Update 09
Discovering Mum Ch. 05
We walked out the front door and turned right onto the street. Turning left at the end of the block and walking for another block put us on the esplanade. It was a typical warm evening with no clouds. The sky had become a deep blue, fading into a lighter blue on the western horizon. The seagulls were all squabbling over roosts for the night, and the coloured lights that were hung in loops along the shopfronts were flickering randomly with a mixture of colours. We found a place selling fresh-caught and cooked fish and ordered some as well as some chips. Nothing seemed to cry out beachside holiday like fish and chips on the foreshore for me. Not that this was a holiday.
We collected our order and wandered across the road. The beach stretched out before us in a long, soft arc, and the water lapped quietly at the shore. Just before the beach, there was a section of soft grass and picnic tables for a couple of hundred meters. At one end was a kids playground and the public toilets, but we sat at the other end, where the grass slowly changed from manicured lawns to natural sand dunes, native grasses, and ti-trees.
Being that school holidays didn't start until next week, it was still fairly quiet. It was a nice time of year to avoid mosquitoes, flies, and midgies. Even the seagulls pretty much left us alone, as they were all settling down for the night. Next week, it will be a completely different story. The Easter holidays were second only to the Christmas holidays for tourists here. By midday on Friday, they would start to descend upon the town with their caravans, campers, and tents, and the population would triple or more.
I can understand why people wanted to come here. It's a beautiful little seaside town with great weather and a relaxing vibe; however, when you add twenty thousand tourists, the atmosphere evaporates. Financially, the tourists are good for the town, but by the end of the holidays, the locals can't wait to see their backs.
The convoy of caravans leaving on the last day is absolutely absurd. It's about a forty-five minute to an hour drive to the nearest city, but on that weekend, it will take at least three hours to get there. While the local tow truck companies have a heyday as the nose-to-tail fender benders happen en-masse. I honestly couldn't think of anything less relaxing.
I spread out the warm white paper, and the smell of the freshly cooked fish wafted into the air, causing my stomach to rumble. We both sat down and began to eat, but we had both been pretty quiet so far. I looked across at Mum, and she looked pretty much how you would expect anyone to look given the circumstances. I reached across the table and took her hand. She looked up, and her sad eyes met mine.
"I know you're not really, but are you okay?"
She half-smiled and chuckled.
"Well. Obviously not, but yeah, I think I'm going to be okay."
"She's a lot worse than we expected."
She dropped her head and looked at the table for a while, but she never let go of my hand.
"Jeffery, I feel so goddamned guilty."
She didn't elaborate straight away, but I knew just how serious she was by the way she said my name. I waited a few moments, and when she didn't say any more, I spoke up.
"You have absolutely nothing to feel guilty about."
She gave a small, bitter, humourless laugh.
"Yeah, right."
"I'm serious. What on earth do you have to feel guilty about?"
"Alright, well, how's this for a list? A failed marriage, an incarcerated son, ignoring the needs of my dying mother, feeling joy and excitement for reliving my youth when I should be focused on the needs of someone I love who is fucking dying, and just to add a cherry on top, the sexual abuse of my other son."
I shook my head and even chuckled a bit. She looked at me like I had lost my mind, and she even looked like she was about to get pissed off with me but then burst into tears instead. She cried like I had never seen her cry before. I moved around to the other side of the table, sat down next to her, and just held her to me. She sobbed for what felt like an hour, and all I could do was hold her to myself and try to comfort her. It was scary to see her lose it like this. I had never seen her lose control, ever. Even when Peter was sentenced, it wasn't this bad. But we all have our breaking points, I guess.
My mind was wandering through the things she had so egregiously accused herself of, and I couldn't help but wonder if I had added to her burdens today instead of easing them. I noticed after a while that she had stopped sobbing and was now just clinging to me like her life depended on it. Her face was buried against my neck, and I could feel the cooler air on my skin that had been wet by her tears. After a few more minutes, I felt her body relax, and then she began to straighten herself up.
