Airport Musings Pt. 03: Welcoming

tagIncest/TabooAirport Musings Pt. 03: Welcoming

Chapter 5: An Unexpected Companion
I awoke the next day with a pulsing headache and a terrible taste in my mouth. This would be the first of many such mornings throughout my life, although I swore the opposite at the time. With bleary eyes, I scanned my surroundings. Where the hell was I? As I sat up to orient myself, my head began to throb. I forced my way through the pain to find clarity, the realization dawning on me that I was in my room and had somehow fallen asleep with my feet at the head of the bed. The alarm clock on my makeshift bedside table (read: filing cabinet) claimed it was already after nine in the morning. Satisfied for a moment, I let myself fall back onto the mattress with a plop.
And then the memory struck me. My mother with her back pressed tightly against me, quiet gasps escaping her lungs. Her ass pressed against my manhood and my hands between her soft thighs, gently pleasuring her.
A warmth spread throughout my entire body, and even in my hungover state I felt myself begin to grow aroused. Our parting kiss floated across my mind before fading to blackness. The rest of the evening was a blank. I fumbled in this darkness for some time but found nothing, and this left an opening for uncertainty to force its way into my thoughts. Had it actually happened at all? Or had I—in any order you choose—passed out drunk, stumbled up the stairs, and dreamed of the thing I wanted most in the world?
God, please let it have been real. I needed to know. The minutes crept by slowly as I formulated my plan of attack, and I quickly learned that my head hurt slightly less if I laid still enough. First, I needed aspirin and water. This headache absolutely needed to go, and my throat felt like cracked earth being irrigated by bird piss as I forced a meager volume of saliva down it with each swallow. Food could wait until later.
Next, I needed to brush my teeth and "wash the ass out of my face." Something my grandfather used to say, that. I have never totally understood the phrase's origin, but as with many idioms I often wonder if it's meant to be literal or figurative. Either, both, and. But I digress. Still, I wouldn't have minded if it were literal under certain circumstances. Feeling my imagination drift into visions of me licking my mom's pussy from behind, I snapped my focus back to the mission at hand. I wanted the real thing, not just dreams.
With a burst of youthful exuberance, I tossed the covers aside, hopped out of bed and headed down the stairs. I passed by my parents' room on the way by, but it was empty. The bed was made and the curtains closed against the hot summer sun. Turning my head to look in the opposite direction, I saw that the lone upstairs bathroom was also empty. Maybe she's on the treadmill, I thought.
I descended the stairs and turned the corner towards the kitchen. There was the blanket from the night before, neatly folded. The movies were stacked carefully on the coffee table. So far so good on the reality check.
Once in the kitchen, I opened the pantry door and removed a small shoebox of over-the-counter medications my dad ensured we kept in reserve. I spotted the bright yellow Bayer bottle, shaking it slightly. I opened it, deposited three white pills into my palm, and popped them into my mouth. Reaching back into the pantry, I grabbed a bottle of water, cracked the seal, and downed it one go.
I then opened the fridge, breathing a small sigh of relief. I'm sure this would sound odd outside its proper context, but confirming the presence of pizza boxes was very important to me just then.
After returning everything to its proper place and depositing the empty water bottle into the recycle bin, I walked across the small dining area towards the garage. I turned the handle and opened the door to look inside. Only darkness greeted me. My mom wasn't on the treadmill, either. Closing the door, I stepped through the living room and peeked through the blinds. She was nowhere around the house.
Unsure of where she might be, I decided to continue with my next objective: ass out of face.
About 30 minutes later, I emerged from the bathroom feeling moderately refreshed. With only a towel wrapped around my waist, I padded down the hall towards my room.
The door to my parents' room was partially closed, and I crept forward to see what I could see. My mom's figure was mostly obscured, but I could make out her left leg and a yoga mat. She was always a little antisocial when exercising, but I decided to press my luck and pushed the door slightly open. Her attire consisted of a gray sports bra, black running shorts, and white ankle socks. The sweat of her exertion glistened under the overhead lighting. She was wearing ear buds that were connected to an iPod concealed within an armband carrier. Her hair was tied back in a simple ponytail.
