Freediving Mum

"Not a young girl's butt for sure. A woman's tail, curvy and longish. But firm."

"Señor Aficionado, my thighs?"

Ponderously, "Smooth. Soft muscle definition. Nothing is hotter than lean, defined muscles shaping a woman's thigh. Your thighs are gorgeous with chiseled definition at the quadriceps. Your return on investment on your years of lapping the swimming pool."

"Hmmm..."

He adds, "But, this I can't tell from a static body pose. The biggest appeal for me is the way the muscles ripple gently when a woman is walking towards me."

My sly son is devilishly egging me. I am feeling slavish. I do exactly that. I pose my legs this way and that, flexing, as if to validate his critique. A male sigh.

"Sturdy thighs, muscular yet softly pliant, that are wicked in their delight."

Seb adds archingly, "A triangulation of athleticism, grace and sensuality in equal measures."

I pose a little more. Tilt my chin sweetly, as if tucking a violin under it. Seb backs up, and gazes at me.

Soliciting shamelessly, "Well?"

What Seb does next astounds me.

He examines my breasts again. He rests his cheek on my soft breast. I feel an intense longing for him to spend the rest of his days there. I so want the life that it implies.

He ranges. My buttocks. My minutiae of feminine bits.

His exploration and experimentation takes a new creative direction. My anus. Oh my God, is he looking in my creased oily ring?

And just when I think he is done, he returns back to the fold, my folds of petals, in a recommitment to my womanhood.

It is as if he has to take me apart to see how I fitted. No other unlawful action on this planet can be more joyous than this. My being an illicit object of discovery.

I am in a state. A little bit is too much at first. But, it soon grows to not nearly enough. Enough can be alot to ask of oneself. But, I decide, enough, before we go too far. But, it can't be wrong if it feels so right, can it? Am I seeking a tragedy with a happy ending?

I notice that now Seb is getting properly excited.

Teasing can almost be as good as love, and sometimes better. But really, is it?

"Seb, we must stop. Before we lose ourselves..."

He stops. But, he is still lost, adoring me from a distance. The true measure of a son is how he regards his mother. Seb is measuring up well.

I need to help my Seb. I need to help my son. This is what mums do.

"My turn."

"What?"

"Well, you saw me and stole my most intimate secrets. Fair is fair."

***

He has an adorable penis. So full of cock. But still, nothing too dramatic. Suitable for many situations.

I didn't grab him. Not at first.

My hand, half maternal, half menacing, come to rest on his manhood.

I run my fingernails experimentally up and down him slowly, softly. My first touch. Then again. On one side. Then the other. I trace an imaginary axis line up to the bulbous head.

"You're pleasing to the eye."

I examine him closely. I bend down to look. I touch it.

"And this. This is so hard."

"What's this, mum? Biology lab?"

I pay him no mind. Take it all in for a moment. I squeeze him a little. Stroke it. Feeling all around. He is a bit of a handful now.

"Do you mind if I ask if this is only your second experience, up close and personal, after dad?"

"Yes. A long time coming. So, I want it to be a long second time."

"It will be our long night's journey into day."

"I love the way the skin stretches as you grow. The way the head gets bigger and bigger. Those first little drops of excitement. And the way your balls tighten up."

I cup them like treasured objects with one hand.

"Then, they loosen again, hanging down and swinging. Then, tightening up."

"I didn't know you can be so poetic, mum. In praise of balls."

I use a finger to move them back and forth, fondling them, just slightly swinging them as if they are bells. All in slow motion. No hurry. A studious look on my face.

I halt. I grasp him with my whole hand. Hold it there. Feel its thickness and hardness. Squeeze it ever so slightly every few seconds.

I can see it is driving Seb closer to the edge. But, I am just getting a sense of his physicality. My feeling is indescribable. As must be Seb's.

With my thumb and index finger, I encircle him. Grab it right below the head, ascertaining its circumference.

I trill, "Marvelous. A work of art."

"Now, you're making fun of me."

"No. No. It is so beautiful. A life all its own. You can will it, and yet, it has a stubborn persistent will force of its own. Kind of like our free will. We have it for all intents and purposes, and yet, do we really? What did Schopenhaeur say about free will? You can choose whatever you desire, but, you are not free to choose your desires. It is so you, and yet, not you. Spasming. Swaying. A poetic beast. It takes my breath away to watch how fabulous your body is."

