mon honey, you need to get up.” Several more seconds ticked by before she took hold of the lip of my covers and began to pull them down, this being my time to act. I whirled around in bed, my face inches from hers, before making and extremely loud snorting noise.

And, as I’d predicted, her initial reaction was a loud squeal, followed by her clapping a hand to her chest and screwing her eyes shut. The seconds slowly ticked by before her eyes open once more, now lit up with anger as she slapped me on the arm, my loud laughter only serving to annoy her as I brought up the bed sheets, trying to use them as a flimsy defence.

“How many times have I told you not to do that?” she demanded angrily, giving me her best angry mother stare.

“How many times have I ignored you?” I responded.

“Too many,” she growled.

“Exactly,” I smirked, tapping her on the nose. This move received another playful slap from her before she stood up off the bed.

“Right then, my little angel,” she said ironically, crossing her arms. “You’ve got a busy day today, so up and at ‘em.” I looked at her for a long second, trying to put the sentence ‘I’m not getting out of bed until you’ve left the room or the morning glory’s gone down’ into a look.

It didn’t work very well.

“C’mon,” she hastened. “I’m not leaving until you’ve gotten out of bed.”

“Could you at least turn around then?” I asked, linking my fingers over my chest and staring at her.

“Why?” she asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“Reasons…” I shrugged. “Erect ones.”

She was silent for a second before rolling her eyes and turning around, mumbling to herself as she did so.

“I’ve never understood why teenage boys are so afraid of their mothers seeing them naked,” she commented. “I used to wash and bathe you every day. You used to bathe with me until you were seven years old.”

“Yeah, but there’s quite a bit of difference between seven years old and eighteen years old,” I said, sitting up and rubbing my eyes. “And if I remember correctly, that difference is about nine to ten inches.”

“I’d hope so,” she said, lowering her head to the floor as she leaned her back against the foot-board of my bed.

She done it again. She’d made some off-hand, vaguely sexual comment at me. She’d being doing this a lot recently, ever since I hit my eighteenth birthday. In fact, now that I thought about it, both my aunts had been doing it too, though Luna had been voicing it in her own, usual passive-aggressive, sexually frustrated way. My Aunt Celestia, however, had always been dignified about it, never outright making any mention to sex in her double-entendres, but very clear about the sexual motive behind her statements.

I wanted to question her on it, but it would probably go the same way it had before: I’d bring it up and she’d come up with some bullshit excuse about me pushing my own perverted desires onto the sentences she said and only heard sexual phrases because I wanted to. She’d explain that there was no intent to be sexual towards me and she wished for me to stop thinking of her like that.

Though the last time I’d confronted her on it, she’d been extremely fixated on adjusting the resting position of her breasts and removing as many items of clothing to show skin. This had gotten me riled up like nothing else, the more I thought about it, and she’d done it ever since I was a little kid, constantly strutting around in nothing more than her underwear and the loosest-fitting, transparent bathrobe she could find, often making me sit on her lap and rest my head on her breasts.

So, yeah, if there’s any reason as to why my mother causes extremely conflicting and confusing feelings in me when she’s around, that might be an answer. Even then, she’s never been shy with nudity, always throwing out the excuse ‘I’m your mother’ or ‘It’s nothing you haven’t seen before’ whenever she strips down for a bath or just likes to sit on her bed, reading a book whilst completely naked.

She tells me that it’s just something she’s done for years, that there’s no sexual or seductive intent behind it, but whenever Dad’s home, she keeps herself fully clothed and asks me to leave the bathroom if she wants a bath while I’m washing my hands or getting a drink.

If that wasn’t two-faced, contradictory behaviour then I don’t know what is. The attraction I felt towards her made me feel both physically sick and more aroused than I’d ever thought possible. It was wrong to be sexually attracted to her, I knew that. I just didn’t care.

But then comes in the problem of every forbidden relationship, whether it be in a book my Aunt Twilight let me borrow or a play my mother had taken me to see, spending most of the time with her hand on my thigh I might add, there was always the risk of one party just getting it wrong.

Normal behaviour for some people, as in my mother’s case, is strange to other people. A woman who shows no fear of being seen in her underwear because she’s been seen in swimwear may give off the impression she’s being sexual towards the men she allows to see in her undies, when she really isn’t fussed either way.

The same way a man who often discusses sexual habits with female friends the same way close male friends do, speaking of favourite parts of women, their specific likes and dislikes such as big breasts, big ass, deepthroat, kinky, blonde, red-head, brunette, may be seen as the man giving pointers and hints to his female friend about what he wants her to be like.

Then, when these emotions, signals, and feelings come into play between one another, one party confessing their feelings to the other who does not reciprocate their affection can be catastrophic, even between two close friends, much less mother and cunting son. If I was to confess to my mother that I, and with her being an adult and knowing what the word attraction really meant when it came to adults, wanted to take my biological mother, the creature that grew me in her womb for nine months, and initiate an incestuous act of highly illegal procreation with her, I wouldn’t be surprised if she wanted me burned at the stake, much less never speak to me again.

There was so much uncertainty in the lands of attraction, especially when my mother was the type of woman that adored making her objects of affection nervous and aroused around her. I’d heard stories from my Dad, after I’d reached manhood of course, that Cadance was the kind of girl to use her body in one way and her voice in another. She’d speak with great articulation about how she valued the friendship she and my Dad had before they’d started dating, and how she felt so happy that he was one of the few guys she knew that didn’t want to nail her against the wall, that he didn’t think she was just some bit-store harlot who gave herself up to anybody who wanted it.

