Page 02
A letter from the hospital arrived addressed to your father. Suspecting a billing error, I opened it. It confirmed the date for the start of his radiation treatments and follow-on chemotherapy. Don had cancer!
I stumbled into the kitchen in a daze and sat down. My husband was sick, possibly deathly ill! We had been married for twenty-four years, survived the death of our first child, and raised a fine son. Yes, we had our difficulties of late but I still loved Don. I suddenly knew why Don disappeared at night and sat vacantly when he was at home. He was preoccupied with his fate. No wonder he hadn't noticed Donny and I playing around! But why should he face this on his own? Why hadn't he shared this with his family?
Anger flooded through me and the more I thought about it the angrier I became. I was his wife, Donny was his son, and we were a family! My hands trembled and I bit my lip often waiting for him to come home. Boy, I was going to let him have it.
I didn't, of course. I did just the opposite. Don seemed, if anything, relieved that I knew. He cried and admitted he couldn't find the courage to tell us. He didn't want us to feel bad. Can you imagine? He was facing death and he didn't want us to be sad.
I thanked God nothing had happened between us that couldn't be undone and vowed to redeem myself by providing exemplary care for my husband. I noted over the following weeks that you must have made a similar commitment for while I cared for and cleaned up after your father you did the housework, shopped for groceries and cooked most of the meals. I loved you and knew you loved me but we also loved your father.
What had happened between us had nothing to do with him but apparently stopping it had everything to do with him. You continued to help me with my crosswords but didn't sit near me. The kisses on the cheek and pecks on the lips stopped, as did the hugs. When I noticed, I wrote it off to exhaustion, physical and emotional. The first round of radiation and chemo wasn't too bad but the second was, the third promised to be worse and the last was reputed to be brutal. Those predictions proved accurate.
Don lost his hair and appetite, dropping about sixty pounds. He was weak, bed-ridden, and the few hours you and I shared together downstairs were a welcome respite. Is it surprising we starting hugging again? How could I not kiss you after months of quietly picking up the pieces when I couldn't manage?
I was an emotional wreck after Don's final treatment. While feeding him lunch a few days later he commented on your incredible support during his illness, and mine.
"I don't deserve it," he said. "I don't deserve either of you."
"Of course you do," I replied, sitting on the bed beside him, ignoring the now faint pangs of guilt.
"I'm feeling better."
"That's good."
"Enough for you to leave me for a few hours," he continued.
"What do you mean?"
"I want you and Donny to go somewhere nice for dinner tonight. You both need a break."
"Don, I don't think that's a good idea."
"It will do you both good to get away from this for a few hours."
"We're fine."
I stroked his forehead but he caught my hand. I was surprised by his strength.
"See? I'll be fine"
"You're still very sick."
"Please. It will make me feel better to see you get dressed up and have a little fun." His eyes pleaded with mine. "Please," he repeated.
"Are you sure that's what you want?"
"Positive. Have a shower and then do me a favor before you go."
"What's that?"
"Let me watch you put oil on your legs. I noticed you were doing that a while back and meant to tell you how good your legs look, but…"
I laughed. "You really are feeling better."
"I told you."
"Okay, but I'll take a long bath first."
"Take your time."
"I will."
"And then the oil. You do have gorgeous legs."
Those words made me feel great.
I fed Don early that afternoon and then took a long bath, disrobing in front of him. I soaked for an hour, refilled the tub, and entered the much later bedroom wrapped in a large towel. I let it slip from my body when I opened a drawer to get clean underwear.
"Oil," Don said. "Remember the oil."
"Yes, of course. I forgot," I lied.
I felt conflicted oiling my legs for Don. Memories surfaced of the hours I spent displaying my legs for you when I thought he had given me up for a younger woman but I hid my feelings and gave him a good show.
"You're beautiful," he whispered when I was finished.
"I wasn't bad years ago."
"You're sexier now. A mature woman, and a mother.
"Uh huh. May I get dressed now?"
"Please do."
Don smiled, weakly, but it was a smile nonetheless. He insisted that I wear my sexiest underwear and put on one of my shorter, shape-enhancing dresses.
"But I'm taking my son to dinner," I protested.
"He won't know what's underneath."
"I should hope not," I replied sharply.