She sat up and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, then blew her nose. Finally, she looked up at me with swollen eyes.
"I'm so sorry, Kiddo."
I gently kissed her forehead.
"I meant what I said. You have nothing to be sorry for. If you want to beat yourself up over any of this, I can't stop you. I don't see how you can hold yourself responsible for all this, though."
"You don't understand."
"You're right. I don't understand. I'm not stupid; I can see why you might want to blame yourself, but if you are going to do that, then I have the right to reply."
She chuckled and shook her head.
"If you say so."
"Alright. So you say the failed marriage is your fault, yet everything we have discussed today seems to say otherwise. Are you guilty of marrying someone who wasn't entirely suitable for you? Sure, but that's no crime. Did you not try and make it work for the last twenty years?"
"Well. Yeah, I guess."
"It takes two to make a marriage work, and despite you telling him what you needed, he deliberately denied you the very things that made you you. That is abuse, and to expect anyone to be okay with that is completely unrealistic. I don't see why you should be holding yourself to a higher standard than he holds himself. He has shown you no care or love for a long time and outright animosity this year. That is not your fault. While we are speaking of fault, how on earth are you responsible for the behaviour of another adult who simply made a terrible decision and ruined his own life? Decisions made while you weren't present, nor were you expected to be present, and about a subject that we had been thoroughly taught about the dangers of. We were taught by you as well as in school and pretty much every form of media that we have access to. Peter made that decision knowing the dangers and knowing you would not approve. He's an adult, made an adult decision, and is now suffering adult consequences for it."
"I get what you are saying, but I am his mother, and I must have failed in some way, or he wouldn't be in this position."
"Bullshit! We were raised in the same household with the same rules and the same conditions. The thought of ever trying something like that absolutely terrifies me, and that was true even before Peter did what he did. He just made a dumb decision under the influence of alcohol and his peers. He never expected it to go this bad, or he would never have done it. None of it was your doing. Stop trying to take ownership of that away from him. It's his and his alone."
She didn't say anything, but she did nod, acknowledging what I was saying.
"As for Granny, you can't possibly be responsible for what you haven't been told. Right or wrong, she chose not to tell you how bad things were. She did it because she could see you were dealing with a lot and didn't want to burden you with more, not because she didn't want you to care."
"I should have paid more attention and asked more questions."
"Woulda, shoulda, coulda. We all have twenty-twenty vision with hindsight. You were understandably distracted by a hell of a lot more going on than most people would normally deal with. She didn't even tell you she was sick, and that had to have been before all of this other shit started. You aren't responsible for what others don't tell you."
She seemed determined to hold herself responsible for something, though, and I could see what was coming next before she even spoke.
"You can't tell me I'm not responsible for my behaviour today, though."
I nodded, but I squeezed her tighter to me regardless.
"No, I can't."
She nodded sadly and hung her head.
"Nor would I change a single thing about it."
She looked up at me, shocked.
"What?"
"This might sound bizarre, and I guess it kind of is in some ways, but, as terrible as this day has been, it has also been one of the best days I can remember in years. I feel like I have gotten to know you properly for the first time ever. I feel like I have made a close friend, a friend that is closer than any I have ever had, and I cherish that. I have seen you happier today, despite the situation with Granny, than I have seen you in years. It has been exciting and fun. I get why you are feeling conflicted, but let me remind you of an agreement we made this morning. We are two good friends, sharing ourselves honestly with each other. Are we pushing the limits of friendship? I guess, but are we hurting anyone? I don't think we are."
"I have enjoyed it too, and that's a part of the problem. I have enjoyed it far more than I probably should have, and that's a big part of why I feel so damn guilty. Even putting aside our actual relationship, which isn't entirely reasonable, I am a married woman."
I nodded.
"In title only these days, and for how long?"
"Still, that doesn't make an affair okay."
