Naked

"Practically. But not all the time."

"So, what about those young women you bring home for me to meet. Don't they take care of these things for you? What about Jess?"

"Jess and I are over," I tell her. "We both knew it wasn't going anywhere. I haven't seen her in a month or so."

"Good. You deserve better than her. Sorry, but that's the way I feel. So, are you boning any other girls these days, or handling your needs yourself?"

My cock is engorged. Twitching and bobbing on my stomach. She's looking at it.

"If you want, I'll leave and let you take care of business."

I stare at her in disbelief. "I'm not 18, Mother. I can live with an erection for awhile."

"Or, you know, Michael, I can make this happen for you," she says. "If you won't tell, I won't tell."

I'm flustered. Can't think of a response.

"Allow me, Michael. I know what I'm doing," she says smiling. "I've had experience."

"So I've heard," I manage to say, mumbling through the words. "And I'm not sure I want to know any more about it."

"You don't have to take care of me," I say. She doesn't listen.

She sits up, cross-legged with her knees resting, one on my thigh, the other against the side of my chest. The sheet has fallen off and her willowy nakedness is on full display. Her breasts drooping a little. Her thighs silky and sleek in the morning light. Her pubic hair close enough to inspect, to see the few little droplets of moisture in it. I can smell her sex.

She doesn't grab me, not at first. She runs her fingernails up and down my cock slowly, softly. Then again. Doing it on one side, then the other. She traces a line up to the head of my penis, which already is dripping, getting me wet.

"Your body is pleasing to the eye, young man."

She examines my dick closely, bending down to look. She touches it.

"And this. This is so hard," she says matter-of-factly.

"What is this? Biology lab?" I ask.

She pays me no mind. Takes it all in for a moment. And now, she squeezes my cock a little, strokes it. Just feeling all around, as if it's the first one she's ever viewed.

"I love the way the skin stretches as your cock grows, the way the head gets bigger and bigger. And there's those first little drops of excitement coming out," she says. "And the way your balls change and tighten up." She cups them with one hand. "Then they loosen again, hanging down and swinging, then tightening up." She uses a finger to move them back and forth, fondling them, just slightly swinging them as if they were bells. All in slow motion. No hurry. A studied look on her face.

She halts. Then she grasps my dick with her whole hand and holds it there, feeling its thickness and hardness. Squeezing it slightly every few seconds. Driving me closer to the edge. But I can tell she's just getting a sense of the physicality of my erection. For me, the feeling is indescribable.

With her thumb and index finger she encircles my dick, grabbing it right below the head, judging its circumference.

"Marvelous. Truly marvelous," she says. "A work of art."

"You're making fun of me."

"No. No," she says, getting serious quickly. "It's so beautiful, with a life all its own. Jerking and swaying. It takes my breath away to watch how fabulous your body is."

Moving her hand off, she touches the tip of my dick with her index finger, feeling more drops seeping out. She rolls her finger in the liquid, begins lightly spreading the wet over the head of my dick. Coating it. She leans over for a closer look. I love watching her small breasts dip down, rise, then dip again with her every move. Then swing and sway, her nipples hard and pointed. They, too, seem to have a life of their own.

Holding my erection straight up, at a ninety-degree angle to my stomach, she wraps her fingers around it, begins stroking, then slowly pumping up and down. I am slippery from my own fluids and am in such a state. She bends over closer, her face hovering above the head of my cock. She spits on it. Then uses her finger to smooth her saliva around the head. Not that I needed extra lubrication. I believe she is just having fun.

She pumps more. Up and down. Up and down. Then with her hand at the bottom of my shaft, she holds it there, with my cock sticking straight up, like some spire. My dick weaves a little and leaks even more, the drops rolling down my shaft. This will not take long. More pumping. My body jerks. I groan. She freezes. Stares at it. I spurt straight up, a good two feet, then a second spurt, even higher, falling down and landing on her knee. One or two more follow, falling back on her hand.

"My God," she says under he breath. "I had forgotten how powerful a young man can be. I haven't seen anything like that in years. Amazing. Simply amazing."

"I'm sorry I came so fast," I tell her.

"I'm not. It's a testament to my skills," she says with a slight laugh.

"And the fact that the hand doing me belongs to my own mother," I tell her. I'm not smiling when I say it.

"Does that bother you?" she asks.

