We spent two more days in New York, almost all of it in bed. Knowing my husband would assiduously check the bills, we did go out to eat – how could you explain forty-eight straight hours of room service – and bought tickets to events we had no intention of attending.
It was only after several celibate days back in Arkansas, however, that I truly understood the import of our trip. What had happened in New York was not a wild inexplicable fling. It became clear to me that I was smitten with my son, hopelessly in love with him. When I confessed my feelings to him he told me he'd been in love with me for years. And so while faithful to my husband in body, I left him in spirit. Rick became my husband or, more accurately, the husband I wished I had. He was the one I turned to for support, the one who listened to my fears and concerns, the one with whom I shared my emotions and intimacies, things important and unimportant, everything. I resigned from my marriage. My husband who for years had displayed only a passing interest in my life, didn't notice.
In retrospect it is clear this arrangement couldn't last forever. What shook it loose was my husband's monthly poker game with his brother and some friends. Rick and I spent the evening cuddling on the couch watching a movie when Charles staggered through the door, drunk and stinking of cigars and cigarettes.
"Upstairs woman, I need some."
Rick, his stare intense and anger palatable, stood to confront his father. I put a hand on Rick's shoulder.
"It's okay dear, I can handle this."
Charles looked at his son's face.
"You got a problem, wimp? Your Mom needs a man right now. A man who knows how to fuck a stuck-up bitch like her."
Then Charles turned his gaze back to me. He didn't like the look on my face either. "Pretending to be refined? Shit, you were trash when I found you and you'll be trash when I leave. Get your ass upstairs."
Rick was ready to pounce. I stepped between them. "Charles, I'm ready, let's go to bed."
I followed him upstairs and into our bedroom. He collapsed onto the bed, saying, "Just need to lay down a second," and fell asleep. His drunken snoring was deafening.
I'm not sure how long I'd been crying when Rick walked in. I buried my face in his shoulder and sobbed.
When I was temporarily cried out, he led me to the bathroom, where I washed my face. I followed him to his bedroom and lay next to him. I cried some more while he held me. Finally, exhausted, I lifted myself on an elbow and looked in his eyes.
"I love you Rick."
And then I kissed him. It was intended as an innocent act of affection, but a bolt of electricity shot through me. I had thought we had put the sex behind us, I thought I was too upset to be aroused. I thought wrong. I kissed him again, harder. Waves of heat cascaded though me. He kissed me back. His hands slid around my back and held me tight; his strong lips pressed against mine. I ran my hands to the inside of his thighs; my arm brushed his erection. His mouth parted and my tongue found his. They started with a frisky gambol that evolved into a sensual tango. I straddled him. My breasts pressed against his chest. My nipples hardened. I was desperate for him. I needed him. I pulled my shirt and bra over my head, tossing them aside. I unbuttoned his shirt, exposing his strong chest. I licked his nipples. I wanted to consume him whole. I pulled off his shirt; it joined mine on the floor.
He reached for my breasts, pushing them together. His thumbs swept over my areolas and then he captured the nipples between his index finger and thumb, squeezing them. "Mom, you have such wonderful breasts, they're beautiful, they're magnificent."
He pinched and rolled my nipples and, sensing my increasing arousal, kneaded my full breasts. The pleasure in my tits fed directly to my sex; my cunt ached with need and desire.
I lowered my chest; he made circular motions around my nipples with his tongue and then gently sucked them into his mouth.
"Uhhhmmmm...."
He pushed my breasts together and alternated between my nipples, sucking and licking them with increasing force. My breath was ragged and my eyes watered with lust. I loved it. He moved his hands down to my ass, cupping and rubbing my ass cheeks. Another low moan escaped me. A shiver ran up my spine.
"I love you Mom...you're so beautiful."
My pussy juice was flowing. I got to my knees, unbuckled his belt, unzipped his shorts, and pulled them down the length of his legs. He had already kicked off his sandals. His shorts and underwear joined my blouse and bra on the floor.
And there it was, my son's magnificent tool, hard and swinging free. The relentless cock that over four days in New York had shown me places I thought existed only in romance novels. God, I missed it. I grabbed its base and stroked it. Giving him my most innocent look, I said, "What do you want Mommy to do with this fat cock of yours?"
"Could you lick it? Suck me...suck it."
I opened my mouth and took him inside, blowing him, sucking him, licking him with manic intensity. My pussy was dripping hot; I loved it, this is what I was meant to do.
He jammed his cock hard into my mouth. I gagged and he pulled it out.
"I'm sorry Mom, got carried away."
"Honey, you don't need to apologize, its wonderful."
I grabbed hold of his dick; it was dripping with my saliva; I slid it over my face. I swallowed its dusty brown head, licked down the shaft, and sucked his balls into my mouth.
"Oh god Mom...I have to fuck you."
I looked up, nostrils flaring, spit dripping from the corners of my mouth, pushing the hair from my face. "Is that what you want son, you want to fuck me, you want to fuck your mother with this beautiful thing?"
