My Son's Best Friend

I hugged him closely, relishing the moment, pushing the rest of the world away as long as possible.

But we had to come back to it, and I knew it. So I sat up and pulled my turtleneck on. Extricated my legs from his seat and flipped into the driver's seat; put my jeans on while he pulled his corduroys up.

He sat, quiet and passive, just looking at me. I stared back, thinking I ought to say something. But I didn't know what.

So I started the engine and offered, "I'll take you home."

I shifted into gear, rolled down the long gravel driveway, turned right onto the road; followed it to the highway and turned left.

Halfway up the highway, I murmured, "Please don't tell Paul."

Jonah was silent, as usual. I had never cared before. But now I wished he would say something. Something that would reassure me about what we had just done. But I could only guess at what he was thinking, and I had no right to look to him for absolution. I was the one who had made the offer: I was the mature one.

He closed the truck door carefully and walked up to his house with his shoulders hunched and his head down.

I drove home with a growing sense of unease. My rational mind was suddenly troubled. Where had it been an hour ago?

Tied and gagged and thrown in the basement by my libido! Oh God, what had I done?

I went home and took a long bath.

* * * *

I avoided Paul for the next couple days, started planning and planting my garden, and hoped Jonah didn't hate me too much - or worse, think he loved me.

But when my head sank into the cool softness of my pillow and my eyes closed at night, I could feel his hands on my skin and hear his whimpers in my ear, and suddenly my body was wanting...watering.

In the privacy of my own bedroom, I remembered the feel of him again, his sweet tenderness, as my fingertips meandered over my breasts, down my belly, and slid into the fleshy folds, finding them already wet and swollen.

In that moment, I was glad I had done it - glad I had tasted and smelled and felt him - glad for the keen memories as they came back to me, teasing and arousing.

I rubbed myself slowly as I pictured his red cock springing out of his shorts. I got faster as I thought of the sweet noises he made. I pressed harder and deeper, remembering how he felt sliding into me, squeezing my waist, touching my nipples.

"Jonah," I whispered, arching my pelvis up and out. "Jonah..."

"Jonah..." I said, pressing toward him, thrusting to meet him.

"Jonah!" I cried, as the mounting waves reached their peak and crashed over me: panting, moaning, whining, sighing, releasing, coming...

"Jonah! Jonah! Jonah!...Oh God, Jonah!"

Then I lay still, and my breathing calmed, and my hand caressed my breast, resting on my heart.

"Jonah," I repeated softly, as a tear leaked out of the corner of my eye and seeped into the pillow. I wanted to kiss that tender skin of his, and taste his thick red lips again.

But in the morning, reason was back, and I was sure that I had to quit thinking about Jonah and plant carrots today.

* * * *

It had been a week, and my days and nights were sorting themselves out. In the quiet, cloistered darkness, I dared to welcome Jonah into my boudoir - but only because I meticulously banished him from my daylight hours.

It was working pretty well.

Then Jonah came over to see Paul. I managed a nonchalant greeting as they came through the kitchen on their way to the living-room to watch TV. They sprawled on the couch, and after a few minutes, Paul came into the kitchen for a couple beers. I watched him take them back and hand one to Jonah.

Their backs were toward me, so I could peek through the doorway unobserved. I eased my heart out of my throat, thinking how appealing Jonah was in his own awkward, shy kind of way.

I turned back to the sink to finish the dishes, blocking out the sound of the TV with the radio. Then I thought about what to fix for dinner.

I was intent over the pot of soup on the stove, when I suddenly felt a pair of eyes watching me. I turned around to see him leaning against the wall by the doorway, just staring. His eyes were soft, and a little sad.

I gazed back, then averted my eyes.

"Jonah, I'm really sorry...if I've...hurt you," I said quietly.

"...which is why we should just forget about what happened..." I added quickly, before Paul decided to come see what Jonah was up to.

Jonah raised his empty beer bottle toward me, and I took it. Then he turned back to the living-room without a word.

I left the soup for the two of them to help themselves, and went outside to take a walk. The fresh air felt good, and the sun was just setting with one of those amazing fiery red explosions that only happen in the clear desert skies. It was so beautiful. I wanted to cry.

Jonah was gone by the time I came back. When I went to bed that night, I didn't think of the way he had felt the day we made love. I just thought about how his face had looked in my kitchen.

