Under Mom's Bed - Reconciliation

"I love you mom... always." I said, in all honesty.

"I love you too baby." She whispered back, smiling at me. She stared lovingly into my eyes.

"Mom?" I spoke again drawing her attention to the question forming in my mind, that I was about to ask.

"Do you... like when I suckle on you like this... now?"

The smile never left her face as she answered, "Yes... my heart feels... content when I have you at my bosom. All those feelings I had when I held you in my arms for the first time all those years ago... they are coming back... I remember thinking, even if no one... even if nothing remains by me, this child will always be mine."

My eyes became moist at her words as my heart welled up with emotions. I kissed her hand again before speaking.

"I will always be yours mom... I will always be your baby." I gave her hand a few more kisses. Her eyes were welling up.

"Oh baby... you don't know how relieved I am to hear that... I was so scared that I had lost your love for me to the lust had appeared in your eyes... after the other day."

Her words took me back to the unresolved and confusing emotions in my mind towards her. It might have reflected on my face for she spoke.

"But... do you still have thoughts about what you saw and heard the other day... when you were under the bed?"

I searched within myself for the answer. Over the past few hours the dangerously unrestrained out of control urges had been tempered by mom's loving words and the comfort of her bosom... but I would be lying if I said no such thoughts remained. They were there beneath the surface... but were they lust... I couldn't tell. The tingling and the hardness in my cock whenever I saw her naked seemed to suggest that... but I couldn't bring myself to think that I was lusting after my own mom. What I felt seemed different somehow... I was in awe over the act of intimacy... the sex that I'd witnessed happen between my parents... and I was mesmerised by mom's nakedness... and my hardening cock was not just a response to a generic female nakedness... it was specific... it was mom's nakedness and it was thoughts of mom having sex that obsessed me... but I had not yet pictured me with her doing what dad did with her. My mind was all muddled.

"I do." I answered truthfully.

"But it's not like you fear... I still love you as I did before all this happened, and I promise you that it's never going to change... but... but now there's more that I feel for you... I am mesmerised by your body... You are so beautiful... I keep getting urges wanting to see your body... and I swear I don't mean to hurt you... but these thoughts in my head, it doesn't feel like perversions... it feels... it feels natural... I don't know... it doesn't feel like lust... I'm rambling now... I don't know mom... did anything I just said make sense?"

She had been listening closely to what I had said... but her face didn't betray any emotion. However, there was a softness in her face unlike the frustrations my actions had elicited earlier. She was trying to understand me... she was keen to understand what I was feeling... and she seemed to want to help me deal with it.

Tears were trailing down my face by now.

"Don't cry Ajju." Mom said.

"We'll get through this... I promise I'll be there for you... I'll listen to you with an open heart... but you have to promise me something in return." She added. I nodded at her conveying my willingness to whatever she wanted.

"You have to promise me... the respect you held in your heart for me, your mother... you cannot let it get distorted... no matter what, you will treat me like your mother... promise me."

"I promise mom," I replied, "I will not let anything affect the love and respect I have for you."

"Promise me you will respect my privacy... promise me you'll not let these urges control you do reckless things... promise me you'll talk things out with me first and let me help."

"I promise mom." I said in all earnestness. Her face took on a content-for-now expression. We stayed like that for a while, with me holding her hand resting my face on it. I was happy that mom now knew what I was struggling with and had chosen to be kind instead of getting angry... by I winced at the thought of dad and how he might react if he came to know.

"Mom," I said, "please don't tell dad."

"I won't." she spoke, but removed her hand from my grasp. I watched her hand go to her right breast and rub over the areola. I noticed that her nipple was expressing tiny droplets of milk. It must have made her uncomfortable. I had suckled her left breast empty but not the other.

"Mom?" I spoke a little nervously, "May I?"

