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At that moment, I reentered my body and was overwhelmed by guilt for purposely exposing my hanging breasts to my son, encased, as they were, in a bra made of a thin, lightweight material designed for comfort rather than suppression. Shame flooded through me yet I brazenly paused to model my profile before transferring my hands to the top of the other thigh, leaving the first stocking to dangle from my foot as I lifted the other one onto the bed. I removed it in the same manner as the first except that I paused for longer with the blouse swept back to expose my breasts. The guilt and shame dissipated as I pulled the stocking off my foot and tossed it onto the bed, then turned further away so my son could continue to watch without fear of being observed.
Quickly, so Nate would know there was more to see, I unzipped the side of the skirt and let it fall in a puddle around my feet, then stepped out of it and stopped. I pulled out of my body then and watched as this strange woman peeled her blouse off her arms, each drawn back in turn with muscles tensed, before letting the blouse fall to the floor from one hand. A few steps were taken, in bra and panties, taking pains to tense the muscles down the back of each leg to highlight my femininity, and then a brush was retrieved from the dresser. The bun at the back of my head was released with two quick shakes and watched myself in the mirror, head tipped to the side, as I brushed my hair over my shoulder.
I'm not quite sure when Nate left but I gave plenty of warning that I was going to turn around and when I did he was gone. I was shaken and felt weak from the sudden shame that swept over me but found strength in the self-recrimination that followed. I grabbed a robe from the chair beside the bed and pulled it on as I hurried out to the living room. I wanted to apologize, to make excuses, but Nate wasn't there. Of course, it was better that he wasn't. I would simply pretend nothing had happened, that I didn't know he was there. After all, that's probably what he already thought.
Faltering steps returned me to my room. I was still upset by the tawdry show I had put on but not anymore by missing Nate because he would have been embarrassed if I had mentioned the accidental violation of my privacy. But something else was bothering me. The strange excitement that had rippled through me while I performed my sultry little act still surged within me. I launched myself onto the bed and landed with one hand between my legs, already cupping my panties, while the other had grabbed and was massaging my taut nipple. I brought myself to orgasm within the space of no more than a dozen ragged gasps.
Self-recrimination did not follow, which surprised me. I analyzed my feelings from a distance, once again adopting the perspective of an independent observer. The end justifies the means, I rationalized, and wasn't the end absolutely necessary? And the orgasm? Well, it had nothing to do with my son. I had simply acted in a sexual manner, something I hadn't done for years, and my body had reacted appropriately. There was nothing more to it.
Far from censuring my behavior, I repeated several more, though less brazen, displays of my female charms over the next three days. And that brings me here, dear Warren, to let you know that I will do whatever it takes to get my son free of those gangs so he has a chance for a normal life. If your way is the only way, so be it.
I can see that you've been heavily medicated for the pain and that you won't remember most of what I've said but I hope you got the gist of it. We both know that I can't accept your generous offer to bring Nate with me to take care of you. It's a genuine offer and, if there had been time, I know you would have honored it. I want you to know that it was deeply appreciated and I came here today to tell you this so you would know that I would have accepted it.
But now, dearest Warren, I must leave you for the last time for I know what's coming, as do you, and I can't bear to watch it. So goodbye my friend. I will be forever grateful for your stories because I now have the will and the knowledge to change the lives of myself and my son.
My attempt to speak didn't even translate into an expression that could be recognized as such. With a sad face, Susan got up and left. She didn't turn back for a final look.
Three days later, shocked and full of joy upon hearing of my miraculous recovery, Susan accepted my offer. The day after I moved home, she and her son arrived. I relinquished the room that had been my mother's and took up residence in my father's old room while Susan's son Nate occupied my old room. After an awkward and brief introduction he avoided me, presumably because he thought I was behind moving him away from his friends.
*****
I had thought Susan's relationship with her son was troubled but that was not the case. I wasn't mobile but the few interactions I did observe between mother and son were not strained nor did it appear that Nate didn't want to be here. To the contrary, he seemed quite pleased and whenever his mother was looking elsewhere he watched her in a decidedly improper manner. I recognized the way he looked at her for it was the look I had worn so well when observing my own mother.
