Waking to a Burn

There.

It was an irregular-shaped watermark or stain, and it was dead center of where she had been laying at two in the morning when I helped her.

I glanced at Mom, she continued to munch away on her breakfast.

Scrutinizing the mark, I noticed it was small, about the size of a watch face, and shaped a bit like Australia. It wasn't yellow; I didn't think it was urine.

Could it be--? I asked myself without finishing the question.

Glancing again at Mom, I bent over the mark, putting my nose directly upon it, and took in the scent. It was definitely not pee. It was not excess gel cream. It was a smell that I felt like I had known my entire life, like it was written into my DNA to recognize. In fact, I realized, it was an aroma that I had discerned in the middle of the night, here in this very room, and somehow ignored.

I took in the fragrance again. My heart, like an engine, revved. I liked that smell, and I knew precisely what it was and what it meant.

I climbed off the bed and watched Mom finish her meal. Inside I was a tornado.

It wasn't just me. It was her, too. My gosh, I wondered, what did this mean? Did she--di she like it? Did she enjoy having a finger in her bottom? What else would she like?

With a sigh, Mom finished her last bite and set down the fork. I took the tray away, and she laid down her head. "Sugar, I'm going to use the ladies' room and take another shower in a few minutes. Last time, the water helped, but I paid a price afterward in itchiness, so be ready with the gel cream, okay?"

"I will."

"Thank you so much for a wonderful breakfast. You're a real gentleman."

"You're welcome, Mom."

The early clouds seemed to burn away in the morning, and by nine o'clock bright sunlight illuminated almost every room in the house while Mom was in the shower. I went outside for a bit to check my messages and apps.

Mom texted me while I was out there: "Itchy!"

Heart blitzing and nerves fluttering, I went to my room first. I stripped naked before putting on a fresh set of gym shorts--and nothing else.

Her response to my knock was "hurry!"

When I came in, she didn't even notice I had changed. She was back in the center of her bed, and her hair was wrapped up in a towel. The sheet was pulled up to cover her bottom, but no higher.

"Everywhere?" I asked.

"No," she huffed. "Just my fanny. Just my fanny. I'm so sorry. Like before, if you can."

Again, I felt an unsettling urgency to see her bottom--a feeling of being deprived of something. When I snatched the sheet away and saw it there like a sunrise, deep contentment replaced the disquiet. I took the container and mounted her thighs.

Wasting no time, I kneaded the gel cream into the flesh of each globe in wide circles. Mom showed her appreciation with little sighs. Less than a minute later, I was inside the cleft, using my fingers to massage the ointment into the skin. Then, with my heart surging and excitement rocketing to a peak, I slowed everything down to savor the moment.

I sensed Mom's brimming expectation when I pried her open with my left hand. A quiet eagerness seemed to mark her posture and breathing. Gathering a small scoop of cream on my index finger, I slowly blanketed her anus with it. Mom let slip a gossamer moan. Then, gently and carefully, I worked the cream into the taut wrinkles. The muscle grew pliant.

It was ready.

I drew a deep breath in anticipation. The aroma of her fluids, faint and subtle, wafted through my nostrils. A little groan escaped me.

Then, a small unfamiliar movement caught my attention. I almost didn't care. My eyes remained fixed on Mom's anus. Again, something moved, or rather, something caught the light. I glanced at the source, and it vanished in a flash.

It had been a small make-up mirror.

Trying not to give away that I had seen it, I continued my massage of that little pink knot underneath me. My mind, however, activated, asking questions and seeking answers.

Replaying the moment in my mind, I had seen Mom's hand snatch the mirror down and tuck it under her pillow in a flash. She was watching me, and she didn't want me to know it. She wanted to see exactly what I was doing behind her. What did that mean? Was it out of concern or interest?

Staring down at her anus, I decided I didn't really care. I continued to massage her little hole, feeling my erection grow to completion.

A silvery flicker at the head of the bed told me she had just brought the mirror up to see. I felt reckless. The strength of my erection filled me with brazen confidence. I did not look into her mirror. Instead, I rose high and stretched out my arms, granting Mom a clear and unfettered view of what surely was a profanely conspicuous erection distorting my shorts.

She didn't say anything.

Settling in once again, I began massaging her fanny with both hands. The mirror, I knew, was still there. I released her with one hand and used the other to hold her open enough for me to see her little star. Hooking my thumb underneath the waistband of my shorts, I tugged them down to my hips.