"If you are concerned that this is the reason for a possible divorce, then think about this. If this hadn't happened today, if we never had this conversation, would it have prevented a future divorce, or was it happening anyway?"
She shrugged and looked out to sea for a few moments before she sighed.
"I guess it would probably happen anyway."
"This is partially a consequence of what has happened, not the cause."
"I know, but an affair is an affair."
It was kind of exciting to think of what we were doing as some kind of illicit affair, but I understood where she was coming from.
"Just a quick question. What would you consider to be unforgivable as an affair?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, lots of people have emotional affairs. Not necessarily physical affairs. Some people only consider intercourse as an affair, yet I have heard of some people who accuse their partners of cheating just because they looked at another person they found attractive. It's different for everyone. You like other people to look, to watch, to see you in compromising situations, to see your naked body. You want people to want you. You want them to imagine themselves fucking you. It turns you on knowing that people can see you in an intimate situation. You also like to watch people in those situations. You get turned on by the thought and deed of watching people fucking, sucking, masturbating, and cumming. So obviously, this fits into your idea of what's an affair and what isn't. So how far is too far for you with all of this in mind?"
She chuckled, and I could feel her squirming a little beneath my arm. It was so hot saying these things to her and knowing that she was getting turned on the more I spoke about it.
"You sure did take in a lot today, didn't you? You seem to have understood more about what turns me on in just one day than your father has in twenty years. Considering what you have just said, I guess watching and being watched isn't cheating in my mind."
"Do you think it's cheating if there has been no physical sexual contact? I mean, I found it incredibly sexy that you left me that gift this afternoon. There was no physical contact directly between us, yet I could still feel the heat of your body on your panties. I could still smell your pussy on them, and I could taste your cum. I have literally tasted your pussy without physical contact. Yet when you slipped your cum-coated finger between my lips in front of your own mother today, there was physical contact, and it was enough to the point where I almost came myself. It was so taboo and so damn sexy. Still, there was no contact between any intimate part of your body and mine. Was that cheating?"
She was really squirming now, and I knew she was getting very turned on by the things we had both done and by me telling her how much it turned me on. I was too, and I wanted more.
"God! That was so fucking wild. It was probably a step too far really. I can't believe I did any of that, but it was so hot, and it turns me on so much."
"How long has it been since you were turned on the way you have been today?"
She laughed and looked up at me.
"Honestly?"
"Of course."
"Probably not since the games I used to play with Susie."
"Do you like it?"
Her eyes had a real intensity about them now.
"I fucking love it. I love being turned on, I love cumming in my panties, and I love feeling all wet and hot and excited like this. The only thing missing is showing it off to someone."
"You have a very good friend who would love for you to show off too and would love to show off for you."
"Oh god. I want to so badly. Fuck, I am so wet right now."
"So, watching is okay. Sharing gifts is okay. Tasting is okay. So what do you think the limit is now?"
I knew I wasn't being entirely reasonable, and I'm not completely proud of myself for manipulating the situation. In my defence, though, if it is indeed defensibly, I was hornier than I had ever been in my life, and I wasn't exactly thinking with the appropriate head.
She was thinking hard and still squirming in her seat. I could feel her hips gyrating as her bare thigh slowly rubbed against mine. It was so hard to try to be casual with my arm around her shoulders and not try to touch her everywhere at once. I was really trying to keep it cool, but I wanted to pick her up and sit her down on my cock so she could squirm on that for a while.
"Well, with all of that in mind, I guess I would say that the absolute limit for me would be fucking. I couldn't do that while I am a married woman. I couldn't allow a man to fuck me, to cum inside of my pussy. I might feel guilty about some other things, but I guess that would be the hard line for me. That would be truly cheating. Anything else is similar to masturbating or fantasy, which surely anyone should be allowed to do, shouldn't they?"
She was trying to justify not just the behaviour she had already engaged in but the behaviour she wanted to engage in as well. Telling herself what she wanted to hear to make it alright. I was so far down the rabbit hole now that I would have agreed to just about anything that made her want to do more. I'm not defending my own behaviour here, just explaining how far gone I was, how far gone we both were.