So had Nate come to terms with his desire or had he even given it much thought? Probably not for I doubted he was any more thoughtful than I was at his age. Susan did have nice breasts, starting to sag perhaps, but then, that made their concealed movement all the more alluring. It was obvious to me that Nate was dying to get his hands on them but Susan seemed blissfully unaware. At least, it was clear that's what Nate thought, but was she?
Now that her son was here, away from the temptation of the gangs, would Susan shut him down or would she play him for a while longer to make sure he stayed?
Several times when I was downstairs Susan stretched up on her tippy toes to reach various things—a large soup pot, a crystal vase, a large serving platter—from the top cupboards. Her buns clenched and pressed seductively against the black stretchy material of her pants and her breasts thrust prettily against her green top, it's loose bottom gapping outward to display an only slightly pouting tummy. I was in no condition to fetch these things for Susan but she could easily have asked her son to do it. Nevertheless, I wasn't sure if she was keeping him in play or just doting on him.
This time Susan wobbled on the short, two step plastic ladder and Nate rushed to steady her by putting his hands on her hips. Susan looked down, smiled thankfully at her savior, then reached up to replace the large pot. Nate's eyes followed his mother's breasts as they lifted off her chest. She wasn't in a hurry, evidently needing to place the pot just so.
Susan wobbled again and Nate gripped more tightly, hands slipping above her hips onto her waist. To my knowledge it was the first time his hands had felt his mother's bare skin anywhere except for her hands and I sensed the shock ripple through his body. Neither of them seemed to remember that I was sitting at the table. Nate fingers looked like they wanted to close around his mother's waist, thus revealing what was on his mind.
"Don't let me fall, Nate."
Nate's hands tightened around his mother's waist.
Susan twisted the pot and stretched even higher, tightening her buttocks. She probably hadn't been on her tippy toes so long since her days in ballet and her calves trembled with the effort, or was it due to the Nate's warm hands now encircling her tummy beneath the weight of her breasts? I was sure she only meant to tease her son enough to keep him from straying back to the old neighborhood but wondered if thoughts of doing more were swirling around inside her head like my mother had later confessed to me after the first time I put my finger in her mouth. Was Susan similarly tempted?
*****
I thought about the final days in their apartment as Susan had related them to me.
Susan had admitted stretching out on her bed, legs spread and knees lifted which would have exposed her core if it hadn't been covered by her nightgown. She had heard Nate lurking in the hallway and that had made her hornier than she'd been in years. She imagined her son might be stroking his cock while he watched and was likely thinking about fucking her, his own mother, the way she knew I had fucked mine.
Susan confessed that she had slipped her hands between her legs upon that thought and pulled the nightgown up to palm her pussy. After rubbing it for a few minutes, she slipped a finger inside and, though it was hard to hear anything above her raspy breath, thought she heard the tell tale patter pater of Nate jerking his cock. She rubbed and fingered herself hard until the sound of Nate coming triggered her own creamy release.
Afterward, she relaxed and stretched her legs out, raising and crooking an arm to cover her eyes. Susan languished on the bed, ecstatic, both ashamed and hoping her son was watching, admiring her body and the pink glow of her flesh, until she heard a noise in the bathroom.
"Is that you, Nate?" she asked innocently.
"Uh, yeah. I forgot to take a leak."
"Could you turn my light out for me when you're done? I forgot it."
"Yeah, sure Mom."
Susan turned over but didn't cover herself, and waited. The toilet flushed without any prior telltale tinkling. The tap ran for a minute and then the bathroom light went out. Nate crossed the hall to his mother's room. There was a long pause and Susan realized the nightgown wasn't covering much, that all of her legs and most of her ass were exposed.
She confided to me that she had wondered why she hadn't closed her legs. She knew he was looking and still she kept them open. She just let him look. The light went off and the seconds dragged on until she was sure Nate must have gone.
"Goodnight Mom."
