Mum, Bev and I

This is a tribute to two very special women: my Mum and her friend Bev. I'm still very much in contact with Mum but, sadly, I haven't seen Bev for a while.

A few readers will recognise Bev from my description of her, as she is a bit of a celebrity in 'certain circles'. I first heard about her on a visit to Mum, a visit I remember particularly well. It was about four years ago, on a cold drizzly November evening, the most miserable weather during the most miserable time of the year. Mum and my father had parted only a few months before. They had split the money from the sale of the house, and Mum had bought a flat with her share. I remember worrying about her all the way there, as I always did, parking the car and thinking how depressing the light from the orange street lamps looked in the rain. Although I knew deep down that separating from Dad was the best thing for her in the long run, I still felt relieved when she gave me a huge happy smile at the door.

"Sorry darling, running late," she greeted me.

She was wearing a white towelling dressing gown, her straw-coloured hair damp and tangled, and had clearly just got out of the shower. I hadn't seen her look so well for a long time. She ushered me into the lounge. "Make yourself at home. Put the telly on or something. Won't be a minute," she called over her shoulder as she left the room.

In contrast to the grim evening outside, the flat was warm and welcoming, softly-lit and with bright modern furnishings. Mum had done wonders in the short time she had lived there. But then, she has always been creative and has always had good taste.

I made myself at home on the white leather couch. I didn't feel like watching TV, so I picked up a magazine on the coffee table, and there, underneath it, was a book I recognised: 'Sex For One'. I had even read most of it. "Whoa, a bit racy for Mum!" I thought, and then I noticed the paper underneath. It was the latest edition of a free-sheet which advertised the services of local alternative therapists. I had seen earlier editions of these sheets before, because Mum was a qualified Shiatsu practitioner and masseuse and advertised her business in them. Most of the adverts were for the usual New Age therapies: aromatherapy, crystal healing, Hopi ear candles and the rest. What struck me about this particular sheet, though, was that one of the adverts had been ringed with black felt tip pen, and the name Bev was written beside it. The advert read 'The Joy of Self-Loving' followed in smaller letters by 'Liberate Your Secret Self In A Circle Of Trust And Care'. There was also a telephone number.

I must have looked at the book and paper for longer than I had realised, as Mum had got dressed and come back into the lounge while I was still holding them.

"Oh, you weren't meant to see those," she said, reddening slightly.

"I'm so sorry, Mum. I wasn't prying, they were just, there," I replied, more embarrassed than her.

"That's all right, darling. It was my fault, I should have put them somewhere else."

"No, no, not at all," I stuttered in reply.

We stared at each other for a long, rather odd, moment, then a corner of her mouth twitched, followed quickly by mine, and we both burst into laughter.

"Oh God, this is so embarrassing," I spluttered, as our laughter died down.

Mum nudged me in the ribs and said, "Come on, we're mates aren't we? Mates, eh?" followed by another playful nudge and laugh. "Look, I'll tell you what it's all about." She proceeded to explain how she had been introduced to Bev by one of her massage clients and about the so-called Ladies Circle she attended at Bev's home. Bev had been inspired by the American sex educator Betty Dodson, author of the book on the table, and was spreading the gospel in the UK of what she called liberating masturbation. Essentially, she taught that there was a lot more to sex than vaginal penetration, and that clitoral stimulation was the only sure way for a woman to reach orgasm. One of the women in Bev's class had never even orgasmed before, Mum told me, and Bev had transformed this woman's life by teaching her what to do. She'd learnt that sometimes women were amazingly ignorant of their own bodies.

Mum had never spoken to me quite like this before, and I listened to it all in a state of mild shock. "So you sit and masturbate together in your group?" I asked incredulously.

"That's right. But it's all very caring and done very discreetly. Does this embarrass you?"

"No, Mum. I just think you're a very cool person," I replied, truthfully. I think I was too surprised by her frankness to be embarrassed. Mum had always been very open-minded, but I had never expected her to be involved in something as radical as this. "It can't have been easy telling me that, Mum," I added.

"You're right, it wasn't easy," she agreed.

As she had had the courage to say her piece, I felt it was only fair to let her know that I had already read most of 'Sex for One'.

