Chapter 11

Our plane got in ahead of schedule. Alicia and Samantha kissed me goodbye, thanking me for the most incredible two weeks of their lives. I promised to call Alicia when I got back to my aunt’s in about a week and then they grabbed a cab and were off, back to their home in the valley.

Not wanting to have Mom pick me up, I took the shuttle back home. I wanted to be home first, before she got home from her hospital administrator’s job around five thirty. I put my bags up in my room which looked reassuringly familiar after my three weeks at Aunt Carol’s. I walked by my mom’s room and looked in. It was all neat and clean and sunny. Familiar as well, yet I felt ... threatened, intimidated by it. I went down to the kitchen and got a snack, sitting a the kitchen table. I heard her car pull into the car port and her steps coming up the walk.

“Hi Chris. You made it.”

“Hi Mom.”

There was a painfully long silence. Then she spoke.

“Don’t I at least get a kiss hello?”

“I’m not sure. Not yet.”

She put her bag on the counter. She was wearing a light yellow woman’s suit with a straight skirt and yellow pumps. The jacket had three large white buttons down the front and white piping. Under her jacket was a white silk blouse, open at her neck. She wore a strand of pearls with gold earrings. She had on her sunglasses which she removed putting on her large framed eyeglasses.

As she switched I could see how she resembled Aunt Carol in little ways. They had a similar nose and mouth, small with a little upturn like Meg Ryan almost. Mom’s face was rounder without the perfect cheekbones Aunt Carol had but softer, a girl next door face. She’d had her hair done since I had been away. It was a little lighter blond and cut to her shoulders, permed in a tight cascade of curls all around.

She was just about to come over when the phone rang. She shook her hair back and removed her left earring before putting the receiver to her ear. As she talked she looked directly at me.

“Hello. Hi. Yes he’s here. He’s sitting in front of me in the kitchen. No, I just got in the door. Will you relax, Carol? I will call you back, soon. Not tonight. Sure. I love you too. Bye.”

“Was that Aunt Carol? Checking up on us? Seeing if we had ... done it yet?”

“I can see this is a mistake. I thought you understood by now.”

“I don’t understand anything anymore. I’m totally screwed.”

She sat down across from me at the table wanting to touch me but reluctant.

“How did you feel, Chris, when you were in bed with Alicia and Samantha? Were you disgusted? Ashamed?”

“That’s different.”

“Why, it’s still ... incest. What about Aunt Carol?” she asked.

“WHAT ABOUT UNCLE JERRY! FUCK!”

“I’m not proud of my past, but that’s who I am. I never regretted a single thing I ever did then and I won’t start now. You’ve got to deal with your life but I know how I feel ... about you.”

I looked up at her. She was different. I was different. My summer of disrepute had transformed all of us. I was sitting next to a beautiful, lusting woman.

“You ... you were ... so beautiful ... then,” I said picturing her on her back with her legs up on the gurney about to be penetrated by Uncle Jerry.

“Thanks. What am I now, Marge Schott, maybe?” she came back, completely cracking us both up. I knew I had inherited her gene for humor.

“When did you know that you ... wanted me ... sexually, the first time?”

“We were lover’s before you were ever born, darling. When you were inside and I came with you in me, kicking and rolling. It was a special experience for me as a woman.

“Once you matured and I saw you swimming, or just going about the house in your briefs I had ... feelings. At first I thought it was just a thing for young men. I even ... slept with some ... some of your friends. You never knew any of this, of course. I tried to pretend they were ... you but ... It’s just how I am, I guess. I was always just a little ... wild.”

I heard traces of her Georgian accent creep into her voice as she spoke. It was coming from somewhere I had never been. She removed her glasses, laying them on the kitchen table.

“Touch my face, Chris.”

I brought my fingers to her cheek. Her skin was warm, softer than Samantha’s and lighter. I traced her lips with my index finger tip and she took it between her teeth, biting it and smiling. I stood and she stood against me, nearly as tall in her high heels. My arms encircled her waist drawing our pelvis’ together in defiance of the strictest of all taboos.