Her eyes fell on mine registering my request. They showed a shade of appreciation that I had asked her permission with respect, like she wanted. She removed her hand from her breast and beckoned me softly with her eyes. I lowered my mouth towards the beautiful breast and placed my mouth around her nipple. I stuck my tongue to the base of my mouth to create pressure for milk to flow out from her nipple. The familiar stream of sweetness flowed filling up my mouth. I swallowed and sucked again, repeating the motion over and over again. Mom placed her right hand on my head and tousled my hair affectionately, savouring the maternal warmth generated by feeding me her milk. I draped my right hand across her waist and rested it on her hips. I resisted the urge to move it up and rest it at the side of her breasts. I don't know how she discerned the unspoken desire for her left hand came to rest atop my hand and gently pulled it upwards stopping once it reached the soft skin at the side of her left breast. She let my hand rest there and kept her hand on it throughout the time I spent feeding on her right breast. Once the stream of milk ended I rested my head right beneath her breast and closed my drowsy eyes.

I hadn't felt any movement and hence was surprised to find myself alone in mom's bed when I woke up two hours later. Groggily I sat up on the bed looking around for mom. I stood up when she was nowhere to be seen and made my way downstairs. On the dining table, I found two bowls, one filled with rice and fish curry in the other.

A note beside the bowls read 'Going to see my gynaecologist... Will be back by evening' in mom's petite handwriting. That was all that was written, but I realized she must have wanted to consult the doctor about the lactation.

I grabbed a plate and filled it up with rice and curry. I took it to the sofa and sat down after switching on the TV. I ate while watching football.

Afterwards, when I went to my room and checked my phone there were ten missed calls from Anu. I called her back and lied that I didn't go to college as I was sick. It was lunch hour at college and I had to listen to her drone on for twenty minutes before the professor came to class and she had to hang up. I then lounged on my bed, undecided on how to spend the afternoon. My mind kept replaying the conversation I had with mom, specifically the part where she told me how I was as a baby. It made me curious. I rang mom's number.

"Ajju?" her sweet voice answered.

"Mom?" I spoke, "Are you still at the doctor's?"

"Yes... I just came out of the consultation room. Why did you call?"

"Oh... I was thinking of looking at our old photo albums... where do you keep them?"

"In the cabinet under the TV unit."

"Okay... but Mom, is everything okay... what did the doctor say?" I asked concerned for her health. I could hear the buzz of city traffic around her as she replied.

"She said not to worry... it's a side effect of the hormone treatment... she told me to buy a breast pump, for if it happens again... I am to see her again if I have any pain in my..." she left the sentence unfinished.

But my mind was stuck on two words, 'breast pump' and what it meant for me. I feared that I was going to lose my new privileges if she bought one.

"Are you... going to buy... the breast pump?" I asked, dreading the prospect. The line was quiet for a few seconds.

"Why?" she asked.

"If you buy it... does it mean... I won't get to do it again?" I asked, feeling my heart pounding in my chest. I had started loving the renewed closeness with mom and feared losing it. I could not imagine being denied the warmth of her bosom. I could hear her breath on the other side.

"If you don't want me to buy it, I won't." she said after a few seconds of painful suspense.

"Don't buy it."

"Okay" she agreed. She hung up a few seconds later when she boarded a bus.

With my hope intact, I proceeded to search for the old photo albums in the cabinet under the TV unit. I found a bunch of them. They smelled old and looked discoloured. I dusted them off and sat down on the sofa. I opened each of them and flipped through the photos. They took me back to my childhood.

I spent close to half an hour looking at old photos. I was halfway through the last of the albums when I came across a few pictures of me painting... on mom. In one, I held a paint brush to her arm painting a butterfly... a moustache on her face in another... stars on her feet in another. It stirred something in me and memories of those instances came rushing into my mind... memories which I didn't know existed buried in my mind. I could almost hear mom's giggles as I put the tip of the brush coated with cold water colours on her feet... I could almost see her flinching at the touch of the cold paint. I realized that I had never lost those memories... I had only lost my way to find them.

The main door opened and mom walked in, finding me engrossed in the photos. I smiled seeing the lovely face of my favourite person. She was wearing a pink saree and blouse. How she changed into it earlier without waking me up was a mystery. She discarded her purse on the coffee table and joined me on the sofa.