"Yes," I tell her.

"You think this is sick?"

"What do you think?" I ask.

"Some people may think so," she says. "I don't because it's you. And I can't think of anyone else I would even consider doing this with."

She wipes a finger through the sperm on her knee, then spreads it on the head of my penis, all around the head, smoothing it in.

"You didn't answer me," she asks. "Do you think it's sick?"

"Probably," I tell her. "Who wouldn't? But I liked it. I can't tell you how much I liked it."

"Me too," she says. "And no one else needs to know. This is just about us."

Some moments pass. Again she is lightly touching my dick.

"And now it retreats, losing all its power, getting soft and quiet," she says. She traces a line down, around my balls, then takes my soft penis in her hand, as if it is a valuable jewel. She seems to be emotional now. Her eyes water.

"But even now, it's still so beautiful," she says. "Such a marvelous mystery."

* * * .

Sitting on the sofa, late evening now, windows and doors open for the breeze, listening to Nat King Cole in the dark. She plays his velvety voice when she is at her most mellow.

We had been in the surf late morning, shopping for trinkets in the afternoon, crab legs and beer for dinner outdoors at a small seaside cafe. Our conversation inconsequential. A little nervousness and long silences between us, being our last night before heading home - and that she had masturbated her son just this morning. Jacked me off in bed as if we were an old married couple. Once away from the bedroom, we became a little embarrassed. That is still hovering over both of us. But unspoken. We have crossed a line, entering a strange new world.

Back here in the cottage, we sit side by side listening to the music in silence for a long time. The awkwardness between us is tense. Quietly, she draws her legs up, turns sideways on the sofa and stretches them across my lap, puts her head on my shoulder.

"We're going to break all the rules, tonight, aren't we?" she says in a low voice.

"We're going to do this, and it will be just another of our secrets."

I don't answer, but put my hand on her bare legs, push her knee-length sun dress up to mid-thigh and begin caressing the soft skin there. With just the tips of my fingers, I brush ever so slightly down to her knees, then back up her thighs, higher, halting just short of her panties.

"This is dangerous," I tell her as I hold my hand on her thigh. "We could be in so much trouble."

"You think I'm not aware of that?" she says almost under her breath.

Even so, she slowly opens her legs wider on my lap. I stroke her thighs again, wanting this time to feel all the way to the silkiness of her panties. Only I reach and there are no panties. My fingers touching soft hair, softer lips and the liquid opening to her sex. She is wet.

She lies down on the sofa, resting her head on a throw pillow, legs still across my lap. I push the dress up to her waist. She opens her legs even wider. Over the course of the last few days we have been naked together, but tonight, here on the sofa, there is a raw nakedness to her, sending a weak feeling to my very core. Our eyes, adjusted to the night, find each other. Those sleepy, half-closed eyes telling me it's okay.

But it is not okay. We are facing the unthinkable. An unrelenting shaming if we are found out. There might be no redemption. We should stop. But neither of us can. We are hearing the siren call, being drawn toward ruination, our possible undoing. We are drowning in desire, sucked in by an undertow of lust, love and friendship that we can't swim out of.

"Just this once, Michael."

"Just tonight," I say.

"That's all it can be," she says. "Tomorrow we go home and back to following the rules." I nod.

I pause a moment. Then slide a finger inside her, gliding in easily, engulfed in warm liquid. Another finger. Bring my fingers out slowly. With just my fingertips, trace a light path around the edges of her opening. Everywhere I touch is glistening in warm moisture, my fingers gliding all around. I love the slightly sticky wetness of her. Again I dip fingers in her, just as slow. Through the dark and shadows, I see her watching my face. Studying it.

I want to go fast. To climb on her and take her with abandon. Like a teenaged boy having his first time. But I resist. This should last. Go slow. Take our time. The night too precious to waste by hurrying.

Tracing the soft opening and those small nearly hidden lips with my fingers. I quickly grow to love that. And now, smelling her sex as more liquid coats my fingers and dribbles down into the crevice of her buttocks. With my thumb, I find her clitoris, softly play with it, caressing it different ways until I find what brings a reaction. Moving my thumb across her clit, then back down. That works. Brings sighs, causes a shudder. She moves one of her hands down to the slight bulge of her mons and her pubic hair. Begins caressing herself there, just above my thumb. We are in tandem. More heavy breathing. More shudders.

