Almost Rubenesque

-We can be adult about this, Cynthia had said. She'd fully believed it at the time. It was Art, not smut. Charlie needed someone to sit for him so she'd told him.. if they could be adults about it and didn't make each other uncomfortable, she'd do it. Then it had seemed a matter of elevating her thoughts, somehow rising above the idea that posing naked for her twenty year old son was a dubious thing to suggest. Think art, she'd told herself. She'd been able to envision it. There was bound to be a degree of embarassment but if they could get beyond that -if they could be adult about it- she thought perhaps it would be okay. She liked to watch Charlie draw and see the rapt, concentrated expression on his face. She wanted to help. She'd seen the balled up sheets of cartridge paper on his bedroom floor and the frustration in his eyes. He didn't say much but when he did open his mouth his third assignment and getting a good grade were all he talked about. All she had to do now was go through with it, but it was the strangest feeling in the world to pad across the landing in her bare feet, naked under her dressing gown to tap on his bedroom door.

She had butterflies, too many, and big ones as she raised her hand to knock. Charlie had said her body shape was rubenesque. She didn't know if that was good or bad.

His voice sounded small when he answered, wary, cautious, or apprehensive? She wasn't sure.

He was sitting on his bed with his dark hair hanging in his eyes. His glasses flashed in the light from the window as he pushed them higher on his nose.

Cynthia smiled nervously and stepped inside and closed the door.

She joked. "-If you need therapy after this we'll see what we can do."

She was relieved when he smiled. They'd been having a good week, sometimes trying to get more than two words out of him was like trying to hold a conversation with a corpse, but this week they'd actually had a few productive discussions.

They looked at each other and she became aware for the first time of the enormity of what she'd suggested.

She'd been in his bedroom a thousand times, probably a thousand times a year, but she suddenly realised how small it was. She was tempted to suggest they go downstairs or use her own bedroom where at least there was more room and they could keep some kind of respectable distance apart but somehow that almost seemed worse. She couldn't quite imagine inviting him into her own bedroom and balked at the idea of sitting naked in the living room in the middle of the afternoon. Neither option seemed ideal. At least up here in his small room with the door closed and the doors locked downstairs there was some semblance of privacy.

She smiled and wrung her hands nervously as Charlie looked up expectantly. She reminded herself to elevate her thoughts. This was art, he was her son, there nothing smutty or questionable about what they were doing if she didn't think about it too much.

She tried to hold onto that thought as the butterflies in her stomach rose into her chest.

"I guess we're ready," she said.

She didn't know what she'd expected but he didn't move. His sketch book lay beside him and he was holding three or four pencils. She'd vaguely hoped he'd somehow take charge and perhaps help put her at ease. He was the artist. She'd imagined he'd have some grasp of the situation, perhaps some clever artist-type things to say, but as she waited she realised she was still the mother and he was still her son.

If they were ever going to do it she'd have to be the one who got things moving.

She sighed inwardly but showed him a smile and asked where he planned to sit. When he casually indicated the chair she suggested he might want to move over there... and take his sketch book with him, she added when he got up to move without it.

He smiled sheepishly as he came back for it.

Cynthia watched him sit down. He looked at her in silence. His beard was starting to come through, with that and his untidy hair he looked like an artist, the only sticking point was that he was her son and suddenly this didn't seem like a mother son thing.

She felt her butterflies going into overdrive.

"So we're ready?" she asked, and saw the little smile he gave her. She began to wish he didn't look quite so composed. She hesitated and saw him push his glasses up on his nose again.

"-This isn't.. like a show," she said, wanting to make sure he understood why she was doing it. "I just want to help with your assignment."

He nodded and said, "I know, I appreciate it."

He was still more laid back about it than she would have liked but then she wondered if perhaps she was the one with all the hang ups and Charlie the one doing his best to take it all in his stride. She didn't know.. but she knew that overthinking it wasn't going to make it any easier.

"-Okay," she said and took a deep breath. "I guess you want to see what you've let yourself in for..."