"Of course they should."
There's no question that I had ulterior motives for agreeing with her, and I knew for a fact that most other people wouldn't agree with the logic. But what works for one person isn't going to work for another, and I can only really speak for myself. I wanted her to pursue her fantasies because it made her happy to do so, but also because I shared her fantasies and wanted to be a part of them. When she called me a motherfucker earlier, she couldn't have been more accurate about what I now wanted.
I had no idea until today that this was one of my kinks, but from the moment I discovered it, I was hooked. It was like free-falling off a cliff. Once I dove off, there was no turning back. I was in for the ride, and I had no idea if it would land me in heaven, hell, Valhalla, or purgatory, but I was committed one way or another.
The sky had faded from dark blue to an inky black. There were a lot of stars visible in the night sky, but there was enough glow from the freeway, the shops, and the city in the far distance to block a full view of the Milky Way as it arched across the sky. There was one old sodium light in the middle of the grassy section that lent everything around it a sickly yellow colour. I could clearly make out the Southern Cross and its pointers, though. I knew how to use them to find south, but south was the last place I wanted to think about. South was where home was. There was very little for me south of here now. North somehow felt like the future, and south felt like the past.
Neither of us had managed to finish our meal, and Mum wrapped the remains up in the paper. She stood up and began walking towards the rubbish bin. She dumped it in and began returning to the table but stopped halfway with a thoughtful look on her face that became a devious smile. I couldn't help but return the smile, but I was curious as to what had caused it.
"What?"
"I was just thinking. Imagine if this was a nudist beach. I would be able to strip naked in front of as many people as I liked."
"You wouldn't get any arguments from me."
She chuckled.
"You know, I really like the fact that you are as big a pervert as I am. You would love it if I flashed, wouldn't you?"
"I can't deny it. Not after today; you would know it's a lie."
Without saying another word, she began lifting the bottom of her shirt. She stopped when she got to her breasts, and her look intensified. A single word escaped my lips, although I had no intention of saying it out loud.
"Please."
Her fingers dipped below the bottom of her bra, then continued upward as her breasts spilt out the bottom. She held her shirt and bra against her upper chest as she bared her breasts to me and anyone else who happened to be looking in this direction. Her nipples were extended, and she used a finger from each hand to flick them back and forth a few times. Even from about three meters away, I could hear the throaty moan that escaped her mouth.
"Oh fuck!"
I still don't know if it was her or me, or possibly both of us, that said that. God, it was a beautiful sight. She laughed out loud and then did a little jump up and down, making her breasts bounce as she did. I wanted to rush over to her and hold her, but at the same time I wanted to just watch. That disconnected voyeurism of watching but not touching was so exciting. I know that was exciting for her too, but I suspect her kinks were evolving throughout the day as she began to explore herself again. Perhaps she was remembering what it was like to have a "partner-in-crime" the way she did with her old school friend.
I briefly wondered what her friend was up to these days. Was she still into the same things, or had she moved on completely? What would happen if they met up again? Would they be too different now? Would they slip back into their old roles? I imagined them running amok and getting up to no good together and being lucky enough to watch as they showed off for me and for each other.
Meanwhile, my eyes were glued to her breasts and her hard nipples. She had stopped bouncing them and was pulling on her hard nipples. Her thighs were doing this sort of gyration against each other, and I knew she was feeling it right down to her pussy. She was biting her bottom lip, and she had a smouldering look in her eye. She looked at me in a way that she never had before, and it sent a shiver through my body. Her eyes travelled down to my crotch, and I became aware of just how hard my cock was. Without even considering the implications, I placed my hand on my cock and slowly stroked it through the material.
Her eyes became glued to my hand and the bulge that it was squeezing. She let out a small moan and nodded.
"Yeah, that's it, stroke it."