Her round hips and firm ass were on full display as she held a downward facing dog pose, and I felt myself getting hard. I must have stood there for 10 seconds staring before I could will myself to speak.
"Hey, mom. I'm done in the bathroom, so you can use it whenever." As expected she showed no sign of responding, and I used this as an excuse to move closer to her. I was about five feet from her, to the left and slightly behind, when she saw me out of the corner of her eye. She jumped a little, but attempted to mask it behind removing an earbud with her left hand. As she turned towards me, I saw where sweat had pooled and darkened her sports bra just above her breasts.
Rolling her eyes a bit in exasperation, she snapped at me. "I'm working out! What?"
"Sorry, I was just letting you know I'm done in the bathroom."
She put her left earbud back in. "Okay. Thanks," she said, and turned away from me to execute a twisting lunge.
Thinking that it could have gone worse, I extricated myself from her domain. Once in my room with the door closed behind me, I turned on a fan to cool myself off. With nowhere to be and no one to see, I decided to wear a pair of loose-fitting black shorts and an old t-shirt. Comfort over style, any day of the week.
I laid down on my bed with the fan blowing across me and lost myself in thoughts of my mom again. All signs pointed to last night having happened as I remembered, but that didn't mean things would continue. What if she changed her mind? How could I press my advantage? Did I have an advantage to press?
She had called me mijo in our moment of passion. This was significant, because she almost never spoke Spanish at home, insisting that we be as "purely American" as possible. For her, Spanish was in some ways a window into her heart. This gave me hope but also pause. She obviously loves me, I considered—I'm her son. But the way she had spoken the word and the context in which she did surely gave it a more nuanced meaning. For a moment, we were lovers of the most connected sort.
And, the way her body responded to me was undeniable as well. She wanted me as badly as I did her. I just hoped the wine wasn't the main reason.
Hoping to take my mind off the situation, I sat up on the edge of my bed and looked out the window. Amanda's blinds were closed, so that option was a non-starter. But really, that was okay with me. The woman I truly desired was a thin wall away, and I felt so close to having her. But where to go from here?
At this point, tactics like getting caught masturbating seemed pointless and lame, but it was all my teenaged brain could come up with. So, I cracked my door, grabbed some lotion, and started stroking my cock to thoughts of my mom. I brought myself back to the prior night, but the scene didn't stop with our embrace. Instead, as my mom leaned in to kiss me, her right hand came to rest on my thigh. With purpose, she stroked my hard cock through the cotton fabric. Without removing her lips from mine, she slid her hand inside the waistband of my shorts, cupping my balls. Massaging me with her hand and the soft skin of her arm, she teased more and more precum out of me. And then slowly, with her palm towards me, she wrapped her fingers around my cock and made love to it with her small hand.
The fantasy played on as I became increasingly carefree about the sounds of my self-pleasuring. In more than a whisper but less than normal volume, I began to call out to her. "Mom, play with my cock. Put it in your mouth." The sound of lotion on skin was probably more audible than my voice, but even after last night's events, the taboo of what I was saying fanned my arousal to new heights. This reached an almost out of body level when I heard my mom open her bedroom door. I called out again, "I want to make love to you, mom. I want to be inside you." No obvious response greeted my words, but I was sure I heard the floor creak outside my door and saw no movement towards the bathroom. I continued my slow rhythm, imagining my mom with her hand between her legs and thoughts reflecting mine fueling her actions.
It was more than I could take. I felt an orgasm building almost instantly, and my sense of caution grew less the closer I came to climaxing. "Mom, I want you so bad. Let me come inside your pussy. Make babies with me." I don't know why I said that last phrase, but it took me to yet another level of depraved desire. Hangover be damned, I orgasmed hard and didn't care what consequences there might be.
A few seconds later, I heard footsteps in the hallway.
In this moment of retrospective post-nut clarity, let me say that I never actually wanted to impregnate my mother. Nor have I done so, just to be clear. But in that moment, it was exactly the button I needed to press to get myself off. That said, this clearheadedness did not last long, because the thought of my mother standing outside my door listening to me masturbate captivated me.