"And do you put it into practice?" she asked, laughing, and to spare my blushes added quickly, "Don't feel you have to answer that!"

"Sure I do," I confessed, laughing also.

There was another silence, comfortable this time, then Mum said, "I'll tell you what's better than sex. Food!"

We ate dinner, and the subject wasn't broached again.

When I got home that evening I poured myself a drink and sprawled out on the settee, feeling more relaxed and contented than I had for ages. I had worried about Mum a lot since her separation, but she had looked and sounded so well that evening that I was hugely reassured. She actually looked several years younger than before the separation and I reflected that being single again seemed to be doing her good.

Mum and I had always been close. We shared the same attitudes about almost everything, and the same sense of humour. Our frank conversation that evening seemed to bring us even closer. Since my split with Anne, my long-term girlfriend, just a couple of months before my parents had separated, Mum and I had become friends as much as mother and son. We worried about each other and supported each other during the hard times. The end of my relationship with Anne (who owned the copy of 'Sex for One' which I had read, and took it away with her - perhaps she needed it more than I did!) had left a huge gap in my life. I filled that gap with work more than play. Sure, I had a couple of girlfriends, but my heart wasn't really in playing the field; at twenty-six I was looking for commitment. It wasn't the happiest period of my life, but at least all the hard work benefited my career and it did have a happy ending, as I'm happily married with children now.

So, after finishing my drink I took myself off to bed. Not surprisingly. I started to think about what Mum had told me. Images entered my mind of young and not-so-young women seated in a circle in an imaginary house, skirts raised, fingers busy between their legs as they chatted casually about shopping or the weather, as if masturbating together was the most natural and everyday thing in the world, their chat punctuated by each other's discreet sounds of pleasure. I populated the imaginary scene with some of my mother's friends. A tall young woman with straight dark hair and a shaved pubic area told her middle-aged neighbour, "Excuse me, I think I'm about to finish." Her neighbour replied, "Let me help," then gently inserted a finger into her young friend's naked puffy slit and began to rub. The others watched, smiling, and worked on themselves more vigorously as they slid further down in their seats, exposing their open pussies further. Some were shaven, some hairy, some ginger, some light, some dark. The older woman fingered her young friend more energetically, making her moan in pleasure. As I rubbed my cock imagining this scene, I remembered how my Mum had looked as she answered the door in her white dressing gown. I had hardly noticed her cleavage at the time, but now it intruded more and more into my fantasy. I considered adding her to the imaginary circle of masturbating women, but came before I had time to do so. I dried the sperm from my belly with a tissue and fell asleep almost immediately.

I had just finished my tea the next evening after another busy day at work, and was sitting at the kitchen table reading the newspaper, when Mum 'phoned. After asking each other how our days had been, Mum told me she had spoken to Bev, who had asked whether she could meet me. (I wondered whether they had met at the Ladies' Circle, but didn't like to ask).

"Er, sure, Mum, any idea what it's about?"

"Well, you know what we were talking about last night?"

"How could I forget!"

"Well, Bev's been thinking about doing a session for men. Some of the husbands have shown an interest. She's never done a session for men before, and before she agrees to do it she'd like to talk to a male who's open-minded and also sensible and respectful. Discreet as well. So I suggested you. I hope you don't mind. You can always refuse, of course. There's no pressure or anything."

"No, no, that's fine. I'm very flattered. Of course I don't mind. Sorry I'm gabbling on, I'm just a bit stunned. Yes, of course I'll help her."

"Great, I thought I'd invite her to dinner with us tomorrow, if that's OK. Say about six?"

"That's great. I think I'll get a taxi this time and bring a bottle. I'll probably need a drink to steady my nerves."

"OK, see you about six tomorrow."

"Look forward to it, Mum. Bye."

"Bye."

All next day at work I was on automatic pilot, my thoughts preoccupied with the evening ahead. I was intrigued, excited and nervous at the same time. When I got home I poured myself a stiff drink, then another one just before the taxi came, as I didn't want to be a bag of nerves when I met Bev.

Mum looked quite glamorous when she opened the door. She had put her hair up and was wearing a dark blue evening dress, which really brought out her figure. I hadn't often seen her dressed formally, as she was essentially a child of the Sixties, and at home she usually wore jeans and a T-shirt or cheesecloth top. In her youth she had been very slim, but her figure had filled out since. She looked a good ten years younger than her forty-eight years.