I squeezed my eyes shut, and my voice was small and raspy, "Please help him not to hate me. Help him find someone to love..."

* * * *

Another week passed before he came to visit again. I was working in my garden, and smiled amiably when he and Paul passed by on their way to the house. I could afford to be friendly as long as we maintained a comfortable distance.

I had plenty to do in my garden, and worked for two solid hours digging, watering, thinning, arranging borders. I was sitting on the marble bench admiring my handiwork, when quiet footsteps broke into my reverie. I looked up to see him towering over me.

His eyes were still sad. He sat down next to me, and we sat in silence for a few minutes.

"Paul will be wondering where you are," I suggested.

"I told him I wanted to talk to you."

"What? Why did you tell him that? Why would you tell him that?"

"Because it's true."

More silence.

"So, you wanted to talk to me?" I looked at him, waiting.

Abruptly, he leaned over and kissed me.

"Jonah, please..." I moved away.

"Why don't you like me anymore? What did I do wrong?"

"Oh, Jonah," I winced. "You didn't do anything wrong. I like you. I did something wrong. I'm really sorry. It was selfish of me. I shouldn't have brought you here."

"Why?"

"For a whole lot of reasons. I just never should have given in to my...hormones like that. I just got carried away. And the way you're feeling proves it. I never should have done it. I've just made you unhappy..."

He thought for a moment. Then he looked me in the eye.

"What you did that day made me happy. It's what you're doing now that hurts..."

"Jonah, I'm sorry. It was just really irresponsible of me. What we did - there's nothing wrong with it - but we live in a world where other people don't see it that way. If anyone finds out about it, it could be very uncomfortable - and it would be all my fault. I don't want to get you in trouble, and I don't want to be there myself...What do you think Paul would say if he knew - or your mother?"

He just stared at me. The look in his eyes was unconvinced.

After a while, he said, "I think about you every night."

I closed my eyes and sighed.

"I think about you too, Jonah. But it's wrong. We can't do this. There's no place for it in this little town. Everybody knows everybody else's business here. You know that...

"I wasn't thinking when I did it. It was a moment in a bubble - it was wonderful. But it has to stay there - in the past. There's no other place for it. There's no future."

I continued, "You're young. You should find a nice girl to date. You're very sweet. Take what happened with me and use it to make some nice girl happy. You're wonderful. Any girl would be lucky to have you."

Again, he looked unconvinced. But I told myself he would thank me someday for all this wisdom.

"Maybe you better get back to Paul," I suggested. "What will you tell him?" I asked cautiously.

He was sulky. "Nothing."

Then he left.

Later, when he had gone home, I was casual as I threw out an offhand remark to Paul. "Jonah came out to ask me about my garden today. Can you imagine that? He's thinking about planting one," I laughed.

Paul was indifferent.

* * * *

I quit touching myself at night, though I thought about Jonah more than ever. I wanted him to be happy. I wanted him to find some girl to be with. Then I could feel like a mentor, instead of some desperate older woman.

One night, I pictured him with a sweet sexy little thing from the college in town, and the thought was very arousing. I imagined his confidence as he reached into her blouse to fondle her breasts, peeled off her clothes, caressed the well between her legs and eased himself into it.

I felt like the girl: vulnerable, nubile, undone. And I could feel him inside me, moving, thrusting, sweating, clutching as he drew me into those agonizing, tempestuous sensations.

"Jonah, Jonah, Jonah..." echoed through me again, engulfing me in his overwhelming power.

I felt immersed in his true essence, and it felt like love. I regretted all the artificial trappings of our daylight life. If only the world was more like the night, where the lines blurred in the darkness and dreams were close, and hearts open.

I spent night after night thinking of Jonah this way. It made me happy to send the love sparks out to him that erupted in fountains from the deep places in my belly. I wished the best for him. I felt grateful for his existence, and for our brief meeting together.

What had happened began to feel right again - because it had brought me to this feeling of love for him.

* * * *

He came to visit Paul again, and I felt more at ease. I didn't try to avoid him.

I even sat down to a card game with him and Paul. I was surprised that they both welcomed my company. I had always left them alone before, assuming they wouldn't want me around. But even Paul didn't seem to mind my presence.

I was complaining that all the recent gardening had settled in my shoulders, making them ache, when Paul responded that Jonah was great at massage.

"Is he?" I looked at Jonah.

