Chapter 6
Norma Dunham braked her car to halt inside the garage, turned off the ignition and sat staring at the dashboard.
As she had driven through the rush-hour traffic from work she had turned over and over in her mind her son's strange behavior this morning. He had barely touched his breakfast, which was not at all like him, and several times she had caught him staring at her sadly. The thought that he might have suspected her yielding to Richard Gorshin sexually last night crossed her mind, but she had dismissed this possibility. She had carefully locked the bedroom door and she and Richard had made very little noise while making love there on the bed. No, she felt certain that her son had not overheard them, but why then was he behaving so sullenly? She would have to coax whatever was on his mind out of him this evening, she thought, as she got out of the car.
She came in through the back entrance, stepped into the kitchen and was surprised to see Roger busily bustling about. There were lamb chops out on the breadboard, pots boiling on the stove and chopped lettuce and sliced tomatoes and avocados in a wooden bowl on the sink. He even wore an apron around his waist!
"Hi, Mom," he said. "I'm glad you're on time. I'll have dinner ready pretty soon. Go on back and get into your nightgown and robe and slippers. Relax. It's my night to wait on you for a change."
Norma stared in amazement at the sight of her son in the apron. Somehow, flitting about the kitchen like a dutiful housewife in an apron seemed a little incongruous for her broad-shouldered, masculine son. "What-what's the occasion?" she asked, stunned. "Last night it was perfume and tonight you're fixing dinner. I-I don't understand."
Suddenly Roger stopped moving and stared at her seriously, his smile fading. "I'd rather not talk about last night right now," he said evenly, his eyebrows raised. "Later, but not now."
At that instant, Norma Dunham knew that her son's strange .behavior that morning had to do with her making love with Richard Gorshin. "All right," she said almost apologetically, "I'll-I'll slip into something more comfortable as you say and-and see you in a minute." She paused in the doorway. "You're not angry about anything, are you, son?"
"No, Mother. Would I be fixing dinner for you if I was angry? I want to talk with you about something important after dinner-very important-but first I want you to be happy and comfortable, okay?"
Norma nodded, swallowing and confused, and went back to her bedroom. Odd, but she did precisely what Roger had told her to do. She put on her nightgown and robe and slippers, then nervously stood looking at herself in the tall mirror. Why did she feel so jittery? She felt almost the same way she'd felt on her wedding night, except there was some indefinable fear coupled with her happiness.
Yes, she told herself again, Roger knew about her and Gorshin last night. But apparently he had managed to overcome any feeling of anger he felt. Why else would he be fixing dinner? And that perfume last night. Had her fondest dream come true? Could Roger really have decided that he loved and needed her as much as she loved and needed him? Maybe. She buried her face in her hands, feeling such conflicting emotions she thought she might cry. She didn't know whether this night would end with a vow between mother and son to live as lovers or with all her hopes and careful preparation with Roger destroyed because of last night's stupid sexual indiscretion. Oh, why had she allowed that despicable toad, Richard Gorshin, to touch her? she wondered. How could she risk losing a beautiful sexual relationship with her son by letting that pompous ass stick his puny manhood in her vagina?
Almost timidly, Norma Dunham entered the kitchen. Roger was working with all the efficiency of a skilled short order cook. The chops were sizzling in the broiler and he stood tossing a huge salad with a wooden fork and spoon in the big bowl. "Is-is there anything I can do to help?" she asked.
"No, everything's under control," he replied. "The meat is nearly ready, the vegetables are done, and I'm serving the salad right now. Just sit at the table and relax." His voice lowered then and he added, "I hope you're not disappointed that I didn't invite a third party. Someone like Richard Gorshin. I thought we'd have dinner tonight alone-just the two of us."
"Roger!" Norma screamed, completely out of control suddenly. "All right! All right! I invited him! I did! I even went to bed with him! I did it! I did it! I'm sorry! I-I..." She broke off then and leaned against the doorway, sobbing.
"I know you did!" Roger screamed right back. "You fucked him! I watched the two of you from outside! If you had come to my room last night TO RUB MY BACK I think I'd have killed you. I'd have done something terrible..." Roger realized what he had said then and rushed to his mother and took her in his arms. He covered her face with kisses and muttered apologetically. "Mother, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. I-I love you more than anything. I didn't mean what I said. Forgive me? Please? I just felt awful last night, but I'm all right now. Don't cry. Please?"
