Pandemic Lockdown Intimacy

She says softly. "Your penis is really big. It's nice. A piece of visual art."

In a moment of awakened latent impulse, Grace strokes her son's penis as if priming it for some higher purpose. She surprises him when she gently draws back his foreskin with maternal tenderness. She casts a critical motherly eye on the revealed detail.

Approvingly, "Ah! I see you've been faithful to your mother's lofty hygiene standards."

"Mum, there isn't a day I've not lived up to that standard. Some things, one doesn't forget..."

Finally, she releases her son's penis. Instead of dropping, it bounces upward, standing free and tall. His shaft, which she estimates at eight inches plus, is straight and pointed up from his lap at an angle. Ripe with tension.

"You do get hard fast," she observes, studying her son's straining organ.

"I guess so."

She smirks. "I know you love me and all that. But, I mean, is it normal to get an erection for your old mum like that?"

"But, you were rubbing it. That is the only reason..."

"I'm just teasing. It's flattering actually, for your august mum. It's interesting how it looks when it's hard. Your head... is so large."

"So, as a woman, do you think a big head is good or bad?" Her son has a slight tremor in his voice, but she can tell he is trying to sound casual.

"I think a big head like that is a plus. It's all about stimulation. A big head, more surface area contact opportunity, ought to be stimulating, don't you think?"

Grace suddenly feels a warm surge of affection and admiration for her son. Her life's consolation prize, and she is celebrating.

"Are you going to take your bottom off, or keep me in terminal suspense?"

Grace feels her heart racing. For reasons she does not fully understand about herself, in that moment, her son asking her to take her bottom off provokes an unexpected and unintended response in her body. A wave of sexual reaction awakes somewhere deep and sweeps though her body, reaching her head in the form of heat. She feels flush. There is the tingle of sweat pores activating around her face and neck. Deep down, she feels another delicate response that she knows is the beginning of wetness inside her. It feels warm down there too. She has been trying to convince herself that this is no big deal. Yet, somehow it is.

Grace blurs the image before her, enough only just so, to let the non-rational slip in.

"Do you not think a mother deserves to keep at least one secret from her son, loving as her son may be?" she asks bashfully as she hooks her thumbs around the top of her sarong, trying to make light of it despite herself.

"Are you ready?"

"Like you said, I am hard for you. Just look at me."

Adding, "I don't think I can be any more ready than I am right now."

Grace smiles at him. She pushes her last garment, her sarong, down her hips, then stops, her legs still together.

Her face still warm, Grace pushes her sarong down her thighs to her knees. She stands up. She lets the sarong fall the rest of the way to the floor in a puddle. Her smooth pubis is directly in front of her son's face. Her bare vulva, squeezed between her thighs, puckered outward. Her outer labia pouting. A neat mound. Her inners are concealed. All this bracketed by womanly hips. She wonders aloud in her stilled mind if she should be embarrassed.

Grace stands, one foot crossed over the other, like a ballerina about to leap away in a jete. But, she remains statuesque still.

He looks admiringly at the naked sensuality that clothes her. She does fit the body he had imagined for her, and he is very glad for that. He cannot believe that she can be the repository of so much sensuality in one woman.

Jasper studies Grace's mons pubis with an almost anthropological sense of wonder. The geographical, biological and spiritual heart of her being.

"Say something, please," she implores.

He appears to search his brain for words. Maybe the words have not been invented yet. Sometimes, one has to let the meaning choose the word.

He manages, "Nice, beautiful, it is beautiful." He accompanies his words with a most languishing glance.

"You really think I look beautiful?" She laughs at herself as soon as she says it. She is a gangling teen all over again.

"Yes, you look smooth and pink and alluring."

"Alluring?"

"Attractive. You look attractive. I like how it looks pouty."

"That is good? I have a pouty pussy?"

"Yes, I like it."

Her face creases gently. A moon river smile. Wider than a mile.

Grace is feeling bold now. Her son had let her take the lead in their mutual striptease and she is going to push it further. By this time, she is humming with sexual arousal. She is thinking less and less about the fact that he is her son, and thinking more and more about how aroused she is, and how she wants more. Passion. A little was too much too start with, but now, it is not nearly enough.

"Do you want a closer look?" she volunteers shyly.

