Still, I wondered about that book I’d found years earlier. One day, I went into mom’s room and found it on the shelf in her closet. I wondered if she still pulled it out to read. I also wondered if she really thought that self-pleasure was wrong. I thought maybe if she really didn’t masturbate, her pent-up sexual energy might make it easier for me to be her source of sexual pleasure and release.
*****
As mom stood up to go to bed, she was a little unsteady. The extra alcohol, no doubt. I took hold of her arm to steady her.
“Oops, mom, are you alright?”
“Well, let’s say I’m not feeling any pain,” she replied with a chuckle.
“Would you like it if I got you into bed — errr, rather, helped you into bed, I should say?”
Mom laughed and thanked me. We walked down the hall to her bedroom and I moved ahead of her to turn back the covers. She slid between the cool sheets with a small sigh, and I pulled the covers up under her chin, just as she had done for me when I was a child. I leaned over her, brushing my nose against hers in what we called an Eskimo kiss (not a PC term, I know. It was a different time, ok?), before pressing my lips to hers.
Since she was lying on her back, I had an advantage in controlling the kiss. This time, she would feel that my lips were moist — I had wet them with my tongue as I moved ahead of her to turn down the sheets — and this time I opened my lips softly on hers as I drew her lower lip between mine. Almost imperceptibly, I opened my mouth again and let my lips caress hers just a bit, hoping to add a level of intimacy to the kiss.
I was rewarded by mom making a sound in her throat — it might have been a whimper or a soft moan. When I pulled away, she was staring at me with a look I’d never seen before. She was wordless, which was unusual for her.
“Well,” I said with a knowing smile, “Goodnight, mommy.”
She inhaled sharply before replying, “Goodnight, min gode pojke.”
“I know you had more to drink than normal, mom. Let me know if you need anything, ok?” I caressed her cheek with the backs of my fingers before leaving her room and closing the door.
The next morning, there seemed to be an electric current running between us. Nothing was said nor done that would indicate anything other than a typical relationship between a mother and her grown son. It was almost as if we needed the cover of night to safely explore this new dimension developing between us. Days passed in much the same way. One or the other of us would take the lead to make our nightly kiss more romantic, more sexual.
I continued to see Wendy, usually on Friday nights. She’d sometimes stay over; other times, we’d get a room. Our relationship was never going to be more than casual. We both enjoyed drinking, smoking weed, snorting cocaine (ahh, the 80s!), and fucking like beasts. The sex between us was highly enjoyable, but it was clear we didn’t have a future. Maybe because I was finding myself more and more drawn to my mother? Did I imagine being with my mother when I fucked Wendy? Oh, yes. More often than not. Another secret, and one which I enjoyed too much to stop engaging in. Mom asked about Wendy after a couple of weeks.
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