I continued doing what I was and felt an incredible desire to do more. I wanted her involved; I needed her interaction. If anyone drove past, they would have seen what was going on. They would have seen me squeezing my cock, and they would have seen her with her tits out and on display. Neither of us cared; in fact, I wished they would. The thought of someone seeing me stroke my cock was so outrageous and good that I had to do it properly.
We collected our order and wandered across the road. The beach stretched out before us in a long, soft arc, and the water lapped quietly at the shore. Just before the beach, there was a section of soft grass and picnic tables for a couple of hundred meters. At one end was a kids playground and the public toilets, but we sat at the other end, where the grass slowly changed from manicured lawns to natural sand dunes, native grasses, and ti-trees.
Being that school holidays didn't start until next week, it was still fairly quiet. It was a nice time of year to avoid mosquitoes, flies, and midgies. Even the seagulls pretty much left us alone, as they were all settling down for the night. Next week, it will be a completely different story. The Easter holidays were second only to the Christmas holidays for tourists here. By midday on Friday, they would start to descend upon the town with their caravans, campers, and tents, and the population would triple or more.
I can understand why people wanted to come here. It's a beautiful little seaside town with great weather and a relaxing vibe; however, when you add twenty thousand tourists, the atmosphere evaporates. Financially, the tourists are good for the town, but by the end of the holidays, the locals can't wait to see their backs.
The convoy of caravans leaving on the last day is absolutely absurd. It's about a forty-five minute to an hour drive to the nearest city, but on that weekend, it will take at least three hours to get there. While the local tow truck companies have a heyday as the nose-to-tail fender benders happen en-masse. I honestly couldn't think of anything less relaxing.
I spread out the warm white paper, and the smell of the freshly cooked fish wafted into the air, causing my stomach to rumble. We both sat down and began to eat, but we had both been pretty quiet so far. I looked across at Mum, and she looked pretty much how you would expect anyone to look given the circumstances. I reached across the table and took her hand. She looked up, and her sad eyes met mine.
"I know you're not really, but are you okay?"
She half-smiled and chuckled.
"Well. Obviously not, but yeah, I think I'm going to be okay."
"She's a lot worse than we expected."
She dropped her head and looked at the table for a while, but she never let go of my hand.
"Jeffery, I feel so goddamned guilty."
She didn't elaborate straight away, but I knew just how serious she was by the way she said my name. I waited a few moments, and when she didn't say any more, I spoke up.
"You have absolutely nothing to feel guilty about."
She gave a small, bitter, humourless laugh.
"Yeah, right."
"I'm serious. What on earth do you have to feel guilty about?"
"Alright, well, how's this for a list? A failed marriage, an incarcerated son, ignoring the needs of my dying mother, feeling joy and excitement for reliving my youth when I should be focused on the needs of someone I love who is fucking dying, and just to add a cherry on top, the sexual abuse of my other son."
I shook my head and even chuckled a bit. She looked at me like I had lost my mind, and she even looked like she was about to get pissed off with me but then burst into tears instead. She cried like I had never seen her cry before. I moved around to the other side of the table, sat down next to her, and just held her to me. She sobbed for what felt like an hour, and all I could do was hold her to myself and try to comfort her. It was scary to see her lose it like this. I had never seen her lose control, ever. Even when Peter was sentenced, it wasn't this bad. But we all have our breaking points, I guess.
My mind was wandering through the things she had so egregiously accused herself of, and I couldn't help but wonder if I had added to her burdens today instead of easing them. I noticed after a while that she had stopped sobbing and was now just clinging to me like her life depended on it. Her face was buried against my neck, and I could feel the cooler air on my skin that had been wet by her tears. After a few more minutes, I felt her body relax, and then she began to straighten herself up.
She sat up and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, then blew her nose. Finally, she looked up at me with swollen eyes.
"I'm so sorry, Kiddo."
I gently kissed her forehead.
"I meant what I said. You have nothing to be sorry for. If you want to beat yourself up over any of this, I can't stop you. I don't see how you can hold yourself responsible for all this, though."