"I can picture you walking into the Brio on our handsome son's arm."
"That's an odd thought."
"Is it?"
"Kind of."
So you and I went to the Brio, since your father suggested it. I meant to hurry home but we enjoyed ourselves so much I lost sense of time. It was late when we returned, to a disaster, as it turned out. Despite his apparent strength, Don was still quite sick and had fallen trying to get to the bathroom. It took us an hour to get him and the bedroom cleaned up. The exhaustion, so quickly forgotten, soon returned. It was after midnight when I descended the stairs to find you watching a late movie.
"I thought you'd be in bed."
"I made tea."
"Oh, Donny. You're a godsend."
I drank the tea and watched the movie in silence. I can't remember what it was but do recall being conscious of you sitting next to me unaware of the sexy underthings I was wearing. It stirred feelings within me I hadn't felt for many weeks but they were accompanied by an incredible guilt.
"We shouldn't have gone. He's still sick."
"I know," you replied. "But he wanted us to. We did it for him."
"That's true. God, I'm so tired."
"Why don't you go to bed?"
"I'm more weary than tired."
You took my hand and put your arm around me, pulling gently. Comforted, I leaned against you and we nuzzled heads. Long minutes passed as we swayed together, the tea forgotten. You pulled away all too soon and leaned back onto the arm at the far end of the couch, still holding my hand, and pulling me with you.
"Close your eyes and rest," you said.
My head landed on your chest. You patted my hair with one hand and stroked my back with the other. It was nice and I was soon at ease. As the minutes passed, the strain drained from my body and I sagged heavily upon you. I felt so safe and loved in that moment. I began to drift off.
My eyes fluttered open, I don't know how much later it was but the movie was still on. My breasts were pressed into your stomach and your hands were still on my back, stroking. I smiled and thanked God I had been blessed with such a good son. I sighed contentedly, and then noticed your hands were caressing my bare skin!
My dress was unzipped and the bra disconnected. Your hands scratched my back, sweeping wide in overlapping circles that crossed either side of my spine. Although you didn't touch me inappropriately your fingertips dipped dangerously near the side of my breasts. Nevertheless, it was soothing and I relaxed, enjoying the, evidently platonic, embrace.
Slowly, I became aware of your hardness pressing into my stomach. I had seen your bulge many times through the weeks that I teased you, and had imagined your cock while you stroked it just a few feet away in the bathroom, but I had only felt it through your jeans. Now, pressed in all its glory against my tummy with only your pajamas and my flimsy dress dividing us I realized my imagination had fallen short.
It pulsed into my stomach as you breathed and moved a little as your arms crossed from one side to the other over my back. I was torn. I loved the soothing feel of your hands on my back but was more afraid of the seductive lure of the tumescence pressing into my stomach. I knew I had to get up but couldn't bring myself to move and kidded myself it was because I didn't know how to extract myself without embarrassing you. You solved the problem when your hands abruptly reconnected the bra and zipped up my dress.
"Wake up, Mom. It's time for bed," you whispered.
I feigned waking, supposedly unaware of the large tube steak pressing into my flesh, conscious you had saved me from myself and that I lacked the ability to resist had you made an inappropriate advance.
*****
By noon the next day Don seemed better again and that night, after supper, he asked me to oil my legs for him again. I did so, langorously, on the bed beside him. While his attention was focused on my calves I glanced at his groin to see how much he was truly enjoying the show. To my surprise, he was soft, completely flaccid!
Why, then, did he want me to act so sexy in front of him when he was so obviously not interested, or capable of doing anything about it if he was? Why would he torture himself? I didn't get it.
"Will you put on the pleated grey skirt with a white blouse?" he asked.
"If it makes you happy."
I picked out a bra but he stopped me before I could put it on.
"No bra."
"No bra? Alright," I agreed reluctantly. "But I'll have to get changed again."
"You can put a sweater on after."
"Okay."
I dropped the bra and chose a pair of white panties.
"Not those. The black ones."
"Don!"
"Alice!" he countered, and laughed.
"I can't parade around the house in little more than a thong."
"Only you and I will know."
I shook my head.
"Humor me," he pleaded.
I relented. "Alright, but I don't see the point."
"The point is I want to think about you walking around like that."
