Nudist Mum Visits Son

What happened next is unclear. It happened very fast. And since I am blindfolded, it is really hard to tell anything definitively.

Did he force me to drop down to a lying down position? Or, did I crumble to the floor like a rag doll, in hapless fatigue, on my own volition?

At his first stroke, I buck, instinctively raising my lower torso farther up. His hands grip my knees, pushing and grinding, his penis making stabbing movements inside me. His first ten strokes result in another of my contractions. I sense that he can feel my contraction in the way he twitches inside me. I am beside myself. I can't help myself. The world don't seem like the world. I keep pressing myself harder against his strokes. I tell myself that this will thwart his ability to move in me, if not limit his range of movement. Yes, I am putting up an earnest fight against this vile violation.

He starts pushing harder and deeper, rolling his hips more wildly now, grinding faster, trying to outdo me, to initiate long strokes, while cryptically warning me by his tightening grip on my knees that he is close.

I press into him, clamping my legs around him, swiveling and grinding my lower torso to lockdown his rampage, endeavouring to limit his range of movement, to deny him, to deny my violator.

I cannot help it. It is just too much. I climax. Violently. The violence, it is all me, not him.

I sense a jolt of semen lava. He is wedged. He cannot pull out. He shoots again and again deep inside as he tries to pull out. But I slam him, to deny his movement. He appears somewhat astounded by my reserve of strength and counter aggression. When I at last sense that he has fired his last salvo, I release my vice clamp of legs.

Yes, I have done my level best to deny this monster of his full pleasure at the end, when it counts most. I have done the best I can under the circumstances.

He exits. After all the savagery, a gentle lingering touch on my mound, like stroking an adorable furry pet, then, closing my lips as if to return me to modesty.

My blindfold still on, I somehow know I am alone again. Left to my own devices.

***

A puzzling sense of unreality. As sobering full consciousness returns, I know something is different, but isn't immediately sure of what. Then, I begin to sort through the events. I am thunderstruck at what I think had happened. But, I am still unsure. It all seems like a dream. In fact, it has kind of happened in a dream of sorts.

I just want to lie motionless for hours, let the mice, if any, crawl over me, eat cheese out of my hand. Weird. But, this is what I am feeling.

***

Two hours later.

Seb returns from office. He appears fatigued. Tough night at the office? He appears preoccupied with some whatever. We open a new bottle of chardonnay to chill some, and to take the edge off Seb a bit. We are nude.

We do not talk very much. Reaching between his legs, I rub his cock. He examines me in a way that sons must not.

"That's very nice, what you just did to me," I say looking at him, opening my legs wider now and gently pushing my hips forward in a gesture of offering myself to him, squeezing in closer to his body.

The warmth and softness of my tummy pressed in against the slippery hardness of his leaking cock triggers in me feelings I have never felt before.

We share a few tender moments. Things with Seb are intense, but are paced to savour. In our own ways, each of us want to learn the emotions we are inspiring in the other. I slip from unrest to rest.

In the apartment, there is the feeling that the rest of the world is a long way away, if it exists at all, and that none of it matters. The absolute silence of the place redefines silence.

***

Chapter 9

Goodbye

When I next open my eyes, I am surprised to find that dawn is breaking. The apartment is no longer dark at all. But, there is a kind of melancholy to this new dawn. Or maybe, an impending ennui.

I look over at Seb. Still fast asleep on his back. It looks like he has not changed position all night long. My eyes drift down. I take in the sight of his penis. Rock hard. Head extending all the way up past his navel. Another one of those early morning pee-charged hardons. He is big. Is this my wishful imagination on my last morning here, that he is bigger than usual this morning? Just for me?

I roll to my left side. I support my head on my hand as I stare down at his magnificent shaft. All the while looking at it, I can feel my insides churn from the residue of the previous night.

As I continue studying him, I reach out my hand to grasp his hardon, thinking that I will awaken him in the most delightful manner he has ever experienced. Every once a while, he will twitch. I look up at his eyes. I discern tiny movements behind the lids telling me that he is dreaming of something, hopefully sexy, and that I'm a part of it.

He opens his eyes partially only to be surprised by the sight of his mother lying beside him naked, watching him rub his hardon. This rubbing must be a waking up impulse. Out of some sense of propriety, he quickly jerks his hand away.

