Nora in the Sun Pt. 05

She looked sexy, one pale hip stuck out, her fingers loosely holding the glowing ember, the smoke drifting from between her full, red lips. She was breathing deeply, her shoulders falling.

"Hey," I greeted her.

She turned and smiled, her eyes tired. "Hey," she said softly. She passed me the cigarette. I took it from her and noticed a bit of her lipstick on the filter. I took a drag and let it calm everything else in my system.

"There's one more bar," I said. "They're closing soon, but I figured we should hit one last place before we head back." She nodded. I offered my hand. She took it, folded her arm into mine, and we walked together into one last cantina.

It was a small place, where only a duo of musicians sat in the corner, their guitars playing slowly, their voices blending in a slow Spanish duet. It wasn't a place for parties, but it was the perfect last stop for a night like this. Mom and I moved slowly past the bar, and I signaled for wine. Two glasses, rosy, dusky red, appeared in my hands. We sat together, the atmosphere low and blue. We sipped the glasses, looking at each other, looking away, our heart rates calming. The night was finally ending.

"Did you have fun?" I asked.

"Did I? More fun than I've had in a long time, kid," she said softly. Her smile was slight. And sweet. We sipped at the wine while the songs played slowly. A couple danced in the center of the little room, barely enough space, just for them, their bodies close. The song concluded, and they sat down.

The guitar playing singer in the corner stood up. He said some words in Spanish, and then said in English, "One last song. One more. A romantic one to end the night." The chords began. Mom looked down, but I knew that her attempt to ignore the song wasn't how the night should end. There had to be one last dance.

"You want to dance?" I asked through the music. It was a love song. I recognized a few of the words. They spoke of a rare moment that would never come back. Mom looked away from me, embarrassed.

Nobody went up. But I knew she needed this. It was the end of the magic. There was only a little of it left.

I stood up, the wine and the movement of my heart urging me to bring her to this last, beautiful moment that would never come back. The sweet taste of the wine lingered in my mouth. I reached my hand out to her, and she looked up at me from her chair, her red lips barely parted, her eyes looking at me with confusion, concern. "Come on," I whispered. I leaned down, took her hand from the table, and pulled her gently up. She stood obediently, and followed me to the center of the room, our fingers interlocked.

I pulled an arm around her waist. Not too tightly. The way a gentleman would. Her small hand was in my other palm. It was a song in a minor key, lilting along quietly in Spanish. Her soft body was before me, her low cut dress bringing the top of her pale chest close. Her bare shoulders glistened in the darkness. She smelled like sweet wine, like cool water, like a lily in a hidden alcove. She looked up at me, and we stared into each other's eyes for what felt like hours.

It told me I made the right move.

That this moment was a last chance at magic.

I pulled her, gently, but not hard enough to force her to come to me. Only enough to let her know I wanted her closer. Soft enough to let her know she didn't need to accept, that it was fine if she didn't. But she accepted it. She knew that the moment was magical. She took a step toward me. The edges of her body touched mine -- the soft cotton along her breasts brushed against my chest, and my hand slipped back, beyond her waist, and to the soft curve of her lower back, where I gently rested my fingers. Her head went down and laid on my chest.

The chords changed. The final verses were ending. The last chorus was on its way, and neither of us wanted it to end. My heart ached for the beauty of this moment. I wanted to pull her closer, to embrace her with all my strength.

"You looked... incredible tonight," I whispered. And I pulled with light pressure again, inviting her even closer. She hesitated. I could tell she was thinking. She waited for me to insist or to give up. I did neither. I kept the soft pull going, hoping she would want it as much as I did.

And then she accepted my invitation. She drew even closer. Her breasts pushed against me. Her cheek pressed gently against my neck, as if she laid with me. Her soft form was warm. Her pale, soft legs settled against mine. We rocked together, slowly, in the low light of that room, dancing like lovers.

The song ended, but we stood there together. Tired. Our blood humming with the wine and the warmth of each other's bodies.

Mom pulled away first. "I need some air," she said again, her eyes dark. I let her go ahead while I paid, and then went out, hoping she hadn't gone far.

The streets were empty, but I saw my mother, alone. The lights in the streets seemed so mournful now that we were done for the night.

When I approached, she turned around. Her dress lifted in the quickness of her movement. Her pale, creamy legs hinted at me before the edges of the dress dropped. Her dark, dusky eyes looked into my soul. "Is it wrong?" mom asked.

