Helping him with his homework tonight, when he leaned over, the neckline of his T-shirt fell open, and that familiar scent of sweat mixed with laundry detergent hit me. I should have scolded him for his posture, but my throat tightened, and my knuckles turned white gripping the red pen. Those damned website pages flashed through my mind—I’ve yelled at him, torn up his secrets, and now it’s the rhythm my fingers move to in the shower. How can a mother react to her son’s sweat? The thought leaves me soaked and sick with shame. But let’s be honest, Victoria, that wetness between your legs isn’t from anger. #ForbiddenDesire #TheShacklesOfMotherhood