Sucking Sleeping Son

I tuck my son's blanket, watch him drift to sleep, and this reminds me of the past. Like a traditional mother, I used to tuck my son into bed every night after reading a bedtime story. It was an innocent time. Love in its purest form.

Circumstances are different now. My son is 24 years old. Instead of being in the comfort of our home, we're in the clinic. I'm so certain of the synthetic drug I've created that I'm willing to perform the latest trial on my son, who's my intern and wants hands-on experience. It's a prototype drug that aids sleep and recovery.

As most of the employees go home, I plan on spending the night here, sleeping on the couch to observe every detail. I don't normally do this, but it's my son. The cleaning people are performing their duties down the hall. My assistant is in the other room.

I stand near the bed and watch the stats on the small screen. Heart rate, blood pressure, oxygen saturation, temperature. Everything is normal, exactly as expected. This will be the best sleep of Christopher's life.

After a while, I step outside the room for a break. I know the trial is safe because these compounds are benign and there have been previous tests with other subjects, but as a mother, it's natural to worry. Plus I've made a few small adjustments to the drug. Harmless, I'm sure.

In the hallway I see my loyal assistant, who comes to me after hearing my footsteps. I've known her a few years and our chemistry together is strong. There's something about this young Afghan refugee (who was educated in America) that appeals to me. Perhaps it's her emerald green eyes or the brightness of her smile.

She wears a perfectly wrapped hijab, a different color or design for each day, and her small frame has an upright posture. Having her around brightens my day and I'm thankful. The truth is, she's one of the most lovable people I've ever met.

"Are you sure you want to stay?" Ferhana asks with her slight accent. "You can go home and sleep. I'll keep an eye on things."

I smile. "No, no. I have to be here."

"Let me know if you need anything. I'll be staying here, too."

It's affirmation that people like Ferhana are a godsend. Life is better when there are people you can trust with anything. And I have feelings for her, but nothing will ever come of that, for obvious reasons.

My assistant is texting in the hallway while I go back into the room where my son sleeps. As a mother, I know I'm overreacting. This drug is safe. The compounds are harmless and my son is a healthy young man. All of the blood tests confirm that.

As I stand over Christopher's bed, I notice something. A slight shift in his movement. Then again. His legs squirm. This causes my senses to become alert, sending me into mom-mode to determine if there's an issue.

Is this a normal sleep pattern for Christopher, or a side effect of the drug? I can't be sure because I've never observed his normal sleep pattern as an adult. Regardless, it's my job to check and it's too early to alert Ferhana about anything unusual. More than likely, this is nothing. I'm probably overreacting, which tends to happen with things regarding my son.

The legs move again and Christopher breathes a short sigh. Is he having a dream or a nightmare? I wonder. The heart rate goes up a notch. It's nothing to raise concern, but I'm good at my job because of my strict attention to detail.

Finally I see it. As my son's legs stretch and spread, I notice a bulge in the crotch area. Through the blanket curve and dim lights of the room, I can tell it's an erection. With my son asleep, there's no attempt at covering it. The bulge protrudes without obstruction and it makes me pause.

It's normal for men to have erections while sleeping, but that usually happens early in the morning when testosterone reaches a high level. A potential side effect? It seems likely and I make a mental note of this, something to examine tomorrow.

Looking at Christopher in this vulnerable state is eye opening. I see him in a new, strange light. A potent combination of innocence and lust. It's an unusual combination because it's my son and his hard penis is mere inches away. If this were a random male, these feelings wouldn't exist.

In a few minutes, Ferhana will come to this room for a routine inspection. It would be an unnecessary embarrassment for Christopher to be seen this way. I also wonder if the erection is painful, if it's caught within the fabric of his underwear lining. I've often wondered if it's a problem men face while they're sleeping.

An idea comes to mind that will solve these problems in the short term. I don't like it, but it's necessary at the moment.

I lift the blanket and slip my hand underneath Christopher's clothes, beneath his underwear. The tips of my fingers touch his penis. I swear it's my first time touching his erection. The skin is soft as silk, the way a penis should feel. I move it around to make sure it has space to grow. The solid girth of the penis is impressive.