Tenderly, he lifted her face and kissed her long and full on the lips. Then he led her to the dining room table and sat her down. He went on apologizing and telling her he loved her until she had calmed down. Nodding, she said she was sorry and forgave him, too. "Just sit there, Mother," Roger said, finally, backing away. "I'll have dinner on the table. I'll turn the lights down and light the candles and then we'll have a nice dinner together. Everything will be fine, Mother. I'll be right back. You'll see."
When the candles were lit and they both sat opposite each other, they had calmed down. The rage that flared suddenly and violently died as quickly as it had begun.
"Oh, Roger, I can't tell you what a wonderful surprise this is-fixing dinner for us this way. Oh, I do love you. I'm sorry I shouted at you. It's because I love you so much. Do you understand?" the mother said.
"Shush," Roger replied. "Let's not even talk about it. It was my fault. I understand. Is the food good? Do you really like it? It's good, isn't it?"
"Yes, it couldn't be better. Perfect." Norma frowned. "Which girls did you ask at school?"
Her tone of voice was suddenly suspicious, tinged with jealousy, and even before Roger could answer her question they both realized that were jumpy, on pins and needles and ready to over-react to anything. They both laughed a long laugh of relief. Norma laughed so long tears filled her eyes.
"Oh, Roger, I'm so sorry. Really. I'm just so happy that all of this is out in the open at last. I've felt like some kind of awful child molester. I've felt as though I might be losing my mind. I love you more than anything. Anything."
Roger reached across the table and patted her gently on the cheek. "I love you more than anything, too. I can say it to you now-right out. I love you, Mother."
Norma kissed her son's palm lingeringly, cradled it against her cheek. She sighed and picked at her food once again. "You must understand that last night with Gorshin happened only because I've been so confused. The way I feel about you-the things we've done-they've made me feel guilty. I had to let another man have me just to-to find out who I was. Does that make sense? I know you're probably not old enough to understand such things, but I had to discover something once and for all last night. That's the only reason it happened."
Roger stopped eating and stared at his mother across the table. "I'm only fifteen, Mother, and there has to be lots I don't understand. I know that. But I do understand what you're saying. Since the first night you came to my room and we made love I've been mixed up, too. Do you know how hard it was pretending I was asleep? The most exciting thing that ever happened to me was happening and I-I just didn't know what to say or how to act. I must have seemed pretty stupid to you." Tears came to Roger's eyes again. "Yes, I know about feeling guilty too, Mother. Mom," he blurted then, feeling a tingle all the way down to his groin, "I want to sleep with you in your bed tonight. I want us to be naked and close together and be able to talk to each other. I want to hurry up and finish dinner so we can go to your bed now!"
"Yes, my darling. Oh, yes!" Norma cried. "Let's go now."
They had finished less than half of the food on their plates but Roger stood up, his erection bursting against the fly of his denims, and came around the table toward his mother.
"Wait! Wait!" she said, her eyes glued to his delicious hard on pressing starch-stiff and wet at his crotch. "We can wait just a few minutes more. We've waited so long for this. I want to go and change the linen on the bed. I don't want a trace-not a hint-of what happened there last night to ruin it for us. Will you let me change the bed, darling? Can you wait?"
"Yes, I can wait," Roger said, his voice trembling. "But hurry, Mother. Please hurry?"
She stood up and blew him a kiss. "Yes, I'll hurry. You go and take your clothes off and then come to me. I'll have the lights low and I'll be waiting naked for you my precious darling. Just give me a few minutes. Then come and be with Mommy the way we've wanted it for so long. We can talk and tell each other everything-everything that's been on our minds."
Roger watched her break into a half-run for her bedroom. When she had disappeared he went into his room and tore his clothes off. His prick stood out in front of him like the handle of a hoe or a frying pan. It stood out so hard and firm it actually throbbed with pain. He had the feeling that if were to fall by accident his penis would shatter into a thousand pieces on impact it was so brittle-hard and fiery. He had never had such a hard on before.
Amazed, he gave it a twang with his hand and it barely moved! He twanged it again and still it stood implacable, like some hunk of metal welded to his pelvis. He walked back and forth with his prick standing out in front of him and counted the seconds. By now she's changed the bed, he thought. Now she's changing the pillow cases. Is she undressed yet? He wasn't sure so he allowed a few more seconds for her to take off her robe and nightgown. At last he decided that she had turned off most of the lights by now and lay naked on the cool sheets waiting for him. Could his estimate be wrong? He didn't care, he decided. If she hadn't finished changing the bed he could help her. He couldn't wait any longer. He held his prick in his hand as he walked down the hall because with each step it bobbed painfully without support.