"Whatever get's you off."
When I was dressed, Don said, "Beautiful." His smile faded briefly and then strengthened. He waved his hand dismissively and said. "Now go have dinner and let me rest."
I had thought Don might be feeling well enough to join us, but apparently not, so you and I ate dinner alone. I could see you knew I wasn't wearing a bra which bothered me because you might think it was because I let you unzip my dress. I wanted to straighten you out but couldn't without acknowledging that I knew you had unzipped my dress.
I also didn't want to reveal your father's request because it was private but would have needed to mention it for an adequate explanation. Moreover, I was afraid I might let it slip that he couldn't achieve an erection and I didn't want him to seem less in your eyes. Men can be funny about such things.
I was also confused about Don. If he thought it would help to watch me parade around in sexy clothes why didn't he ask me to walk around the bedroom in front of him instead of sending me away?
So we ate and did the dishes and relaxed in the living room, watching TV. Later, we made tea and had a snack. I was aware of your eyes upon me the whole time. Although conflicted, I did feel attractive and enjoyed the attention. I even looked at my legs myself a few times. They looked damned good. I felt sexy.
You tossed a crossword magazine at me and I reluctantly started one, relieved when you didn't move closer to me. Another hour slipped by. It was time to check on your father. He was awake.
"Lie beside me for a few minutes," Don asked.
As soon as I complied he began touching me, gently, but in a definite sexual manner. I guess thinking about me walking around the house in sexy panties excited him. I glanced at his groin, expecting to see an erection this time but there was still nothing. Saddened, I tolerated his caress and even let his hand slide up my skirt to cup my sex. His touch was more patient, more considerate than when he was hard and eager to get into me. I spread my legs to facilitate his gentle massage and waited for the inevitable penetration, kissed his cheek, and nuzzled his neck. He massaged the skimpy panties until they were damp.
"Okay, I'm tired now."
"What?"
"I want to go to sleep. Do you mind?"
"Uh, no. I guess not."
"Thanks, babe."
Downstairs, you were already leaning back on the couch, dressed in your pajamas. I sat at the far end and watched the TV without really seeing. After a few minutes, I turned and you stretched out your hand. I laid my head on your chest and settled my torso between your legs. You started rubbing my back through the white blouse. After a while, I noticed you were hard again. Very hard, unlike your father. I shifted my head and sighed, but didn't 'wake' up. I liked the feel of your hardness against me and wanted to enjoy it for a while. You were so big under your pajamas and I knew it was because of me so I wanted to dream a bit. What harm could it do?
Your hands stroked my hair and rubbed down my back. They slid onto my skirt and I held my breath. Your hands cupped my buttocks, measuring their shape and firmness, as well as possible through the thickly pleated material.
I shivered and your hands returned to my back, scraping the white blouse out of the waistband of the skirt. I lost track of time as your hands caressed my back and hair, and returned to my skirt, again and again. I lost myself in the pleasure of it.
How long was it, I wondered, before the blouse had been worked up to my shoulder blades, baring my waist and the sides of my breasts? Your hands were on my bare skin again but my back still felt covered. It wasn't until your hands moved down to my skirt that I realized it wasn't covering my buttocks anymore but had been flipped up to warm my back. My ass was exposed except for the skimpy panties and your hands were rubbing my bare flesh!
I was shocked by your brazenness. I should have done something but I didn't want a confrontation. It was nothing, I thought. You were just copping a feel. You had been stuck in this house with me and your father for months with no outlet for your own stress. What did it matter if you rubbed my ass and pressed your cock against my tummy? Or that I liked it but that thought was fleeting and quickly banished.
Your cock felt enormous. My mind turned to it and that's when you slid your right hand off the crest of my left buttock, grasped the narrow back of my panties, and pulled, dragging them deep into and through my crack until the larger part below pulled up tightly against my pussy. You repeated this several times until I was reminded of the way you pressed the flesh on the inside of my thigh, tugging my pussy lips apart. How similar your method, and how effective.
I told myself to 'wake' up but put it off several times. No, that's a lie. I dismissed the idea a dozen times. The pressure made my pussy feel like it was slowly cooking, each tug pulling it up against the warmth of your balls. I told myself again to 'wake' up but wished instead you would grab my tit. Didn't you know it was free and open for the taking?