Mentally, I chide myself for being aroused because it's been over a decade since I've been with a man. Women are my primary interest. Nonetheless this task must be done and I maintain my sense of being a diligent mother.

When the penis is 'comfortable' in its current state, I cover it and smooth the blanket so everything looks normal. Christopher's erection is more difficult to notice and hopefully it will go away. Hopefully my assistant won't notice it.

My fingertips still tingle from having touched my son's penis. What a naughty, messed up feeling. But it's done for the right reasons and that's all that matters. I wonder why I'm so aroused. I'll always remember how it swelled in my hand. At least I didn't look at it, I justify to myself, which makes me smile.

Footsteps approach and my assistant is coming. I give a quick visual inspection to ensure the erection is less visible and I act like nothing wayward happened. As if I didn't just touch my son's dick.

"You can sleep if you wish," Ferhana whispers, holding a folded blanket. "I'll stay up for a while."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm watching a movie on my laptop."

I accept the blanket. "Thank you. You're sweet."

With moisture between my legs, I lay on the couch and wrap myself in the blanket. It's me and Christopher in the room together. I look at him, wondering if his penis is still erect. I wonder what he dreams about.

With my son asleep and my assistant in another room, I slip a hand beneath my pants, under the cover of a blanket, and touch myself. I use the same two fingers that touched Christopher's penis. It's my first time doing anything like this while my son is in the same room.

***

In the morning I see Christopher awake in a pleasant mood. He stretches and moves upright on the bed. Of course he's in a good mood, I think, because that erection must have felt like a wonder.

"You seem glowing."

"I do?" Chris says, still stretching his legs. "That was great. Best sleep I've ever had."

"Perfect."

I push my blanket aside and go over to my son. The vital signs on the screen look normal. I remove the wires from Christopher's body, and going back to mom-mode, I run my fingers through his hair.

"That was great, I feel fantastic," he says.

"Wait until you look in the mirror. The rejuvenation effect of the drug is remarkable. You look a few years younger. Your skin is smoother."

Chris touches his face. "Let me check. I need to use the bathroom."

My son gets out of bed, and for a fleeting moment, my eyes drift down to see if he's sporting an erection. Part of me is disappointed when the penis appears flaccid and there's no discernible bulge to conceal.

The clinic comes to life as employees arrive to work. Various tasks and projects are happening, so the attention is focused on different areas. But for me, all I can think about is if there's a flaw in the drug; previous test subjects didn't have any sexual reactions.

When my son takes a while in the bathroom, I quietly walk to the door and press my ear. I wonder if he's masturbating. My mind runs wild, imagining him jerking off while standing over the toilet. He's an energetic young man and I've always steered clear of his sexual activities, but this concerns my research.

I don't hear anything.

A few minutes later, Christopher exits the bathroom after washing himself, and I decide to be casual about things.

"Did you notice anything unusual?" I ask. "Was there any point where you were half-awake last night?"

"I slept the whole night. Why? Was I moving around?"

"No, I'm asking general questions. Do you feel anything different this morning? Any changes in your body? Any intense feelings?"

"Well, I guess I feel refreshed. Put it that way."

Again I wonder if my son was jerking off in the bathroom a moment ago. It seems likely, if not, surely it will happen later.

There's a tenseness on Christopher's body language, the slight curl of his lips. He's shy about something. With young men, that often means it's sexual. What else is a vibrant young man shy about?

"Be honest on the questionnaire," I say. "Obviously I'm going to read it, but please, this is important. Okay?"

He nods. "Okay, mom."

I reach forward and touch his face. The same hand I used to touch his penis last night, showing affection in a different way. Looking into his eyes, I realize the research has taken a turn that I never expected.

***

In my office I continue working after my son went home. On the desk I'm using the computer and I also scrutinize every word on the questionnaire sheet.

My suspicion is correct. According to the questionnaire, Christopher admits to waking up with a strong sexual desire. More worrisome, he woke up with a 'sore penis,' for reasons he didn't understand.

I think of all the possibilities that may have caused this. I tweaked the properties of the drug a week ago, which may be the answer. Perhaps his body is having an adverse reaction. I think about calling friends of mine who are in the same field.

