The Sex Manual

Turner Hanes sat silent under the fronds of a fern as he watched the group of men climb back into their cars. The sun setting over the hill behind him, he remained hidden as unnecessary revving accompanied the starting of engines, and headlights were turned on before the three vehicles slowly departed the parking area. When the sound of the convoy was lost to him and the daylight began to fail, Turner crept from the security of the hide and walked down into the campground proper to investigate what remained from the gathering.

*

Laney Hanes sifted through the box of documents both legal and sentimental until she found the newspaper article. Dated twelve years earlier, she focused first upon the accompanying photograph, unconsciously stroking her finger across the cheek of her then seven-year-old son as he stood proudly at her hip.

'Going it Alone, Together' the article read. 'Recently widowed, Californian woman Laney Hanes (36) says goodbye to the day-to-day as she begins her new life of self-sufficiency.'

When last she'd looked at the newspaper article she couldn't remember. Years before most likely and memories of those early days came flooding back. The excitement; the hardships; the triumphs of living independently off the grid. Funnily enough, despite the idea being her late husband's, with some enthusiasm on her behalf, it was Turner that had taken to the life with fervor. Home-schooled, he'd grown from an admittedly awkward boy into a strong dependable man, the spitting image of his father whom he'd unfortunately lost at so tender an age.

But it was then, as she searched the uncertain eyes of her boy looking back from the yellowing, faded newspaper, she knew the decision that had to be made.

*

Turner frowned at the empty beer bottles littering the area, questioning how the men hadn't seen the multiple trash cans in the immediate vicinity of the picnic tables. But his focus was quickly diverted by a brightly colored magazine sitting upon a bench exactly where the men had gathered, straight away realizing its unique quality.

Glossy, and with the title 'Guzzlers' in large lettering sitting above a photo of a woman barely clothed, Turner lifted the weighty edition into his hands and still frowning (only now with curiosity) thumbed open the pages. What greeted him took his breath, and immediately blushing, he looked up and around the vacated campsite to be sure he wasn't observed, just as quickly looking back.

"What is this!?" Turner flicked through the pages, resting on a double-page spread of a naked woman, several men around her with their penises out, hard, as his would often get. As 'it' began to get, as he examined her closer; even in the diminishing light her body coated with what Turner assumed was the men's sperm. Why are they doing it on her? He questioned as he eagerly turned the pages to see more. More women. All shapes and sizes. All naked. Some making love to other women, he noted, mystified, only realizing then how erect his penis had become and wishing he was back home in the security of his bedroom.

The thought broke the spell he'd been placed under by the magazine and appreciating how far from home he was, he folded shut the tome and tucked it flat down the front of his cargo pants, secured safely by his tightly pulled belt just as the disappearing sun indicated the late hour.

"Mom's gonna kill me!" He sighed as he headed back into the darkened forest.

*

To his surprise, Laney didn't even mention the time when Turner arrived back at the house. It wasn't unknown for him to be out exploring the woods until late evening but lately, Turner had noticed a difference in his mother, a moodiness that he expected would've been exacerbated by his overdue return and he'd feared the worst. So, when he entered and found her remarkably chipper, he was understandably confused, delaying his intrigue until he'd safely hidden the magazine in his room.

The smell of roast chicken filled the small cabin and understanding what that entailed, Turner rejoined his mother as she served up the meal in the kitchen.

"Who is it?" Turner looked at the well-cooked bird, the scent given off overriding any sentimentality he should've felt for the deceased animal.

"Lucy," Laney grimaced, expecting her son to be more upset by the culling of one of their pets.

"Ok," Turner nodded. "Well, she did peck at me once!" He smiled to indicate his appreciation for what his mother had done while he was away. For them to kill one of the hens for a meal was a rarity, their value far greater in the eggs they produced. That she had done the deed herself, and prepared the carcass for cooking, squeamish as she was, meant there was a reason for the elaborate meal and Turner didn't wait to find out why. "Soo, what's the occasion?" He questioned.

" 'Occasion'?" Laney frowned as she loaded Turner's plate with potatoes, carrots, and beans.

"Yeah, we usually only do this on birthdays and Christmas and stuff," he noted.