He could have quickly flicked the light off and gone to bed but instead he had lingered at the door before turning it off and then said goodnight as if to let her know he had stayed to look. She should have covered herself then, she knew, to maintain the pretense, but instead she acknowledged she knew he was there despite her exposed condition.
"Goodnight son."
After that, Susan became very careless about leaving the door open and was often in a state of partial undress when Nate was around. For his part, Nate went out less often, uncharacteristically hanging around home on weekends. He was there when the courier arrived from my lawyer with news of my recovery and a formalized statement of my offer including the inheritance of my house if I passed away while under her care. She was touched by my trust.
Susan handed the papers to her son and asked, "Will you come with me, Nate? I won't go without you."
Nate didn't hesitate. "Of course, Mom."
Her fear of that moment and how Nate would answer had been overwhelming yet now it had come and gone without the slightest trauma. Nate hugged her close and she let the softness of her body sag against the hardness of his. It felt so right to be so close to him and she thought about how lucky I was to have been so close to my mother.
*****
Unable to stay up on her toes any longer Susan relaxed back onto her heels. Her arms dropped to her sides and her breasts fell more heavily onto the back of Nate's hands which were still clasped around her waist. As Susan's tits sagged over Nate's knuckles she gasped and leaned backward pushing him off balance. He pulled his mother off the short ladder as he stepped back and she landed heavily in front of her son. It was a second or two before either of them realized that Nate's hands had been jarred upward and were now cupping Susan's ample breasts under the loose green top. Judging by what I'd seen before and the look on Nate's face, Susan wasn't wearing a bra.
"Oh, sorry Mom!"
When Nate yanked his hands away from his mother's tits they must have caught her nipples because they snapped down and bounced off her chest, then jiggled for a few seconds. Neither knew quite where to look. Susan turned to face her embarrassed son but didn't look him squarely in the eye.
"Sorry, Mom," Nate repeated.
"It's okay. It was my fault. You were just trying to save me."
Susan put her hand on Nate's cheek, smiled, then reached up as if to to plant a kiss on his cheek that instead landed on his lips. She pulled away, but only an inch.
"Thanks," she husked and turned away.
"I don't feel like cooking," she said. "Should we get some pizza?"
Nate glanced at me and, eager to leave an awkward situation behind, latched onto the idea. "Sure," he said.
Susan looked at me. "Warren?"
"You two go ahead. I think I'll go upstairs for a nap."
"Okay, Let's go Nate."
Nate followed his mother out of the kitchen, looking down at both hands held in front of him. I had a feeling he wasn't going to wash them for quite a while.
*****
So Susan left with her son and I was alone. The magical first touch had occurred and I was able to witness it. I knew it would preoccupy Nate but it had been accidental. Would the magic have its affect on Nate before Susan decided they had been away from their old neighborhood long enough for her to withdraw?
I couldn't leave it to chance. Somehow, I had to convince Susan she had to do more and instill the gumption in Nate to act while she was susceptible to an advance. She had confessed to me the secret pleasure she had derived from exposing herself to her son but that was a far cry from doing anything physical.
I wandered through the house. Each room held many memories of Mom and I had making love and they all spoke to me. How could I bring Susan and Nate together before their guilt let the opportunity pass them by?
I drifted into my room, the one that had been my father's after he moved out of Mom's. I was jolted by a vision of my grandfather dressed in his old military uniform, twisting this way and that as he admired himself in the full length mirror of the wardrobe. He twirled the ends of his mustache and fingered the medals on his chest, especially the cross which he had won in Palestine when Allenby had taken Turkey out of the war. He seemed very pleased with himself and abruptly turned and strode from the room at a brisk, military pace. Startled, I followed the mirage into the room across the hall to my mother's old room which now Susan's but had originally been my grandmother's.
"Aha," he bellowed.
A slim, attractive woman dressed in ornate night gear and wearing heavy makeup whirled around in fright. My mind reeled. How could this be? I recognized the woman as my grandmother from pictures when she was young even though she was wearing a veil. Why would she be afraid of my grandfather? Startled, yes, but afraid? I remembered him when I was a little boy and though he was gruff, he was very kind. It didn't make sense.