I was not absolutely sure that she had been there. My view of the hallway was partial, so she could have been downstairs. Or she could have been in the bathroom and stepped out briefly to retrieve something. If that was the case, had she seen what I was doing? It was also possible that she never left her room at all and missed the entire show. I decided to investigate.
Lifting myself off the bed, I quickly wiped down with tissues and deposited the evidence in the lidded trashcan beside my bed. Opening the door, I tiptoed down the hallway. The house was a 1970s model, and the floor creaked in spots unless you were very careful with where you placed your feet.
When I reached the end of the hall, I saw the bathroom door was slightly open. I heard water running, and my heart jumped when I realized that I arrived just in time to see my nude mother step over the side of the tub and into the vapor. From behind, I could make out the outline of her pussy as she lifted one leg and then the other over the edge. She pulled the semi-transparent curtain, turning to her left to face the shower head. Although blurred, I could make out her dark nipples and the shape of her pert breasts. Scanning downwards, I could see a natural but trimmed patch of hair above her pussy.
I was entranced. This was the first time I had seen her naked since I was much younger, and that was under very different circumstances. She lathered her hair and rinsed, then worked in conditioner and left it. As she did so, her breasts bounced along with her motions and stole my focus.
Next, she reached down to grab a loofa and squeezed body wash into it. Reaching above her head, she lowered the water output on the shower head, and started scrubbing herself from top to bottom. I became rapidly envious of that sponge. The captain in Stripes was absolutely right, "I didn't know a loofa could do that."
Despite all that had happened recently, I almost ran away reflexively when my mother turned towards me as she continued her cleaning. Without looking up or in my direction at all, she used her non-loofa hand to rub soapy bubbles onto her nether regions. For what seemed like several minutes (probably more like a minute), she worked her hand back and forth around her pussy and then moved to her butt. In my hormone-tainted mind, she was secretly masturbating to thoughts of me. As they say, whatever floats your boat.
After some time, she adjusted the shower head output and started to rinse. I was waiting the entire time for a porn scene kind of moment where she held the shower head between her legs and shuddered as an orgasm overwhelmed her. Of course, it never came. Instead, I witnessed something real and surprisingly intimate.
My mom leaned down to turn off the water and moved the curtain aside. My insides were screaming at me to walk away, but my feet did not listen. She reached to her left, grabbing a blue towel off the bar. It was not until she dried her face that she looked directly at me, her body only partially covered. There was no shock or anger in her expression. She simply looked me squarely in the eyes and made no effort to cover the parts of her I could see. Instead, she went on almost like I wasn't there and continued to dry herself.
"Ryan, can you get me another towel?" After a stunned moment, I stepped into the bathroom and opened the small portable cabinet we used to store towels and toiletries. I felt my hand latch onto fabric, but my eyes never left her. My mind was void of thought. I must have been floating because there is no way my rubbery legs supported me. As she turned towards me with the blue towel wrapped around her hair in a turban, I could see all of her.
Her small, firm breasts with erect eraser-sized nipples. The shape of her neck and the soft skin where it meets clavicle. The beautiful, fit body of a mother of two children. And the trimmed patch of hair above her mound.
I started to talk, but the words stuck in my throat. My hand reached out on its own and deposited the towel into hers. She smiled, "Thanks, mijo. I love you."
These words got through to me, breaking me out of the catatonic state. "I love you, too, mom. You're so beautiful. Serious." She said nothing, but her eyes turned from happiness to surprise, and from surprise to desire. For a long time, we simply stood looking at each other with no pretenses. When I reached out to hug her, she reached back towards me.
Before this moment I thought my need for her was insurmountable, but I was wrong. Crossing into this new land, I discovered my lust had a companion: a love that has no common name or definition because of how shunned it is. All the same, I welcomed it and it has never left my side.
Taking a step back, I muttered some words that matter too little for me to remember. It was only when my mom wrapped the towel around her body and turned away from me that I found it within myself to leave her side.
Being totally realistic, I can probably count on one hand the number of women who have been so unashamedly vulnerable in my presence. It will forever be one of my defining memories.