"All this abstraction. Philosophy. Metaphysics. This side of you. You surprise me, for a competitive, pragmatic career woman and an ex-kickass swimmer."

"Well, this is a night of surprises... And discovery."

I touch the tip with my forefinger, teasing more drops to seep out. I roll my finger in the liquid. Lightly spread the moistness over his head. Coating it.

I lean over for a closer look. Seb appears to love watching my breasts with my every move. My undulating arcs. My nipples, hard and pointed. They too, seem to have a life of their own.

I hold his erection straight up, at a ninety-degree angle to his stomach. I wrap my fingers around it. I begin stroking. Then, slowly pumping up and down. He is slippery from his own fluids. He is in such a state. I bend over closer, my face hovering above his head. A saliva drop. My finger smoothens my saliva. Not that he needs extra lubrication. I am just having motherly fun.

I pump more. Up and down. Then, with my hand firmly at his base, I hold it there, his shaft sticking straight up, like some spire. He wavers a little, leaks even more, the drops dribbling down his length. This will not take long. More pumping.

I sense a reptilian jerkiness along his spine. He groans. I freeze. Stare at it.

My son splutters all over the air, raising the humidity of the room a notch, even as he rains on my naked breasts. He makes happy baby baboon noises.

Then, a second spurt. Even higher. Falling down, landing on my knee. One or two more follow, falling back on my hand. He ekes out one last spurt. He is in an extravagant mood.

So much. Enough to put out a small fire.

"My God! Amazing! Simply amazing."

"I'm sorry I came so fast."

"I'm not. It's a testament to my skills."

"Are you sure I'm only your second?"

"Are you alluding that your mum is a slut?"

"No. Your initial wonder, and tentative experimental exploration, is telling that this is your second male in the flesh."

I feel a stab of guilt, "Do you think this is sick?"

Seb objectively, "Probably, by societal norms. That said, consensual, recreational mum-son adult sex is not illegal in many countries. Spain, Russia, Portugal, France, Belgium, Luxembourg, Netherlands, Israel, Japan, Thailand."

"Hmmm... you seem to have done scholarly research on this. But, the law and societal norms don't necessarily always align. What is legal, or less intuitively, not illegal, may be frowned upon by society."

"That's true. But regardless, I liked it. I can't begin to tell you how much I liked it."

"Me too. And regardless, no one else needs to know. This is just about us. This makes societal norms tangential, if not irrelevant."

"But, mum, we haven't crossed the line, have we?"

I test Seb, "Have we not?"

Seb does not say anything about our couple dive. I let it slide.

I add, "I guess not. But still..."

Some moments pass. I grow pensive. My mood rubs on him. I touch him intimately again.

"And now it retreats. Losing all its power. Quiesced. Getting soft and quiet."

I trace an imaginary line down, around his balls, then take his flaccidness in my hand, as if it is a valuable artifact. I am emotional now. My eyes water.

"But, even now, it is still so beautiful. Such a marvelous mystery."

We sit side by side for awhile reflecting on what has just transpired. In the aftermath, there is a creeping awkwardness between us.

Quietly, I draw my legs up, turn sideways, and stretch them across his lap. I place my head on his shoulder. We nuzzle.

He whispers, "We're going to break all the rules tonight, aren't we? We're going to do this. It'll be our secret."

I do not answer. I am conflicted on four counts. One, that this is happening at all. Two, I will be cheating my husband. Three, this is incest. Four, it will transform my relationship with my son forever, a Rubicon crossing. This is an inconvenient excursion into truth. I feel a stab of guilt, that I am my own pimp.

The more reasons to the sin, the bigger the sin. I feel a cold thing land on my heart. It is the fear of god. I have always been distant from him. But now, I know his omnipresence. Will I burn in the hell that I don't quite believe in? Maybe god will love me because there is so much to forgive?

Seb puts his hand on my bare legs. He begins caressing my skin. With just the tips of his fingers, he brushes, ever so slightly, down to my knees, then back up my thighs, higher, just short of my mound.

