Son Waxes Mum

"Hold your erection straight up, at a ninety degree angle to your stomach. Wrap your fingers around it. Begin stroking. Then, slowly, pump up and down. Up and down. Up and down. You'll be slippery from your own fluids. Spit a saliva drop. Smoothen it around your head. Not that you need extra lubrication. This is just having fun."

A pause.

"Pump more. Up and down. Then, with your hand firmly at your base, hold it there, strangle it a little. Oh, you're sticking straight up, like some spire. You're wavering a little, leaking even more, the drops dribbling down. This will not take long. Pump more."

His body is jerking now. He groans. He spurts, straight up. Then, a second, even higher, falling down and landing on the computer screen. A blob on the webcam. One or two more follow, falling back on his hand. He stops at last.

Julia instinctively gets up to go to the washroom to get a damp hand towel. She returns and wipes the blob off the computer screen before it runs down.

Cole watches his mum with muted amusement.

Chuckles.

"Oh, silly me!"

"Mum, that's virtual reality of the highest order. Compelling, huh?"

Cackles and guffaws. Mum and son writhe on the carpet in mirth.

***

"Let's just chat."

"Cool"

"Do you mind if I do something useful while we chat?"

"Not at all."

Cole wonders what that might be after everything that has happened. What rabbit will mum pull out of her hat?

She sits on the sofa facing the computer screen. Her legs are splayed open. Her bare soles rest flat on the coffee table top. It created the lewdest display imaginable. But, incredibly sexy.

Cole can't help admiring his mother's legs. Not that he has never seen her legs before. He has never seen her in this seated full-on frontal pose, at least, not when she is seated relatively still. There is a simple, honest, authentic disposition to the pose. An expanse of firm, full, creamy white thighs, even smoother inner thighs, tapering toward where they would meet her torso. Calves perfectly formed. The small muscles of her calves rippling as she shifts her legs.

A pause.

She dips a tiny brush tip into the nail varnish bottle. She meticulously paints a toenail. Admires her micro artistry. Then, onto the next one.

Mother and son chat about this and that. Nothing in particular. Pedestrian, after the earlier raunchy dirty talk which allowed them to bare certain emotions without really baring them.

Cole enjoys watching his mum's pedantic effort. As she makes little toe painting movements, her crotch quivers. In her more vigorous movements, her labia opens a little, showing fleeting flashes of luminous pink through her light wisps of undergrowth. Julia looks up at Cole during their chat every now and again, and sees his keen eyes darting between her toenails and her crotch. Perhaps he can paint her toenails when he is in town? Perhaps he can take care of all her vain grooming needs? A son making his mum look good, and in the process, make both himself and his mum feel good. A greater good.

She is almost done. She inspects each toenail as if enthralled by her own artistry, and then contemplates them collectively in the gay parade of pink. Cole follows her inspection, then gazes up a little after that. Julia moves her toes, then her legs, this way and that, posing her work, checking out the paintwork. Cole follows her every movement, gazing up now and then.

A pause.

Just then, a cellphone chimes. Cole's. His office. The spell ends.

Before taking his call, "Mum, I'll be back in town next week..."

Thinking deliciously long afternoons lengthening into night, where time is optional, "Yes..."

She stares off into the middle distance.

The End