I slid my hand into my shorts and withdrew my erect penis. I knew it would be there in the mirror for her to witness.

Without hesitating, I placed the tip of my middle finger against the nexus of that incredible little muscle and began inching it inside of her. I fed the digit past the first knuckle and all the way to the second, stopping just short. Then, never once taking my eyes away from the place where her body clasped my finger, I seized my erection and began to steadily ride it with my fist, back and forth.

I heard Mom draw a quick breath. Was she going to say something to stop me?

She didn't.

I pulled my finger back to the first knuckle and drove it in, again stopping just at the place where the contours of the digit widened to form the second joint.

Another light moan fled from her lips. It was followed by a long gust of air--a sound that could only have been made by someone blowing through tightly pursed lips.

In and out, my finger delved and retired; back and forth, I stroked my penis. On the ninth or tenth iteration, I drew the digit back and almost completely out of her. There, I paused.

Mom's body froze in anticipation.

Then, I fed my finger back inside of her, feeling the muscle expand and roll over the second, much fatter, knuckle.

"Oh!" she gasped.

I played with her like that for a time, letting that second knuckle slip in and out of her anus. All the while, lust grew within me to the point of madness. I made a horrific, amazing decision.

Keeping my head down so as never once to look into the mirror, I asked her if I was making her feel better.

"Yes."

I asked her if it felt good.

"Yes."

I asked her if she wanted more.

She hesitated. "Yes."

Now I was like a kamikaze pilot from the old World War 2 movies my pop used to watch on Saturday mornings. The choice was made. Any voice in my head telling me to stop was drowned out by the intoxicating thrill of the decision. I just had to point myself in the right direction.

Keeping my finger inside of her, I maneuvered my body to enable me to pull my shorts over my knees, one at a time, and off. Soon, I was stark naked, straddling her thighs. In full view of her mirror, I gathered a fresh gob of gel cream on my index finger, and I began to spread the lotion all around the knob of my penis.

"Wha--?" Mom began, but she didn't complete the word because the moment I heard her begin to speak, I drove my middle finger all the way inside of her. She responded with a moan.

As she breathed and recovered from this deeper, thicker penetration, I slowly drew my finger out, gripped my erection with my newly freed right hand, and ratcheted it down until the plum tip vanished inside the cleft of her bottom. I felt the gentle pressure of the two globes hugging the knob. Slowly, I dragged it through the cleavage there, up and down.

Curiosity overcame me; I glanced at the mirror. It wasn't angled toward my face, but down along her body, no doubt giving her a clear view of her fanny and the erection jutting into it. Moving a bit, I could see the reflection of her face. Her mouth hung open. Her eyes seemed riveted to my penis in trepidation.

I could hear the faint, plaintive groans under each labored breath Mom took. She spoke when I parked the tip of my erection against her anus. "Oh, I--a lady mustn't--," she began. Her voice was airily feminine. "You shouldn't--a gentleman would never--." She broke off when she felt my erection begin to dilate her.

Peripherally, I saw her drop the mirror, plant her hands on the bed, and brace herself. When her little star swallowed the knob, she let out the breath she'd been holding in a brief, soaring cry.

I stared down at the place where my body and hers joined together, luxuriating in the taut grip.

Panting, Mom cried, "Sugar!"

I couldn't say a word. Astonished by the jointure of our bodies, I groaned.

Between rapid chuffs, she cried, "You're mating with me anally!" It was not a complaint; it was more of an alarmed declaration.

Nothing else to say and too exhilarated to find better words, I murmured, "Yeah."

She replied with a plaintive gasp.

I fed more of it into her. The shaft didn't glide; it steadily plodded, further distending her anus. Between Mom's wheezes and cries, I heard the sticky crackle of the gel cream as it lubricated the slow passage.

Mom's head collapsed onto her pillow, facing sideways. Her eyes were tightly shut. I watched her lick her lips. She gasped, "Your penis--it's inside my fanny."

I stopped. "But," I asked, "does it help?"

A beat passed, and she nodded, mouth agape and sucking greedily at the air.

Curious, I asked her how it helped.

"The--the thickness," she gasped.

"Thickness?"

She nodded.

"It scratches the itch?"

She nodded, still panting.

I stared down at her big bottom and muttered, "More." Grasping each thick globe, I pushed at my hips, steadily supplying her body with more thickness, more penis.

