The Domestic Admirer

I opened up into yet another April morning- just another stereotyped drab edition of April mornings. The only difference is that it is my 39th birthday too. But nobody seems to have noticed it in my laconic domestic climate. I did not want to flash it, certain truths are to be understood without being told- that is the chemistry of familial warmth and unity. Thirty nine years and nineteen years of conjugal life ogled at me. Many more decades of dreary and desolate married life lay ahead of me fading deep in the distant labyrinth of destiny.

I stretched my limbs like a boring ritual, affected an exaggerated yawn and looked out of the tapestreid casement. Orange colored lily blooms had sprouted right across the landscape after the riotous vernal rains. The homestead was flooded with golden dandelions, velvet roses and blushing Chinese roses. The compound wall was smothered by the proud shock of sprawling jasmines. The morning was awash with a motley of flowers and the crimson sun was sending his slanting rays to design a collage of dancing shadows.

I moved to the kitchen to prepare black coffee for my husband Thomas, who will be ready by seven to go to his shop in town on his ancient moped. He is a man obsessed with and intoxicated by business. Nothing else matters to him. He is a successful rubber and spice dealer in town and a difficult person to deal with. We have long ago stopped making love. Ours is just an arrangement- he supports the family with his money and I manage the family. There is no exchange of words, there is no need. Everything functions in a settled rhythm. But I do not actually hate him, he could but be himself and I could but be myself. I am very romantic and sensual. My curvaceous body also is designed for that.

Once he scooted off on his senile, sputtering rickety two wheeler, I felt relieved. He will be back only at ten at night. (Certainly he could own the luxury of a car, but he chose to live a wretch) Now the house was left to me and to our dear son Alex. I have to prepare breakfast for both of us. He is the only being in the family that keeps me on the right side of sanity.

Whilst I was kneading the dough, I heard him stealing in behind me and hugging me from behind. I smiled to myself.

'A very peaceful and graceful birthday to you dear mummy,' he whispered.

I loved it, I needed it really. And I know that he was very sincere when he said so.

'Thank you dear, but I thought that nobody in the family remembered it anymore.'

'Not me. It is the most important day in the year, followed by Christmas, the birthday of another divine being.'

I laughed, 'but don't you think that your mummy should have some birth day gifts?'

'Indeed I do. They are waiting for you on your bed. Check them out when I am gone.' He softly ran his fingers in my thick hair and reverently swished a gentle kiss in the fluffy softness.

I smiled secretively. He came around and sat in front of me. Silence settled around us. I was busy with my dough, he was watching me, every part of me, with unbridled admiration. It is frightening to have a secretive admirer at home. A sly glance on him made me aware of my appearance. Whilst working on the flour, my gown had unhooked itself exposing my opulent boobs encased in 36D bra. He remained mesmerized and was transfixed on the pair of globular endowments on my bosom. I furtively looked down on me. The two flaps of the gown had given way and the glossy glands were rippling within the confines of the bra cups. The golden sheen of the upper uncovered half of the Dolly Parton assets was starkly available for my child to feast on.

'These are not on display for eighteen year olds, they are only for suckling babies you know,' I teased. He blushed and hung his head.

'Be a good boy and hook me up,' I said raising my messed up hands for an explanation.

He got up and came towards me like a somnambulist. His eyes fixed on my bust. His fingers were shaking uncontrollably. Due to his nervousness, his hands often dragged along the contours of my rich cleavage. I also was strangely flushed with nervousness. His fussy touch had a kinky effect on me.

Again, after a while I found the hooks undoing themselves. My child sat there hypnotized. I know that he is an avid admirer of mine and that he loves me more than anything in the world. But I had nearly never given him the chance to feast on my anatomy. Of course we cuddle and hug a great deal, but never in an un-motherly fashion. The thought of his adoring eyes on my feminine assets was strangely enticing.

During my entire culinary warfare he sat there feasting on me, following every movement of my body, often coming very close to me by way of assisting me. Once I found him running his fingers on my back, even playing with the hooks of my bra.

We sat together to have breakfast.