At the doorway he stopped and saw that his mother was lying naked on her back. The lighting was perfect-just the light from the dressing room casting a soft but even low light throughout the room. Her left knee was raised and crossed over her other leg at the thigh so that she resembled one of the girls on his pin-up calendar. His heart slammed hard against his ribs.
"Can I come in now, Mother?" he asked.
Her voice was a hoarse whisper. "Yes, come to Mommy," she said, extending her arms. "We'll cuddle and do everything, everything."
The sight of his mother lying on her back, the W of her ass and her cunt waiting for him there on the bed nearly took his breath away. He reached the vacant side of the bed and stared down at her beckoning smile and raised arm and heaving tits for a moment. Then he climbed in beside her. Instantly their arms and legs intertwined in a fierce, rolling embrace. Body massaged body and mouth gulped greedily at mouth as they moaned and thrashed in loving abandon. Roger felt his mother's hands all over his body.
Briefly her hand settled on his organ and she squealed in amazement. "I've never felt my baby's prick so hard before. It's like steel! It's a steel pole! It's the stiffest, most wonderful pole in the world and it's all mine! Tell me it's mine, darling. It's mine, isn't it, Roger?"
"Yes, yes," he gasped, exulting in the smooth and soothing touch of her hand on his aching shaft. It was his mother's hand-his mother's soft and understanding hand that knew all and everything he'd ever craved.
"Here!" she cried. "Feel!" She took his hand by the wrist and placed it against her dripping slit. "See, darling. You make Mommy's cunt flow like a fountain. Feel how juicy and hot and frothy it is? That's because it's waiting for your big pole to go up inside it and make it feel wonderful-better than anything. Oh, my precious, do you have any idea how long and good you make Mommy come? The last time I thought I'd die the waves and waves of coming were so long and good. Unbearable! But we can wait for you to stick your pole inside. Let's kiss and talk and play with each other. And we can lick each other, too. Oh, isn't it wonderful? Ummmm, baby, precious, big-man, darling...."
Roger was smothered in loving tits and kisses and hugs then, and he didn't care if he ever got his breath again. His mouth roamed from his mother's mouth to her neck and nipples, even down as far as her heaving tummy. He clutched her ass, fondled the firm quivering cheeks there and tickled her clitoris. Then, though he sensed that more preliminaries were in order before he stuck his finger in her cunt, he felt the urge to imbed his middle finger up her twat anyway. He did this and even though it was abrupt his mother seemed to sense his impulsive desire and responded by spreading her legs wide, almost to the breaking point it seemed, as she accommodated his probing finger. It was as though she could read his mind and wanted desperately to meet his every secret thought and need.
"You like to stick your finger all the way up Mommy's pussy and feel how squishy and smooth and waiting it is, don't you? Well, go ahead, precious. Move your finger all around up there. Stick two fingers in if you want. Don't you like the way Mommy's legs are nice and wide apart so you can stick your finger right up her cunt and see her this way while you finger-fuck her? Play with my other hole too, if you want. Do anything you want, honey. My body is yours and always will be. Ummm..."
Yes, Roger realized, there were lots of things he had always wanted to do and places he'd wanted to explore. Sucking on his mother's tits, he probed every nook and crevice of her body with great tenderness and love and awe. Her body absorbed him, ingested him, cushioned his every thrust and movement as they sprawled and rolled, caressed and grasped each other's hungry body. They were of the same blood and flesh and bone and marrow; every muscle, nerve, fibre of their beings seemed to strain and scream to unite and become one as it had once been so long ago.
Norma clenched her son's penis hard between her legs, savoring its pulsing heat and rigidity as she held his hair in her hands and covered his eyes, cheeks, lips and forehead with gulping kisses. Roger dug his fingers harder into the cheeks of her buttocks, tore his head from her grasp and gobbled noisily at her neck and breasts. He forced her onto her back then and straddled her, held her cheeks between his strong hands and rasped pitifully, "Mother, Mother ... Oh, Mother."
He did not know where to begin, what to do to her. He only knew that he did not wish to fuck her yet, not yet. But what should he do with the banquet of her body he held pinned beneath him? She prompted him then, shoving down hard against his shoulders, and he descended, licking at flesh, until his face was buried in the wet, aromatic heat of her cunt. He began laving loudly at her dripping cunt lips, wagging his head from side to side as he snorted and sucked and inhaled there. He lifted her by her trunk so that her legs hung over his shoulders, the cheeks of her ass pressed firmly against his chest, and continued to gobble at his mother's cunt with a fury that made his mother writh and grunt hysterically.