As her eyes closed and our lips and tongues finally came together, I felt only a woman, a lusting, passionate woman. It could have been Alicia, or Aunt Carol, or Samantha, or Kim, even Juliette. The smell of her hair, the sound of her breath in my ear, the feel of her ass through the tight yellow skirt, the pressure of her breasts as they flattened against my chest. Not some video dream for adolescent moron’s to whack off to while smart old guys scam them for millions. This was the real thing, three dimensional, multi-sensory, analog, flesh and blood ... life giving ... woman.

I slid down to my knees facing her. Reaching behind her legs, I took her knees in my hands. Her pantyhose were like a sheer second skin that shifted over the warmer flesh beneath. My hands roamed upward taking the hem of her yellow skirt with them, pushing it up over her thighs, compressing it around her waist. The pantyhose were sheer all the way to the waist, veiling a pair of black lace thong panties. I drew the pantyhose and panties down together from behind, pulling the stretch material off her ass first and letting the front spring down in stages like an upside down curtain.

Her belly above her pubic hair was inches from my face. I kissed her there lightly several times, tickling her and making her abdominal muscles tense. Her skin smelled familiar, Jergen’s lotion I think. Her pubic hair was dark blond, almost the exact shade as Aunt Carol before she went bare. It had been trimmed neatly in a small rectangular strip perfect for bikinis. I brought the pantyhose all the way down to her ankles where she stepped out of her shoes, removed the pantyhose from each of her feet and then ... put her yellow pumps back on.

Her gesture did not go unappreciated. Any “ordinary” woman, that is, a woman not fully attuned to her animal self, not well schooled in the erotic mind of the hapless male, would never have put those tight, uncomfortable shoes back on. But she did. Not just for me. It was for her, too.

With only minimal pressure I raised her right thigh and rested her shoe on the kitchen chair beside us. She was now open, vulnerable, wanton. I spread the inner lips of my mother’s wet, pink vagina, leaned against her, and ran my tongue from their lowest extent to the swollen bud of her shrouded clitoris.

Her taste and smell was, of course, her own. Not even close to Aunt Carol. But it did its magic. If there were even the slightest shred of moral shame left in me, this act, this scent, like a pungent potion, cured me. I was hers. See you in Hell, Oedipus!

I licked her with all the skill and desire I had gained over the summer from my loving instructors. She was moaning, gasping, as her darkest, wildest, most perverted wish was coming true right between her legs. I brought her right up to the edge three or four times, feeling her spring tighten and then ... pulling back, nuzzling her thighs.

I straightened up and she let her skirt drop. We kissed. Deeply. Covered in her juices. Then I reached under her bottom and picked her up in my arms, Rhett Butler style. It was her favorite movie. I carried her with her head against my chest to her bedroom down the hall, no longer intimidated.

* “Carol was not kidding. You do have a tongue like a fucking snake,” she said to me, her lust mixing with her sense of fun.

“Were there any other bits of wisdom Aunt Carol shared about me? Was she debriefing you on my performance over the summer?”

“Oh. Just a few. Nothing that a man would appreciate.”

“Like?”

“Like you have a really big vein on the top of your penis. When she was sucking you she could feel your pulse on the roof her mouth. Stuff like that.”

“Bizarre. You don’t taste anything like her. I like you better.”

She was intent on having me nude at the earliest possible moment and I was glad to comply. I sat on the edge of the big king sized bed that she had only partially filled since Dad left us two years ago. She took a few steps back so that I could take in her whole body as she stripped for me ... and herself. Behind me, strategically in her line of sight, was the large, tilting full-length mirror. She could watch not only herself but my reaction at the same time. She had a rare kind of sensual intelligence.

The yellow jacket was first, tossed onto the low chair like a big banana peel. Then her silk blouse. She pushed each button through its hole with agonizing deliberateness, then let it fall open exposing her black bra beneath. She stretched her upper torso arching her back and holding her arms out at her sides, letting her blouse fall onto the floor of its own will. Her eyes went from mine to her reflection in the mirror and back again, drawing power from both sources.