'Being your birthday, I must feed you,' he rolled up a small piece of bread and dipped it in the potato curry and pushed it into my mouth. In return I also did the same thing. Shortly we were feeding each other and giggling like naughty school girls. Somewhere down the process, I noticed that my index finger was deep in his mouth and his warm delicious tongue was sweetly caressing it. To my surprise I also was doing the same thing with his index finger. Both of us were oblivious of the surroundings, both of us were in a heavenly trance. My bust was heaving, heart palpitating and feet perspiring. His eyes were half closed, he was in a drugged dreamy world.

'It's wrong it's wrong,' somebody screamed inside me. I pulled out my finger. The spell was broken, he also pulled his out. He smiled at me innocently and the shame that had pooled up between us suddenly evaporated. I smiled back.

He got ready to go to his coaching center where he prepares for engineering entrance examination. He was a sight, a six feet high youth with no extra fat on his make. Manly muscles danced on him with a youthful vigor. His face was pleasant, just like mine. His nose is sharp and his forehead slightly bulging becoming of an intelligent man. He is just my masculine edition. He is just my image, my reflection, myself in all respects. I proudly absorbed him into my love laden soul. He came to me and hugged me from the front, which had never happened. Then he planted a soft and chaste kiss on my cheek.

'Have a beautiful day, my godly mother,' he said.

'Stay away little devil, I am all ugly and smelling,' I protested peevishly.

'To be truthful,' he winked again hugging me, for the second time in his life pressing my rich bust to his muscular chest, 'I revel on your mesmerizing musk. The other day I even sniffed your used panties.'

He ran away and disappeared into the road leaving me flushed and confused. I sat back on the chair and reasoned that it is natural for a child to love the scent of its dam. Yet, more than that, it had a strange and diabolic emotional twang. It had an inexorable lure, a scintillating carnal appeal. It was preposterous at the same time it was euphoric.

Later in the morning, when the entire house was all to myself, I went to my bedroom to check out what he had left for me as a birthday gift. On the bed there was a bouquet of fresh roses and chrysanthemums. Attached to it was a paper which I plucked out and read with throbbing soul. I could not read it with the gentleness and softness of a mother reading her son's missive of sweet nothings.

'This Maundy Thursday, when the world observes a sublime event

I remember you and all the graces that the designer of the world showered on you

The seen and unseen ways you are cared for and the little pleasures your days are filled with.

I am happy for you and proud of you.

The words I left unsaid come and waltz for you multiplying a thousand fold

Those words remain eternally orphaned, until albeit unsaid, you have them heard

But another and another smile, when you sit back and remember awhile

The faces and events that crossed your mile and then you march abreast in regal style

You are the unit of the universe, a unit of grace, a paradigm of loving sacrifice

I read: life is 10% what you make of it and 90% how you take it.'

May your little gestures of love, expressed in a thousand little ways

That count the least to the macroscopic tumultuous whole

Count the most to the microcosmic few, even to me the least of all

On this birthday serene, may this my wish come true: May your days be awash with love,

Hope and dreams that are true and your days flush with an eternal now.'

There was another packet close by. I opened it and jerked out the curious contents. It contained a light blue gown and befitting lingerie. I wondered how he managed to get my right measurements. He knew that I loved light blue color, the color of infinity, the color of sweet ineffable sadness, the color of divinity. I decided to put them on when he is back, when I am fresh after a bath.

But my bathing has two stages. The first stage is by mid day, when there is enough warmth and sun. I opened my thick hair, dipped it in water and applied shampoo. Then I washed my face, head and neck. That much will suffice for the first part. By evening my hair will be dry. The dripping hair is an icky nuisance at night. I found myself humming all through the day as if I was pleased with myself. Life seemed more enticing. There is no living without loving and no loving without living.

Alex turned up exactly at five as expected. He came running to me and hugged me.

'Did you put on the new dress?'

"We will do it dear, once I am bathed and clean.' I promised and smiled sweetly.

'Your hair smells sweet,' he whispered and buried his faced into my hair.

'It must be the shampoo,' I suggested.

'It is much more than the shampoo, it smells of you. Burrowing into your exquisite mane is like diving down a huge puff of mountain mist.' He was forcefully inhaling as much as he could from my hair.