Why was Grandma wearing a veil? I had never seen her wear one when she was old nor seen any pictures of her doing so. Her hands flew to her face, then dropped to cover her breasts which, I could see through the open robe, hung freely beneath the ornately patterned, full-length nightdress. I never imagined that Grandma could have had such a nice body.
She looked sideways, raised one hand to block her face, and looked for all the world like an actress in a silent movie. Grandpa rushed toward her and pushed her over onto the bed, which stood high off the floor like the old-fashioned ones often did. Grandma sank deep into the thick covers and closed her eyes. She was older than I had first thought, perhaps in her late thirties or early forties, but still beautiful. That meant Grandpa must be nearing sixty for I knew he had been older than Grandma, much as Dad was older than Mom.
He spread her legs apart, roughly, lifted them high and used his shoulders to keep them up while he struggled to yank her knickers off. Grandma didn't fight until he pulled them off her feet and then only flailed her arms about. Still, he grabbed her nightdress and ripped it apart. Her tits leapt into view, rosy and excited, like those of a woman who had been waiting to be appreciated.
Grandpa flipped the leather strap off his shoulder and loosened his belt, then shoved his trousers down with one hand while feeling Grandma's fine tits with the other, mauling them roughly. Grandma continued to flail her arms about in futile, half-hearted protest, and muttered words that I vaguely recognized as Arabic from movies I had watched. Grandpa's trousers were down to his knees now and a hard cock bolted through his long shirt-tails.
"Now you're going to get it, you little bitch. Tell your husband if you want and let him complain to the British Army if he dares."
Grandma looked at Grandpa for the first time, her eyes comprehending.
"That's right, you heathen little bitch. You understand, don't you?"
Grandpa reached out and closed his large fingers around Grandma's throat.
"You'll take it the way I give it to you and love every minute of it."
Grandpa leaned forward to line up his cock between Grandma's legs. Her eyes widened as he nudged it into her hole and then rammed it home, filling her cunt in one forceful thrust.
"Fucking heathen bitch," he cried.
Grandpa fucked Grandma hard and fast, his hand tightening so hard around her neck I thought she would swoon but she never looked away. Her eyes were fiery and defiant, yet she didn't struggle or try to cushion the blows as his thighs slapped against the back of hers.
Grandpa grabbed Grandma's shoulders and began jerking her up to meet his thrusts and leaned over her to get deeper inside her, forcing her legs, still caught on his shoulders, way back. With his hand no longer holding her neck, Grandma's head flopped about as Grandpa fucked her as rough as I had seen on any porno flick, except those were simulated and this was real. Her eyes glazed over.
"That's it, bitch. Love the way a Tommy fucks, don't you?"
Grandpa rammed into Grandma harder, if that can be believed. He smacked into her thighs and almost fell upon her, his high-laced army boots digging into the heavy, darkly stained fir floor. Grandma was moaning now and her arms had risen to grip Grandpa's forearms but they weren't trying to push him away—instead, they urged him on.
Grandpa laughed. "Beg for it, you heathen slut!"
He was like a runaway freight train.
"Beg for it," he yelled, galloping faster.
"Please, please…" Grandma cried.
At least, I think that's what she said. The words were garbled amid her moans.
Grandpa stopped talking. He was grunting and wheezing so loudly there was no room for words. He pounded Grandma so hard I was afraid her legs would break but instead they both began emitting the telltale sounds of imminent orgasm. I reached out to stop him but my hand passed through empty air and the whole scene disappeared into the thin air from which it had appeared.
Reeling from this strange but vivid waking dream, I stumbled out of the room and wandered down the hall to my old one which was now Nate's. It was empty but the moaning and groaning returned. I turned toward the source of the sound and found it coming from the large closet. Someone was in there, back to me, hunched over with an eye pressed to the wall. I walked toward him, unafraid, knowing it was a continuation of my daydream for he didn't look quite real. He was peering through a hole in the wall, one finger holding a slide-away cover off to the side.
