The following essay, “Into (and out of) the Mouths of Babes” reads like Fifty Shades of Grey for female pedophiles:
I try to resist the pull to fulfill his desires. He craves my attention, my embrace, my gaze, but I want the moment to be mine alone. I am successful only until he says my name. Then my will is gone, and I’m his. “Jessica! Jess!”
Being on a first-name basis with my son made me feel like I was both his equal and his servant—a familiar dynamic. Since the beginning of our relationship, he and I had spent a lot of time breastfeeding. At two, my son’s love affair with my breasts still sizzled. The concept of my body as both mine and the boy’s had long been a challenge for my husband, even before the boy was walking or talking. Or calling out my first name.
His language and cognition had matured by the time he was two, but his desire for my body blurred boundaries, challenging me. It was one thing to be felt up when he was an incoherent blob. But it felt different when he could say to me, “I wanna nurse you, Mommy” and “other side” while trying to wedge his whole arm under my bra and creep his fingers toward my unoccupied nipple, as though this time I might decide I like it instead of telling him, “Move your hand.” I began instinctively to hug my chest, pressing my unsupporting arm against the dormant breast, sometimes cupping myself, or pulling him off to stop the groping.
Nursing used to be the panacea for all ills: hunger, fear, fatigue. By age two, we were on a more predictable schedule, but my son’s eyes would still flash when I got naked like lollipops were taped to my chest. He’d pretend to reach out and coyly tell me he wanted to nurse, just because he could say the words, and then would proceed to ponder my genitalia, fascinated with the embouchure required to say “vagina.” His mouth played with different tones and tempos for the word. I both laughed and cringed when he began toggling between the v-word and “Jessica,” whispering as though both three-syllable words were magical mantras holding the key to a delicious mystery. Perhaps they are.
I don’t often say this, but this woman needs to be dragged from her home, paraded naked through the streets, and stoned as a whore. Or else those children should be taken away from her pedophile ass and adopted into a family that isn’t going to sexually exploit them. The fact that her husband would permit such behavior has me wondering if he isn’t diddling the kiddos as well. WTF Mombie?! *shudders*