Confessional

My darling Anthony,

The phone rings and it is you. That is how it always starts. I have promised myself in the days since you last came here that I must not let it happen again. I have sworn to myself that when your call comes I will not respond. I hate myself for what we have done. I hate our betrayal and the lies we have told. I hate my hunger and my greed. As I pick up the receiver I have told myself to refuse you and to tell you not to come, but know that I will not.

I will go to my room and change. I will dress in the clothes I know that you want me to wear. The same clothes I was wearing the first time it happened between us. I will choose the black underwear and stockings. I will put on the simple black dress that I wore on that day. I will wear red lipstick and red nail varnish. I will do this because I know you want me to, even though I will have told myself that nothing must happen between us.

As I hear your car arrive I will experience the nerves and anticipation that I have felt so many times before. As you enter my home the knowing looks between us will tell silently of what is to come. I will try to purge that from my mind and try to block the physical presence of you from my senses. But no matter how hard I try to stop it, the loneliness inside of me will cry out for your attention. An empty life and empty bed, a vacuum that only you can fill. Now that you are near to me I ache to be touched by you and to feel your caress.

Down through the years there has always been this unspoken knowledge between us. Sometimes a passing touch, a brush of our bodies or a connection of our eyes. We never spoke of it, never dared explore it, but we felt its strength. A feeling born of a natural caring and warmth, but tinged with something else. The years of knowing between us finally reaching out and pushing us down into this drowning pool of sexual need and fulfilment.

And so, as I turn my back to you now, I wait for you. I know you will step behind me and hold your hands to my waist. I will feel the tenderness of your embrace and I will close my eyes. I will have promised myself that I will stop you and tell you to leave but it is impossible to force the words from my mouth. I will feel your arms fold around me and touch to my breasts as the softness of your mouth presses to my neck. Even through the fabric of my dress your touch arouses me instantly. I flush with shame as I know you can feel my nipples hardening and inside I surrender to the now familiar acknowledgement of what you want from me.

This is how it was the first time. On the night of my husband's funeral. Wearing these clothes that symbolised my grief, I took comfort as you held me in your arms. After denying it for so long I submitted to the same desperation for you to be inside of me that I feel now. As or mouths touched and your hands searched me, I felt the inevitability of what we were doing just as I do now. As you laid me on the bed and pushed my dress up around my waist, I was the one that reached to pull away my underclothes. I made that choice. I was the one who begged you to break down the invisible barrier that nature put between us.

And so now it is me who leads us to the bedroom. This is the movement that I have sworn should not occur again and yet I see that I have already drawn the curtains and turned back the covers in readiness. We stand together and kiss again. The heat of our mouths is violent now. Hungry and unsubtle. Both of us eager for what is to come.

I sink to my knees as you gently guide me down. I look up into your face as I unfasten your belt and loosen the front of your trousers. I stare at you and know that I should see an unwillingness in your eyes. I should hear you tell me to stop and that this is wrong. But I know that you crave this from me as much as I need to give it you. You wait for me. Wait for me to take you in my mouth.

As I lick you and press my lips to you, it is almost like taking wine and biscuit at a confessional. It is nearly religious, a ritualistic gesture and a sombre illustration of the depth of my sin. Taking the fullness and warmth of your erect penis in my mouth, I feed on the thought of your eyes looking down towards this. I feast on the thrill of you seeing my lipstick against your skin as I work my mouth over you. I hear your sharp exhalation of painful delight as I draw you in. I know that the thought of this will disgust me afterwards. I will cry myself to sleep and pray for forgiveness but, in this moment, I want this completely.

I am aware of your movement as I suck you. The slight sway of your hips as you enjoy the sensation and gently begin to fuck my mouth. To my side, I catch sight of us in the full length mirror. A handsome and strong young man of twenty five. A man with his own beautiful wife and children. A man who should be at home with them but who instead is here with me. A fifty five year old widow in a black dress, stockings and suspenders who lives her life in a bleak and lonely world, who can only come alive when she kneels in front of you to perform this act of fellatio. I see you looking down towards me, your hands resting on my head as we both move slowly to create your pleasure through this connection.

It will be you who will break free from this. You who reaches down to my arms to pull me up towards you. It should be now that you hold me and tell me that you are sorry. But instead, I know that you will lie me on the bed. As you move your head down to take what you want I feel the press of your mouth against the wetness of my underwear. Whatever is good and pure in our lives is meaningless now. I know that I should push your head away from me but I do not. Instead, I lift my waist to let you drag free the remainder of my clothing and feel the exquisite sensation of your lips as they brush and kiss against my naked opening. The rhythm of your tongue against me touches the deepest parts of my sexual psyche. These are the places that were hidden from my husband. My excitement is provoked and stirred by the knowledge that you are the only man that has ever shared this part of me. You are the only person who knows how I will push myself towards you, imploring you to give me this.

But it is only when you raise yourself to enter me that the totality of what we our doing erupts into my consciousness. As you push yourself into me I cry out. Every time this happens I relive the mental shock of feeling you invade me for the first time. The hardness of you and the way that you seem to fit so perfectly inside of me made me realise that this was meant to be. No matter how many times I tell myself that this is wrong I can never deny this perfection. It is only when we are making love like this that I am certain we were born to be together in this way. Whatever cruel twist of fate made this so wrong becomes meaningless as this feeling of sexual wholeness returns.

The rough stroking of your penis so deep inside of me makes me come quickly and savagely. It is not because you have taken the time or care to give me this gift of sexual love. Neither of us cares about the satisfaction of the other as we do this. We are taking what we want without thinking or attention to any need but our own. The thrusting movement of your body, coupled with the knowledge of our immorality, frees my orgasm. It has taken me my whole life until now to find out that you are the only one that can create this with me. The very fact that what we are doing is so wrong emotionally, and yet so right physically, is the key to this secret part of my imagination.

It as you press yourself to me and release your own orgasm that I feel just a fleeting few moments of loving intimacy and tenderness between us. In those few seconds, I feel a need to hold you close to me. My instinctive love for you floods through my mind and mixes strangely with the eroticism of our sex. Then as you separate your body from mine and the sensations fade, I am left with the terrible reality of what we have done.

As I lie and watch you dress I hate myself. As you bend to kiss me lightly on the cheek and turn to leave I realise what we have done. Two people who should share the most loving and precious bond, but who choose instead to explore this dark and dangerous world. It is when you are gone that my tears will come and I will swear that this must never happen again. I will promise myself that this is the end. Until the phone rings and it is you. That is how it always starts.

Please forgive me, my darling son.

Mother.

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