"Hi Mum, you look great," I greeted her.

"Thank you darling, so do you. Come in and meet Bev."

Whereas Mum was full-figured and blonde, Bev was petite and brunette, her smooth dark hair flowing over her shoulders. She was, I guessed, about forty-five years old and gave the impression of an efficient, dynamic businesswoman on her evening off. She was dressed quite conservatively, in a dark mid-length pencil skirt and tight white sweater, which contrasted pleasantly with her tanned complexion and showed off the outline of the small breasts underneath.

"Hi, pleased to meet you. Your Mom has told me a lot of nice things about you," she said. I shook her rather delicate hand and she smiled warmly. She was not wearing lipstick or any other make-up, as far as I could tell, though I could discern a subtle perfume. Her accent was slightly American. "Doesn't your Mom look great?" she added.

"Sure, so do you," I replied, and instantly regretted it. It sounded like a clumsy attempt to flirt with her, whereas I had only meant to be polite. Bev, however, realised what I meant and replied with a sincere "Thank you." I began to like her, and felt more at ease.

We sat down to dinner straightaway. Mum had prepared a nice light pasta meal, and there was plenty of red wine to go around, as Bev and I had each brought a bottle. I asked Bev about her work, and she explained that she was born in the UK, had done a Psychology degree here, but had then gone to America to train and then practise as an analyst, had later worked for two years at the Kinsey Institute for Sexual Research, had married, come back to the UK because of her husband's work, had got a job here in psychotherapy, was now divorced, but hadn't returned to the States because she enjoyed her job here. Her real passion, she added, was the LM group, but it didn't earn enough to pay the bills.

"LM group?" I asked.

"Liberating masturbation," my Mum and Bev replied together.

"Did you run a similar group in America?" I asked.

"Yes," Bev replied. "It was easier there, they're a bit less, er, repressed. Here I had to start from scratch. That made it more of a challenge, though."

"I've heard of Tantra groups over here," I said.

"Yeah, I'm not sure exactly what they do. I thought of using that title, but it didn't seem honest. Tantra is all about extended lovemaking without orgasm, and that's not what I teach at all."

She was very earnest and committed, and I could have listened to that soft American accent all day. I surprised myself by venturing the question, "So, Mum told me you wanted to take the group forward, to do a session for men?"

"That's right. Some members of the group said they would like a session for couples, and some said their husbands had told them they would be interested in a men-only session."

"Erm, I didn't realise men had any problems that way. I thought they all did it anyway," I said.

"They do," Bev replied, "And so do women. But how many do it with full enjoyment? How many consider it a poor second-best to penetrative sex? How many think of it as self-abuse, not self-love?"

She's really into this, I thought.

"I see what you mean. So how can I help? I don't mind answering any questions," I offered, thinking myself very liberated.

"I was thinking more of a rehearsal. No pressure, of course. Only if you want to do it," Bev replied.

It was lucky I wasn't holding a glass, as I would have dropped it in shock.

Before I could answer, Mum turned to me and said, "I know what it's like. I was really shy when I first joined the group, and I'm sure it's the same for everyone. There's no pressure, no pressure at all."

Bev continued, "We've none of us got partners at the moment, I believe." I nodded in agreement. "So I guess we pleasure ourselves quite a lot." I nodded again, thinking of the evening after my last visit.

"In our group," Mum said, "We've learnt to regard our sessions as an oasis, separate from the rest of our lives. During our sessions we can do whatever we want, so long as everybody consents and nobody feels pressurised. No shame, no blame while the sessions last, and afterwards we go back to our normal lives. But as long as we treat each other with total respect we can do whatever we like during the session. That includes saying "No" to anything we don't want to participate in, with absolutely no bad feelings from anybody. I thought we might have the same sort of rules tonight."

I thought over what Mum had said, then turned to Bev and asked, "So you absolutely wouldn't mind if I said no?"

"Good heavens, not at all. I'd completely understand," she answered.

"And you'd understand if I was really nervous?"

"I think that would be completely natural," she said.

I took a deep breath and said, "Then I'd like to give it a try."