"It's OK. You can keep doing it if you want. It's a lovely sight. I love watching you do it. But, don't cum just yet, OK?"

He gives me a sweet knowing smile, as if on this morning, the last secret in the universe has been uncovered.

"It's so big, Seb. So big. Does it feel good to have your big penis sticking up like that while your mother looks at it?"

I just love listening to myself talk like that. I don't know what this does to Seb. But, this so excites me in a curious way. And later, when I'm alone and replay this conversation, I excite myself yet again.

"Yes. I love you looking at it. You looking at me like that, you're a sight to behold."

***

Seb leans forward to kiss my chest. Looking up, he kisses my lips. He gazes into my eyes. I caress his body with yearning affection.

My fingers close in around his cock. Gently at first. Now tighter. I am now the cock ring. My pliant fingers, superior to any cock ring carried by Ann Summers in their extensive range. I tighten the ring. He closes his eyes, humming from the pleasure of my tension. I am gentle and playful. I peel his foreskin open and close. Open and close. Open and close. The paintings of Georgia O'Keeffe at the art gallery flit to mind. Had Seb been deviously prepping me for this moment? All that suggestive floral talk about stalks, stigma, stamen and petals.

I gaze deep into his eyes while rubbing my stiffening clitoris against his cock base. I remember my biology lessons from another lifetime. My bio teacher, Mrs Pinky Flora, said matter-of-factly, that the clitoris is the penis of the female. Here I am, penis on penis.

Seb moans hoarsely, "In 30 minutes, we'll have to leave for the station."

I rise over him, supporting myself on my knees on the bed.

I pull back his foreskin and press his head just between my lips so that they are folded around it. The feeling is electrifying. He twitches at the contact. I sit down slowly, guiding the tip of his cock inside me.

He clasps his hands on the curve of my waist. He must be feeling my damp insides with his shaft.

He nods at me. I allow my weight to slowly grind down tightly around the thickness of his cock. I moan from pleasure as I sit down on him feeling his hard cock squeezing in and lodging deep inside my pussy. He seems to fit better this time. Maybe it is muscle memory. But whose? His or mine? It doesn't matter.

I move slowly, a twisting and flexing of my body from the effects of how full and perfect he feels inside me. It feels like something clicking into place. That satisfying yesss feeling, when something fits something. I feel like a log is inside me. In this position, he feels so much longer and thicker.

At first, slowly, almost imperceptibly, and then with only mildly increased vigour, Seb starts moving his hips, as though unable to help it, squeezing in and out of my depths.

Supporting my back with his arms around me, he kisses my collarbone, my chest. He nibbles my puffy nipples. I moan tenderly in his arms.

I move my hips, riding my son. I throw my arms up, clasping them in the air, while shamelessly twisting my naked body around his cock in a gesture of expressing motherly lust. My lovemaking is more assertive now. Less spa, more gym.

Raising me gently with his hands underneath my buttocks, Seb starts thrusting that much faster, penetrating me that much deeper, allowing his groin to nearly touch mine. He appears a little lost in the stampeding passion.

I let out low, intense growls. I lock my arms around his neck, dig my face into his shoulder and shudder in his embrace. I cannot believe there is anything in this uncertain world that can feel this right and real and true. You need a special kind of somebody in his element to do this job. And Seb is doing it.

A male shudder. He kisses me more intensely than ever before, as if to thank me for making his moment possible.

Orgasming together... Each doing our own thing. Each dancing to the music in our own head. But somehow together. It is a dance number. A kind of pre-established harmony. Why is it all so harmonious? What is the biological mathematical probability of this happening together? Is this Leibniz's best of all possible worlds? Hmmm... I'm beginning to think like Seb. I get back to me.

Nothing has made me feel the way I do right now. Like I have a window in my chest where the sunlight is pouring in.

His cock is still lodged inside my pussy. I clamp my legs around him, refusing to let go, mothering his cock, even though I should let him get on with his young life. He has great deeds to do. Great thoughts to think.

Seb regaining his power of speech, "Mum, you'll miss your train."

I allow my body to go limp. I collapse, head in my hands, hearing my body fight the air for air as if it is someone else's body, wishing it is someone else's body.

***

He sends me off at the train station before he goes to office.

He says he is really looking forward to my next visit. The low slow lull of his voice is soothing. Like waves lapping the shore at night. Is that a newly acquired hint of perversion in his eyes? I feel a tingle hearing this. But, a different tingle this time. The dial has moved. A different heat of fire. Do our bodies now think whenever they are together they get to touch? I feel a bit nervous about all this, like I am too alive for my own good.