Chapter 6: Come Again?
The rest of the day went by in a blur. But, because we still had the place to ourselves that evening, we decided to continue our movie marathon—this time without the wine. I sat at the same end of the sofa as the night before, but instead of sitting on the opposite end my mom snuggled up next to me.
We finished Unfaithful, but in line with my more wholesome mindset, I kept my feet and hands to myself. At some point in the last hour of the film I put my arm around her, and she relaxed her body fully against me. My feet were resting one on top of the other in front of me, and her legs were pulled up almost under her.
As the credits rolled, we agreed to take a short break before beginning the Count of Monte Cristo.
After a quick bathroom run, we had both grabbed snacks and drinks and resumed our positions on the couch. My mom cleared her throat. "That was tragic," she said, referring to the ending of Unfaithful.
"It was. Does…" I paused for a moment to find better words but failed in the effort. "Does it make you think of us?"
She stayed still; her head almost buried in my chest. "No. This is different. You're my son, and I'm certain we love each other. And I know neither of us will do anything to hurt this family." A deep breath entered her lungs and was expelled before she spoke again. "I never thought this thing would happen at all, but are we moving too fast?"
It was my turn to be silent, but I knew she expected me to respond. "I don't know, mom. But being this close to you feels natural." I reached forward to take a sip of Coke. "And I love you."
"I love you too, Ryan, but…"
Sensing her mood, I interrupted her. "I mean, I love you both as a son and as more than that. I feel safe with you and protected because you're my mom. I feel… I get aroused because you're hot. But I also love you like a lover."
My mom sighed. "But how could you know that? Have you ever been in love?"
A flash of indignation hit me as I replied, "No, but I'm not stupid. I know how I feel."
She sat up to look me in the eyes. "I know. It's just that you're young and I don't want to hurt you."
A little bit more sulkily than reassuringly, I replied, "You won't."
Shifting her weight away from me and leaning into back of the sofa instead, she said, "We should watch the movie."
Although I loved the 2002 adaptation of the Count of Monte Cristo and think the entire cast nailed their roles, my heart was heavy as I watched. Somewhere in my mind, I equated Edmond's trials, tribulations and quest for revenge with my own swirling emotions. It was in this broody state that I, the second the credits began to roll, kissed my mother on the cheek and excused myself for the evening.
She called after me, but I was too focused on myself to think straight. It wasn't until an hour or so later when I knew she had turned off everything and retired to her room for the evening that I could see through my stupid, self-centered behavior.
Ashamed, I opened my door and saw that a light was on in her bedroom. I knocked, and she asked me to come in. "Mom, I'm sorry. I was being stupid."
She just smiled at me, set the book she was reading aside, and patted the bed. "Do you want to lay down with me?"
I hadn't expected this, but I also wasn't going to refuse her offer. Pulling aside the covers, I crawled into her bed and moved close. She was wearing the same blue nightie she had been the night this all started. Dimming the light, she turned towards me and held my hands. "I'm sorry, too. I just want to be sure before anything else happens. Do you want this? Are you sure? I'm your mother. This can't ever be a normal relationship."
I had thought this through so many times, but hearing her say it made it real. "I know. And I know it's maybe bad for dad and Josh. But I want us to be together however we can. I know that's selfish, but I still want you."
For as long as I have been alive, my mom has always been quiet and careful in her speech and actions (unless you really piss her off, of course). Almost maddeningly, perhaps two minutes passed and she said nothing at all.
Then, with one of her patented sighs, she clearly spoke: "I want it, too. I want you. Let's not talk about this again, okay?"
"Okay. I won't bring it up." What else could I say?
As though these were magic words, she moved her head closer to mine and kissed me. There was no holding back this time. Her tongue entered my mouth, and she wrapped her left leg around the right side of my body. I brought my right hand to her left breast as we explored each other's mouths. With my index and middle fingers, I eased the shoulder strap of her nightie to the side and pulled down on the smooth fabric until her nipple was exposed. Rolling her flesh softly between my fingers, I continued kissing her.

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