The Good Son

I kicked my shoes off the minute I got in the house. They flew across the room, and I didn't give a damn where they landed. I pulled a bottle of Beefeater out of the liquor cabinet, poured a double shot into a glass, and added some tonic. Then, for good measure, I splashed in some more gin until it was full to the rim. Shit! There wasn't a lime in the fridge, so I did without.

I downed half the glass in one gulp, plopped down on the couch, and put my feet up on the coffee table. My pantyhose were binding me, so I raised up my butt and wriggled out of the cursed things. I wonder if anyone has ever died from crotch asphyxia? I was wearing a sexy black cocktail dress; the skirt came down to mid-thigh, and it showed a modest amount of cleavage.

Just as I threw them on the floor, my son, Jason, came in from play rehearsal at his high school.

"You're home early, Mom, another lousy date?"

"That's the understatement of the year, honey."

"Want to tell me about it?"

"Not really."

"That bad, huh?"

"That bad."

"Come on, spit it out."

"All right, all right." I downed the rest of my drink and tucked my feet under myself.

"I went out to dinner with John Forrester, a lawyer from our legal department, and we were supposed to go a play afterwards. It's a new show that got really great reviews, and I was really anxious to see it."

"You obviously didn't make it to the theater."

"It seems he had other ideas. I met him in the Oak Room in the Hilton hotel for dinner. He was half crocked when I got there, which didn't start the evening off too well. The conversation was totally one-sided; he spent half the meal telling me what a bitch his ex-wife is, and the other half bragging about his sexual conquests since his divorce." "He sounds like a real creep."

"That's not the half of it. He ordered an after-dinner drink and, after looking at my watch, I told him if we didn't hurry up, we'd miss the opening curtain. He leered at me and said, 'the hell with the play, I've got a better idea.' He took my hand in his, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a hotel key. 'I'll bet you're really hot in the sack,' he said. He'd never even bought tickets for the play. I excused myself to go to the ladies room, went straight out the back door and took a cab home."

"Jesus, Mom, I'd like to knock him on his ass."

Jason could do it, too. He stands 6'2, weighs about 190, and that's mostly lean, hard muscle. He's got blond hair, bleached by the sun, blue eyes, and a chiseled face with a deep cleft in his chin. He looks, at eighteen, so much like his father did at that age, it's uncanny.

He inherited his build and his looks from his father's side of the family, and his musical talent from mine. He's an accomplished pianist, providing all the music for his school's annual play, a resurrection of "The Boyfriend," a Broadway classic.

He's considered kind of geeky; he studies hard and maintains a 4.0 grade point average, and is heavy into computers, which doesn't endear him to the "popular" crowd. He's basically very shy, and although he's had a couple dates, he has very little experience with girls.

"Let me freshen your drink, Mom, and I'll give you a foot rub."

Now there was an offer I couldn't refuse. He put my drink on the coffee table, sat on the end of the couch, and put my feet in his lap. He's got wonderful hands, with long piano player's fingers. He started to massage my feet, and I began to relax, all the tension I felt slowly melted away.

My skirt had ridden up on my thighs, and when Jason lifted my leg, his eyes roamed up between my legs. I was wearing a pair of black lace bikini panties, and I could feel that they had drawn up between my lips, most likely giving him a view of a perfect camel toe.

I didn't want Jason to know this, but my feet are a total erogenous zone. I had read an article in "Cosmo" some time ago that illustrated the pressure points on the feet that stimulate a woman's genitals. There's one on the ankle, on the balls of the feet, and on the toes, especially the big one. Sometimes, it can produce a climax. I merely suggested where I liked him to massage, and he did what I asked.

I don't know whether I was just particularly horny that night, if I'd been a little extra tipsy, or maybe it was a combination of both, but after a few minutes into my foot rub, my panties were soaked. Jason must have been able to smell the odor coming out from under my skirt, but I don't think he knew what it was.

My arousal continued to build, I felt that familiar warmth growing in my belly, and a tingling between my legs. My breath was coming in gasps, the sensation started in my toes, and the wave overtook me. I put my fist in my mouth and bit my knuckles, to keep from screaming out loud. My legs shook, my back arched, and my hips rose up from the cushions.

"Are you okay, Mom?"