We refilled our glasses and moved from the dining table to the lounge area. Bev and I sat on the floor with our backs resting against the settee, while Mum sat at a ninety-degree angle to us a few feet away on our right, her back against the wall. The cream-coloured carpet was thick and new enough for us not to need cushions. Bev suggested I take my clothes off, but said she would keep her underwear on if I liked it. I certainly did like it; she was wearing a low-cut black bra which pushed up her neat little breasts and through which I could make out her small pointed nipples. She took off her panties, though, to reveal a very dark and bushy pubic triangle, through which peeked the moist reddish-pink opening of her sex. It was clear she was as turned-on as I was. The most alluring sight, however, was the lightly tanned skin of her firm small buttocks and thighs, and the contrast they made with the black straps of the suspender belt. She was remarkably trim for a woman in her mid-forties, though I noticed for the first time a streak of grey in her long hair as she tossed her head back.

I began playing with myself, and she urged me on in her soft American accent, using sexual language for the first time that evening. "That's right honey, rub that long hard cock."

After a minute she asked me what turned me on, and I replied truthfully, "You, at the moment."

"But what do you normally masturbate to?" she continued. "Pictures? Movies? Stories?"

"All of those," I answered. "Sometimes I'll just invent my own fantasy. Like the other day Mum told me about your Ladies' Circle, and I thought about it later and made myself cum."

"Oh really!" She seemed genuinely surprised and flattered. "So what did you imagine?"

I described my fantasy of two nights before. As I spoke, she reached into her bag and brought out a large flesh-coloured vibrator, switched it on and started applying it to her pussy. She was clearly enjoying herself, but was very self-controlled, and so I resisted the urge, strong as it was, to reach over and caress those pert little breasts which were tantalising me underneath the black semi-transparent bra.

After I had finished describing my fantasy she said, "Well, that's not so far off what really happens, though we use toys a lot more and don't usually touch each other in class, although a couple of the members are bisexual."

I continued to rub my cock slowly and Bev put the pink vibrator to one side, reached into her bag and brought out a small tube of lubricant, which she applied to her back passage. She then produced another vibrator from the bag, this one bunny-eared, with a long thick shaft for her vagina and a smaller shaft for her anus. Sliding further down on to the floor, she lifted her legs and applied the vibrator to both entrances.

"Mmmm. You like?" she asked me.

"Very much," I answered.

"That's good," she said. "I teach that our poor old rear is very unloved in our culture, so we usually give it extra attention in our classes."

It was lucky I'd had a bit to drink, as normally I'd have shot my load by now, especially after what Bev had said and was doing to herself, but the alcohol had slowed me down. Even so, I was close to coming.

I looked to my right, where Mum was sitting against the wall in the soft light of a wall-lamp. She had removed her dress and let her hair down. She was still wearing a white bra, but had eased her breasts out of it so they hung free. Unlike Bev, her skin was pale, her breasts pendulous and milky, with large brown areolae. Her white knickers lay on the floor beside her and I had a clear view between her open legs of her pleasuring herself vigorously with a black vibrator which disappeared inside her blonde snatch. I waved my hard cock at her and she mouthed a kiss at me, her eyes glazed in pleasure as she continued to attend to her cunt. To my left, Bev said, "You know, I don't think I'll be able to manage a men-only session."

"Why's that?" I asked her, turning away from Mum.

"I think I'd have to touch, and I don't think their wives would like it," she replied.

"Mmm, me too, your cock is so lovely," Mum moaned from across the room.

"Tell you what, why don't we rehearse a couples session? You two can role-play if you like," Bev suggested.

We had gone too far for taboos or inhibitions. Mum switched off her vibrator, stood up and walked across the room, rubbing herself as she walked. She seated herself on the carpet to my left, and Bev made room for her by moving out into the room, facing us. I put my arm round Mum, cupping a full soft breast with my left hand, and she moaned, "I'm nearly coming."

"Let me finish you off," I whispered in her ear, and found her clitoris with the index finger of my free hand. As she came, she cried, "Oh fuck, fuck. Oh, lovely. Fuck!" As her orgasm subsided I knelt and turned towards her, rubbing my cock hard. I had reached the point of no return. My cum shot over her full white breasts, the thickest stream landing on her left nipple. "There's some of your milk back," I joked, and she smiled.