And all the while she would be subtly rubbing herself against him, using her fingers to tease and entice, placing her face and mouth inches from his and throwing the most sultry looks seen outside of a travelling orgy to confuse and arouse the poor soul. The few times my Dad had taken her up on her physical advances she’d completely one-eighty and become shocked and appalled that he’d think of her in such a way and once my Dad felt horrible, she’d laugh it off and act like nothing happened before kissing him on the cheek and continuing about the day.

That used to drive my Dad insane.

Of course she’d stopped doing it now, the two being married with a son… that she was actively-slash-maybe-not-at-all trying to seduce or just try to drive insane with sexual tension. This was the problem I faced everyday, having to whack it in the bathroom to relieve tension whilst being confused and conflicted on whether my Mom was doing the same, thinking about me.

Though this wasn’t a problem before I’d turned eighteen, as I’d just relieve my frustrations by nailing some Prench ambassador’s daughter whilst thinking about my mother. I know how bad that sounds, but I know we’re all freaks here, right?

“Right, I’ll leave you to take care of that, just don’t forget you’re meeting your Aunt Luna for your mutation overview and swordplay training.

“Oh joy,” I said with false enthusiasm, realizing that today was going to be another day of my vicious aunt using her seven thousand years of swordplay experience to slap me all around the arena.

Oh, and if you’re wondering about the mutation thing, I’ll explain that now.

With myself and my family members being kind-of-maybe-sorta demi-gods, Homo Alicornat, as our scientific and slightly mistranslated name is listed, the true name being Homo Allicornat, the two L’s making the word ‘All’ part of the title, the collective word for everything and the everything in this equation being animals.

The Homo Allicornat is the single species on Equis that is able to procreate with any other animal, be it a rat, a cow or a blue whale. We’re able to either knock them up or carry their children. But my Aunt Celestia figured, or accidentally discovered, depending on who’s telling the story, that my family’s line is able to take different types of DNA, harness them into specific mutagens of varying strength levels, and use them to increase our own natural abilities, making us the most adaptable and versatile species on the planet.

Though there was a drawback discovered about eighty years later, and that was that our blood needed time to mature, much like fine wine, to be at its best, otherwise the mutations we apply to ourselves can cause us to become susceptible to diseases and debilitating conditions those animals often suffer, meaning that the older we get, the more and more mutations we’re able to give ourselves.

And at the grand age of eighteen, I’m currently able to boast a grand total of two mutations, that being the night-vision of a cat and the heightened hearing of a Direwolf. Impressive when you think about normal human abilities, but when compared to my Aunt Luna’s ability to switch, at will, between night-vision, hawk vision, thermal vision, as well as being able to control and regulate her body heat to warm up or cool off whenever she wants, heightened hearing, smell, and touch, immunity to most toxins discovered, enhanced strength, and speed coupled with the ability to harden her skin to that of an armadillo’s shell, she’s a handful to take down unarmed.

So you can forget about standing a chance against her when she’s using her signature sword. I bet you’re expecting it to be a katana right? To have some weeaboo-esque Nipponese name like Kurasabi or Genkidama right?

Well, no. Because my Aunt’s not a fucking loser, and didn’t name the sword. She doesn’t name any of them on the explanation of ‘They’re tools, they’re made to do a job and not to be grown attached to, much like you.’

Oh yeah, I may have forgotten to mention this but, uh, my Aunt Luna’s a cunt. Like, there’s no messing around with softer words or better descriptions. Cunt is the best word that describes this woman, as she is stone cold awful to be around. She sees people as tools instead of people and views tragedies as nothing more than numbers crossed off a list.

She made it clear that she didn’t give a fuck about you and if you had nothing to offer her, you could get out of her face. For some people, this made her the most terrifying, heartless, and evil bitch that’s ever sat on a throne not made of thorns and the skulls of dead, previously-molested-by-her children. But for me?

It was fucking hot.

There’s always been an attraction for me to those kinds of girls, the type that only gives you the time of day if they feel you’ve well and truly earned it and not just out of common decency. You knew that if this person wanted to even look at you then you knew you were a cut above the rest.

I know what you’re thinking ‘How many women in my family do I want to nail?’

Answer: all of them. I think the easiest one to fuck, ironically, would be my mother, with the hardest either being my Aunt Twilight or Aunt Celestia, though Celestia would be an amazing achievement in my book and an amazing experience, mostly because her tits are bigger than my head. This is probably because she’s six foot eight and I’m five eleven. If there was ever a woman to make you feel like you were a child fucking his own mother, it was her, simply because of how enormous she was.

If I’m honest, I was always attracted to my Aunt Celestia and I think that little Oedipus complex started when I was still breastfeeding from my own Mom, and the sight of her tits just brought out instinct in me, as I’ve been told. I don’t know, I don’t remember. My Mom’s told me that whenever she held me close to her chest, I’d try to feed from her, which was hilarious to all of them apparently. I’d then been told that one of Celestia’s mutations was permanent lactation and she’d often fill in for my Mom when she was busy doing something else, and that she thoroughly enjoyed breastfeeding me.

Basically, when I’d just turned eighteen, I wanted to fuck every girl in my family. And I’m now gonna tell you exactly that wish came true.

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