He did not know how long he had been mouthing and tasting his mother's cunt when she forced him all the way down on his back, twisted so that they both lay on their sides. A leg was over his cheek now as he went on lapping between her legs, and then he realized her intention. As he vacuumed her hole with his tongue he felt the oven-like heat of her mouth close over his erection and begin sliding up and down, up and down, departing only occasionally to gently take his balls into her mouth and lovingly cleanse them with her skilled tongue.
Sixty-nining, he thought, his eyeballs rolling to the back of his head as he gripped his mother's ass hard and concentrated harder on her clitoris. He was sixty-nining with his mother! This is what they meant by sixty-nine! There should be a more beautiful word for it because he was transported to an ecstatic, trance-like state at the thought that he was giving unbelievable pleasure as he received it. He thrust his finger high into his mother's pussy now as he pressed his tongue harder and harder against her clit and she responded by mewing and taking his prick even deeper into her mouth-all the way back so that it crashed against her throat.
For a long time he didn't think he ever wanted to stop this mutual mouthing of organs, but then, naturally and without a word spoken, she reversed on the bed so that Roger's swollen shaft pressed against the puffed and demanding lips of his mother's love chasm. Holding his prick at its base and palming his testicles, his mother began engulfing the head of his cock in her seething inferno. He let her ease his meat slowly into her cunt for a time-until he could stand the delay no longer-and then he pushed steadily until all of his organ felt heat and it was in to the hilt.
"Ahhhh," Roger sighed, creeping forward on his knees to further impale his mother beneath him. It was as though he wanted to creep right into the depths of her with his entire body. His shaft became an embryo again searching for its home, longing to return to the warm source of its existence. His mother seemed to sense this, too, and crushed him to her pelvis with such force he found himself thrusting her legs up onto her shoulders to gain even greater access and thus satisfy this mutual, unspoken need.
"Fuck me, my darling son. Oh my son ... Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me! Fuck your mother, sweetheart. Fuck Mommy as she's never been fucked before!"
Roger's body pumped hard now, complying. His stroke was steady and firm and hard, and yet it was gentle. He could not fuck this female he worshiped as though she were merely an object of pleasure. She was more. She was the most loving, wonderful, magic thing he had ever known and he probed her with his rock-hard cock with urgency but, at the same time, with instinctive finesse and adoring care. His rhythm was not steady now but dictated by the ebb and flow of each of their intense and ever-changing emotions. At times she was the mother who had soothed his fears and tended his boyhood wounds, and at other moments she was a purring, loving lullaby in his drowsy ear. And then again, quite abruptly (he didn't know why) she was the origin of all his love of woman, the gentler woman, and such overpowering emotions flooded through his brain and body he speared her with a force and strength that frightened both of them.
"Motherrr ... Mother ... Mother..." he chanted and his voice was a crib-cry to which the woman beneath him had to attend.
"My son ... baby, baby, son. Oh, love me ... always love me..."
Her voice changed then, grew harsh, demanding. Their roles changed, just as they had grown and changed throughout the years. "Fuck me!" she commanded then. "I said, fuck me, do you hear? Fuck me hard this instant! Do you hear, Roger? Stop that playing around and fuck your mother the way she tells you!"
"Yes, Mother," Roger replied almost dutifully, following the directions of her guiding hands on his hips, fucking now to please her. He did not want her to be angry with him. She was, after all, his mother and he must obey and thrust with his penis exactly as she told him. Even so, at times he disobeyed, tested her and fucked the way he wanted to fuck her until she exerted her parental authority once again and made him fuck as Mommy wanted and not as the willful and capricious child-man chose.
It was a marvelous and wonderful game, alternately minding and then not minding his mother that way, because there was no real reprimand or pain, only pleasure that rose and increased to even greater pleasure-pleasure that seemed unbearable.
"Coming ... coming now, Roger ... Mommy is coming soon," the voice chanted low in his ear. "Can you come, too?"
"Yes, yes," Roger answered her assuringly.
"You're telling me the truth? You'll come right when I say?"
"Yes, Mother. Just tell me. Oh, Motherrr..."
Now his mother settled down to grinding, steady fucking. She pulled her son this way and that, using the erect tool lodged within her vagina selfishly. She was literally scraping the upper part of her son's prick against her pelvic bone, arching her back and bending the engorged rod to suit her mood, which once again had abruptly changed. No longer was she the loving, tender, sacrificing mother. Now she became a female bound to come-a woman determined to get her orgasm at any cost and God help any man or thing that deterred her.