"Yeah, Jase, I'm fine.... you just hit a real sensitive spot."

"Did anyone ever tell you you've got great legs?"

"Your father did, all the time."

"You really miss him, don't you?"

Oh God, did I miss him. Brett was not only my husband, he was the love of my life, my best friend, my soul mate. It's been four years since he's been gone, and he is in my mind and my heart every day. He was killed in Afghanistan when an IED was detonated under the truck he was riding in.

He wasn't even in the military, he was a contractor, working in computer security. The company he worked for sent him over for a "limited" time; he was supposed to there for just a month. I was terrified when he told me he was going over there, but he assured me it was safe. The blackest day of my life was when two military officers knocked on my door and gave me the news.

Brett was my first love, my ONLY love, until the day he died. I had never been with another man. We were high school sweethearts, and besides a lot of heavy making-out, we were able to hold our hormones in check until our senior year, when we had both turned eighteen.

Because he loved me, and he "respected" me, he had refrained from "feeling me up" or any other kind of petting that a lot of kids in school were engaged in. I knew he was interested, because I could see the "rise in his Levi's" when we were making out. I was interested, too, so I finally made the first move. During a particularly heavy make-out session, I took his hand a placed in on my breast.

"Touch me," I whispered.

Our experimentation progressed from there. We were both totally inexperienced, so we experimented, and learned from each other. I'll never forget the first time I bared my breasts for him, or how good his hands, and later his lips, felt on my bare skin.

I had never seen a penis before, and was totally fascinated when I unzipped his pants and revealed his. I gasped, because it was so big, I couldn't conceive of it ever fitting inside me. It was long and thick, with big blue veins around the root, and a bulbous purple head on the top. He slid his jeans down over his hips, revealing his large testicles, nestling in their sack.

Brett took my hand, put it on his erection, and showed me how to stroke him until he ejaculated, spewing his semen all over both of us. I was really proud of myself for doing that!

I'll never forget the first time he brought me to orgasm. He was clumsy at first, not knowing how to touch me. I was so hot, and so wet, and when I guided his fingers to my clitoris, I thought my bones were going to melt when I climaxed.

We taught ourselves how to perform oral sex, fumbling at first, but later getting really good at it. We went "all the way" the first time the night of our prom. In all of our married life, we never lost the thrill of making love with each other.

There is a huge hole in my life, and in my heart.

I was a widow at thirty-three, left with a fourteen year-old son, who now had no father. Thank God for Jason; if it weren't for him, I never would have been able to hold it together.

"You're going to be the man of the house while I'm gone, Jase, take care of your mother," were the last words he spoke to his son. To our son.

Jason did step up to the plate. Without being asked, he took over his father's chores around the house and yard. He mowed the lawn, raked the leaves, washed the car, and everything else Brett had done. He had a part-time job after school, at a pizza parlor, and had saved up enough to buy his own car, a used Toyota that was in remarkably good shape for its vintage.

That's not to say he's been perfect these past four years. He and his buddy, Kenny, share a six-pack of beer every now and then, and there was the distinct odor of pot is room one day, but I'd rather have them experiment at home where they won't get in trouble. He told me one day that I was his best friend, which really touched my heart.

Then one day, something happened that I wasn't expecting. I had just done the laundry, and was carrying an armload of folded clothes up to his room. He and Kenny had gone to the mall, or so I thought. His door was slightly ajar and, because my arms were full, I pushed it open with my foot.

He was lying on his bed, naked from the waist down, furiously masturbating. His head was thrown back and his eyes were closed, so he didn't see me enter the room. It wasn't the act itself that threw me; my God, I've been washing his sheets for the past four years; I knew what he was doing, and I know it's perfectly natural. I masturbate myself; since Brett died, the only relief I've had are my own fingers, and a few vibrating sex toys that I bought on-line.

No, what threw me was the size of his cock! I felt an overwhelming sense of deja vu. He was hung just like his father, who was extremely well endowed.

I could tell by the sounds he was making that he had reached the point of no return. "AHHHHH," he shouted, and shot of huge load of cum straight up into the air. I must have gasped, because he opened his eyes and looked right at me.

"MOM!" He scrambled to cover himself up with the bedspread.

"I'm sorry, Jason; I should have knocked."

