My mother pauses near the door and turns to waggle her fingers at me, cheeks dimpled with an ebullient smile.
“Night,” she says.
The door clicks shut and I recall what she said: I do it too, you know. It had never occurred to me my mother might be a few yards away, in her own bed, fingers sloshing around her vulva as she masturbated herself to a climax.
The heat envelops me. Lust bursts afresh and I throw back the sheet and work at my dick, my head full of my mother with a thick dildo wedged in her cunt.
###
When I walk into the kitchen she looks at me and asks, “Is this okay?”
I nod and say, “Yes,” although the word sounds more croaky than I would have liked.
She notices the catch in my voice and her eyes narrow. “You sure?”
It doesn’t help when her breasts sway as she stands, but I nod again.
“I can put some clothes on,” she says, and I can tell she’s doubtful about my sincerity.
I hold up a palm to stop her from going. Then close my eyes and say, “No. Really. I meant what I said. I can deal with it, Mum.”
She’s dubious. It’s all over her face. My mother hesitates and continues to observe for a few seconds longer. But, eventually, she sits back down at the table.
“How did you sleep?” she asks as I go to the counter.
The truth is I didn’t sleep much; my head was filled with my mother.
“So-so,” I tell her, taking bread from the bin. It isn’t an outright lie, just hedging it a bit. After what she told me last night, I don’t want to deceive her.
The toaster does its thing and I pour tea from the pot. The milk goes in and I carry the lot to the table, then pull out a chair at the opposite end from my mother.
Spreading butter onto the toast I causally ask, “What about you?”
She regards me from over the rim of a Kath Kidston mug. “How did I sleep?”
I nod and force my eyes to remain on her face while kidding myself it will get easier with time. This fixation for my mother couldn’t last forever, I hoped.
“So-so,” she grins before adding, “But I l stayed awake thinking for quite a long time.”
I think she might be dwelling on her break-up and say, “You’re better off without him.”
But it seems I’m mistaken when my mother chuckles and says, “I’m not bothered by that. You’re right, I am better off. No, Sean,” she adds. “I was thinking about you.”
Disquiet slides in my guts. “Me?” I murmur.
“You,” she nods. “And you’re doing it already.”
I have no clue what she means. “Doing what?” I reply.
“Not looking at me.”
I say, “I am,” and make a point of looking her right in the face.
My mother clicks her tongue and rolls her eyes. “Yes, when I’m sat down. But when I stood up before you avoided looking completely. It’s okay,” she goes on in a soft, soothing tone. “Look if you want to. Just be open and honest.”
The toast sits on the plate as I pick up the mug and slurp at the tea, my mind turning over what she just told me.
“Open and honest?” I breathe, more to myself than my mother. If only I could be open and honest.
Her bottom lip juts out as she nods.
“Okay,” I say, and then glance at her breasts.