We connected as never before in this visit, but nowhere near planning to jump off a cliff together. Am I overthinking this? I mustn't impose on Seb. He is a young man.

I will email him a poem. I want him to know all the inside things about me.

He gives me a tight hug. I feel his hardon pressed against me. I feel flowers blooming in my chest. So massive. So soon too. Searing. It is still early in the morning. Part remnant morning wood if that is possible, part arousal. A lovely aggregate. Mother Nature goes about her own sweet way. He knows I feel it.

He scans the immediate neighbourhood. Guiltily. Conspiratorially. Still early morning. Nobody near us.

He takes my hand to his crotch. I can tell, he is not wearing briefs. Oh my God, what happens when he sports a stiffy in the office? He presses my hand against his crotch. A sort of not unfamiliar feel. The cock ring. He is wearing it! Oh my God! A fiendish grin.

He peers questioningly into my eyes, "And you?"

I take his male hand to my crotch. I can tell. He now knows I am not wearing panties. His mum is a mean commando.

I extricate his middle finger from his clump of hand. I guide it to my most intimate. His finger, it vibrates a little.

Civilly, "Mum, have a good day."

"You... will... too..."

I am on the train. My life just got made.

***

Chapter 10

Bedroom Banter

I am home.

Bedroom banter with my husband that night.

I should say that despite my hubby not sharing alot of common interests with me, and being always busy, busy, busy, we do have an open and trusting relationship which I cherish. Lots of long-married couples have a pragmatic "situationship" rather than a relationship. Ours is for sure a relationship.

I tell my hubby about the belated naughty Christmas unchristian gift from our son. By the way, he really gets on well with our son, more like mates than dad/son.

He wants to see the appliance. Yes, he actually calls it an appliance. Like a juicer. I show him. He has never seen a bullet vibe before, even though he is aware of it from popular porn culture.

"Did you've the opportunity to try out the gift yet?"

Matter-of-factly, "We did."

Eyebrows arching above his hairline, "We?"

My being a nudist at home, my hubby kind of implicitly suspects that I may go nude in Seb's apartment as well. Although Seb going nude too with me is a bit of a stretch of wider imagination, which I am unsure if it has crossed his mind.

My hubby knows that the high-floor 360 degree privacy of Seb's apartment would be ideal for practising healthy nudism, particularly the open patio in the sunny months.

"We tried the vibe on my feminine parts."

"We?"

"Since Seb was the one who purchased the appliance, he had duly viewed the user guide videos. You know Seb is savvy with tech things. He felt obliged to show me the operations. He applied the appliance here and there, this way and that."

"Where?"

"My nipples. Then southerly... my most feminine bits."

"How was it?"

"I really enjoyed the experience. Then, I did it myself, just so that I could practise. While Seb watched to check out how I was doing."

"I think you know I continue my nudism practice in Seb's apartment. It's difficult to resist the glorious pull of the sun on the patio. Seb often joins me so that it's not awkward for me to be the only one naked. So coming back to the vibe, just for a lark, I tried it on his sac, and then, penis."

"Oh? I thought this was YOUR gift."

"As I've said, just for a lark. We were in that kind of a frivolous mood."

"How did Seb respond?"

"He enjoyed the experience too. There were anxious moments. He was on edge. But, he didn't."

"Oh! But why?"

"I saved him for other delights..."

"Oh? What would that be?"

"I actually brought him a gift too."

"I thought he already received his Christmas gift when he visited us?"

"Yes he did. A sort of additional gift. A visitor's gift. I was in a giving mood."

"What did you give him?"

"A little something from Ann Summers."

"As in Ann Summers the... intimate goods shop?"

"Yes"

"What was it?"

"A cock ring."

"Huh?"

"One of those contraptions for males. To heighten the tension."

"Aren't those dangerous? Like they can cutoff blood circulation, cause blackout, and kill."

"Not if there is parental motherly supervision."

"How did you supervise?"

"Why don't I show you..."

"Huh?"

I take out a cock ring from our bedside drawer.

"What? You bought one for me too?"

"Not really."

"Huh?"

"I borrowed this from our son. But don't worry, I've sanitised it. Just for you. I thought we'll test-drive it on you. If you like, I'll buy another, specifically sized for you, from the experience of this try-out."