I slowly open my legs wider on his lap. He strokes my thighs again, desiring to feel all the way to the satin of my mound. His fingers touch soft hair, even softer puffed lips, and the moist opening.

I lie down. Head on a scatter cushion. Legs still across his lap. I part my legs a little wider. There is a raw nakedness to my posture. Is it sensual and erotic? Or, lusty and lewd? I think it excites Seb to see his mother like this.

Seb slides a finger inside me, gliding in easily, engulfed in warmth. Withdraws his finger slowly. His fingertip traces a delicate path around the edges of my opening. Everywhere he touches is glistening in warm moisture. His finger glides all around. He appears to relish my wetness. Through the dim nightlight, he sees me studying his face.

I sense that my son wants to go fast. To mount me. Take me with wild abandon. Like a teenage boy sowing his wild oats the first time.

But, he seems to be resisting his impulses. That this should last. Go slow. Take our time. The night too precious to waste by hot haste. That he will go by our plan. A long night's journey into day.

He traces my soft opening and those most secret small hidden petals with his finger. He inhales my sex as more liquid coats his finger, and dribbles down into the crevice of my buttocks. Not without some difficulty, he finds my clitoris. He plays softly with it. Caresses it experimentally until he discovers what brings a reaction. Moving his thumb across my nub of pearl, then back down. That works. Sighs. Shudders.

I move my hand down to the slight bulge of my mons and my pubic hair. I begin caressing myself there, just above his thumb.

We are in tandem. Heavier breathing. More shudders.

He lets his little finger slip way down. Finds the opening to my anus. Small, moist, oily. Rubs his finger around it. Pushes on it a little.

Breathing heavier now. His thumb and little finger moving in a slow rhythm, back and forth, pushing into both my openings. All in one back-and-forth motion. Slow. Over and over again.

And then, a sequence of shudders and low groans. Stronger, convulsing. Pelvis undulating.

I come with a scream, a sound he swallows in a kiss.

I grab the back of his head, grinding myself against his face. My piquant earthy juices flow into his mouth and over his face. He must be breathing my strong womanly air. He must be wishing that he can bottle a little of it, to stow away in an unlabeled shoebox deep in the attic.

I curl up in his lap. Hair ruffled. Skin warm. Face flush. I grow quiet. Tender and soft.

***

He strays his hands over me. From my shoulders, down my back, to my haunches. Toward those dark, secret places. They are still warm and wet. I am perched on his lap. His erection pokes up between my legs. I touch it. Stroke it. Hold his testicles. Gather his liquid arousal with my fingers, bring it to my lips. Then, hold his erection. Eminently a better class of hardon than my husband. My marriage just doesn't have that same straining energy anymore.

I am excited, yet fearful, "So powerful. So strong. You can split me asunder."

"I will never."

"This is what is so amazing. You can really hurt me bad. But, I know you won't."

I run my fingers around. Play with the gathering granules, the small but compelling evidence of human desire and passion.

"A little terrifying."

"Actually, in the locker room parade, I am just average."

"No, no. Don't tease. It is really frightening. But, beautiful. I can imagine, with you inside me, I can really lose myself."

I pull his face to mine. We kiss. His lips taste a little salty.

Somehow, it does not seem strange. I think of him not as my son, but as Sebastian. This lovely young man whom I have known all his life. But, in an instant, I do think of him as my son. I cannot help it. So unreal. Like a lucid dream. Lovely. But wanton. Lewd. Depraved. Perverted.

Our legs entwine.

I lie on my back. Arms stretched out beyond my head. An act of surrender.

"Suck my nipples. Bite them. Hurt your mum."

Take me. I am screaming silently. My nipples are thick once again, and painfully pointed. My areola soft and puffy. He is testing the edibility of my nipple. He sucks them. Bites down. Like a gourmand. Burrows his face into them. Will my steely nipples puncture his eyes, blind him?

He reaches down. Pulls my knees up to my chest. Moves his face down, kissing, licking, smelling. The secret motherly and yet womanly smell that he knows will be with him from this day on.

His tongue caresses, darts inside me and back out. Finds my clitoris again. Back and forth over it, this time with the tip of his tongue.

