“What?” I asked, wiggling my toes and getting the immediate attention I was anticipating. Also a flinch in his crotch and a stammering of distraction. I continued the playful onslaught, “So, my innocent son, you’re saying if I searched your browser history I wouldn’t find any porn sites?”
“I-I-I,” he stammered.
“It’s alright, honey,” I said, for some reason really enjoying teasing him… something I used to enjoy doing to his father with my nylon-clad legs back in the better days of our marriage. “Without your father here to have these conversations with you, I probably should step forward. You can just think of me as your loving surrogate father figure… except I have a vagina.”
“This is so weird,” he said.
“This conversation or watching porn?” I asked.
“This conversation,” he clarified.
“Ah-ha, so you do watch porn!” I declared as if I’d just solved a challenging case.
“You did say it was natural,” he pointed out, getting a little more comfortable.
“Yes, I did,” I concurred. “Everyone does it.”
“Even you?” he asked, gaining some confidence from this conversation.
“I plead the Fifth,” I replied coyly, even though my tone admitted the answer was obviously yes.
“No pleading,” he said.
“I used to love to plead,” I responded in a seductive voice that didn’t even try to hide the innuendo I was bluntly putting forward, my twisted mind overriding my moral mother side.
For a boy who fantasized turning his mother into a sex slut for himself, he sure wasn’t catching on to the plethora of hints I was throwing at him. He asked, “What do you mean?”
“Sorry, I probably shouldn’t have said that,” I replied, meaning it, yet also wanting him to dig deeper. I couldn’t explain it, but my long-dormant sex drive had been awakened like a lightning strike directly to my libido, and I was like a cougar on the hunt.
“You can’t say something intriguing and then refuse to clarify it,” he said, looking at my freshly painted (well, yesterday) red toenails.
“It’s a little inappropriate,” I said coyly, wanting him to ask, or perhaps even order me to tell him.
“I think we crossed that particular red line back when you accused me of watching porn,” he pointed out,
“Which you do,” I countered.
“Perhaps,” he shrugged, “but that doesn’t mean you can chicken out of explaining your innuendo.”
“Fine,” I sighed over-dramatically and then blurted out, “your father used to make me beg for his member.”
“Oh!” he said after a long pause that seemed like an eternity.
“I said you wouldn’t want to know,” I pointed out.
“It’s okay,” he said, staring at my feet again.
“How long until supper?” I asked.
“About twenty minutes.”
“Can you do me a favour?” I asked, wanting to keep this conversation going as long as I could.
“What?” he asked, still unable to make eye contact.
“Well, for one thing, look me in the eye,” I said.
“Sorry,” he apologized, as I realized he wasn’t embarrassed by the conversation, he was just perving on my sexy feet.
“It’s a bit of a weird request,” I said, again wanting to draw him in.
“You can ask me to do anything,” he said.