Many thanks to JordanJohnson for his help editing.
Enjoy. Let me know what works and what does not.
Peace.
======
Mom's admin job for the school did not end over the summer; there were never-ending reports to be assembled and filed with the school district, as well as the State and Federal Departments of Education. She continued to work at the bar Friday and Saturday nights.
I worked forty hours a week at the diner. I tried to work as many daytime shifts as possible, even breakfast, which totally blew since breakfast tips sucked. Breakfast diners tended to think Nixon was still President. They believed a half-dollar was a big tip.
Working days meant I was home at night. We fell into an easy routine. Whoever got home first made dinner. Whoever made dinner relaxed while the other did the few dishes. Mom complained my dinners were always fancier so there were more dishes. I started washing the prep and mixing bowls as I went along. When she realized what I was doing she made me stop and apologized for saying anything about it.
In retrospect, it seems to me we made love every night one of us was not working. I doubt that could be true but I will always hope that was so.
I will not claim every night was a new adventure. Many nights, or days, we simply loved each other then fell asleep in each other's arms. Few people find even something as simple as that in this life.
I always recall some lines from
Just Breathe
by Pearl Jam when I stray into self-pity:
Oh, I'm a lucky man
To count on both hands
The ones I love
Some folks just have one
Yeah, others they got none
Our time was shorter than either of us imagined but I'm not bitter.
I was blessed. We were blessed. We are blessed.
There are so few specific memories. After mom was gone, I vowed I would pay attention to, and remember, every moment in my life; I would never again lose someone and be left with a handful of memories.
I tried. Even so, when I look back over a week or a month and try to remember the specific details of a day, I am horrified there are so few concrete, specific memories.
But there are some.
I could go all unreliable narrator on you and include details about dinner, what we watched on TV, etc. but I'll spare you. I will not even pretend I recall the actual date, though I am sure it was not long after the day we met Maggie and Nora at the lake.
"What do you fantasize about when you masturbate, Josh?"
I was nuzzling the side of her neck and pressing my cock into her side at the time, so her question took me by surprise.
"Different things," I replied, kissing her behind the ear.
"No kidding?" Mom snorted and elbowed me, gently. "Don't try to distract me. Be honest. I'm your mother and I'm fucking you, so shock is no longer on the menu for us."
"Why do you want to know? I'm not trying to be a smart ass. I fantasize about a lot of things."
"A lot of different acts or a lot of different people?"
We were lying on our sides by then facing each other.
"Both," I replied.
She rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Okay, when did you masturbate last?"
I dropped my eyes. "When I got home from work this afternoon," I admitted.
"Today? In the hour before I got home?" Mom was clearly taken aback.
"Uh, yeah. Do we have to talk about this?"
Mom sighed. "I'm sorry. I told you nothing would shock me, then I reacted like that. I'm not shocked. Surprised. Not shocked."
"Well, being nineteen is good for something I guess."
She kissed me then. "It's good for many things. Besides you're not nineteen yet. Three more weeks. We don't have to talk about this but I would like to." I nodded. "Okay," she said after kissing me again. "What did you fantasize about this afternoon when you masturbated."
"You."
"Just me?"
"No," I confessed. She reached over and play pinched my nipple.
"Joshua, just tell me."
"Maybe I should insist you do that stuff to my nipples again."
"Happy to. Was that what you fantasized about?"
"No." I did not say anything else. I held in my laughter until I saw her start to reach for my nipple again.
"Brat," she teased.
"There was someone else with us," I confessed. Mom settled back onto her pillow. "Maggie," I added. Mom smiled.
"I was fucking her. I was sitting on a chair and she was sitting on my cock, facing away, her back to my front. I was playing with her boobs."
"What was I doing?"
"You were on your knees, tonguing her clit and my cock as I fucked her."
"Wow. That's hot."
"You think so?"
"Of course."
"Have you ever done that?"
"Had a threesome?"
"No, had sex with another woman, gone down on a woman."
"Yes," mom answered. No hesitation. "In college a couple of times. Before I met your father."
"You went down on them?"
"Yes. And vice versa."
"You ate their pussy, in other words."
"Are those the words you like to hear? Do you like the idea of me eating pussy?"
"Yes. I've imagined you eating out Maggie while I fuck you from behind."
"Is Maggie the only other woman you imagine being with?"
I shook my head. "Don't laugh, but Ms. Lang."
"Why would I laugh? I'd be happy to eat her pussy."
Mom smirked at the look on my face. "What? Nora is a babe. You've seen her."
"I thought