I come on his face. A little orgasm. Seb is shocked to discover that I come like a man. White fluids ooze out of my lips, and almost seep up his nose. He loves the motherly fluid. I think he wishes he can save it in tiny glass ampoules, to relish it for the rest of the night.

My passion escalates. His head is clamped between my thighs. I begin squeezing wildly as a second orgasm nears. This one evidently harder, stronger. I squeeze his head harder. Will I crush his skull? Finally, I groan. Relaxed. Wipe my hair out of my eyes.

Pleading softly, "We can't..."

My pussy. Tender, vulnerable. He puts his head at its entrance. Moves in some. Backs out. Only the second male in my life. My slit seems small. Inadequate. Will he tear me?

He starts again. Slowly. Slowly. Slides half way in, then back out. Then, a little farther.

Whimpering, "We mustn't..."

With one hard roll of his hips, my son enters me all the way. A transcending sharp muted shriek marks the moment that will forever redefine who we are.

He pulls my knees back down around his waist. I unconsciously wrap my legs around him, even as I murmur, "We can't..."

A slow rhythm. The side of his face against mine. Our bodies sweating, hair wet. The smell of us all around.

I whisper, "We will never tell. Our little secret. Always. We will keep our secrets."

Out the bay window, the first streaks of light of day creep up the horizon.

He maintains the rhythm. He lifts up his arms for a few seconds. Sweat drips down his chest, dropping on my breasts, mixing with my own. Our eyes lock in the dimness. The look from me is impossibly one of agony and exhilaration.

He falls back down on me. I whimper into his ear in a mewing kittenspeak.

He begins moving faster, picking up pace. My breathing laboured to keep up. We are getting awfully close.

We groan. My legs still around his waist, squeezing. He must feel my muscles clamping him. Squeezing it. But, it appears like he is not about to give in to it. He is too hard, too strong to surrender. Not just yet. He pushes. I feel he has reached the end of my insides. I groan loudly for the first time, in what must be a little stab of pain. Back and forth, in a spacetime of our own.

I intone, "Keep going. Push up on me and sweat. Don't stop until the angels sing."

I feel an energy pulsing through my body in waves. It is a little alarming. But, also amazing. It is frighteningly powerful now. Humming from the base of my spine. My torso feels like it wants to twist and flail, so I let it. But, it is not twisting and flailing. The pounding energy keeps pitching through my body. A sort of thrumming in the ears. It is so mighty now. I cannot deal with it anymore. It is true, only a body can truly know another body.

I yell my son's name. He is spewing warmth, a well-earned joy. I emerge from a dark tunnel and find myself in the middle of a Rio carnival.

It was brutal labour, but worthwhile unto itself. He strangles his long groan down into a brief, low grunt. I wail into the new dawn air.

I feel a wonderful lightness in my body. A ridiculous happiness. I feel unaccountably free. I want to be a singer in the park, a dancer in the rain. These emotions seem to flow from nowhere.

How do we find the right words to describe the big occasions? I won't even try.

We climb down some, locked in our own experience. There is a clarity that comes with a sudden absence of desire. Is my son my lover or my vice?

Pensively, with a tinge of sadness, "This will be our only time."

***

A singularity...

In the Natural Sciences, it describes systems where a small change may have an enormous impact.

In Physics, a point where all known laws are indistinguishable, and space and time are no longer interrelated realities. They both merge indistinguishably and stop having any independent meaning.

By Einstein, a situation where all matter is forced to be compressed to a teeny weeny point.

In Math, a point at which a function takes off into infinity.

In Tech, a future where technology is out of control and irreversible.

***

Maybe Seb finds my body to be restorative. He is flourishing again. He strokes my thigh. My slit is caked shut by my now dried excitement.

"Mum?"

His enquiry is without content. As pure as a freestanding question mark.

"We can't."

"Just this twice?"

I imagine music wafting in the night air. A single violin in the shadows playing one long note of longing.

My hand rises to my forehead to brush back an imaginary strand of trailing hair.

"We go freediving in our private pool."

I feel a giddy flush of anticipation. I have tried my best within the limits of being myself. The world happens to you. You don't happen to the world. There is nothing much you can do.

We dive, hitting the water clean and true.

That seamless thing happens. In its unreality, we begin making music together, without discussion or rehearsal. I know the music. He knows the words.

The End