Perhaps I'm overreacting. Maybe my son has a naturally high sex drive and he's always aroused at night. Maybe it's a one-time thing. One hard cock isn't enough to draw conclusions.

Ferhana approaches my office and comes inside. The assistant looks like there's a lot on her mind.

"Is there anything I can help with?" Ferhana asks with her distinct accent. "You've spent most of the morning in your office and seem distressed."

I force a smile. "It's nothing. I'm considering a few fixes."

"Are there problems?"

"I don't know yet. I'll need another day before I can answer that."

"Do you mind if I speak openly?" Ferhana asks.

"Please, anything."

I sit upright because this is the first time my assistant has ever asked permission to 'speak openly' about anything. So it must be important.

"I've read Christopher's questionnaire sheet," Ferhana says. "And I saw what you did with him last night while he slept."

"What?"

"From the hallway, I saw you through the window, reaching inside Christopher's blanket. You were blushing when I entered the room. I wasn't sure what you were doing. When I read the questionnaire, it made sense that you were adjusting his penis."

"I didn't want you to see the bulge."

"Because I'm a young Muslim woman, or because you wanted to preserve your son's dignity?"

"Both."

"I can handle these things," Ferhana says. "I know what I am. Yes, I'm religious and from a different culture, but I'm open minded."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I want a greater role. I've proven my value and usefulness. If you'll allow me, I would like to have more responsibilities."

I stare into those emerald green eyes, which are pleading to be utilized. These are understandable feelings. Many years ago, I was in the same position, being undervalued and resenting my boss for it. Now, how could I act the same way towards this talented young woman?

"Fine, you're right," I say. "What did you have in mind?"

"I would like a greater role in monitoring each test subject. If I'm being asked to stay here the entire night, then I should be given power to make decisions of consequence. I know this research better than anyone in this clinic."

The request is more than fair. It's long overdue and my assistant deserves a chance to have more hands-on experience after everything she's done.

I stand and offer a handshake. With her, I'm always mindful of cultural and religious differences. I'm always cautious about touching, but I know she accepts handshakes when the time is right.

Our handshake is firm. Whenever I have a chance to enjoy her soft skin, I savor it. Especially while looking into those emerald eyes. In a strange moment, Ferhana uses both of her hands to touch mine. A friendly gesture? Or something more?

As we shake hands, I stand there and let her hold my hand and wrist. She enjoys touching my skin, as much as I enjoy touching hers. I'm convinced there's something more going on. This young woman remains a mystery, and I like that.

*

As a self-professed 'control freak,' I learn to take a step back and I think it's for the best. Training the next generation of researchers is important and I'm glad I have the right person to mentor.

My son returns to the clinic. It's late at night, and this time, Ferhana takes the lead, giving Christopher the experimental drug. She hooks up the monitoring device on my son's body. It's a form of relief to surrender this kind of control to a young woman who knows what she's doing. It spares me the stress.

"Looks like you're all taken care of," I joke.

Christopher smiles and shrugs. "Yeah, I'm in good hands. You need to relax, I'll be fine. You worry too much."

"That's true. I'm lucky to have a great assistant."

The comment makes Ferhana blush while setting up the wires and heart monitor. Her reaction is understandable; everyone needs validation. Especially when you've worked so hard and dedicated your life to something.

I stand in the corner as my assistant speaks with my son. It seems like Christopher is developing a small crush on Ferhana, admiring those sparkling green eyes and gorgeously wrapped pink hijab around a beautiful face. I get it. I've had the same crush since the moment I hired her.

An hour later, my son is asleep and I stay in the hallway. It's tempting to go back inside and check my son's vitals, but I promised Ferhana the leading role and I let her do the work. Through the window and open blinds, I see Ferhana writing notes on a chart.

Lingering in my office and replying to text messages, I find myself thinking about my son's cock again, how the potential erection problem is Ferhana's to deal with. I wonder how my assistant would react to such a circumstance, assuming the problem would arise at all.

I have no idea about Ferhana's love life, if it even exists. I'm fine talking about love, relationship, and sex with close friends. Or even with colleagues if they want someone to confide in. I've never had those kinds of conversations with Ferhana, even after countless lunches and coffee breaks together.