"OK" Her son looks like he is in a trance. The further along she takes things, the more excited she gets. But, her son looks increasingly uncomfortable and docile.

Grace steps over to the sofa and sits down. She puts her hand on the cushion, "Come, sit next to me."

She watches her son's erect penis bounce wildly as he gets up and walks over. The conical point glints in the sunlight that streams through the bay windows. "You are leaking," she muses as he sits down next to her. Naked thigh to naked thigh.

Without invitation, she reaches over and touches the tip of her finger to the little slit on the end of her son's penis where a droplet of clear liquid is forming. He does not move to stop her. A sharp intake of male breath. She doodles her finger in a tiny circular motion around the tip of his penis. She withdraws and rubs the warm sticky liquid between her finger and her thumb. It has the consistency of syrup. When she separates her digits, a translucent streamer stretches between.

"Oooh . . . Does this mean that you're going to ejaculate soon?"

"Not necessarily. But, it means I'm very turned on right now. I'm not going to ejaculate without some kind of physical stimulation. But, it won't take much right now. Like, if you rub my penis again like you did before, I will probably ejaculate instantly."

"That will make a royal mess. Does that mean I am so sexy that you can't resist your own mother?"

"Isn't this a rhetorical question? Look at me, mum."

"Are you going to be able to keep your cool the rest of your stay here in this lockdown? You can't very well go around with a boner all the time. You will scare the womenfolk." She smiles devilishly.

"I can only try..."

"Looks like I'll have to keep you cloistered here, to reform and rehabilitate you, before you can rejoin civilised society at the end of the lockdown, huh?"

Grace thinks about licking her sticky fingers. She looks at her son and assesses that he may think it weird. Instead, she wipes her hand on her bare thigh, leaving behind a visible prominent glistening slick.

"Are you sure you want a closer look? I don't think it's going to make your condition any better."

"Yes, I'm fine."

Grace reclines back on the sofa. "You really want me to do this?"

Her son nods silently.

"If you want to see more," Grace messes with her son, "you have to ask me to show you. Ask nicely and tell me exactly what you want to see."

"OK," he plays along, "will you please show me your most intimate, mummy dearest?"

"Since you ask so respectfully, son..."

Feeling single-minded in her intensifying sexuality, Grace swings her legs straight up, exposing her neat pouty crotch. Then, she spreads her legs a little wider.

She watches him as he looks down, captivated, rapt, at her displayed womanhood.

"You can get closer if you want."

He leans forward. She can feel the warmth of her son's breath on her vulva. He is so close, Grace thinks his mouth is going to touch her lips. She holds her breath in anticipation. But, he does not do it.

"Can I touch you?"

Grace nods in silence, and swallows.

She feels a finger gingerly run the length of her engorged labia. He gently prods and pinches her tender lips.

Her son's fingers playing with her there heightens her rising ardour. This emboldens her to push it a little further. She is no longer afraid of her son's reaction.

"Do you want to feel what it is like inside?" she asks brazenly.

"You're OK?" His voice shakes noticeably.

Grace reaches down to her mown mound with both hands and spreads open her vagina lips, her petals, as her son watches. "Do you see me?" she asks, pointing it out with her finger.

He peers into her intimately. This is something so wholly female and defining, so connected to the great cycle of nature. It is a gift from a flower to a garden.

"Yes. It's pink. Lovely. Quite lovely."

"You can feel me a little if you want" she encourages.

She holds the soft petals of her labia open in invitation.

He looks longingly at her womanhood. "You're tempting me. It's kind of mesmerising actually. The inside of your vagina has these intricate little folds. While you were talking, the opening was getting larger and smaller. I was wondering if you were doing that intentionally. Your opening looks kind of small actually. I thought it would be larger."

His carnal knowledge of his mother is now nearly complete.

Grace's sexual urgency is overwhelming now. Pleading, "Please. Put your finger in me. I want you to."

She feels his finger enters her tentatively. She can tell she is wet. It slips in easily without any friction. She pushes against the slow thrust of her son's finger, engulfing him. A light spasm tickles her as he gingerly twists his finger around inside her. She emits a girlish giggle. She resists the urge to hump his finger. She lets her son explore her in his way.

"It is wet and wrinkly. Warm and soft. It feels so good. How does this feel to you?"

"It feels good. I don't want you to stop."