The ache in my heart came back. I didn't know if I could bear for her to say that it was. "Is... what wrong?"

"It is wrong to... be so happy?" She asked me, seeming to avoid asking what she really wanted to ask. Her eyes went down. The breeze gave only the slightest whisper. All else was silent. I didn't know what to say.

But then mom took a step toward me. Her head was lowered, but she reached out with one hand and felt my arm, her eyes flicking upward at me. Hinting. Asking. I knew, without a shadow of a doubt in my heart what my mother was asking me.

All girls acted this way...

...when they wanted to kiss a boy.

My heart beat once, twice, three times.

I reached for her. Gently pulled her to me, pressed her soft arms in my grip.

I lifted her chin up. She looked at me. Dared me. Asked me with her eyes if I would take that next step.

I would.

I fell into the gorgeous red of her lips...

...and kissed her.

And my gorgeous, impossibly lovely mother kissed back.

Her lips were so soft... I tasted the wine. I felt the heat of her soft, flushed face on mine.

I kissed her, harder. She did the same back, her tongue tasting sweet, and I lost control. I pulled against her more strongly, crushing her body to mine, pressing her soft hips against mine, grabbing the nape of her neck and controlling it while she whimpered in the kiss. Her hands wandered up and felt at me, smoothing along my chest, grabbing at my arms, circling around my neck. Her tongue flicked against my teeth, and I responded in kind, our tongues warring, dancing against each other, the wet flavor of her mouth and the sound of her labored breathing breaking against my heart, my core.

Now you have her.

Lust, powerful, unbearable broke through the gates of my mind. I felt the blood rushing in me, down, down, and I felt a painful ache in my pants, my cock pushed against the inside, pressing harder and harder. My hands went town, seized her waist. Pulled her close. Her hips bucked against mine, against my throbbing cock -- and she whined softly as we devoured each other, licked and kissed, the wetness of our mouths commingling.

I moved a hand down the small of her back. She soft flesh of her ass was under her dress, and I pressed, reached, all the way until one of her lovely, pillowy cheeks was in my hand. I squeezed and she gasped, the flesh giving way under the cotton, and I felt an unconscious growl leaving me. Her hands raised up in response, tangling in my hair, gripping it tightly as she pulled my mouth into hers. The ache in my pants grew -- commanded me -- and I reached the other hand down to her other cheek, and gripped it, lifted and pulled at her dress material, pulling her harder onto me. I felt my cock straining, burning hot, and I directed her softness onto it, while I gloried in the otherworldly plush of her lovely behind.

My hands kept moving down until I had one below the cleft of my mother's cheek, and I pulled her leg up. My hands reached the end of her dress, and then my fingers suddenly found cool flesh, the smoothness under her thigh giving way as her dress lifted, as my hand plunged even farther toward the heat between her legs. Then I felt a thin, thin fabric, the thin panties covering my mother's cunny. My fingers dug under them -- I felt the edge of the burning heat of her secret place, and she whined in my ear, and the urgency in me grew - I thrust forward with my hips, pressing my cock where I was certain mom's soft, pink apex lay, while my fingers grew closer to it from behind, pressing against her hot, slick flesh -- I felt her fingers tighten in my hair -- and I felt her wine-misted breath crying, breathing in my ear as she let go of a husky moan, "oh, god."

Then she stopped.

Mom looked up without pulling away, our lips tingling from the interrupted kiss. Her dark eyes, her flushed cheeks, her now messy hair shone in the half-light of the street. She looked at me soberly, panting, full of recognition as to what was happening. The wine made her imperceptibly sway. She stared up, shaking, vulnerable.

I could tell she was truly afraid of herself. Of what she was doing.

Of what my mother's lovely, sex-starved body needed from her son.

"That's enough," she said hoarsely, hesitantly. I didn't know if she meant it.

The hot, damp feeling under her skirt, the slick sweat of her skin between her legs, the wet heat I felt now at the tips of my fingers called me. I was so, so close to having my fingers inside her.

Inside mom.

But... I bit the inside my lips as hard as I could, trying to draw blood and strength as the animal in me snarled against the last shred of sobriety I held.

My hands left the space under her dress.

She stepped back, looking away. Her pale chest heaved as her gasping slowed, her physical senses calming, her excitement fading, her consciousness filling with relief.