"You don't understand."
"You're right. I don't understand. I'm not stupid; I can see why you might want to blame yourself, but if you are going to do that, then I have the right to reply."
She chuckled and shook her head.
"If you say so."
"Alright. So you say the failed marriage is your fault, yet everything we have discussed today seems to say otherwise. Are you guilty of marrying someone who wasn't entirely suitable for you? Sure, but that's no crime. Did you not try and make it work for the last twenty years?"
"Well. Yeah, I guess."
"It takes two to make a marriage work, and despite you telling him what you needed, he deliberately denied you the very things that made you you. That is abuse, and to expect anyone to be okay with that is completely unrealistic. I don't see why you should be holding yourself to a higher standard than he holds himself. He has shown you no care or love for a long time and outright animosity this year. That is not your fault. While we are speaking of fault, how on earth are you responsible for the behaviour of another adult who simply made a terrible decision and ruined his own life? Decisions made while you weren't present, nor were you expected to be present, and about a subject that we had been thoroughly taught about the dangers of. We were taught by you as well as in school and pretty much every form of media that we have access to. Peter made that decision knowing the dangers and knowing you would not approve. He's an adult, made an adult decision, and is now suffering adult consequences for it."
"I get what you are saying, but I am his mother, and I must have failed in some way, or he wouldn't be in this position."
"Bullshit! We were raised in the same household with the same rules and the same conditions. The thought of ever trying something like that absolutely terrifies me, and that was true even before Peter did what he did. He just made a dumb decision under the influence of alcohol and his peers. He never expected it to go this bad, or he would never have done it. None of it was your doing. Stop trying to take ownership of that away from him. It's his and his alone."
She didn't say anything, but she did nod, acknowledging what I was saying.
"As for Granny, you can't possibly be responsible for what you haven't been told. Right or wrong, she chose not to tell you how bad things were. She did it because she could see you were dealing with a lot and didn't want to burden you with more, not because she didn't want you to care."
"I should have paid more attention and asked more questions."
"Woulda, shoulda, coulda. We all have twenty-twenty vision with hindsight. You were understandably distracted by a hell of a lot more going on than most people would normally deal with. She didn't even tell you she was sick, and that had to have been before all of this other shit started. You aren't responsible for what others don't tell you."
She seemed determined to hold herself responsible for something, though, and I could see what was coming next before she even spoke.
"You can't tell me I'm not responsible for my behaviour today, though."
I nodded, but I squeezed her tighter to me regardless.
"No, I can't."
She nodded sadly and hung her head.
"Nor would I change a single thing about it."
She looked up at me, shocked.
"What?"
"This might sound bizarre, and I guess it kind of is in some ways, but, as terrible as this day has been, it has also been one of the best days I can remember in years. I feel like I have gotten to know you properly for the first time ever. I feel like I have made a close friend, a friend that is closer than any I have ever had, and I cherish that. I have seen you happier today, despite the situation with Granny, than I have seen you in years. It has been exciting and fun. I get why you are feeling conflicted, but let me remind you of an agreement we made this morning. We are two good friends, sharing ourselves honestly with each other. Are we pushing the limits of friendship? I guess, but are we hurting anyone? I don't think we are."
"I have enjoyed it too, and that's a part of the problem. I have enjoyed it far more than I probably should have, and that's a big part of why I feel so damn guilty. Even putting aside our actual relationship, which isn't entirely reasonable, I am a married woman."
I nodded.
"In title only these days, and for how long?"
"Still, that doesn't make an affair okay."
"If you are concerned that this is the reason for a possible divorce, then think about this. If this hadn't happened today, if we never had this conversation, would it have prevented a future divorce, or was it happening anyway?"
She shrugged and looked out to sea for a few moments before she sighed.
"I guess it would probably happen anyway."
"This is partially a consequence of what has happened, not the cause."
"I know, but an affair is an affair."