"Oh these!" she said and laughed when she saw what I was looking at, "you were around four I think... you had gone through a cute phase of painting these masterpieces on me... you were so good at drawing, always winning prizes at school competitions." She flipped back to see the other photos of me drawing on her.

"Why did you stop?" she asked.

"What? Drawing? I never stopped... I still draw... wait, I'll show you." I said and fished out my phone. I opened phone's gallery and swiped through the photographs. I showed her a few of the pictures I had drawn recently. Though only rarely, I still drew. I showed her the floral carpet that I'd designed for last year's Onam celebration at college. I showed her some graffiti I'd done for our college fest. Finally, I came to a photo of Anu's hand.

"Me and Anu got first prize for this in the hand painting competition." I'd painted a peacock on Anu's hand.

"Is this her hand?" Mom asked.

"Yes"

"It's good." I'm not sure if I was just imagining things but the way mom spoke, I sensed a faint dash of jealousy in her tone... as if slightly miffed at Anu replacing her as the canvas for my art.

"Did you have lunch?" she asked and then stood.

"Yes." I replied. She walked away and climbed the stairs to her room.

"I'm going to change clothes." She said as she went.

I was left with a distinct impression of mom having not liked the idea of me painting on Anu's hand. It seemed like she thought I'd shared something special just between the two of us, with a third person. I felt like I had to make amends. I ran up the stairs and went into my room. I opened my table's drawer and pulled out the pouch containing my art supplies. I made my way out and stood outside mom's closed door.

"Mom?" I called.

"Can I come in?" I asked when there was no reply. I had promised her that I would respect her privacy. So I stood outside waiting for permission. It never came verbally... but I heard the latch being loosened and saw the door open slightly. I held the pouch behind me and entered her room. I found mom in the exact position I had walked into in the morning... undressing in front of the almirah mirror. The saree lay discarded on the table beside her.

"Are you upset mom?" I asked tentatively. She didn't reply, but proceeded to undo the hooks at the front of her pink blouse. She had on a white underskirt below.

"It was just for a competition mom... It was nothing special." I offered. She remained quiet and continued to undo the hooks slowly, one by one.

"It wasn't like when I used to paint on you... those times were special... I still remember your giggles as I put the tip of the brush coated with cold water colours on your feet... and your flinching at the touch of the cold paint on your skin." I added. That brought about a change in her expression. It softened. The coldness thawed as warm memories filled her.

"You remember?" I heard her voice.

"I do... I do mom... one look at those photos and it all came rushing back to me... I was so happy then, painting on you... I'm always happy when you are around." I said. All hooks came undone and she took off the blouse, revealing a red bra. It caught my breath... the same bra that I had in my hands while I had been under mom's bed the other day. She turned to face me. My words had brought the motherly smile back on her face.

I brought the pouch I was holding to the front and asked, "Will you let me paint on you?"

Five minutes later, she sat on a chair... still wearing the red bra and white underskirt... her right arm draped on the armrest. I sat on a stool on her right side, holding a palette in my left hand and a brush in my right. The clock on the wall showed 2.45 PM. I started painting on her arm, starting with a school of small silver colour fish on her arm. Mom paid close attention to the movements of the brush, flinching sometimes at the delicate touch of the brush.

As I moved up painting more fish mom asked, "They look like they are swimming up my arm." We both laughed at her comment. I filled the skin around the silver fish with blue... like ripples of water created by the swimming fish. Mom lifted her free left hand to her shoulder and scratched gently. Her bra clad breasts shifted underneath with the movement of her arm. Her cleavage deepened as the arm pushed her left breast.

"Don't move... I'm working here." I said.

"I can't even scratch an itch?" she protested.

"No... keep your arm still." I said and continued painting.

"You painted smaller pictures back then." She spoke after some time. I had almost finished painting till the top of her arm.

"I've grown... so have my drawings." I offered with a chuckle. My right arm was uncomfortable, not having anything to lean on.

"There's more?" she asked when I moved past the curve of the shoulder towards the clavicle.

"Yes... do you want me to stop?"

"What exactly are you painting?" she asked.

"I'm not telling you now... but you'll see if you let me finish." I said. I had a bigger vision for this art.