I shut his door and made a hasty retreat. I was sorry that I had embarrassed him, and feeling a bit guilty because I couldn't get the image of his cock out of my mind. My pussy tingled when I thought about it. I'm his mother, for God's sake. When he came into the kitchen the next morning, his face was red and he stared at the floor.

"I'm so sorry about last night, Mom. I promise I won't do it again."

"Sure you will, honey. It's perfectly natural. Everyone does it, it's nothing to be ashamed of."

"That's what Dad told me. He even gave me some pointers on how to do it better, like with lube and stuff. That was about the last conversation we ever had. I'm glad you're not mad at me."

"I'd be more disappointed if you didn't do it. I masturbate myself sometimes."

"You do? Uh, how does a woman do it? I mean you don't have a coc.... uh, penis."

"You can say 'cock;' I know all the words."

"So how does a woman do it?"

"I massage my clitoris with my fingers, or sometimes I use a vibrator. A woman has needs too, and I haven't had a partner since your dad's been gone."

"I don't know what a clitoris is."

"You will, some day."

"Okay, bye; I don't want to be late for school."

Everything went back to normal between us, and the subject didn't come up again. I still had the image of his ample cock in my head the next time I took care of myself. My favorite sex toy is a rabbit vibrator that I bought on-line from Adam and Eve. I wouldn't have the courage to go into one of those sleazy sex shops.

I played with my pussy with my fingers, until I was good and wet. A rabbit has a rotating cockhead that goes deep inside you, a ring of rotating beads that stimulate your labia, and a set of "ears" that fit over your clit. It will never replace a man, but it does relieve the sexual tension.

I turned it on and slipped the rotating head into the entrance to my vagina. I like to push it in slowly, so it rubs all my inner walls on the way in, pausing halfway in to tease my G-spot. When it's all the way in, the beads stimulate my now-swollen minora.

Once I put the ears on my clit, I can start with a low speed vibration that brings me up slowly, then turn it up to full-speed. That night, I was totally charged up. My hips started to buck, my whole body shook, and when I came, instead of muffling the sound as I normally do, I let out a primal scream. Perversely, I hoped Jason heard me.

A few weeks later, I was lounging on the couch with a tall gin and tonic, watching a Netflix movie, "Harry and Sally," one of my favorite chick flicks. I was wearing one of Brett's old tee shirts, with a San Francisco Forty-niners logo on the front, and a pair of sweat pants.

Jason was out on a date, a rare occurrence for him, and I was delighted. It was about time he found a girlfriend. This was is third date with Wendy, the lead in his school play. She was blonde, blue-eyed, and stacked. He was smitten with her.

About ten o'clock, I heard the door slam. I thought it was pretty early for his date to have ended, when he came into the living room, looking like his best friend had just been hit by a bus.

"What's up, kiddo?"

He sat down next to me and didn't say a word. A tear slid down his cheek. I put my arms around him, and held him close. His head was cradled on my breasts. I wasn't wearing a bra, and I was really disconcerted when I realized how good it felt. My nipples got hard. This was a time for comfort, not lust.

"Come on, spill it."

"W-Wendy doesn't want to see me anymore."

"What happened? Did you try to go too far with her?"

"Not even. We were at that place by the lake where all the kids go to park. I went to kiss her, for the first time, and she pushed me away and asked me to take her home."

"Maybe she wasn't ready to be kissed yet?"

"It wasn't that at all. She said she wanted to out with someone who had more experience. Jesus, Mom, I'm eighteen and I never kissed a girl before; I don't even know how."

I thought back to the first time Brett and I kissed. We didn't know what to do, either, but we managed to figure it out. I guess girls today are a little more sophisticated than we were. You read about them having blowjob parties in middle school. I thought long and hard about what I was about to say:

"I can teach you how to kiss, Jason."

"But you're my mother!"

"I taught you how to ride a bicycle, how to dance, and how to drive a car. When it comes right down to it, I taught you how to stand up and pee in the toilet. What makes you think I can't teach you how to kiss?"

"B-but this is different."

"I've kissed you goodnight every night of your life."

"Yeah, but this is still different."

"For God's sake, Jase, we're not having sex with each other, it's just kissing. Now come here and show me how you kissed her."

Tentatively, he pressed his mouth against mine. His lips were clamped tightly together, his whole body language strained. No wonder Wendy was turned off.

