Tomorrow

When I come out of the shower, I wrap a towel around my waist and sit perched on the end of the bed as I wait for her. My hair is still wet and skin still damp.

It's late. I reach across to switch on the bedside light, its glow only half lighting the room. As I do it, I notice his picture on the table. He is staring back at me, smiling.

She must have put it there since the last time I was in this room. A reminder. Some sort of comfort. Maybe just to reinforce a sense of him in this room. Their room.

She has told me she wants me to sleep in here tonight. She doesn't want to feel alone. She doesn't go further than that. She never does. Maybe she can't. It's enough for her to tell me that she is afraid of the loneliness, like a child afraid of the dark.

I think about tomorrow, wishing it was already over and done with. It is less than a week since my twenty second birthday. We didn't really mark it though. I suppose it's not the time for that. I know that will change eventually. Perhaps tomorrow it will begin to feel different.

I look up and she is standing in the doorway, watching me. I stare back at her without speaking. Since this started, we haven't articulated it in words. It's not about words.

She is wearing black. A satin gown, loosely tied at the waist. Sheer black stockings that cling to the soft roundness of her thighs. I know that she has worn them for me. For this. It helps us both find that place in our mind that we want to be.

She is 43 years old and too young for a day like tomorrow. She is still beautiful. Slim. Long black hair and warm, dark eyes. Just lately, it has occurred to me that she is a little shorter in height than me. It's been that way since my teens, but I just didn't register it until these last few weeks. Maybe that's because of the way our roles in each other's lives have changed now.

She sits down next to me on the bed. Her hand feels soft as she touches my cheek. I want to tell her that she looks beautiful, because she does. There is just a suggestion of a smile in acknowledgement of my gaze, but no more. No words.

Her lips are gentle as they touch mine, her fingers still touching my cheek. My mother's kiss.

Slowly, her fingers trace the contours of my skin as they mark a route down over my neck and chin. I experience the luxury of her touch as she feels her way across my neck and shoulders.

Our kiss deepens gradually. Tongues touch. They flicker and play momentarily as we explore the intimacy.

The palm of her hand presses over my chest and stomach as she moves it down my body, still warm and damp from my shower. Her tongue roams through my mouth as she undoes the fold of the towel.

Her fingers caress. The tips barely connecting as she draws them over me. I feel the sensation as she moves them over my erection. I shudder as they touch the head of my penis, already leaking and wet. Our mouths twist lovingly as she circles my cock with her hand.

I breathe in her scent as her mouth leaves mine and her hair sweeps delicately past my face. She smells of perfume and cigarettes. Her palms rest on the tops of my thighs as she lowers herself to her knees. I stay still, looking down at the top of her head as she slips carefully down between my legs.

Her mouth closes around me and I feel the tight warmth on my swollen cock. There is a pause as we both adjust to our contact. A stillness.

She moves one of her hands to hold and steady my hardness as she begins to work her mouth. She moves deliberately and willingly. The action of her head is a steady rhythm. Her lips press and stimulate as she sucks me.

Now and again, she releases me as her lips rub over the head of my gland before she takes me back inside. Each movement is perfect. Measured. She is practised. She knows how to make this feel special.

As she works her mouth over me, I am conscious of where I am. In this room that was theirs. Sitting on the end of the bed that she shared with him. His picture by the bedside. I look back at it for a moment and then look down at her, as she gives me her head.

I think about tomorrow. The significance of what is to come growing. I rest my hand lightly to her head. I want her to feel my comfort as protection against the loneliness. A physical expression of an emotional strength that we will both need tomorrow. She responds to my touch by pressing down on me, her lips stretched and throat opening as she takes me inside. Maybe that is her way of protecting me like I want to protect her.

Our journey to this place hasn't been rushed. It hasn't been certain. In the weeks that he has lain in his hospital bed we have gradually and unexpectedly found our way here. Perhaps we have both always searched but never really understood what we were looking for. The realisation now that we want to share this, seeming strangely natural. It began as comfort and became something else. Arms around each other. Skin to skin. A mother and son becoming lovers.

I half sit and half lie on the bed now as she straddles my thighs. Her back is to me. She reaches beneath herself to guide me inside the tight warmth of her slit. She has untied her gown and shrugged it down over her shoulders. It lies, free from her body, crumpled round her waist. The fabric of her stockings is massages against my skin as she moves with me inside of her.

We thrust together in a perfect tempo. My cock pushes into her and she welcomes me. I run my hands down over the shape of her back. Feeling the smoothness of her form interrupted by the outline of her spine.

As we fuck, she reaches behind herself. Drawing my hands around her, she holds them to her stomach. I can see her head resting back on her neck as she enjoys the feel of me penetrating her. I can see the perfect curve of her upper body as she arches slightly to take me deeper. She holds my hands on the flat of her stomach. Our hands are clasped together, lovingly holding the place in her body where our life together began.

Our bodies bind and I grip her to me as her climax comes. My own release follows, flooding her insides with my orgasm.

The sexual feeling and tension slowly fades. I press my kiss to the bare skin of her back. She is still holding my hands to her stomach as our movement calms.

She sleeps with her body linked with mine. Our limbs twisted together, our breathing synchronous. I lie awake for a while, feeling her heat passing through me.

I can see his picture. Still staring back to me.

The clock next to it tells me that tomorrow has arrived at last.

I close my eyes. I need to sleep a while.

We have my father's funeral to get through today.