Again his face wandered back to my forehead. He gently kissed my brows, my eyes, my nose and my cheeks that were furiously blushing. And then as if by accident his lips met mine. The lips wandered away and again gravitated to my lips. I was shocked first then embarrassed. I kept my lips shut to minimize the impact. His delicious tongue nuzzled along the contours of my lips. Then I knew that I was precariously thawing. I was slipping down the precipice, slipping, slipping. I had opened my lips against my resolve. Our lips were glued together, out tongues were involved in a primordial love dance. His adventurous tongue was caressing the roof of my mouth, the underside of my tongue, the inner walls of my cheeks. I was swept away in a tsunami of nameless passion. I never knew that such things were possible in love.

'No dear, let me go and take bath,' I forcefully disengaged myself. Both of us were shaking. He came after me to the door of the bath room sniffing my fresh hair. I lovingly gave a bath to my body which is so dear to my son, a lush body that has by far defied years except for a slightly protruding tummy. If I try some physical exercise that also will go.

Back in my bed room, I put on the light blue panties he had brought. It had the exact size- 38 inches. On the outer side of the gusset there was a large butterfly painted to it. I smiled at the bawdy imagery. Then I put on the new underskirt. At that point devil had the better of me and I called my son.

'Dear, help me with the bra,' indeed he was anxiously waiting outside and darted in. I had put the cups in place and it had to be hooded on the back side.

His eyes were ravenously feasting on me. With devout fingers, and a pious concentration he hooked me up. Now it was the last and concluding stage. I pulled out the fresh gown and placed it against my frame. It was soft like a dream, flowing like a mountain stream and fresh smelling like an exotic tinsel world.

I mischievously smiled and put on the gown, he anxiously helped me to zip it up. Then he surveyed me from a distance with awful admiration, it was followed by a surprising gesture which took me by surprise. He genuflected with joined hands and then prostrated to kiss my feet. I hissed in shock and stepped back.

'You deserve it my goddess mother, you deserve it,' again he kissed my foot.

He looked at me as if he was face to face with a divine being. I surveyed myself on the mirror. Of course I looked graceful. The fabric was hugging me, accentuating my feminine geometry. Particularly the bust area had a heavenly appeal. The gown magnified the curves and differentiated the natural hue of the luscious pair.

'I am going to be your devotee for the rest of my life,' he whispered in a trance. I was agog with excitement. For the first time in my quasi cloistered life, I was having a true admirer. He happened to be my own son, it was terrifying and enthusing. We are not doing anything taboo after all, I reasoned.

The night progressed with a slight drizzle and a few streaks of lightning. He followed me everywhere in a hypnotic trance. I smiled to myself for the attention I was getting.

'At this rate you will not study anything tonight. Come we will go to your room until your father comes. Take your books and I will sit by you,' I lured him to his room.

He sat close to me and took his work book. At the top left hand corner of each page of his book had a caricature of me. It was surprising.

'What is this?' I asked.

'Every page of my book begins with your face,' he said offering me his books.

'How do you do it?' I wondered aloud.

'It is easy,' he took his pen and scribbled on a paper, 'your are very much in my mind, you are at the tip of my pen.'

With a few diligent strokes my face and bust appeared on the paper.

'But my bust is not this big,' I protested.

'No, I will show you,' he drew out a larger picture of mine on an A4 sheet and urged me to stand in front of the mirror. He placed the caricature close to the image and asked me to compare.

He was right, my bust was indeed as rich as he had represented it. I admitted my mistake with a acquiescing smile.

'You are the very paragon of womanhood, there is nobody like you. I will worship your bust all through my life.' I was terribly confused but elated. I travelled along a treacherous line between right and wrong. Love became a heady obsession. My body became a musical instrument, it hummed an inaudible celestial music.

'You are surprising me, my child,' I said with a profound passion.

'There is nothing surprising in it. I am filled by the love for you, you are my idol, my deity, my salvation and my eternal consolation. I keep coming back to you because you are my sole link to this world. This world becomes livable to me because you are here with me. As the bible says where your wealth is there your soul is. My soul is here with you.'

'You are frightening me by squandering precious words. We should not go astray in the wave of passions.'

'In love we are never wrong. I have long ago placed you in the sacred niche of my mind, long long ago, even before I could put words together.'

'Your father will come any time and I am distracting you in the studies. Let me go,' I got up and walked out.