"Oh, gracious me," she huffed.

Deep inside of her but not yet hilted, I began a gradual withdrawal of the shaft. As her anus rode against the bump of my knob, she wheezed. I began feeding the shaft back into her.

Mom blew out her breath, voicing a drawn-out "oooh."

And back again. And forth.

"Oooh." The sound she made was a thrilling combination of suffering, exhaustion, and satisfaction.

I mated with her slowly and languorously.

"Oooh," she vented. I liked how vigorously she panted between these utterances.

The taut grip of her body on mine, the sound of her blowing, the feel of her big bottom in my hands--it was all too much. My erection began to convulse.

Mom gave a sharp cry.

Though I drove into her at a snail's pace, the pleasure infusing my body raced through me like lightning. "My semen," I suddenly grunted.

"Oh, heavens!" Mom cried.

"Mom, I can't stop it."

She moaned at the fierce contractions of my erection.

I had to see it. I had to.

Holding her fanny apart with one hand, I drew my penis free. Underneath it lay the gaping, throbbing hole it left in its wake. Mom issued a long, relaxed moan at the relief of the tension.

I grasped my penis, aiming it. "Keep it open--your anus," I snapped.

"Sugar!" she gasped, "I don't know if I have the--the wherewithal to--." She quit speaking the very moment the first jet of sperm zipped from the end of my erection and straight into her little gape. Not a drop missed.

I grunted, watching more fire into her.

"Oh, my gracious word!" she cried. "Your semen!"

No longer jettisoning, the sperm oozed from the tip and plummeted inside of her in gushes. A dollop landed on the outer edge, but gravity quickly drew it inside of her.

The perfection of the feeling reached its peak. I closed my eyes and stroked the last remnants free with a gasp, not caring where they landed.

Mom moaned, "It's inside my body." So utterly spent, she looked like someone talking in her sleep when she continued, "There's semen in my fanny."

I took one final glance. Her little hole was blanketed under a pool of sperm. Her body must have sealed shut at the end. I shoved myself away from her, landing on the bed and chuffing air.

Mom wheezed limply.

Though my body was exhausted, my mind was afire with fierce joy. I wanted to scream an awful, thrilling curse word right there beside her. Instead, I gritted my teeth, slammed my eyes shut, and growled, "Yes."

Mom gasped.

I didn't know it could be so good, so perfect--actual intimacy with a woman, actual sex. And, my gosh! I realized. When I make love with a girl in her secret place--truly mate with a woman--it would be even better and more thrilling. At that moment, I felt this strange happiness about my place in human sexuality; I really, really liked being a man.

An idea went off in my mind like a firecracker. Instantly, I sat up and straddled Mom again.

She whimpered.

Prying her apart, I began gently collecting the stray drops and lines of my semen and shepherding them to the small puddle on her anus.

"What are you--?" she moaned.

"Yes," I muttered. Then, I coaxed the fluids into the hole with my finger until all of it was inside of her.

In a weary voice, Mom wheezed, "Oh, dearie, oh, sweet potato pie, there's so much semen in my fanny right now."

I bent down and softly kissed her bottom. Once, twice, and three times. Then, I grabbed my shorts and pulled them on, and then I sat beside her and very, very gently massaged ointment all over her back and thighs. She fell asleep without another word.

I checked on her every few minutes, but she kept sleeping past twelve-thirty in the afternoon. Every time I saw her naked fanny, I smiled. Once, the sight made me so thrilled that I pumped my fist.

***

Mom's favorites have all been made known to me over and again for years. She liked talking about the things she liked. So, it was easy for me to call in an order of her favorite meal--Eggplant Parm--from her favorite place to get it. The round trip took me just over thirty-five minutes, but I brought along one of Mom's food warming cases.

Clouds returned while I was out, darkening the afternoon. As I pulled onto the gravel driveway, it began to sprinkle.

I hesitated before I climbed out of the car. I knew why I was doing these things for Mom, pampering her and such. I wanted to ease her anger with me.

I had taken advantage; I knew it. I just didn't know how I could have stopped myself. Something about the physical intimacy of being near her naked body--her naked bottom, really--threw a switch for me, deep down. Seeing, touching, and smelling her, those things only amplified the power that switch had already engaged.

But, it was no excuse for my actions. That she appeared to derive no small degree of pleasure from our mating made some difference, but not enough. I remembered her vocal objection to anal sex--"Good girls don't do that, and gentlemen don't even ask."