We said nothing for a minute, but then she straightened and cleared her throat. Her poise was businesslike, but I could hear the subtle tremble in my mother's voice. "We can't be doing that, baby." She swallowed. "We're..." She trailed off. Her hand went up to her cheek. She looked at me sadly, and I felt myself falling in the dark of her eyes, wanting to ignore those words and to explore the tremble in her chest, but she finished, finally. "I'm your mother."

The moment was over.

I answered her, "I know."

The last magic of the night was gone.

"We need to get back," I said, numb. "I'll call a taxi." I turned and left the side streets first. Mom's quiet footsteps echoed behind me. It was so late in the night -- nobody else walked the city streets. Our taxi pulled up. We got into the back seat together. Didn't look at each other.

If you insisted, she wouldn't have stopped you.

If you tried to take her, she wouldn't have resisted.

You had her.

Those thoughts cycled in me torturously, over and over as we left behind the soft, warm lights of Chetumal.

...

...

...

Chapter 12

I woke up late the next morning as if I dreamed everything. A part of me thought I had.

Mom was in the kitchen, alone. She wore a longer dress than last night. Blues and pinks in the color of sunrise. Thin straps over her shoulders. Her hair was tied up in a messy bun. She looked at me and smiled, pretended as if we never kissed, placed food in front of me as if I were sixteen again and getting ready for school. As if she was just my mom again. As if, hours ago, my fingers didn't brush against the soft, wet slit between her legs.

"Your dad hasn't come back yet," she said brightly. "I hope he's alright. He's probably sitting in an alley somewhere wondering where his wallet disappeared to."

"Mom..." I addressed her hesitantly. "Last night we..."

Her bright smile disappeared. She set the cookware down and leaned back against the counter, her true feelings surfacing on her lovely pale face. Regret. Concern. Confusion. Her lips looked so soft.

"Last night..." she cleared her throat but couldn't finish the thought.

We stared at each other guiltily, remembering the sights of skin, and sweat, re-living the sounds of music and desperate breathing as we kissed in the side streets. Of the heat that flared between our legs as we pressed our hips together.

The front door opened and we jumped, startled. Dad stumbled in again. I noticed that the clock in the kitchen said it was just past noon.

"Welcome back. You look great, dear," said mom, her fake brightness back. Dad looked like he had just gone through a threshing machine. His disheveled clothes and bleary, exhausted eyes could have landed him in an arrest lineup without surprising anyone. The stink of booze drifted into the villa with him. He half tripped onto the couch just like he did yesterday. We watched him, waiting to see if he would even justify himself. But he didn't. All he did was snore.

Mom frowned at him, disappointed.

I wondered if she felt any amount of guilt, not for the way she and I touched each other, but for the fact that she just kissed a man that wasn't her husband. But the longer I watched, the more certain I became -- the guilt was there. She looked at him sadly, her lips drawn thin. As if she had betrayed him. But she took a deep breath, remembering why she and I left him at the bar last night in the first place. She pulled her shoulders back in defiance. Shifted her soft hip to the side. Looked at me.

A different set of emotions clouded her face.

"We'll have to figure out another plan for today without him," said mom, echoing yesterday." Her eyes were serious. Focused. Cool.

"Alright."

"I'd love it if you took me to that hidden pool again," my mother said, unblinking.

After I changed, I nervously waited for her at the front door. She asked me to take her to the secret pool. The memory of yesterday flooded back, my stomach flipping while I replayed the images of creamy skin decorated by the falling water, sealed in the gorgeous intimacy of that moment.

It didn't take her too long. I heard the door to her room close upstairs. I heard her footsteps. I stepped out to watch her descend the stairs.

First, her lovely legs appeared. One after the other, proceeding from the heavens. All of her skin was now tinged with the kiss of sun, a gold and pink that made her glow in divine radiance. Her immaculate skin revealed itself as she entered my sight, my eyes drawing upward to the point between her legs, where a silky blue swimsuit cupped her apex. It drew up, the one piece covering her belly as the silk transitioned in color, moving from aqua blue to a sea green, shimmering in the light that passed through the windows throughout the villa. It had to be incredibly expensive.