My two fingers are still inside her, moving in and out slowly, and my thumb up and down on her clit. I let my little finger slip down, below to the crevice. Find the opening to her anus. Small, moist, oily. Rub my finger around it. Push on it a little. Her breathing heavier now. My thumb, fingers all moving in steady, slow rhythm, in and out, back and forth, pushing into both her openings. All in one back-and-forth motion. Slow. Over and over again.

And then: a sequence of shudders and low groans. Growing stronger, convulsing, her pelvis undulating. A rollingness in her loins. Pushing her bottom into my leg. I slide my little finger all the way in her ass, slowly, gently. Now she's at the precipice. Then over the top. Her thighs clamp on my arm and hand that is inside her. With strength I didn't know she had. Her whole body, all of her, seems to be sweating, squeezing. The sweet smell of her everywhere, pervasive throughout the room.

Then a calmness. I remain still, quiet. She too. But her eyes always on me. After a few minutes, I lift my fingers to feel her face. Tears in her eyes. Moistness on her cheeks. I ask what is wrong. She catches her breath. And in what is barely above a whisper . . .

"It's just been a long time since I've felt it that strong," she says. "I had forgotten."

* * *

Fetching yet another cold bottle of chardonnay from the fridge, she takes off my clothes. I take off her dress. We sit back on the sofa, still in the dark. More Nat King Cole. She curls up in my lap, her hair ruffled, skin warm, face flush. She grows quiet, especially tender and soft now.

I stray my hands over her, slowly. From her shoulders. Down the back. To her haunches. Toward those dark, secret places of her. They are still warm and wet. With her on my lap, my erection is poking up between her legs. She touches it. Strokes it. Holds my balls, gathers the liquid from the head of my cock with her fingers, brings them to her lips. Then holds my erection in her hand.

"So powerful. So strong," she says. "You could break me, take the very life out of me if you wanted to."

"I would never."

"That is what's so amazing. You could hurt me. Really hurt me. But I know you won't."

She runs her fingers around the head of my cock. Plays with the droplets. I fight for control.

"A little terrifying," she says.

"Actually, I'm just average, nothing to write home about."

"No, no. Don't tease. It's really frightening but beautiful. With you inside of me, I could really lose myself."

She pulls my face to hers. We kiss, her lips tasting a little salty, slightly cinnamony. It's just lips lightly against lips. She sticks her tongue out. Traces it around my lips. Slips it into my mouth. Tongues exploring tongues. A warmth spreading. Somehow it doesn't seem strange. I think of her not as my mother, but as Nora, this lovely, lovely woman I have known all my life. But in an instant I do think of her as my mother. I can't help it. So unreal. Like a dream. So lovely. But wanton. Lewd. Depraved. All of this so perverted.

Let's go to the bedroom, she tells me. I sense where we are headed is straight to Hell.

On our bed. Legs entwine. Lips in motion everywhere, sweat droplets on our face. "Suck my nipples, Michael. Bite them. Make it hurt," she tells me as she lies on her back, arms stretched out beyond her head on the mattress. An act of surrender on her part. Take me, she is saying without need for words. Her nipples are thick once again, and pointing. Her areola soft and puffy. I suck them, bite down, burrow my face into them. I hear a faint gurgling in her throat.

I can wait no longer. I reach down, pull her knees up to her chest and move my face down to her slit, kissing it, licking, smelling it, the smell of her cunt that I know will be with me from this day on. My tongue caressing, darting inside her and back out. Finding her clit again, back and forth over it, this time with the tip of my tongue, as softly as possible. She comes on my face, a little orgasm, but even after, there's liquid pouring out onto my nose and cheeks.

Her passion escalates. My head is clamped between her thighs. She begins squeezing as a second orgasm nears. This one harder, stronger. Can't be stopped. She squeezes my head like I've never been squeezed before. I think she might break my facial bones. Squeezing, squeezing, squeezing. Until finally she groans softly. Relaxes. Wipes the hair out of her eyes.

"Come in me, Michael. Come in me now."

Her pussy open, tender, vulnerable. I put the head of my dick at its entrance. Move in a fraction. Back out. Mostly to lubricate myself. For having had one child, her slit seems small. I start again. Slowly. Slowly. Sliding half way in, then back out. Then a little farther. Now a final push, all the way in. I pull her knees back down around my waist. She wraps her long legs around me.