In my lust, I had made Mom a naughty girl, and I had been ungentlemanly. I needed to find ways to be a gentleman and treat her like a lady.

But, I also awakened to another need. It grew upon me the moment I had joined with Mom's body and ejaculated. I needed to show her gratefulness, compassion, and love. I wanted to care for her and protect her. I wanted to bring her happiness and make her feel cherished.

I had no idea from where these impulses started in me, but they felt like a natural product of our mating. The specific circumstances of our coupling didn't matter--where, when, how; I always would have felt this intense desire to protect and care. It felt male, too, as if I were designed to respond this way to my first woman.

I took the food and hurried into our home. Dashing upstairs to check on her, I discovered she was in the bathroom. I quickly and quietly laid out her special lunch, along with fresh iced tea, beside her bed. Stepping back, it all looked perfect. Nothing was missing.

I silently closed the door. Turning to leave, I hesitated. I could wait here, I thought, and listen at her door again. I might hear her reaction to me bringing one of her favorite meals.

No, I decided. I should give her some privacy.

I went downstairs and pulled up a video describing how to fix the spray nozzle for a kitchen faucet. Ours had been busted for some time. Fifteen minutes later, I was done, and it had worked. I wondered why I hadn't thought of trying to fix things around the house for her before.

I wanted to now. What else, I wondered, is broken around here that I could fix?

A text message pinged on my phone. It was Mom: "Come up."

I went upstairs, half excited, half nervous.

She was covered up when I arrived, and a pang of emptiness struck me that I couldn't see her big naked fanny. Her food had been eaten, and I smiled.

"You're grounded," she declared, "grounded from this bedroom going forward."

"What?"

"Since you are unable to treat me with respect and act like a gentleman, I will receive no further assistance from you for the duration of my troubles."

"But, how are you going to--?"

"I will find a way."

"But, I want to help. I--I fixed the spray nozzle on the kitchen faucet just now, and I was going to--."

"Enough," she cut me off. "Grounded. That's my final word on the matter. Now, take these dishes and obey my decision."

Maybe being eighteen had changed me. Or, maybe it was that I was now a man who had lain with a woman. Either way, Mom's strict and cold demeanor failed to cower me. In fact, it may have resulted in an opposite reaction. I felt spirited and rebellious.

Brimming with confidence, I said, "I'm not grounded from your room. That doesn't make any sense. I'm asked to leave your room."

Shocked, Mom retorted, "Mister, if 'grounded' won't suffice for you, then you're banned--banned from this room."

"Better," I said, and then I reached for the door.

"Take these dishes," she snapped.

I stopped. "Nah. I don't think that I will. I think you said you'll 'find a way.'"

Her eyes were wide with shock. "Why, mister! Who are you, and what have you done with the gentleman who used to be my son?"

"I smelled your fluids, Mom. I saw the stain on the sheet from them. I know you liked the things I did."

"That's not--you're imagining things."

"You had a mirror."

"I needed to make sure you behaved yourself," she asserted.

"Then why didn't you stop me when you saw me pull out my penis?"

She drew back. "I--well, I thought perhaps you were adjusting yourself as men sometimes do, and I didn't want to embarrass you."

"No," I said, "you knew it was erect. Why didn't you stop me when I masturbated?"

"I was too shocked to speak."

"No, you told me what I was doing felt good."

"Yes, but not sexually--for my sunburn!"

"Mom!" I hollered.

A short silence ensued. Then, with a coldness I hadn't witnessed in years, she said, "Don't you, mister, raise your voice to--!"

I cut her off. "You're grounded."

Aghast, she sputtered, "What--?"

"You're grounded, Mom, for lying. You are not allowed to leave this room, understand?"

She opened and closed her mouth twice.

Before she could put together words, I said, "Now, I'm going to take your dirty dishes downstairs--and I haven't forgotten that you haven't yet thanked me for bringing you a special lunch--and when I come back up here, you better be in this bed, resting."

I snatched the tray and left.

"Very funny!" she called to me. "We'll see about this, mister! When I get to feeling better, you'll rue this day! Rue it!"

I was laughing as I listened to her. I had never felt more self-assured.

***

I threw away the trash and took the garbage out to our dumpster. I loaded and ran the dishwasher, and then I wiped down the entire kitchen. Then, I quietly ascended the stairs, making not a sound.