Truth be told, I've always tip-toed around Ferhana because of her Islamic faith and that put a barrier on our friendship. I sometimes get the impression that she wants to be closer as friends, but again, that's always been tricky. Do I invite her to my house for dinner? Do I invite her to the restaurant with my other friends who will order wine at the table?

I don't want to sound ignorant, but she's the first person from Afghanistan that I've ever met. It's like peeling the petals of a rose. Getting to know her is a dream.

My thoughts turn darker and I wonder how she'd react seeing the bulge of a man's erection. Has she ever seen an erect penis; ever touched one? The thought of my son's cock near Ferhana's face makes me aroused.

Checking the time, if the erection situation has returned, it would be at around this moment. I wonder if Ferhana is horrified or offended by this. Who knows. Maybe it's the opposite? It would explain why Ferhana was so interested in having more responsibilities after seeing me touch my son's dick.

I leave my office and walk down the hall to check on them. Through the window and open blinds, I should be able to see Ferhana in the room. But she isn't there. I should be able to see her standing or sitting from my viewpoint.

The color of Ferhana's pink hijab comes into view, from the place I least suspect. It appears in the center of where my son sleeps. Did she drop something and bent down to pick it up? Her head goes up and down. Is she inspecting my son's penis? That seems like the most plausible scenario because of what a consummate professional she is.

My instincts tell me to approach slowly -- for whatever reason -- and as I walk with quiet footsteps, another scenario comes to mind. One that I couldn't have prepared for. She's sucking my son's dick? As absurd as that seems, it would be in line with the sneaking suspicion I've had all day.

The lights in that room are dimmed and I see the pink hijab going up and down. Yes, that has to be it. It's the only explanation. Ferhana is sucking my son's dick. The thought drives me wild. The sight makes me flush. I can only imagine why Ferhana would be doing such a thing with my sleeping son. Is it because she's sexually repressed? Has she always been attracted to my son? Or maybe she has a fetish for sleeping men.

I tell myself that Ferhana is being an overly dedicated employee. That she's only doing what I did yesterday, but to a greater extreme. I tell myself that Ferhana has the purest intentions and that she wants to relieve my son of pain and discomfort.

As I step closer to the open door, the reality becomes clear that Ferhana is a sexual being like anyone else. Her lips are wrapped around Christopher's erection while he's still asleep with the blanket pulled down. Ferhana is in a kneeling position while her head bobs. The pink hijab around her head has never looked so elegant.

Ferhana's green eyes look at me while I stand beside the door. She doesn't stop sucking. She keeps going. With the tip of my son's cock in her mouth, her eyes reveal her sexual complexity. She's ashamed of this, yet she won't stop.

Her brown lips release the erection and she holds the base in her hand.

"I'm sorry," she says, looking at me. "I apologize."

"What are you doing?"

"I'm doing what you wanted to do last night."

"Excuse me?"

Being accused of wanting to do this offends me. Anyone would be offended with an accusation of wanting to commit incest. But I can never discount Ferhana's opinions. In the years that we've worked together, her private insights into people have always been gold. It's her pure heart that allows her to see clearly.

She tilts the head of the cock in my direction. "Go ahead, try it."

"What? I can't."

We're whispering, as if we're students gossiping in the middle of class, because we don't want to wake my son. This fact is, this conversation is too important to ignore. I can't walk away. My legs are frozen in place.

"Have a turn while he's sleeping," Ferhana says. "He'll never know."

"He'll wake up."

"I gave him an extra dose. That's why his penis throbs. And if he does wake up, then I'll explain that this is my fault."

Her slender brown fingers are holding the base of my son's glistening, saliva covered cock. She's giving it short strokes while pointing it in my direction.

My legs come to life and I approach them. I'm not ready to kneel, but I'm close to doing it. What's happening here is hypnotic. Ferhana looks at me, those green eyes have a spellbinding effect, while she pumps the cock in my direction.

"Please stop," I say.

"If I stop, then you'll have to provide the relief yourself. Otherwise your son will complain of soreness again."