'Mommy,' it was a heart rendering call. I turned back. He came to me and we embraced again, our lips sought each other. After a while he whispered in my ear: 'mommy, can you do a great favor?'

'What it is dear?'

'Do not hate me if I am asking too much.'

'I can never hate you, you can ask me anything.' I encouraged him.

'Could you be, could you be as kind as to, could you b e as kind as to lend me the panties you are putting on, I shall return it in the morning clean and pure.'

Our hands slackened on each other. I violently debated in my languid mind.

'We cannot do that dear, we cannot do anything which might make us remorseful at a later stage,' I said.

'Please, it means no harm to anybody.'

I walked out with an anguished mind. It is pernicious to see my child disappointed for my sake. I walked out of the room in a hurry. I saw the head light of Thomas' moped streaking in.

In a frenzied impulse, I pulled down the panties I had put on and rolled it into a ball. Then I called my son out of the room. I forced it into his fist and darted away to receive Thomas. I knew that the panties were unusually wet, I had been moistening them from the moment I had put them on.

I and Thomas settled on our reserved portions of the bed and busied ourselves in private thoughts. He was probably busy with his accounts and deals. I had a tremendous day to mull over.

Alex is a prize child any woman would dream to mother. Gentle loyal, well behaved and well proportioned. There is absolute sincerity and faith in his words and demeanor. One day he is going to make a lucky girl very happy with his romantic mind and beautiful body. I fancied him using his mind and body to please a girl. His lips and his fingers composing sheer poetry on female flesh, she becoming a guitar he becoming a guitarist. I tried to imagine how his lips would work their way down from her tresses. Inadvertently I became the girl. I found him provoking goose pimples along my forehead, nose and cheeks. His lips, with infinite patience, explored their way down my soft neck and collar bone. In an ecstatic anticipation I opened my gown for him and unhooked my bra. At long last it happened, his precious lips were on my lush boobs, like a fervent pilgrim at the shrine. He was worshipping them with his lips, with his tongue. His tongue bathed my tits from all sides and progressed to the apex. After a painfully long waiting, his sweetly aggressive lips were on my nipples. I made a quenching sound of sheer pleasure. My nipple disappeared into his mouth with a primordial will, with an earth shattering ecstasy. I was mewling and writhing. Just like that I came.

Fortunately Thomas was busy snoring away as usual like a manual saw mill. He knew none of the tumultuous events in my private world. To drown his irritating snoring, I tried to think of my delightful son again. Such a delicious and precocious child. It is crude of me to harbor libidinous designs on him. Nobody will forgive me, the church, the society, god almighty- all such entities will pounce on me. But my child only had time to give me a sunny day on my birthday. It is exquisite and ever green in my memory. But then, the feeling is mutual. He loves me more than I could potentially reciprocate. Then I wondered how he may be spending the night, battling it out with his maths or dreaming about me?

Slowly I cat walked to his room. There was light in his room. I stood outside his window and peeped through the slit. He was not on his studies, he was lost in another activity. He was licking the gusset of my panties and in between kissing the imaginary boobs inside the soiled gown I had put on in the morning. There was absolute pleasure on his glazed face. After each soft swipe of his tongue on the gusset he savored the taste for some time and gulped down my love secretion. It was followed by passionately burying his face in the bust of my gown, devouring the musk of my bust.

I was immensely moved. I had a tremendous urge to storm in and offer my furiously itching boobs into his mouth and also to offer my nectar filled petals to his promising lips. But reason prevailed. I cannot and will not do it. I was becoming a beast, I had to snub my depravity right in the bud.

In the morning he was back again in the kitchen with me, often sniffing my hair, feeling me and hugging me from behind.

'It was real heaven yesterday with your panties. It was the most delicious thing I ever had in my whole life,' he proclaimed.

I suppressed a smile, too embarrassed to say anything. Thereafter it became a routine. We would kiss passionately before he goes to the coaching center and also when he returns in the evening. Before retiring for bed, I would give him my panties which he would lick and enjoy at night and place on the line in the morning after washing it. We remained warm and caring for each other all the time. I was happy that albeit the strong temptations, we never transgressed the borderlines to the no man's land of unbridled passions.