"God! I'm imagining how sweet my penis will feel inside you right now. I mean, if you're not my mum. You're so wet and tight. I'm about to ejaculate just thinking about it."

"Don't get too worked up." She manages a laugh. "Do you want to feel my clitoris?"

"Yes," he sounds excited now. He pulls his finger out of her quickly with an audible slosh. He looks at his glistening finger. He brings it up to his nose. To Grace's astonishment, he licks it.

"Did you just taste me?" her eyes wide in exaggerated surprise.

"Just curious."

"How does your mummy taste?"

"Kind of... musky. Piquant. A raw onion sandwich."

"When you're done licking my juice, give me your finger." She holds out her hand.

Grace takes Jasper's wet finger in her hand and pulls it down to her vagina. She spreads open the top of her labia with one hand and, with the other, she presses the tip of his finger against her aroused love button.

Jasper sees that her interior is inlaid with a shy nub of pearl.

Grace pushes his finger hard against herself and grinds it up and down. She shudders with the sudden pleasure, but she bites her lip to keep from moaning. She does not want her son to know how aroused his mother is.

"That's it. Do you feel the bump?"

"Yes"

She rubs her son's finger harder. Mustering her cool, "I am aroused. Can you feel it?"

"Yes"

"Oh!" the cry escapes her mouth despite her best efforts. She laughs, "I'm really aroused right now. Yours is just more obvious."

Grace swings her foot around until her toes locate his erection. She plays her foot against her son's erection while he continues to rub his finger on her excited clitoris.

He looks down where his mum is stroking the sensitive sole of her foot against his hard penis. "I'm pretty close, I think. But, you probably don't want my fluid on your foot."

Grace shudders with pleasure as her son rubs her nub hard, his finger wet with vaginal fluid.

"Slow down a little," she moans, "Yes, that feels good."

She stops teasing him with her foot. She drops her leg on his lap. His penis flops against her thigh. She feels his penis twitch against her. A teardrop of sticky liquid dribbles onto her leg from his tip.

Her sexual anticipation is so intense, it no longer seems to matter to Grace that this is her son. Yet, there is still a faint but perturbing insistent whisper of reason that keeps hounding her of the fact.

She announces boldly, "God, I wish you're not my son just now. I am so ready for someone inside me right now!"

Her son looks momentarily petrified.

Grace has an idea. Emboldened by arousal, she gives voice to her thought, "Do you want to masturbate?"

"You want me to right now? You don't mind?"

"I think we can both do it," she replies sheepishly. "Is that too weird?"

"No. That is cool with me."

"Do you want to stick your finger inside me again?" her voice low as if to hide her depravity, "Touch me? While we masturbate?"

Her son looks startled. He responds without question. He thrusts his finger inside her moist opening, quickly this time. She moans gently in surprise.

"More fingers" she whispers, and again, he complies.

"Thrust them. Yes. Harder. Oh. Oh. That's it. That's it. Masturbate with me."

Grace fingers her clitoris as she starts to thrust back against her son's fingers.

He surrenders silently to her craven demand. She feels his hand grasp his penis against her thigh. His knuckles rub up and down against her thigh. As he multitasks, at first, he starts to lose his rhythm with his other hand as he starts pleasuring himself.

She pleads, "Keep thrusting, yes."

And then both hands are in sync.

"How does it feel like masturbating while you touch your mother?"

"So good."

Grace arches her back and pushes her pelvis hard against her son's hand. She feels herself spasm. She squeezes on her son's fingers with intense pleasure.

"I'm going to ejaculate. You better move your leg away" he blurts.

"It's OK."

Grace moans as a slight contraction squeezes pleasurably, then releases on her son's fingers, relaxing blissfully. She is floating in a sea of ecstasy when her son's warm semen finally spurts over and over on her exposed thigh. The spurts seem to go on a long time. Her thigh feels like it is soaked with wet dripping warmth. He lapses into a sigh of exhaustion. But, he still manages to cut his mouth wide from ear to ear.

"That's alot of produce. Enough to put out a small fire." she says, opening her eyes and smiling.

"I cannot believe you actually came on my leg."

They glide into relaxed comfortable silence, ignoring the dripping semen. There is plenty of time to clean up later. They have more pressing things to do right now. Like fall into blissful slumber.

