My 18 year old Adopted son bathes with me, the day I dropped the soap, everything changed.

1

It was something innocent—or at least that’s what I told myself.

My husband travels a lot for work, and our water heater is old and faulty, so to save hot water we began §h0w£ring t0g£th£r when Chike turned 16.

Chike was actually my nephew who I had adopted after my sister and her husband died in a car accident. 

At first it was practical: quick, efficient, backs turned, no big deal.

But by the time he was 18, tall and broad-shouldered, with the kind of quiet confidence that makes mothers both proud and nervous, the air in that small b@thr00m had changed.

I noticed things like how Mr.Gbolala was just so f@t. How Mr.Gbolala would occasionally jump up and Chike will keep him on check and a whole lot but it was a phase. 

I bet he noticed things too. We never spoke about it, but the tension grew.

That particular morning, my husband was away again, and Chike had a late lecture, so just us.

We stepped into the §h0w£r like always, steam rising around, water drumming on the tiles.

I faced the spray, letting it run down my back, trying not to think the cl0§n£§§.

I reached for the soap, but my fingers were slippery and it shot out of my hand, clattering to the floor between my feet.

I laughed, embarrassed. “Clumsy me.”

I b£nt forward to pick it up.

The moment I did, I realized.

Ma @§§ was f@c£d at h|m, l£g§ slightly @p@rt for b@lance, kponmo-land completely £xp0§£d as water str£@med down ma thaiz.

I froze there longer than I needed to, heart suddenly hammering.

I knew exactly what h£ was §££!ng. I knew because I could feel the cool air and hot water on ma most pr|v@t£ pl@c£§.

Then I f£|t something else—w@rm, h£@vy. The mighty h£@d of heez Mr.Gbolala bru§h!ng @g@!n§t ma thaiz as h£ §t£pp£d cl0§£r to “help” me.

“Mum let me help you so you don't fa||”

H£ h£|d ma w@!§t and was so cl0§£, one wr0ng m0v£ from me and Mr.Gbolala will go to the land.

“Chike…” I wh|§p£r£d, not sure if it was me saying yes or saying no.

But just then, something happened that will forever change how I... 

2

H£ didn’t answer with words. Instead, heez hands settled on ma hips, gentle but firm, and I felt heez Mr.Gbolala—fully £xp@nd£d now, pul§!ng and hot—slide between ma thighs from behind, nestling along the slick folds of ma kponmo-land.

I g@sp£d. “Baby, we shouldn’t…”

But ma b0d¥ betrayed me. I pushed back just a fraction, letting the length of h!m glide along ma fl0vv!ng kponmo-ju!c£. H£ gr0@n£d low in heez throat, fingers tightening on ma hips.

“Mama,” h£ breathed against ma ear, voice rough. “I’ve wanted this for so long.”

That was all it took. Something inside me snapped—years of stolen glances, accidental touches, lonely nights—all of it flooded out. I turned in heez arms, water cascading over both of us, and k!§§£d h!m. Not a motherly peck. A deep, hungry k!§§, tongues meeting, hands roaming.

H£ pressed me against the cool tile wall, mouth moving to ma neck, ma neepulls, while one hand slid down to cup ma kponmo-land. Heez fingers parted ma easily—I was already §o@k£d, not just from the shower—and when h£ slipped two |n§|de, I m0@n£d heez name against heez shoulder.

“Please,” I heard maself say. “I need you |n me.”

H£ didn’t make me wait. H£ lifted one of ma legs, hooking it around heez waist, and positioned that thick Mr.Gbolala at ma entrance. The h£@d nudged |n, stretching me deliciously, and then h£ pu§h£d forward—slow, steady, relentless—until h£ was buried d££p |n§|de ma kponmo-land.

We both cried out. The feeling was overwhelming: ma own son filling me completely, water pounding around us, steam thick in the air.

H£ started to move, long, deep §tr0k£§ that made ma toes curl against the wet floor. 

Every thrust pushed me harder against the wall, heez Mr.Gbolala hitting places no one had reached in years. I clutched heez back, nails digging in, urging h!m faster