Naked

"No other feeling this good," she says as she rests her head on my shoulder, her hair now in my face. Her voice faded and hoarse. "So sublime," she whispers.

Then no sound but the gentle in and out of her breath. I have my arm around her, my hand at the small of her back, caressing it slowly. Right at the little indention that begins the cleft between her hips. I love the feel of this for some reason. We have fought sleep as long as we can. We succumb.

Day Four: Fingers on my face, the tips touching my lips, then feeling the stubble of my morning beard. Fingers lightly touching my eyelids. I open my eyes to find my mother's face so close to mine. Her breath smells of last night's chardonnay. She moves closer, kisses me on the lips. My tongue finds hers. She lays her head beside mine, our eyes just inches apart. The sun has been up several hours. I absolutely love this closeness.

As she talks, her hand is on my flacid penis, just lightly touching it. Her eyes watch her hand.

"Do you have any idea how much I love your dick, Michael?" she says, lifting herself up a little, then scooting her face down my chest, to my stomach. There she continues caressing my penis, with perhaps the lightest touch I've ever felt. She kisses all over. Kisses my balls. Then she takes the head of my penis in her mouth and gently sucks it. It doesn't get any better than this.

"We have to head home," she says, breaking my dreamy moment. I tell her I don't want to leave. She walks naked into the kitchen. I watch the beautiful dark crevice of her ass as her hips move back and forth with her steps. She returns with two slices of leftover cold sausage pizza from earlier in the week.

"Breakfast," she says and sits on the bed, handing one to me. We eat.

"Let's run away," I tell her as we begin packing, both of us still naked. Neither of us wants to put on our clothes.

"Let's drive to Costa Rica and get a place on the beach. Live a simple life," I say.

"Your father would find us," she says as she folds her swimsuit into her suitcase.

"We'll go farther then," I say. "Argentina. I'll become a gaucho."

"You don't even know what a gaucho is," she says laughing quietly.

"I can Google it."

"We have to go home, Michael."

I walk into the bathroom, my foot flipping up the toilet lid, and begin to pee. From the corner of my eye, I can see she has followed me and is standing in the doorway. I am holding my penis in my hand as it grows hard again. I've never understood the physiology of it, but I seem to be one of those guys who can take a leak when I'm semi-hard. We keep talking. Her eyes not on mine, but on my stream arcing into the toilet. I don't know why I did this in front of her. But I mimic her words.

"Is this too much?" I ask. "More than you wanted to see?"

"I'm standing here, aren't I?" she says. "It's fine. Very fine."

"Most of the girls I've been with would have nothing to do with me peeing in front of them," I say. "They think it's disgusting. They didn't want me watching them either."

"Do I need to say it again," my mother comments, still peering at my dick. "You need new girlfriends."

I begin shaking the final drops off and I get completely stiff.

"So you like to watch your women pee?" she asks.

"Then, here. Watch as much as you want."

She steps to the toilet, sits down, spreads her legs wide apart and shoots out a hard, rocket-fast splash onto the porcelain bowl, followed by a seemingly never-ending stream of clear-white water.

At the same time, she enfolds my erection with her left hand and begins stroking gently. Not trying to make me come, just keep me hard.

Maybe it's the combination of seeing my mother peeing - and I admit I find watching a woman pee to be arousing - or maybe it's the stroking she's doing. Or maybe both. I feel a quick rush of electricity through me, my whole body heats up. I can feel me getting ready to come. I'm totally unprepared. This has never happened this fast. Before I can say anything, the first sperm shoots out from my dick, lands in her hair by her ear.

"Oh, my God," she says in surprise. And just as quickly, in one swift motion, she swallows the head of my dick with her mouth as I start shooting more and more, all of it she's swallowing.

Until there is no more. And my knees grow weak. I'm done in. I watch and feel her lick my cock clean. Her tongue slithering all around the skin, spiraling around the head of my dick. It is a heavenly moment.

I'm so sorry, I tell her, embarrassed from such lack of control.

She stands, puts her arms around my neck. Her face close to mine.

"I'll bet there aren't many boys who can say their mother has swallowed all their come."

She kisses me on the cheek and walks away.

"Let's decamp. Get dressed and go home, Michael. We have no choice."

* * *

I know my mother. So this probably will not happen again. That this happened at all is barely believable. We let our emotions run away, full throttle and with abandon.

"We have no real choice in the matter," she says with at least some hurt on her face as we drive home. It's registered in her eyes.

"But these will become our memories, our secrets," she says. "We'll always have them. And whenever we're with other people, glance at me every now and then. I'll wink, and you'll know I'm thinking of these secrets. They belong only to you and me."

You may think my fondest memory of these days will be a moment of hot, hot sex between us. Or maybe the accidental blowjob in the bathroom. Actually, it will be something different. As we were about to leave the cottage, my mother paused at the front door for one last kiss. One last time for her mouth to find mine. One last time for the hot, sweet taste of her tongue touching mine. The smell of her skin and hair. Her pelvis, one last time, pressed hard against mine. Arms around each other one final time of love and lust, rather than of familial fondness.

And so I will grieve, then learn to live with the memories. There is within me, though, faint hope that maybe someday down the road, my mother and I and can get together again. I know she wants it as much as I do. Surely there will be a time and a place.

For now, the question I will mull over is whether this was our destiny, hers and mine, from the beginning.

Was this bound to have happened?

And under the right circumstances, could this happen to anyone? Would you let it happen to you?

end