"Well, no occasion," Laney smiled. "Just wanted to cook something special for a change."

Turner, or more importantly, his stomach, was more than happy with her explanation, but he looked at her skeptically as they walked to the table with the plates. Already prepared for bed, possibly as she'd waited for him to get home, she wore a white oversized t-shirt and little more, the line of her underwear visible through the material across her buttocks, the curve of her breasts and pronounced nipples equally as obvious behind the thinning cotton. He immediately thought of some of the photos in the magazine and was relieved when he reached the table, hiding his growing erection from his mother's potential sight.

"Well..." Laney paused. "There is something I wanted to talk with you about."

"Ah, I knew it," Turner smiled, piling chicken breast into his mouth. The thought of this caused him to glance over at his mother's, her nipples rigid in response to the relative cool inside the cabin, domineering his vision. "What is it?"

"It's us," Laney smiled yet Turner could see the struggle behind her eyes. "Well, you actually."

"Me? What about me?"

"Do you realize we've been here twelve years now Turner?" Laney stalled, wondering how best to broach the subject.

"So?" Turner took up a drumstick and began gnawing on the meat.

"So..." Again, Laney paused. "I think it's time we went back."

She'd said it. Not once had she voiced the idea to him in all their time away from civilization. And now it was on the table. Her brother, on his quarterly supply drops, would always advance the option of them leaving with him, moving back to the city. But they were happy. Content in their surroundings. Mother and son living an ideal life together in the wilderness, miles from their nearest neighbor. On no one's time frame but their own.

But of late she'd understood what she'd taken from her son. The life experiences he'd missed. Socializing. Friends his age. Girls! In her selfishness, she'd robbed him of a first kiss. Teenage experimentation. She'd seen him grow up before her very eyes. Mature in every way; mind; and now nineteen, body. And for an extended time, signs of his developing needs. His eyes upon her more than not. Evidence of self-pleasure upon his underpants; and somewhat the catalyst for her current frame of mind, even her own. Her panties used by her son for masturbatory purposes. They needed to get back into society, she felt. Before...? And that was where she forbade her mind to travel. What could happen?

"What!? Why?" Turner placed down his stripped bare leg of chicken, amazed at the concept of leaving what they had.

"Because it's time Darling," she leveled. "We've achieved all we set out to. We... You, need to experience the rest of what life has to offer."

"I don't want to!" Turner stood at the table, unintentionally causing the chair to dramatically screech on the floor behind him. "You can't make me," he almost whined and realized how immature he must have sounded.

"No. It's why we're talking about it as adults," Laney attempted to settle her son. She could understand his apprehension. This was their world. Almost the only one he'd ever known. To uproot their existence would be a challenge, difficult, but ultimately, necessary.

'Well..." Turner paused as he attempted to collate his thoughts. "You can go. I'm staying!" He adamantly stated and turned to leave the table; his meal barely half eaten. "I've lost my appetite. I'll be in my room," he informed her before looking back at the spread, the vegetables, and the excess chicken before quickly swiping the remaining drumstick. "And I'm taking this with me!"

Laney couldn't help but smile. She'd seen him more upset in the past. The death of their milking cow being especially upsetting for the then fifteen-year-old. As long as he has an appetite, she mused despite his proclamation, he couldn't be that troubled. Their transition back may not be as hard as she'd imagined.

*

His hands wiped clean of grease; Turner was eager to reacquaint himself with the magazine. What was its purpose, he wondered? Educational? In their reference books and encyclopedias, Turner had familiarized himself with human anatomy and reproduction. Was this how it was done in real life? He let loose his quickly acquired erection and slowly stroked himself as he turned pages. Photo after photo of women and men (or more appropriately, their penises) displayed in the most intimate of ways. Close-ups of vaginas. Buttholes even. Women with semen upon their faces; in their mouths, Turner spied with fascination, awe, and wonder. Why would they even do that, he questioned. But as this whole new world opened up to him, he couldn't prevent his mind from focusing back on his mother, and more importantly, her proposal.