It was kind of exciting to think of what we were doing as some kind of illicit affair, but I understood where she was coming from.
"Just a quick question. What would you consider to be unforgivable as an affair?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, lots of people have emotional affairs. Not necessarily physical affairs. Some people only consider intercourse as an affair, yet I have heard of some people who accuse their partners of cheating just because they looked at another person they found attractive. It's different for everyone. You like other people to look, to watch, to see you in compromising situations, to see your naked body. You want people to want you. You want them to imagine themselves fucking you. It turns you on knowing that people can see you in an intimate situation. You also like to watch people in those situations. You get turned on by the thought and deed of watching people fucking, sucking, masturbating, and cumming. So obviously, this fits into your idea of what's an affair and what isn't. So how far is too far for you with all of this in mind?"
She chuckled, and I could feel her squirming a little beneath my arm. It was so hot saying these things to her and knowing that she was getting turned on the more I spoke about it.
"You sure did take in a lot today, didn't you? You seem to have understood more about what turns me on in just one day than your father has in twenty years. Considering what you have just said, I guess watching and being watched isn't cheating in my mind."
"Do you think it's cheating if there has been no physical sexual contact? I mean, I found it incredibly sexy that you left me that gift this afternoon. There was no physical contact directly between us, yet I could still feel the heat of your body on your panties. I could still smell your pussy on them, and I could taste your cum. I have literally tasted your pussy without physical contact. Yet when you slipped your cum-coated finger between my lips in front of your own mother today, there was physical contact, and it was enough to the point where I almost came myself. It was so taboo and so damn sexy. Still, there was no contact between any intimate part of your body and mine. Was that cheating?"
She was really squirming now, and I knew she was getting very turned on by the things we had both done and by me telling her how much it turned me on. I was too, and I wanted more.
"God! That was so fucking wild. It was probably a step too far really. I can't believe I did any of that, but it was so hot, and it turns me on so much."
"How long has it been since you were turned on the way you have been today?"
She laughed and looked up at me.
"Honestly?"
"Of course."
"Probably not since the games I used to play with Susie."
"Do you like it?"
Her eyes had a real intensity about them now.
"I fucking love it. I love being turned on, I love cumming in my panties, and I love feeling all wet and hot and excited like this. The only thing missing is showing it off to someone."
"You have a very good friend who would love for you to show off too and would love to show off for you."
"Oh god. I want to so badly. Fuck, I am so wet right now."
"So, watching is okay. Sharing gifts is okay. Tasting is okay. So what do you think the limit is now?"
I knew I wasn't being entirely reasonable, and I'm not completely proud of myself for manipulating the situation. In my defence, though, if it is indeed defensibly, I was hornier than I had ever been in my life, and I wasn't exactly thinking with the appropriate head.
She was thinking hard and still squirming in her seat. I could feel her hips gyrating as her bare thigh slowly rubbed against mine. It was so hard to try to be casual with my arm around her shoulders and not try to touch her everywhere at once. I was really trying to keep it cool, but I wanted to pick her up and sit her down on my cock so she could squirm on that for a while.
"Well, with all of that in mind, I guess I would say that the absolute limit for me would be fucking. I couldn't do that while I am a married woman. I couldn't allow a man to fuck me, to cum inside of my pussy. I might feel guilty about some other things, but I guess that would be the hard line for me. That would be truly cheating. Anything else is similar to masturbating or fantasy, which surely anyone should be allowed to do, shouldn't they?"
She was trying to justify not just the behaviour she had already engaged in but the behaviour she wanted to engage in as well. Telling herself what she wanted to hear to make it alright. I was so far down the rabbit hole now that I would have agreed to just about anything that made her want to do more. I'm not defending my own behaviour here, just explaining how far gone I was, how far gone we both were.
"Of course they should."