I moaned softly into your shoulder, unintentionally. The skirt was flipped down and your hands scraped hard from my shoulders to my hips, pushing the blouse down. A moment later I lifted my shoulders and looked sleepily into your eyes.
"I guess I fell asleep."
"Yeah."
"I should go to bed."
"Okay."
I was saddened by the disappointment in your voice. Again, I asked myself, what did it matter if you copped a little feel? As I walked away from you, blouse untucked, I resolved to be more sensitive to your needs. You were going through a tough time too. I let my hips sway.
*****
The next day Don asked me to lie beside him, naked this time.
"Can I put the oil on your legs?"
I nodded, knowing he wasn't really asking.
He spread the oil on my legs, trailing his fingers so lightly over my skin I became aroused. His hand strayed onto my hips and then to my breasts, spreading the oil there too. My nipples were so hard I ridiculously imagined I could accidentally poke his eyes out. I giggled.
"Feel good?" Don asked.
"Yes," I replied.
"You look good in oil," he laughed. "Any man would love to touch your skin."
"I don't want any man to touch me," I replied.
His hand cupped my sex, and squeezed.
"You deserve to be touched."
"But not by anyone else," I murmured
"No strangers," Don agreed. "Did you have wine for dinner?" he asked, changing the subject.
"Yes."
"I thought so."
"Did you?" I queried, playfully.
He changed the subject again. "I love your tits."
Don never talked like this.
"Oh yeah. My old woman's tits?"
He ignored the comment. "Don't wear anything to hide them."
"Okay baby."
Don pushed me away.
"I'm tired."
I put on a loose t-shirt and short skirt and presented myself for his approval. He nodded and waved his hand. I left, turning around at the door to blow him a kiss, and turned out the light. He had already turned onto his side.
I joined you downstairs and was pleased to see you had already changed into your pajamas. There was pot of tea and a cup on the table but I ignored it.
"Whew," I sighed. "I'm bushed."
You held out your arms and I nestled between them, fitting my belly to yours and my head on your shoulder, arranging myself higher than before so my skirt would be easier for you to reach. Soon, I began breathing regularly so you would think I had drifted off. It wasn't long before I felt your hands on my skirt. You pulled it up and cupped my buttocks, staying still for several minutes before grasping the back of my panties. The tugging began, forcing the strip of panties deep between my cheeks and pressing the gusset onto my pussy.
Your cock was already hard and I felt its tip press against my bare belly when it stiffened enough to poke out the waistband of your pajamas. My t-shirt had been pulled up to expose my tummy without me even noticing. Brazenly, you pulled it higher to bare my breasts. They flopped out but you didn't grab them. Instead your hands returned to my ass.
"Jesus," you murmured.
You rubbed my cheeks and I realized the same time as you that Don had spread oil all over my ass.
"Jesus," you muttered again, then pulled the panties out of my crack.
Your fingers reached farther, between my cheeks, and spread them apart, spreading my pussy lips too. Your fingers stretched lower, between my legs, and pressed on my lower lips, found my slit and rubbed your fingertip through it. Oh, God. I shuddered.
My hand rose automatically and before I knew it, had slipped between us to mold your cock. The tip of your finger flicked, back and forth, digging through my slit and I heard as well as felt how wet it was. I was in heaven. My mind screamed that this was too much, way beyond copping a feel, but I didn't care. The touch of your flicking fingertip was exquisite. I moaned into your chest but this time you didn't read it as a sign that I was 'waking' up. Instead, you pressed your cock harder into my belly and pushed your finger in deeper.
I pressed down upon your rising hardness but then quickly twisted my pelvis upward, impaling myself even deeper upon you probing finger, and moaned again. Another press of your cock and then up to greet the entrance of your extended digit through my inner hole. I groaned and my fingers curled around your shaft.
Your finger pressed deeper until your knuckles pushed against my ass, blocking further penetration. I tightened my muscles upon it and dragged, squeezing at the same time so it wouldn't fall out.
My fingers lifted your cock off your belly and stroked it. Up and down, just enough to pull the skin over the head, back and forth, squeezing, like my cunt was doing on your finger. It was your turn to groan.