It took a lot to get her hand moving towards the belt of her dressing gown. She felt it come loose and realised she didn't know where to look, if she wanted to see his expression when she took it off or look somewhere else and perhaps save them both a few blushes.

Charlie was watching her and she quickly looked away as the belt came undone. The feeling that rose up inside her wasn't quite what she'd anticipated. She was embarassed and nervous and a little afraid of his reaction. She was going to let her son see her naked, that wasn't something she could take lightly, but as she let the dressing gown slip from her shoulders she also felt a tremendous and wholly unexpected rush of excitement at her own daring.

She let the gown slip to just below her breasts and risked a quick glance at his expression. His mouth was part open and he was staring and then she let the gown fall away completely and focused her gaze on the wall somewhere above his head.

Cynthia blushed but not nearly as hotly as she'd imagined she would.

She looked at Charlie again expecting him to say something. He hadn't moved. She imagined she could hear her own heart, it was suddenly beating so hard.

"-Okay?" she asked. Somehow it didn't sound like her own voice at all but more like that of a woman who was holding her breath, excited and nervous at the same time.

It took a while but Charlie nodded. She saw the light from the window in his round glasses. She saw him lower his gaze to her breasts and linger there and something else happened that she hadn't anticipated. She felt her nipples coming up.

There was nothing she could do about it. She felt them stiffening as he looked at her. They began to tingle and she could feel it getting stronger.

"We might have to be more adult about this than I anticipated," she said feeling embarassed and looking down at herself.

It was obvious where he was looking. She was a little uncomfortable at the way he stared. If she'd been alone she might have rubbed them, that's what she did when it was cold and they reacted the same way. She felt the urge to rub them then but she knew it wasn't the cold that had brought them up.

She stole another glance at Charlie and wondered if he had realised the same thing. He was still staring.

She said his name and wasn't surprised when she had to repeat it before he suddenly realised she was talking to him.

His head snapped up and now she saw that he was blushing. Whatever composure he'd had previously had now apparently deserted him.

"-I'm sorry... What did you say?"

Cynthia fought the urge to smile at his sudden discomfort. It wouldn't be nice.

"-Rubenesque? Isn't that what you said?" She felt like being silly and raising her hands above her head and striking a mock pose to relieve the tension but that was another urge she decided to resist.

"A- almost Rubenesque," he stammered. His eyes went to her breasts, then lower, then flicked to her face. "-I don't.. I don't mean to stare, but I have to if I'm going to...." His words trailed off and he looked embarassed as he gestured with a pencil over his sketch pad.

"-If you're going to draw me. I know," she said. "It's all right," she added and discovered it was almost true. It was sort of all right, and strangely liberating.

She still had butterflies but they seemed to be settling down. She was still blushing and her heart was still beating faster than normal. The way she felt might not stand up to too much close scrutiny if she started trying to analyse her feelings at that moment.. but at the same -if she remembered to elevate her thoughts - and kept reminding herself it was art, it didn't actually feel too bad at all. They were only her breasts, it was just her body.

She sat down carefully on his bed. It felt decidedly weird not to be wearing clothes in his presence. She was tempted to cover herself with her hands and had to make a conscious effort not to. There didn't seem to be any point.

A lot of complicated thoughts whirled in her head as she looked at Charlie and smiled.

"-So this Rubens guy, he drew a lot of naked ladies?"

Charlie nodded and cleared his throat. "-Painted them.." His eyes met hers and quickly darted away.

"So I just have to sit here?"

He smiled uncomfortably and pushed his glasses up on his nose again.

"-Not exactly," he said.

He said he wanted her reclining on the bed. He had to draw her from the side with her legs drawn up. His hands were shaking and he avoided her eyes as he showed her a photograph in a library book. It showed a large fleshy woman. Her ass was showing, and her breasts. She was smiling and looked a lot more at ease than Cynthia felt at that moment.

"-Oh-kaaayy.." she sighed. She gave him a smile but she began to feel nervous all over again. She reminded herself to elevate her thoughts as she began to move. She hadn't realised he'd want to draw her ass.