"Fuck me hard!" she spat. "I said hard! Come down hard, harder! Bang me hard! Can't you fuck harder than that? That's it ... that's it. Now you're fucking. Yes, now you're fucking ... Oh, yes ... FUCKING!"
Again, without warning, Roger felt his mother's mood change. She eased her grip somewhat on his ass and slowed her tempo. Still, she drove with a purpose and she was boss. But now her voice grew loving once again. "Baby, baby ... Oh, fuck Mommy's cunt, baby ... yes, yes. Ummmm ... ummm ... perfect in Mommy's pussy. Oh, soooo perfect ... there ... there ... almost there ... there it is ... there it comes. COME ROGER! PLEASE COME! COME! COME! COME NOW! NOW! NOWWWWW!! ! "
His mother's grip about his neck was desperate as she screamed and wailed and thrashed to completion. Roger plunged with all his might and, a few strokes later, caught up with her and felt the most delicious of all possible sensations surge again and again throughout his body as his cock jolted and he felt his balls flinging out his sperm in mighty bursts, pouring out and spewing into his mother's loving cunt-furnace.
For a long time it was as though Roger had been asleep. Slowly, he became aware of his mother's hand stroking his head and the rocking motion of her body. She was humming softly in his ear and murmuring the word "precious" over and over again as she song-spoke in a rambling, velvet tone and held him to her breast.
"I'm happier than I can ever remember," she said, kissing his cheek. "And you are happy, too, aren't you, darling?"
"I'm happy," Roger said. Actually he was something different from happy. He felt good, but what he felt wasn't just happy. It was something different that he couldn't express. There was maybe a little guilt, not much but a little, but he felt very, very good even though he wouldn't exactly call it "happy."
"I'm something else than happy," he said.
"I know," his mother said. "Men are different. Also, I'm not really happy either. I'm-I'm fulfilled. Do you know what that means? Of course you do. Well, that's the way I feel. Sort of fulfilled and a lot more than just satisfied. I love you, love you, love you. Do you love me more than ever?"
"Yes, I'm sure of that," Roger said. "I don't want to lose you ever. I want to stay next to you all the time and do what we just did every day. Maybe more often than that."
"You're a little piggy," Norman Dunham said. "My son's a little piggy who went to market and went wee, wee, wee all the way home. Remember that poem? I used to play with your toes when you were little and say the piggy poem and you'd laugh at the end." She laughed brightly, remembering.
"This little pussy went to market," Roger said, reaching down and touching her expanded vagina with his prick still wedged inside.
"Not pussy," his mother said. "Piggy. Oh, you are a naughty, naughty boy." She hugged him so hard he thought his ribs might break. "Oh, but I love my naughty boy more than anything."
"I love you, too," Roger said. "Sorry I called the piggy a pussy."
They both laughed.
When Roger withdrew his penis from his mother's vagina, they lay there for a long time touching each other's face and laughing and telling each other how much they loved each other.
"Do you know what I wish?" Roger said. "What?"
"I wish I could quit school and you could quit work and we could stay home together all day every day. Could we?"
Norma Dunham frowned, considering. "No," she said. "No, that would be impossible. That would be too much of a good thing. Besides you have to finish high school so you can go to college. Also, I'd get bored just hanging around the house all the time and so would you."
"I don't care about college anymore. I just care about you. Remember, there are lots of girls at school. What if one tried to take me away from you?" He studied her reaction closely.
"After tonight, we don't have to worry about that, do we?" she said confidently.
"I guess not," Roger admitted. "Not unless you bring that rotten son of a bitch, Richard Gorshin, home again."
"Roger! Just because we're like this-lovers and everything-there's no reason to use foul language. Please don't talk that way around the house. I mean it."
"We were both using foul language a while ago when we were fucking, weren't we?"
Norma Dunham winced. "I-I really wish you would watch your tongue, dear. That wasn't 'foul language' when we were making love. That was-well, it was love-talk. There's a difference. A vast difference."
"The way I see it-I'm a man in this house now," Roger said. "If I want to say 'fuck' I can and if I disagree with you I can say so without worrying that you'll punish me. I'd feel pretty ridiculous sleeping with you every night and then having you try to spank me or something."
Norma Dunham stared at her son intently and frowned. Somehow she knew he had touched on something very basic and whatever it was it disturbed her greatly.