"Aren't you the thoughtful one."

Chortling, "Just kidding! This one is your very own. Seb has his own. Like toothbrushes and towels, family members should not share such things, however close."

I tug my hubby closer.

"I started fitting our son like so."

"Was it easy to fit?"

"No. A struggle. An odyssey."

"Oh? I would've thought it was just a matter of slipping it on."

"He got hard all too soon. The way these implements work is to slip on when flaccid, then grow merrily into the tension."

"Oh? I didn't know that."

"He's a strapping young lad. Bulging bag of hormones. I think the combination of our nudity, the new toy, the anticipation of a new enthralling experience, and me, his mum, fitting him up, was just too much to bear in one moment."

"Was he finally fitted?"

"Yes, with alot of help from me. Although, I now wonder if it was my help that was stirring the problem."

"You helped him to get flaccid?"

"I thought about that, but didn't, because that would reset our fitout process somewhat, if you know what I mean. We did this on the last day of my visit. I had a train to catch, to travel home. So, we soldiered on."

"What happened then?"

"It was all the more fulfilling when we got there. Both fulfilling and funny."

"Funny?"

"At the exact moment he was properly fitted, he came. I had never seen such ferocity. Enough to put out a small fire."

"And then, a sort of Second Coming. Our son, he was in an extravagant mood. Oh, the excesses of youth!"

I continue the fitout on my hubby. He is semi-erect, which is just about the right rendering for further progress.

"You're doing OK?"

Hot and bothered, gasping, "Yes, mum..."

***

Chapter 11

Again

"I need to fuck you, like now."

"With the cock and testicle rings on?"

"Is there a problem?"

"Hmmm... I'm not sure if it's safe. If it's designed for that level of stress. I don't want you to blackout."

"Kinda late in the night to be reading the engineering specs."

I touch him there to assess matters. It worsened matters.

"Anyway, safe or dangerous, there's no way we can slip them off now. You're captive to your own excitement."

"Never mind, if you die, you'll die happy. Delirious will be more like it."

"Good to know..."

My hubby gets something from the bedside drawer. It's not like we need lubrication and what-nots. What is it?

He blindfolds me. So, that's what it is. Some kinky game in the making?

He leads me to, apparently, the bedroom wall. He pushes and presses my back against the wall. He extends my arms horizontally, pins my palms to the wall, gripping my wrists. He uses his knees to force my thighs together. He uses his feet to sweep my feet so that they cross at my ankles. I am nailed. Jesus-like at the cross. Again. He has never done this before.

He begins to hump me like a demented soul. Attacking my junction of thighs and mound. Flesh slapping flesh. He is unseasonally assertive. Certainly not in recent memory. The cock and testicle rings are working their magic.

"Why this?"

"Better I start modestly with dry humping, to pace myself. Won't do if I blackout."

"What's with the blindfold then?"

He says nothing. He grows harder still.

***

Chapter 12

Found and Lost

The Japanese are fond of sakura. Cherry blossoms. The trees are famously fleeting. They bloom for two or three days. And then, are gone. Other flowers, like plum blossoms, for instance, last considerably longer.

But, why go to such great lengths to cultivate something so fragile? The Buddhist concept of mujo, or impermanence, holds clues. Life is ephemeral. Everything we know and love will one day cease to exist. Ourselves included.

Most cultures fear this inconvenient fact. A few tolerate it. The Japanese celebrate it. The most precious thing in life is its uncertainty. We pay more attention to branches about to blossom or a garden strewn with faded flowers rather than blossoms in full bloom. The cherry blossom is lovely, not despite its short life span, but because of it. Beauty lies in its own vanishing.

Appreciating life's small, fleeting pleasures demands a loose grip. Hold them too tightly and they break. Pay attention to things, but not grasp them, manipulate them, try to figure them out. This skill does not come naturally to most peoples. Grip is too tight. Always questing to figure things out, unearthing hidden meanings that may or may not exist. As for impermanence, it terrifies most of us.

***

That was my first and last time with my son.

Did I tell you Seb is a travel writer? Imagine a young man on the sunlit balcony of a crumbling old mansion in Havana, drinking mojitos, gazing down at the street and making occasional scribbles in the kind of notebook that everyone says Hemingway used, but which he actually didn't. That could well be Seb.