The ample sides of her bottom were bare, the swim suit shrinking back along her hips. Above them, her heavy breasts were cupped in the metallic sheen of the swimsuit. It pushed them upward and together, her tits overflowing, barely contained in the low cut. The swim suit had no straps. Her upper chest and shoulders were revealed. Tiny white fabric flowers blossomed along the upper edges of the one piece, decorating mother's tits with an impossible dignity.

She came down the stairs, descending like the goddess of some long-forgotten sea, her hair free and loose. Some of her hair was lighter, shining, kissed by our short time in the sun. Like amber lines, like veins of gold. She turned and I realized that her lower back was bare -- the one piece opened up behind her, revealing a circle of her lower back to the sun. I realized that I was staring with my mouth open, leaning forward, tense and hungry.

Mom watched my reaction and grinned as she perched her sun hat on top of her long, dark locks. At the bottom of the steps, she gathered a long, flowing shawl and wrapped it around her waist. She put on her sunglasses and leaned her head to the side. "Let's go, baby."

The way she spoke, the way she was acting, her choice of swimsuit, all of these things confused and excited me to no end -- deep down, I knew what all of this meant. I looked at the door. If we went through it with every intention to go back to that secret paradise, then that meant...

I offered my arm. She stepped close to me and took it, her hands twining around my bicep, her hip brushing against mine, and we stepped into the sun.

Neither of us could bring ourselves to speak on the way to the beach. It felt like hours -- agonizing ones as I felt the overwhelming desire to run there, to arrive in that hidden place as soon as possible. Mom's pink cheeks hinted at the mix of emotions and feelings within her, but I couldn't see her eyes through the dark sunglasses.

We made it onto the beach. Walked along, side by side, arm in arm to the palm forest and the hill. No words. Just building, scared anticipation as we entered the shade of the tropical canopy.

The ground rose beneath us. The vines grew dense. Rocky walls appeared, lining our path. The tree at the entrance appeared. "We're here." We stopped before it together.

There was no returning once we went inside. This entry symbolized a taboo that could not be undone. The memory of seeing each other at our most natural, vulnerable states floated before us, coupled with the urgent panic of knowing we wanted that again - a warning that we were not merely making a mistake, doing something on accident. This would be by our own choices. If my mother and I went through, we would cross a barrier that was undeniably wrong.

I stopped before it and pulled the tree to the side, as if opening a door for her. She stayed in place. Removed her sunglasses. Took off her hat, and held it in her small hands. Looked at me. Mom was trembling, biting her lower lip as she nervously calculated in her mind what she was doing -- what she should do -- if she should stop and run back. I felt much of the same, but her soft, reddening cheeks, her dilated pupils, her parted lips, her trembling told me what else she wanted.

"Do you want this?" She suddenly asked.

I couldn't respond. I just held open the door, watching her, begging internally that she would make this choice. Even if it was wrong. Even if I was her son. We stared into each other's eyes, searching. I gave a slight nod.

A minute passed. Nora took a deep breath.

And my lovely, goddess of a mother moved past me, through the rock face, and into that secret place. An ethereally sweet scent flowed with her. I realized she was wearing perfume, something she deliberately put on before we left. Cloves. Honey. Jasmine flower. As if she were a silk-adorned concubine, in the long-lost empires of the Middle East, preparing herself for her summons to the chambers of a powerful master.

I followed after her, drinking in the scent.

The air cooled, the soft mist brushed through our senses. The sound and sight of the waterfall and the moss-painted walls meant we were in another world.

My mother and I were alone.

She turned to face me by the pool. The lovely white flesh of the tops of her breasts were bright in the low light. Something in her had changed. "Now what?" She asked, staring at me with her dark, knowing eyes.

"We could..." I looked at the pool. Back to her. Followed her lovely curves downward to the silk bathing suit that kept her gorgeous body hidden. It was beautiful but I wanted it to go. I wanted to see her vulnerable again. "We could skinny dip."

Mom took my response with a blink. I thought she would hesitate.

But she didn't. "Alright," she quietly breathed. Her hands went behind her. Hooked into the silk under her arms, where her creamy breasts pushed out. She pulled downward, shifting her shoulders down, one at a time as the silk peeled away from her chest, oceans of my mother's white lovely breasts revealing themselves. Her lovely tits fell, one after the other, the fragile pink of her nipples greeting the misty air, pointing at me as her flesh relaxed, falling softly free. She rolled the swim suit down, farther, past her tummy, to where her waist tightened, and then to where her pillowy hips widened out.