There's no question that I had ulterior motives for agreeing with her, and I knew for a fact that most other people wouldn't agree with the logic. But what works for one person isn't going to work for another, and I can only really speak for myself. I wanted her to pursue her fantasies because it made her happy to do so, but also because I shared her fantasies and wanted to be a part of them. When she called me a motherfucker earlier, she couldn't have been more accurate about what I now wanted.
I had no idea until today that this was one of my kinks, but from the moment I discovered it, I was hooked. It was like free-falling off a cliff. Once I dove off, there was no turning back. I was in for the ride, and I had no idea if it would land me in heaven, hell, Valhalla, or purgatory, but I was committed one way or another.
The sky had faded from dark blue to an inky black. There were a lot of stars visible in the night sky, but there was enough glow from the freeway, the shops, and the city in the far distance to block a full view of the Milky Way as it arched across the sky. There was one old sodium light in the middle of the grassy section that lent everything around it a sickly yellow colour. I could clearly make out the Southern Cross and its pointers, though. I knew how to use them to find south, but south was the last place I wanted to think about. South was where home was. There was very little for me south of here now. North somehow felt like the future, and south felt like the past.
Neither of us had managed to finish our meal, and Mum wrapped the remains up in the paper. She stood up and began walking towards the rubbish bin. She dumped it in and began returning to the table but stopped halfway with a thoughtful look on her face that became a devious smile. I couldn't help but return the smile, but I was curious as to what had caused it.
"What?"
"I was just thinking. Imagine if this was a nudist beach. I would be able to strip naked in front of as many people as I liked."
"You wouldn't get any arguments from me."
She chuckled.
"You know, I really like the fact that you are as big a pervert as I am. You would love it if I flashed, wouldn't you?"
"I can't deny it. Not after today; you would know it's a lie."
Without saying another word, she began lifting the bottom of her shirt. She stopped when she got to her breasts, and her look intensified. A single word escaped my lips, although I had no intention of saying it out loud.
"Please."
Her fingers dipped below the bottom of her bra, then continued upward as her breasts spilt out the bottom. She held her shirt and bra against her upper chest as she bared her breasts to me and anyone else who happened to be looking in this direction. Her nipples were extended, and she used a finger from each hand to flick them back and forth a few times. Even from about three meters away, I could hear the throaty moan that escaped her mouth.
"Oh fuck!"
I still don't know if it was her or me, or possibly both of us, that said that. God, it was a beautiful sight. She laughed out loud and then did a little jump up and down, making her breasts bounce as she did. I wanted to rush over to her and hold her, but at the same time I wanted to just watch. That disconnected voyeurism of watching but not touching was so exciting. I know that was exciting for her too, but I suspect her kinks were evolving throughout the day as she began to explore herself again. Perhaps she was remembering what it was like to have a "partner-in-crime" the way she did with her old school friend.
I briefly wondered what her friend was up to these days. Was she still into the same things, or had she moved on completely? What would happen if they met up again? Would they be too different now? Would they slip back into their old roles? I imagined them running amok and getting up to no good together and being lucky enough to watch as they showed off for me and for each other.
Meanwhile, my eyes were glued to her breasts and her hard nipples. She had stopped bouncing them and was pulling on her hard nipples. Her thighs were doing this sort of gyration against each other, and I knew she was feeling it right down to her pussy. She was biting her bottom lip, and she had a smouldering look in her eye. She looked at me in a way that she never had before, and it sent a shiver through my body. Her eyes travelled down to my crotch, and I became aware of just how hard my cock was. Without even considering the implications, I placed my hand on my cock and slowly stroked it through the material.
Her eyes became glued to my hand and the bulge that it was squeezing. She let out a small moan and nodded.
"Yeah, that's it, stroke it."
I continued doing what I was and felt an incredible desire to do more. I wanted her involved; I needed her interaction. If anyone drove past, they would have seen what was going on. They would have seen me squeezing my cock, and they would have seen her with her tits out and on display. Neither of us cared; in fact, I wished they would. The thought of someone seeing me stroke my cock was so outrageous and good that I had to do it properly.