Why did she want to go back to the city? And even as he questioned himself, his eyes scanning the pages, a zygote of an answer was presented to him. What if she missed this? If this was what people did regularly, the pleasure upon the faces of the women; was it possible his mother needed similar? The fact he was gaining such delight from viewing the photos himself certainly signified their power. His mother had always described sex as something loving adults did together. Was this what she needed to get back to? Another fact immediately arose in his mind. He was an adult. And didn't he also love his mother? Was it so out of the question that they could partake in similar actions as those in the magazine? His cock profusely leaking pre-ejaculate, the real thing not far away, Turner resisted the release and tucked himself back into his pants.

He needed to talk with his mother.

*

More than an hour had passed since the incident at the dining table and when Turner left his room, he found his mother reading in the candle-lit living room.

"Hey," she looked up as he neared, seeing the contrition in his demeanor as he fidgeted.

"Hey," Turner repeated, taking a deep breath and looking away momentarily. "I just wanted to say sorry," he once more gazed in her direction and saw her smile as she placed down the book, her tucked legs dropping from the heavily cushioned daybed in the process, providing Turner an unexpected flash of her white underwear in the minimal light beneath her t-shirt.

"Oh Honey, it's ok," Laney held out an arm for him to join her, and eager to accept a not-out-of-the-ordinary cuddle with his mother, Turner melted onto the couch, resting his head upon her lap in a familiar connection. "It's a big decision for us. Something we need to talk about...and I might've bombarded you too soon?" She added, caressing his head, her fingers combing through his long hair.

"I just don't get why you want to leave," he admitted, goosebumps breaking out on his skin as he enjoyed the head massage. "Aren't you happy here? With me?"

"Of course I am Baby," Laney assured him and Turner rolled to his back, his eyes looking up between his mother's breasts to study her face, her pronounced nipples not going unnoticed.

"Then why?" He questioned, the back of his head pressing her pubic bone and the softness of her upper thighs, images from the magazine flooding his mind.

"Because there's a whole world out there for you to discover," she reasoned. "Places to go. Sights to see. Wouldn't you like one of those new e-phones your uncle was talking about last time he was here?"

"I think it was called an iPhone," Turner corrected her. "And who would I call anyway!?"

"And that's the point!" Laney countered. "You need to meet new people. Your uncle and I can't be your only contacts. Wouldn't you like a girlfriend?" She smiled; her fingers locked in his hair.

"You're my girlfriend!" Turner laughed, burying his face into her belly, his nose nuzzling the soft padding of her pubic hair through the t-shirt. Innocent as it was, Laney couldn't deny the sexual nature of the action, the proximity to her vagina. And when she noticed Turner breathe in deeply, almost deliberately seeking her scent, she felt she needed to put an end to their impromptu intimacy.

"Ooh," she winced, removing her hand from his hair to reach behind her, accentuating the admittedly real lower back pain she constantly felt. Turner immediately rose from her lap to allow her to straighten on the couch, looking on with genuine concern.

"Your back?" He questioned, aware of the complaint.

"Uh huh," Laney confessed, slightly embarrassed about exaggerating the pain. "Chasing that chicken around this afternoon probably didn't help," she smiled, her eyes once more meeting Turners'.

"You want me to rub it?" He asked, the offer innocent though immediately understanding the potential of the exercise.

"Oh no," Laney dismissed. "It's not that bad."

"You sure? It's helped before!" He reminded her.

And it was true. Many times, he'd massaged her back. And never had it led to anything sexual. Why should now be any different she thought and scolded herself for reacting so spontaneously to his most likely innocent snuffling at her groin.

"Well..." She grinned. "Alright then. If you don't mind?"

Turner was already on his knees and making room for her to stretch out upon the daybed, smiling, he looked back into her eyes.

"I knew you couldn't resist these magic fingers," he winked as he watched his mother lay upon the cushioned couch. That she would lift her t-shirt up her body as she did so wasn't unexpected, but his reaction to laying his eyes upon her bare back and cotton-clad buttocks was definitely more intense than previous.

Even as Laney innocently exposed her body and Turner mounted the back of her legs, she knew she'd possibly made a mistake. What was she thinking? Shutting down one suggestive interaction only to immediately encourage another. But maybe she was overthinking? They'd massaged one another countless times without it leading to more she again reflected. Why would this night be any different?