She lowered a single strap of the bra but not the cup, then did the same with the other strap. Her face was transfixed as she focussed on the sensation of her lace bra cups on her nipples inside. Her hidden charms, the joy of her womanhood, all this she kept veiled for just a few more delicious moments. Her hands pushed up under the lace embroidered black cups, releasing the front catch and propelling the empty bra onto the floor behind her.

I had seen her breasts before. Accidentally. Coming out of the shower too fast. Changing shirts to go out. That kind of thing. Just flashes, lost in time. I had never seen them as they were meant to be seen. Warm, velvety, voluptuous gifts from nature. Her aureoles were broad, much wider than any of the women I’d known. They were a dusty rose and capped by a thimble sized nipple, each with its own little “smile” folded into the sensitive flesh. Small bumps encircled the outer edge. Her head was back as she offered them to me for viewing only just now, thank you. Her eyes scanned the mirror longer and her breathing was deeper.

Reaching around the back she found the zipper of her skirt and released it. Only her hands and her sense of modesty kept the snug fitting yellow skirt from falling to her feet. Putting her hands on her little Gauguin saddlebags she began easing the yellow fabric over her bare buttocks and thighs beneath. The sensation on her skin was reflected in her face, a mixture of pleasure and surprise. I’d seen the same expression in Alicia’s face as the honey ran down inside her gown and over her vagina. Beyond a certain point the mystery was over and she let the skirt fall, folding over her shoes.

She looked again in the mirror, cupping her breasts, caressing her belly and thighs. No long shrouded by the necessities of modesty she was free. And I was real hard.

She came over to me wearing just the yellow shoes and the single strand of pearls around her throat. There was a control on the nightstand and she dimmed the lights to just a yellow red glow. Her hand began working my penis up and down at the base only. She must have been trading notes with Aunt Carol again. It felt wonderful. Intense, but controlled. No sense rushing this kind of sin.

Her mouth glided down over my penis and she tasted her son’s semen at the tip. I held her blond curls in my fingers and felt the small, soft hairs on the nape of her neck. The velvet white skin of her back was stretched over the ridges of her spine as she leaned into my lap. It was time.

We were so primed by now that no force on earth, no edict from above, could have stopped what we were about to do. She lay back gracefully, partly propped by her pillows, and drew up her thighs, offering her vagina to me in total surrender to her libido. I moved between her legs, cupping her buttocks, pulling them open, pressing her thighs against her breasts. Her hand took me, rubbed me gently over her lubricated inner lips till I found the keyhole to heaven. We looked right into each other’s eyes, more conscious and clear than any time previous in either of our lives.

After a moments pause to savor the utter wickedness of our act, I entered her, sliding up into her vagina in one long cataclysm until my balls were banging her labia. Her fantasy fulfilled, she sighed long and deep before thrusting her hips upwards and demanding total release.

We were fucking. Like with Aunt Carol but ... wilder. She really liked it ... rough and dirty. Holding me into her she moaned,

“Yes. Put that cock into me. Hard damn it. Fuck me harder. Ooooo. Yaasss. Fuck my pussy with your big hard fuckin’ cock.”

We were quickly covered in sweat as we copulated in total abandon. Not content to remain on her back, she got on top riding me to her first orgasm.

“Fuckin’ sooo goood. Oh fuck ... Oh, I’m comin’. Oh God, YAASSSSSSS ... Ohhh, Ohhhh, Ohhhhh, Ohhhhhhh.”

Not missing a beat, I stood up with her still impaled, her legs wrapped around my waist. It was totally crazy as if all the slow build up was now crashing downhill in runaway wildness. I read her so well. She was so fucking bad right now in her mind that any humiliation or shock was accepted as just punishment, what she deserved for being so perverse as to fuck her own natural son.

I carried her to the bathroom in a frenzy. She was gasping and wide eyed wanting me to prove that she had perverted me in her own image. I forced her onto her knees before the toilet. As I entered her from behind I vilified her verbally,