"Loosen up and relax. Open your mouth a little bit and put your finger longwise between your lips. Now, go blub-blub-blub." He did. "Now, kiss me again, and do what I do."

He was catching on. Quickly. I licked his lips with my tongue and then stuck it in his mouth. His eyes got big for a minute, then his tongue went to work. It wasn't supposed to happen, but when we got into it, my passion really began to rise. Both of us started breathing heavily, and I could see by the rise in his pants that he was getting turned on as well.

When he saw me looking at his crotch, his face got red and he pulled away and, slightly bent over so I couldn't see his boner, went off to his room. If I were a Catholic, I'd have to confess to having very impure thoughts. I could picture him taking care of his hard-on with his good right hand. I knew my fingers were going to have a dance with Miss Clitty.

Christmas was upon us; it always comes too fast. It always was a very special time for Brett and Jason and me, and we both missed him terribly. Jase took over many of his father's tasks; hanging the outdoor lights under the eaves, dragging the tree into the house, and setting it up in its stand. He untangled all the light strands that went on the tree and tested the bulbs. He seldom cursed, at least not around me, but I could hear an occasional "shit" or "fuck" muttered under his breath, just like his dad used to do.

We always opened our gifts on Christmas morning. I had gotten him a stereo for his car, and an assortment of CD's that he had been wanting. There was a particularly fancily wrapped package for me, and I was totally nonplussed when I opened it. Inside was a white negligee; silk lace and totally sheer.

"It's beautiful, Jason, thank you," I gulped.

"Well...um... I'm not sure that's an appropriate gift to give your mother, but Dad used to give you something from Victoria's Secret every year, and I know how much you liked them."

Actually, it was a totally inappropriate gift to give your mother, but I have to admit I was very titillated. Brett used to love me to wear skimpy nighties, and he equally loved taking them off of me. God, I missed him. Then I wondered if Jason wanted me to model it for him. And, more important, whether I would.

I poured myself a double gin and tonic and sat down to think about it. I hadn't yet made up my mind, so I poured another one.

Still undecided, I took the nightie into the bedroom to try it on. I stripped off my clothes and checked myself out in the full-length mirror. I'm proud to say that, at thirty-seven, my body looks as good as it did when I was in my twenties. I exercise faithfully, and have kept myself taut and toned. I'm still curvy in all the right places, and at 5'5" still weigh the same 120 pounds that I did in high school.

I checked out my breasts in the mirror, from the front and sideways. They're not huge, but a respectable C cup. And thanks to "Cosmo" again, and their article "The Top 5 Breast Exercises for Perky Boobs," I don't yet have even a hint of sag, and a cute little uplift. My nipples are pink, centered on quarter-sized areolas. Turning backwards and looking over my shoulder showed that I still had my nice round ass.

Brett liked my pussy "au natural" so I shaved my pubic hair for him. It is nice and smooth, and I like it that way, too.

I put the nightie on, and boy was it sheer. My tits looked great through the lacy gauze. Should I put panties on? You could see my slit, and I remembered that Brett liked that, too. I had a beautiful black silk robe that he had made for me when he was in Bangkok, so I put that on over the negligee. That kept everything covered up in case I decided not to flash the kid. Christ, I was a little bit tipsy, or I wouldn't even be thinking this way.

I had just settled on the couch when Jason came home from his job at the pizza parlor.

"Hey, Mom, can I make you a drink?" What a good kid.

"Sure, honey; why don't you make one for yourself, too." Indulgent Mom.

"Wow, what's the occasion?"

I usually only let him drink on special occasions, and until now, nothing stronger than wine.

"It's Tuesday, that's the occasion."

"Actually, it's Wednesday, but I'll have one with you anyway."

"Why don't you put some music on?"

He put on one of the Dave Brubeck albums that I had gotten him for Christmas. As a pianist, he loved Brubeck's style, and was trying to master the 5/4 time signature he used on "Take Five."

We chitchatted for awhile, about my work, his school, the state of the union, and other mundane things. As he's not a drinker, I could tell that two shots of gin had given him a bit of a buzz, and I was feeling no pain at all. It was now or never.

"So, Jase, about that Christmas present you gave me....."

"Uh....is it all right? Does it fit?"