The t-shirt pulled up to her breasts, she lay flat and welcomed her son's hands as they made contact with her flesh, the immediate soothing pressure of his massaging fingers. Closing her eyes, she could almost see herself from his perspective. Was he looking at her panties? It then came to her they were a pair he'd soiled in the past. Finding them in the clothes hamper wet and cold and smelling of semen. Strangely the recollection didn't leave her as appalled as she'd then been; the thought of his indiscretion bringing an unseen smirk to her lips as she relaxed into the softness of the couch, the comfort of his caress.

Turner's eyes were upon his mother's buttocks. The tiny pair of plain white undies was unable to contain her cheeks, the crack of her ass protruding at least two inches above the hem. He ran his hands up either side of her spine and the t-shirt rose with his endeavors, his fingers innocently making their way around her torso to brush the softer skin on the side of her breasts. The effect was instantaneous, his penis reacting to the connection and stiffening within his pajama bottoms.

For Laney, the intimate contact was barely noticed. Luxuriating in the pleasure of the massage, she'd relaxed to the point of drowsiness, enjoying his touch; the softness of the daybed, and the way the edge of the cushion was pressing her crotch in a particularly stimulating way. She wasn't even concerned when Turner's hands eased their way onto her buttocks, back upon her spine and again down, this time coaxing her panties lower; repeated efforts seeing them roll to her upper thighs, completely exposing her rear to her loving son. It wasn't suspicious, she told herself. The pain was in her lower back. It was only natural his hands should find their way onto her ass, the removal of her underwear incidental in the application of an effective treatment. And with Turner kneading the flesh of her bare buttocks, Laney closed her eyes, relaxed, and welcomed sleep if it should come.

Turner's cock had found its way out of the fly of his pajama bottoms. As hard as he could ever remember being, he felt no apprehension should his mother turn and discover its state. Proud, and excited for her to see how capable he was to satisfy her should she desire. He ran his hands up her spine and heard her sigh at the feeling, sliding them back down to once more take charge of her buttocks, this time spreading them wide momentarily as he kneaded her flesh. A wet sound accompanied the movement surprising and intriguing Turner and he repeated the action, pulling apart her cheeks to hear what he assumed were the folds of her sex, parting.

Laney was bordering on sleep. So comfortable; so relaxed, she allowed the pleasure of the massage to override any qualms she had about her near nudity, the almost sexual nature of her son's touch. It was as his hands met her ass once more that she knew she was dreaming. She'd had them before. Forbidden fantasies of the only men in her life. Her brother; Turner. Taboo dalliances that she would only allow in the darkness of night, in the sanctity of her bed, and in the realm of sleep. No. Turner hadn't just parted her buttocks. She was dreaming. It wasn't his breath she felt on the small of her back. She was asleep. They weren't his actual lips upon her coccyx. It was fantasy.

Turner had his mother's ass spread wide. His nose and mouth were mere inches from her clearly glistening vulva, her tantalizingly puckered asshole. He breathed in deep the scent he knew well from countless examinations of her underwear, the heady aroma hardening his cock ever further before he committed and pushed his face between her legs.

She'd imagined this one before. Turner going down on her. Her son lifting her dress as she stood in the kitchen, lavishing her sex with kisses, his tongue upon her clit. But never like this. Never from behind, never so primal. In her dream she threw a hand behind herself and took hold of his head, her fingers clutching at his long hair and pulling his face ever further into her body, his lips around her slit, his nose against her asshole. "Yes," she heard herself say and was startled at the sound of her voice, her eyes opening to see cushions, not the sink and cooktop. Her arm stretched behind awkwardly, holding something (a head?) against her rear. This was no dream; she was immediately wide awake.

"Jesus Christ!" Laney exclaimed, yanking Turner's hair away from her to wrench his face from her ass. "Turner! What the hell are you doing?" She exhaled as she rose and turned on the couch, pulling her panties back up over her hips, the t-shirt dropping down her body as she looked into her son's face.

"What!?" Turner seemed genuinely confused, Laney focusing her eyes upon his slick jaw, the bewildering realization it was her lubricant that coated her son's face.

"What were you thinking?" Laney challenged. "You can't just..." she paused. "That was entirely inappropriate. I'm your mother!" She declared.