I knew it, and joyously twirled her into my arms as we laughed and smiled in pure joy. In many ways, that damn diploma didn’t mean a thing next to this joyous news.
“Oh my God, are you serious?” I asked, just wanting to make sure.
Happily nodding yes, Sharon put her hands on my face. “Believe it, mister. You knocked up this old lady pretty good. I’m six weeks along, due in January.”
“Wow,” was all I could say. “I can’t believe it.”
“Better make me an honest woman.” She followed up with a knowing grin.
“Oh, don’t you worry,” I said. “Come here.”
Hand in hand, I lead Sharon out of the auditorium to a remote, secluded area behind the school. Reaching into my pocket, I took out a small jewelry box as I took to one knee. Still in my graduation cap and gown, I opened the box to show her a two-caret diamond I had bought for her two weeks prior. Beaming with tears of joy, Sharon wept as I begged for her to marry me… to become my wife. Placing my hands on her soft stomach, I stared deep into the brown eyes I had grown to love.
“Say you’ll be my wife, for our child, Sharon.” I urged. “Spend your life with me.”
“Yes,” she cried, holding her hands to her mouth in a mixture of joy and wonder. “A thousand times, yes, Christopher. I’ll marry you.”
We embraced right there as we consummated the pledge with a breath of life kiss. We made out for an untold amount of time, savoring the other’s tongues and saliva. Just doing this to my best friend’s mother was enough, let along catching her hand in divine marriage and bearing my child.
“Shouldn’t you go back and be with your family? They probably want some pictures.” She suggested as I burrowed my face amid her deep cleavage.
“I AM with my family,” I mumbled. “With my mother and unborn child.”
“Ooooooooooooooooh” Sharon shuddered. “I love it when you talk like that.”
Up to that point, Sharon and I had already taken up our “Mother-Son” roles as we frequently played out many scenarios where I, as the son, would seduce her, and she likewise with me. It proved to be a most intoxicating ritual that both of us enjoyed immensely. In fact, since our prom, I referred to Sharon as “Mother” in a majority of our conversations and romps in the sack. While it would take a few more years for me to fully understand the deep significance of it, we found it to be a powerful aphrodisiac, giving an edgier temperament to our impulsive sex.
And just as I thought I’d have to dash off to walk through the forced grins of countless pictures and fluff, Sharon’s right hand began massaging my massive erection poking through my dress slacks and gown.
“Mmmm,” she groaned. “Did Mother make you hard again, baby?”
“God yes.” I shamelessly admitted.
“Hmmm,” she lowly murmured, kissing my jaw and chin as she lowered herself, running her hands up through my gown. “Mother’s gonna have to do something about that, isn’t she?”
“Will you?” I begged, teetering on the edge of narcosis.
“A good mother could never say no to her son, now can she?” Sharon bashfully asked with her best open mouthed, pouty look.