Jasper rests his cheek on Grace's soft breast. He feels an intense longing to spend the rest of his life there. He so wants the life that it implies.

***

Grace's eyes flicker. Brilliant, just brilliant. Not the light. But, what she is feeling.

It is late afternoon. She decides to let her son continue his sleep.

Grace looks around the room for something to wipe the cum off with. It feels cold and clammy now and is starting to dry around the edges.

Her robe is strewn across the floor. She uses it to wipe the semen off the sofa first, but even after wiping carefully, there is still a noticeable wet spot.

She wipes up the inside of her thigh, catching the big globs of semen. Her thigh is still wet when she drops the robe to the floor, but she is going to shower anyway.

The air feels close and damp, as if it has been breathed many times. Grace opens the window and clears the afternoon of the morning air.

She walks to the kitchen. She opens the refrigerator to get a drink. It feels so wrong walking around naked with her son's fluids on her leg. She feels deviant. It is a pleasantly good feeling.

Perversely, her religious upbringing makes this all the more enthralling. On reflection, she thinks she is surprisingly relaxed about what she has just done with her son. There is no overhang, no drag of guilt. She feels fine, even pleased. God will be much more in her life now because there is so much to forgive her.

Her son wakes up. He is groggy for awhile. The light was pristine, bright and clean when he drifted into slumber. Now, the light appears used. Lost its sheen of clarity. After a minute, he is sentiently awake and aware.

Jasper goes up to his mother. He looks into her eyes. She is glad that he is smiling. No awkwardness. No tension.

He steps back a little, "I want to look at you properly this time."

He desires to relive the experience of first revelation.

"What do you want to see?"

"Everything. To begin with."

Jasper admires Grace for long minutes. "Oh!" he sighs silently, with a reverence otherwise reserved for opera or privately held Monets.

Grace steps forward into his arms. He is tall. Taller than he has ever been. More like a big brother now than a son. Somehow, the earlier bonding experience with his mother has boosted his male confidence. Without hesitation, he wraps his long arms around her nude body. He squeezes her tightly against him. She melts into him. The contours of her breasts meld into his chest, finding their own level. Her sensitive nipples chaff against his chest. But, he yearns the infantile, he yearns a return to the womb.

His manhood nestles in her warm junction of mound vee and creamy upper thighs. It stiffens a notch, pressing into her thighs. But, it is not erect. Not yet.

His male hands feel rough on her bare back. He holds his mother for a long time, peering deep into the back of her eyes. And she, his.

They shower and remain naked the rest of the day, comfortable in their shared nudity.

They hold long conversations on their renewed bond, and where it will take them. A kind of fireside chat with a different source of fire.

In lighter moments, they tell each other funny stories of lived experiences. Mother and son hurl themselves about the sofa in hilarity.

Mother and son share intimate moments. But, there is a muted tacit agreement that the highest order of bliss is reserved for later that night when the moon is full of itself. This in itself creates the second highest order of bliss, which is awaiting the highest order of bliss. Minds move and fuck as bodies do, but in mysterious ways.

After dinner, they repair to the main bedroom. The bedroom houses a queen bed, a dresser, and a classic regal writing desk and chair that would be right at home in a historical drama film.

They feel rising stirrings in their loins the moment they enter the bedroom. A mother and son conspiratorial sexual solidarity. As Jasper guides his mother to the bed, Grace veers away to the writing desk.

"Here" she intimates.

He looks puzzled. And then he understands all too well.

They face each other. Jasper pins his mother to the desk. Her palms pressed backwards on the desk top in support. Still a little awkwardness. She turns her face away from him.

Grace feels a hard pressure on her stomach just above her pubis. She looks down to see her son's penis fully erect. It looks massive to her. Formidable. It is red. He stands so close to her. It presses deeply into her naked stomach and he seems oblivious to it. She feels the head of Jasper's penis throbbing in her stomach. It is his heartbeat, she thinks. She is feeling his heartbeat through his penis. His heart is racing too, just like hers.

She wonders if her son is sexually enchanted by the tingle of the taboo, or her nakedness, or both?

She asks herself the same. Taboo it is. There are legions of naked male bodies. But, she has only one son. One Jasper.

He steps closer, pressing his penis harder against her. Grace puts a hand on her son's red throbbing penis. She caresses him gently.