What the fuck did I just do? I jerked off to my own mother. To her private pictures and videos I wasn’t supposed to see. To the way she looked stepping out of the shower and teasing in lingerie. I came thinking about Mom’s tits… her ass… the videos she made… all those men wanting her. Am I broken? Is this what the dry spell has done to me? Or was it already there and I just never let myself see it? What if this fake chat idea makes it worse? What if I can’t stop now?
Tears of confusion and self-loathing pricked at his eyes even as the aftershocks of pleasure still tingled through him. He cleaned himself up with shaking hands, the guilt sitting like a stone in his chest. But the pressure had eased — at least physically. And in the quiet aftermath, lying in the dark, he remembered an old Literotica story he had read years ago — before he had stopped consuming anything sexual. It was about a man who created a fake, respectful profile to connect anonymously with an older woman online. The slow, careful seduction through words had eventually led to something real and intense.
The idea took root in the same conflicted space where the shame still lived.
He created a new Instagram account on his phone that very night.
Display name: Aryan Malhotra Age: 28 Profession: Corporate lawyer, recently moved to Pune Profile picture: A clean, slightly blurred photo of a handsome young man (stock image lightly edited). Bio: “New to Pune. Love good books, meaningful conversations, and quiet evenings. Looking to connect with interesting people.”
He sent a follow request to his mother’s private account with a short, polite message:
“Hi Professor Rao, I noticed your thoughtful comment on a post about Indian literature and postcolonial themes. I’m new in the city and trying to find people who appreciate books the way you seem to. No pressure at all — just genuine admiration from a fellow reader. Warmly, Aryan”
He hit send.
Then he lay back in the dark, staring at the ceiling, his body finally spent but his mind more tangled than ever. The guilt was still there, heavy and real. The confusion was still there. But so was a new, dangerous spark that had not existed when he stepped off the plane — a spark that had been lit by accidental glimpses, secret pictures and videos, the flood of blocked requests and the few warm chats she had chosen to keep, and the unstoppable collision of porn and his mother’s body in his mind.
Something had begun — slowly, accidentally, and now deliberately.
And Keshav had no idea how far it would go… or how much of himself he was willing to lose along the way.
Chapter 2: Messages in the Shadows – Holi and the First Chat
Keshav woke up the next morning with a heavy weight in his chest and a dull ache between his legs. The shame from the night before still clung to him like the dried colours that would soon cover the society. He had broken his own rule. He had jerked off to his mother — to the memory of her wet naked body stepping out of the bathroom, to the videos she had recorded in lingerie, to the pictures in that hidden folder, and to the flood of crude Instagram requests she had received and mostly blocked. The orgasm had been intense, but the guilt that followed was worse. What kind of son does this? I saw things I was never meant to see. I came thinking about her. Is this the dry spell or am I actually losing control? He stared at the ceiling of his old room, listening to the distant sounds of the society already waking up for Holi. Drums, laughter, and the occasional burst of colour from early revellers floated up from the garden below.
