"Let's say for instance that I had son that was a sissy boy. A son that not only was a sissy boy that did very dirty and naughty things while he still lived in my house, dirty things for our next door neighbor, but a naughty little boy that liked to dress up in his mother's underpants too. I think a boy like that would need guidance. Don't you? I remember what you used to be like while still living at home with me. Don't I, dear?"
She smiles broadly. She is sitting across the table from me. She is a stunning woman. Her tight red blouse pulls her breasts together. It's unbuttoned low enough to show the black lace top of her bra in the lower center of her ample cleavage. She's gorgeous and knows it. She is the epitome of an erotic 'cougar lady' fantasy, the older woman, a super hot vixen.
She leans forward.
"And let's say that my naughty son from time to time would watch his mother, spy on her from the basement when she brought a man home to her bedroom. What if I had a son like that? What if I decided that a naughty little boy like that interested me in naughty little ways. What if he would please his mother very much in secret ways, even get touched in special ways by her from time to time if he followed her guidance and rules."
She sips her wine, goes on. She has prepared for this. I can tell.
"Would that be you, honey? Would it? Would that be you, my son, my baby boy?"
She stares at me coldly, smiles wickedly. I am hypnotized by what I am hearing, enthralled. My mother has known about me, even helped me with makeup, helped me dress up in all the girl things just after high school. Just after high school she let me know that she knew about my attraction to men as well as women. She knew all that I did. She knew I was playing with the neighbor man next door when his wife was away. She told me she supported me and my desires, told me I should never be ashamed of what I am, who I am. But she never talked to me like she is talking to me now. She now sits across from me speaking to me like she never has before. And she sees the effect it is having on me.
"I'm far too old now to give a damn about what others think, baby. I knew you were wearing my underthings when you were at home with me well before your eighteenth birthday, well before that pervert next door started petting you. I wanted to say something then but you were too young. I didn't want an abuse charge on me while you were still under my roof."
She laughs, sips her drink.
"I knew about your sissy ways, knew you were playing with that little thing thinking about me and my lingerie. Weren't you? Watching me fuck men in my room through the grate in the floor, I think we established that, didn't we? And it never made me stop, did it? I actually liked that."
I stare back at her, silent, stunned, mesmerized. We are out to dinner. We do this often. But tonight she told me she had something special to say to me. She said to me, 'Sit and listen...don't speak.' Just before she started to talk she told me to 'Sit and listen, don't say a fucking word.', her exact words to me.
She's been talking, asking questions she wants no answer to for almost half an hour. We are in a crowded restaurant. She is on her second glass of wine.
"I know about you, little boy. And now you're old enough to know about me. We are going to know about each other, count on that. I mean really get to know each other"
She sits back, looks at me. The waiter comes to the table. She asks for another glass of wine, tells him to bring me more water. I sit silently as he leaves to get her order.
"Now you're going to say one thing and one thing only. You can choose to say something else but if you do we stop this talk, go back to being the dear old normal mother and boring normal son the world sees."
She smiles at me, laughs, leans forward and puts her hand on top of mine.
"Say 'Mama, I love you and want to follow your direction and guidance. Please make me your dirty little boy.' Say it."
She sits and stares, caresses my hand.
"Say it!"
I hurry to repeat and say what she told me to say. I feel choked up slightly as the words spill from my dry mouth. I feel my face redden. I feel like the entire restaurant hears my words to her. She says nothing, just smiles at me.
"This is going to be good, baby, real good. You're old mama has some interesting ideas about you and what you need. Not to mention what I need. And we're both adults. You know your ex-wife and I are very good friends, don't you, have been ever since your divorce. We've discussed you at length many times. She thinks you need a strong hand too. I can give you the strong hand you need. I intend to give you a very strong hand."
She's not old at all, far from it. She's attractive to a fault. Men check her out constantly. She is a very sexy fifty-five year old woman, looks thirty-something. She laughs, catches the attention of the couple at the next table. The waiter brings her wine.
"And mama can give you a very soft hand too. I can reward my little boy if he pays close attention to the rules. Would you like that, baby? Tell me you'd like mama to touch your little dick with her hand. Go ahead, honey. Tell mama."
I start to stammer, talk softly so that only she can hear, feel my face flush bright red.
"Mother, please...don't, not here..."
"Say it! You know it's true. Say it!"
"Yes, please. Please, I want that so bad. I want you to touch my penis, I do."
My ex-wife has told her everything. I know that now. She knows about my fantasy life concerning my mother. She's told her all about me, it's obvious. And no my mother is going to exploit that.
"I know, baby, I know. We'll get to that in time. You just concentrate on being mama's good boy. Don't you worry. I'll touch your penis."
She giggles, very girly. She sips her wine.
"I'm going to go to the ladies room. I'm going to pee. I'm also going to put my hand all over my pussy after I do that. When I come back to the table I'm going to present my hand to you. You're going to kiss it right here in front of all these people. It will be our little secret, baby. Will you do that for your mama?"
"Yes, mother."
I look around the room, my eyes darting everywhere, seeing all that I think KNOW. I hear her chair move as she stands.
"Good boy."
She says that loud enough for the couple at the table next to us to hear. They glance at her, at me.
She is wearing a tight dark red skirt, pencil skirt just below her knees. It accentuates her perfectly round and beautiful rear end. I hear her black spike heel boots click on the floor as she walks away from the table. Her hair is up in the back, large hoop earrings bounce as she walks. Men turn to look at her. They always do. I sit and internalize what is happening.
I've fantasized about my mother for years. I masturbated thinking of things she has done, heard through her bedroom door when she was with a boyfriend, seen through the heating grate in the floor from my basement vantage point when I still lived at home with her. Now at thirty-five years old I still think about her, shared all of that with my now ex-wife. She used to tease, have me call her 'mother' when I would fuck her sometimes. She has told my mother everything. I feel embarrassed, choked up, feels like everyone in the room KNOWS, is watching me. They KNOW. My mind races.
She returns to the table.
She smiles as she passes her right hand across the table to me. I can smell her feminine scent as I kiss her hand. She doesn't pull her hand back, keeps it front of me face. I kiss it again. I can taste her.
"Is your little thing hard, baby?"
