There I had said it. I had let it out. He now knew what I was going through. He knew about my feelings—sexual that is—about him. Provided, of course, his feelings for me were also sexual at that very moment. Oh God, how I wished they were!
I went to my room and sat on the balcony for a long time after that.
Next morning I was a bit apprehensive about facing him. I had revealed to him my secret feelings but I really didn’t know if his feelings were similar or if he felt anything at all. He hadn’t given me any indication as such and my statement was meaningless without any reciprocation from him. Although, I doubted if he misunderstood my meanings. Even if he didn’t feel for me sexually, he could easily have deduced how I felt for him. That made it even worst. If he did not feel for me sexually and I told him that I did feel for him sexually, it kind of put me in an awkward predicament
I felt relieved though. The suspense was over for me. I no longer had secret, hidden desire for my son. It was all out in the open, let the chips fall where they may. I prepared for a confrontation, although, in hindsight, I shouldn’t have expected one. After all, the most he could have said was to ask me to stop it.
He gave no reaction. Not a hint of what he thought about my statement; none, whatsoever. Boy, did I feel disappointed. I would have preferred a negative response to a no response at all. I started to mope once again.
On a positive note, now that everything was out in the open, I became more comfortable with my own sexual feelings. I found it pleasant to fantasize about him, about me and him, about me on top of him, about him between my legs, about him inside of me. I was in a constant state of arousal.
I started to enjoy my laundry sessions. I searched for his briefs, felt them inside and out, inhaled every bit of his aroma that I could, even walked around wearing them, feeling the fabric around my pussy that had been around his dick, somehow getting his penis so close to my cunt.
After a few days of self-pity, it occurred to me that I hadn’t seen him around that much. I started to keep an eye on his comings and goings and realized that he was spending a lot less time around the house. It occurred to me that he probably was uncomfortable around me and tried to stay out as much as possible to avoid me. I couldn’t have that. I had to face up to the situation and undo the damage that I had done. I had to have a heart to heart talk with him and let him know that it was a mistake; that we needed to get past it and never look back.
The only problem was that a conversation like that had to take place without anyone disturbing us so we could have as much time as necessary to patch things up. It had to be face to face, no holds barred, no words restricted. I formulated my words carefully, rehearsed them in my mind over and over, and looked at every angle to change things back to the way they once were. And I waited for the right day.
The day finally came. It was a Friday.