She moved slowly but there didn't seem to be any way to get into the position he needed and retain any degree of modesty. In the end she tried not to think about it. She reclined on her left elbow with her ass facing Charlie and her legs drawn up. She was blushing all over again.

"-Like this?"

It wasn't quite right. She had to raise her upper body a little more, had to twist a little more to the right. Charlie became flustered and didn't seem to know where to look.

"-Listen, it's okay," she told him when she saw his discomfort. "We can do this," she added. "We just have to... not think about it too much." She consoled herself with the thought that at least they were blushing as much as each other.

She changed her position a little. She had to keep asking if it was right and he asked her to move her arm or leg or turn a little more to the right but they finally got there and Charlie went back to the chair.

Cynthia smiled as he sat down but her smile suddenly felt frozen in place when she saw that he had an erection.

It felt as if a small but powerful bomb had detonated in the region of her heart. Its shockwave went in all directions at once. Her blush deepened and she quickly and discreetly looked away but she saw from the corner of her eyes how he immediately crossed his legs and grabbed his sketch book.

-This was something else she hadn't anticipated.. but they had to be adults about it, didn't they?

She gave him a moment and looked at him again. He looked acutely embarassed. He met her gaze then quickly looked away. He nervously adjusted his glasses and concentrated on looking at his pencils.

Cynthia was aware of her nipples tingling again, lower down she felt another familiar sensation, she was beginning to get wet. She wanted to squeeze her thighs together and at the same time she wished it wasn't happening.

The atmosphere in the room seemed to have changed beyond anything she had been able to envision when she'd first suggested this. None of it was quite as straightforward as she'd imagined.

It was too quiet but she didn't know what to say.

"-So we're ready?" she asked him finally, and felt pleased that her voice sounded amost normal.

Charlie nodded. The gold letters at the top of his pencil flashed in the light from the window. He sat looking at her and Cynthia held his gaze. Think art she told herself as he began to sketch her.

She was watching his face when the serious, concentrated expression she liked to see appeared there. He really looked like an artist, she decided. His hand moved on the paper, he looked at her then down at his work, she heard the soft scratch of the pencil as he sketched. He might not have been breathing, he was so quiet, so wholly involved in what he was doing. She marvelled that he had the talent to create something from nothing. She looked at the way he held the pencil, the quick, confident way he worked, and felt proud of him.

Her thoughts turned inward as she sat for him. The doors were locked downstairs and the house was silent. Outside the sun was shining. No one knew they were there, not that it was anyone's business, but at that moment the world felt very remote. There were just the two of them. The thought started a pleasant, happy feeling in her chest. It felt nice and she welcomed it. She felt more comfortable now. She was a little wet, a little aroused, but if she didn't think about it too much -or worry about it - it felt quite nice.. and really, it was perfectly understandable.

She glanced down at herself. Rubenesque, she thought. Her erect nipples were very noticeable but now even that seemed all right and nothing to be ashamed of.

Time seemed to stand still or to pass in such a smooth and pleasant way that she barely noticed it. She breathed quietly and felt the slow rise and fall of her chest. She watched Charlie and felt content. Dust motes drifted lazily in the still air. The only sound was the soft whisper of his pencil, or of his sketch pad when he moved it. His glasses caught the light when he raised his head to look at her. He looked up and down frequently, she supposed he had to. Sometimes she could see the lines on the page as he worked, the outline sketched in, the picture beginning to emerge, and then he'd move the sketch pad and she'd have to wait until the next time he moved it to see how much he'd done.

It was a while before she realised she could still talk if she wanted to. She asked him how it was going and he smiled and said it was going well and then they were quiet again until she thought of something else to say.

When her right leg began to ache he said it was all right if she straightened it, he was drawing her breasts, but he didn't say so, instead he pointed with the pencil. His consternation made Cynthia smile and after a second Charlie grinned as well. His smile made her feel closer to him.

Looks didn't really come into a mother's feelings for her son, she thought absently as he returned to his work. The connection was much deeper. She began to wonder if a mother's love for her son was the purest, most unconditional love of all. It felt that way now as she watched him. Their relationship filled her with warmth. They could be there for each other on so many levels.