"You are going to get paint on my bra." She complained.

The moment had come. The request that I'd been putting off till now had to be made. It wasn't like it hadn't happened before... but it was the first time that I had to ask.

"Could you take it off?" I went ahead and asked. She considered the request for a while.

"Are you going to paint on my breasts?" She asked. Her tone conveyed that she already knew the answer was yes.

She was hesitant. It was one thing to let me suckle at her breasts and a whole another thing to let my hands run over them while painting on them.

"If you'll allow me... Yes." I said nervously. I could see her mulling the ramifications of letting me push boundaries like this.

"Please... Mom, you promised you'd keep an open heart... I want to do this... and I'm asking your permission... please." I added.

Slowly she stood up. She started to bring her arms to the back.

"Wait," I spoke, "It'll ruin the already painted portion on your arm if it slides down."

"Let me." I requested.

Mom had her back to me. I placed the palette and the brush down and stood up behind her. I brought my hands to the middle of her back where the hooks lay holding the fabric firmly to her body. I pinched the two wing bands with the fingers of my two hands and pulled them closer. The hooks slipped out of the eyelets. I held the free wing bands firmly to prevent them from snapping out and leading to the straps sliding over the painted portion.

"Hold the left side to your breast." I said. Mom lifted her left hand to her breast and held the cups of the bra firmly. I let go of the left wing band and slowly pulled the right strap off her arm without it touching the paint. It took some time to carefully remove her bra. Once it was done, I placed it on the chair. Mom turned around to face me, her bare breasts right in front of me. My cock tingled and lurched in my shorts. Thankfully, the tent at the front of my shorts weren't too obvious.

"It will be easier for me if you lie down... I'll spread some newspaper sheets on the bed." I managed to say. I took the lack of protest as consent and went about spreading newspaper sheets to shield the bedsheet from any accidental spilling of paint.

"Come mom." I called her. She climbed on the bed and lay on the newspapers.

"Here." I said picking up a pillow and placing it under her head. I then picked up my tools and joined mom on the bed. I scooted close to her right side and resumed painting. I travelled down from her clavicle covering the skin with thick wide strokes of blue. When my arms cramped, I rested them gently in the valley between mom's gorgeous breasts. The underside of my forearm came in contact with mom's soft skin and I got goosebumps. Mom had her eyes closed.

As my painting arm travelled down her shoulders and started climbing the upslope of her breasts, the brush moved in careful delicate strokes creating an intricate pattern. The brush travelled up and around each of her breasts completing the pattern. Many a time, the bottom of my palm brushed lightly across mom's nipple eliciting a shiver in her body. I could swear her nipples looked longer than when I started painting. I filled the empty spaces in the pattern with pink being careful not to spread into the borders. I left her areola untouched by paint and filled the outer border of the pink pattern with a shapely circle in green. The two green border circles intersected at her cleavage. My palm grazed all around her breasts as I painted and the softness of her breasts was incredible... they felt like clouds. I then proceeded to paint her left hand in a mirror image of the right. I took my time to ensure symmetry.

When her left arm too was done, I returned to her torso filling light blue on the bare skin down to her navel. I made quick work of it with wide long strokes of the brush. When that too was completed, I moved on to the final touch. I mixed dark green on my palette and made two elegant strokes, both starting at her navel and diverging to reach the underside of her breasts.

I straightened my back and looked down admiring my work displayed on mom's naked torso. I climbed down from the bed and placed my tools on the chair. I resumed running my eyes over mom's body... from her navel and upwards... over her breasts and shoulders and down round her arms. Mom still had her eyes closed.

"Mom?" I called. She opened her eyes slowly and looked down on her coloured torso, studying the picture.

"Do you see it?" I asked.

"What? I don't get it." Her face was perplexed.

"Come I'll show you." I said and held out my hand. She took it and lifted herself up. I supported her as she swung her legs down and stood.

"come." I said again as I led her towards the mirror. When we reached in front of the mirror, I stood behind her and watched her expression change as she realized drawn what I had drawn. I enjoyed watching confusion change into appreciation in her eyes.