I begin moving in and out. Kind of at an angle. So our pelvic bones can rub together. A slow rhythm. Taking it slow. The side of my face against the side of hers. Our bodies sweating, hair wet.The smell of our skin all around us.As I move back and forth, she begins whispering in my ear.

"We'll never tell, Michael. Our little secret. Always. We'll keep our secrets," she says, so quietly, as if others might be in the room trying to listen.

Out the open bedroom window there are flashes of light, the sky turning to day for a split second, then dark again. Bright, then dark. Heat lightening. Then the smell of coming rain. It mixes with the smell of our skin in the room.

I keep the rhythm, back and forth inside her. I lift up on my arms for a few seconds. Sweat already dripping down from my chest, dropping onto her breasts, mixing with her own sweat. Her nipples covered in sweat. Our eyes meet in the dark. The look from her is piercing. Vicious. Knowing. As if we've been waiting years for this shameless night.

I fall back down atop her. Still moving in her, back and forth. She talks right into my ear. Louder now, over the rain. Her thoughts, words tumbling out.

"I know you, Michael. You want to do more than fuck me, don't you. You want to lick my ass and put your tongue in it, don't you. I know you. You want me to come on your face. You want me to suck your dick and swallow all of it, don't you, Michael."

Talking louder still in my ear and constantly. Every filthy word I've ever heard. Her wanting every filthy act one can think of. Getting the words out between grunting and groaning as I move back and forth. My mother, this paragon of corporate nicety, a woman of good standing in the community, the very embodiment of grace and culture is channeling some inner slut. But I can not think of that now.

I begin moving faster, picking up my pace. Her breathing tries to keep up. We're getting close. Both of us may be coming off together. Mist from the slightly open window covering us both. But sweat overcoming it, spilling out of every pore.

"You want my soul, don't you, Michael. I know you. You see, we're two of a kind. We know what we want. We can't get this with anyone else. No one else will do."

"It's just us. You're just like me."

Both of us groaning. Her legs still around my waist, squeezing. I feel some muscles deep in her pussy clamping around my dick. Squeezing it. Never felt that before with a woman. But I'm not about to let my dick give in to it. My cock too hard, too strong to surrender. Not just yet. I push. Feel that I have reached the end of her insides. She groans loudly for the first time, in what must be a little pain. Back and fourth, lost in time, just back and fourth, back and fourth. Until she yells my name. We both come. I'm spewing inside of her. She's screaming into the night air. Screams again. Then again.

* * *

Not enough time for sleep. We know that. She is right about me wanting her soul. Or something like that. It's not just a quick fuck I'm after. Desire. An unquenchable desire that drives me. A need to absorb her. To taste her, smell her, watch her, listen to more groans. It's that intimacy I am craving. A naked communion between us. Of knowing this woman more than any other man can. I go after her again, in these wee hours. My erection is back, throbbing, pulsing, ready to erupt. I am consumed by her. Have to have her. She goads me on.

"Let's do it like this," she says, getting up on her knees in the bed, head down, ass high in the air. On display for me. This most private, most personal part of her. Open obscenely. For my viewing. So I can touch her ass, see her better there.

"Do you like me like this? My ass open for you, Michael?" I lick the little hole. She groans, sighs with each lick.

"We're depraved, degenerate. No decency at all," she says from her face buried in the mattress. "But, Oh God, I love it." She gasps for breath.

I push two fingers in her anus. She groans more. At the same time, I reach around and rub her clit. Still on her knees, her body shakes. She starts coming when I wiggle my fingers a little. She comes and comes, loses all control. Pees accidentally, a rapid gush, bursting from her, splashing down on the bedsheets below her. I take her again, plunging my cock into her from behind. Thumbing her asshole with one hand, using the other to pull her to me tightly as I'm ramming her pussy harder and faster. I come.

"I felt it, Michael" she cries out a few seconds later. "I could feel your sperm shooting deep inside me. I felt all of it hitting me, absorbing into me."

She collapses on the bed. I'm lying on top of her, still inside her, not yet losing me erection. At this moment, I feel I'm at the center of the universe, with love and liquid flowing over me. Nothing else matters.

I sense she is crying. I roll off, hold her against me, her legs draped around one of mine. Her pussy, against my leg, is wet and warm. So, too, the soft pubic hair.