She watched him and saw the light flash on his pencil as he worked, the way he held it lightly in his slim fingers, the occasional frown as he considered his work. She was almost disappointed when he finally sat back and raised his eyebrows and smiled.

"-It's finished?"

He nodded and looked at her then looked at his sketch. He scratched his jaw with the pencil and his smile slowly became wider. Cynthia felt pleased for him, pleased with herself, and sat up.

"Well let me see it then.." she told him.

She was surprised when he hurried the few steps across the room and plunked down beside her. Surprised but pleased, happy because he was clearly so happy. She took the sketch pad from him and they looked at it together.

Cynthia gasped in appreciation and admiration. She placed one hand against her cheek.

"It's really me..." she whispered.

His sketch was wonderful. She saw her own face looking back at her, the likeness perfectly captured in light and dark pencil tones. Her breasts looked full, her ass was rounded, and delicately shaded. He'd captured the way she wore her hair, her expression. His skill took her breath away.

"I feel like crying," she told him without knowing why. Her vision blurred. She smiled at his pleased expression but there were tears in her eyes at the same time.

"Are you okay?" Charlie looked concerned and she wanted to laugh and cry at the same time.

She told him yes as a tear ran down her cheek. She felt his hand on her back, cautious and uncertain.

"-It's beautiful," she told him, and then somehow they were holding each other. She didn't know who had made the first move, she remembered the barely felt touch of his hand on her back, the uncertain smile on his face, and then they were hugging each other.

Her forehead was against his neck. She was looking behind him and smiling and silently weeping at the same time.

"-I'm sorry," she said.

She wanted to try to explain how she felt, how she'd suddenly felt in danger of being overwhelmed by a rising flood of complicated, conflicting emotions, but it was beyond her.

She closed her eyes and hugged him. She felt foolish but she felt alive. She felt sad but she smiled.

"It's all right," Charlie whispered. She felt him move the sketchbook away and then she felt his arms holding her.

"Thank you," she told him, but when he asked what for, she didn't know. She shook her head. "-Nothing, I don't know."

They didn't move, she didn't want to move. She was curled towards him, her legs drawn up. It should have been uncomfortable, it should have been terribly embarassing, but it wasn't. It felt nice.

"-I should be thanking you," he said. "-For sitting for me..."

His voice sounded different and she drew her head back to look at him. He looked into her eyes then quickly looked away.

"You're trembling," she told him. He glanced at her again and they both smiled uncertainly and hugged each other tightly.

He said something she didn't hear, it sounded like I love you, but she wasn't sure and she didn't like to ask him to say it again.

His body was slim and warm against hers. She told herself she could pretend he'd said I love you even if she'd misheard him. That was something she didn't hear nearly often enough.

She turned her head to look down at the picture. He'd moved the sketch pad and it was upside down.

"I think it's one of the best ones you've ever done," she told him.

They looked at it together, their heads almost touching. She saw him smile.

"I'm so proud of you.."

He shrugged a little but she knew he was pleased with it as well and was just trying to play it cool. It was a rare moment of special closeness and then two things happened at the same time.

Cynthia happened to look down and see his erection showing stiffly through his jeans and in almost the same instant she saw Charlie look away from the sketch and steal a quick, furtive glance at her breasts.

Something turned over inside her, not butterflies this time, but something different, more closely related to the feelings of warmth and maternal tenderness she felt for Charlie than nervousness or anxiety. It was so strong that she had to hold herself still as she felt it sweep through her.

She glanced down at her breasts. Her nipples were still erect, still tingling. Charlie looked at her shyly and cautiously then she saw him lower his gaze again.

They're just breasts, she thought. It didn't feel terribly wrong that he was looking at them or too awful that he had an erection. His bedroom door was closed, the house was silent. No one knew they were there.

She smiled gently and moved her hand to lightly ruffle his hair. She held her breath as he lowered his head to rest it against her breasts. She held him like that, not thinking about anything, and holding herself very still. She kissed the top of his head. Charlie looked up at her and she smiled at him and wondered if he could hear how fast her heart was beating.