He got up and came around behind my chair. He placed his hands on my shoulders, applying just the right amount of pressure. As he kneaded them, I could feel the sweetness emanating from his hands, and it brought tears to my eyes.

I suddenly felt how self-righteous I had been: concerned more with what everyone else thought than with what he thought. I hadn't even asked what he thought - just set myself up as the expert. I didn't know what I was doing any more than he did.

I was just a lonely divorcee walking around with a broken heart and an empty dance card. I knew all the eligible men in this town, and none of them was remotely attractive to me. I suddenly felt very sad and sorry for myself.

I thanked him for the massage and excused myself to go to my room, where I could cry myself to sleep in peace. But before I drifted off, I forgave myself - for being lonely, and needy, and stupid; for being shortsighted and irresponsible and single; and brokenhearted, and weak and human. I forgave my hormones, and my libido - and my heart.

* * * *

The next time I saw Jonah, Paul wasn't around. He showed up on a day when I was just vegging on the couch. Paul had finally gotten his license back, and had taken the car to work.

I was surprised to meet him at the door, but happy to see him. I told him Paul was at work, and he said he knew. I invited him in and asked if he wanted to watch the movie I'd rented.

"Sure."

I lounged on the couch, and he took a chair. The movie was a sappy love story, but when I apologized for it, he assured me he didn't mind.

The story began, the plot progressed, the main character pursued the unsuspecting love of his life, and the two came suddenly face to face.

Then, as the dark-eyed, dark-haired male lead moved his manicured hands sensually over the female lead's bronze hips and belly, I flashed back to that afternoon in my truck, and I felt suddenly aware of my breasts. They were tingling just like they had that day, when I had known he was looking at them.

I looked at him, and he rose from his chair and slid beside me on the couch. All at once, his hands were pulling me to him and his mouth was on mine, and I melted into them; kissing him back, sucking his lips, gliding over his teeth with my tongue, clutching his neck and hair in my hands.

I moaned with pleasure, the tension of the past weeks washing out of me. Ah, he felt so good: his hands on my skin, his mouth kissing me, his torso pressing me, his cock moving insistently against my leg.

I had been so focused on wanting him - I hadn't realized how much he wanted me! Now I could feel his desire for me, and it was powerful; and I was letting it in. I didn't need to take anything from him, because he was here, giving it all to me.

My breasts felt full and sensuous, and I took his hand and placed it over them, opening the buttons of my shirt. He moved his head down, suckling, and I took his other hand and put it between my legs. Then I reached over, unfastening his jeans and rubbing his cock.

He groaned, making hunger noises, sucking down the skin of my belly and undoing my pants, pushing them down and grasping my hips.

I pulled them off, spreading my legs wide. He sucked the skin of my groin and thighs, moving inside to the labia and finding my clit, sucking the opening and thrusting his tongue into it.

He grasped my nipples, rolling them between his thumb and finger. Electricity was running through his fingers, and his mouth was like a huge vortex, drawing me deeper and deeper into the whirling tide. I panted, making hums and sighs and trills of pleasure.

Then he moved up onto me, his ravenous mouth devouring mine as he pushed his cock inside, sliding deeper and deeper, strumming the sweet spot. His cock was like a living flame: I could feel the power coming through it as he channeled all the fragrance of his being through me, and touched the broken place, pouring his balm there.

He pushed and thrusted, deeper and deeper, to a place further inside me than I had ever gone, and I called his name; sang his name; shouted and cried and howled his name, as if it was a magic spell, an incantation - a mystical magical creator of worlds: Jonah! Jonah! Jonah!

I kept saying it over and over, until I was crying and sobbing it out loud: Jonah . . . Jonah . . . Jonah . . .

Within that name seemed to be every disappointment, and hurt, and hope I'd ever felt. Saying it did something to me: peeled me open as if I had never been naked before. And I couldn't believe all the love I felt streaming into me.

I began to smile then, and laugh, and he laughed with me, as if I'd just told the funniest joke in the world - though I couldn't even say what I was laughing about. The last song was playing while the credits rolled. So he took my hand and pulled me to the floor, and we danced naked in circles to the final happy song.

Then I got him a beer, and myself a glass of orange juice, and we grinned at one another sitting cross-legged on the floor.

He looked into my eyes.

"You're not worried about the neighbors?" he asked.

I shook my head.

"You're beautiful."

"So are you."

He smiled and kissed me, licking the orange juice on my lips while I sucked the beer on his.