After leaving mom's room I went to my room and got dressed before going down to make the coffee. Since I almost always end up dirty by the end of the day I grabbed another pair of my farm jeans and an old t-shirt. I slipped on a pair of briefs then sat down on the edge of the bed. As I put my socks on and began to survey the room in search of my shoes, I wondered if mom was going to head back to the city today or wait and leave Sunday, tomorrow morning. I was hoping she was going to stay because, in all honesty, I was learning rather quickly that I couldn't get enough of her. My plan was to call the local fuel provider, set up a delivery of diesel fuel for Monday, then call my boss and let him know I wouldn't be in until Tuesday. My boss is very cool so I knew that wasn't going to be a problem. My hope was that I would be able to convince my mom to stay until Monday evening so I could have her all alone for a couple more days.
Fully dressed, except for my missing shoes, I headed down stairs and got the Black and Decker going. Coffee would be ready in about 10 minutes. Looking out the kitchen door I found my shoes, out by the hay rake, right where I'd kicked them off and left them when I took a shower last night. Crap, I'll be in boots all day today. I grabbed my wet shorts from the coat hook then went out to get my wet shoes. Tying the laces together I draped them over one of the rake tines, along with my shorts. The shorts would dry quickly but the shoes would take all day. Satisfied they would all stay put on the rake tine I headed back to the house. The coffee maker was making the last gurgling sound, "Coffee is ready!" I hollered out.
I poured myself a cup and sat down at the table. A couple of minutes later I heard my mom coming down the stairs. I felt a hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach as she walked into the room. She was so beautiful in spite of the fact that she was wearing a faded out pair of old blue jeans and an old button up shirt, which was really too small across the bust area. What made her so beautiful to me was that I knew she had just been fucked and was carrying my cream inside of her. She poured herself a cup of coffee then went to the window.
"Where are the cars?" she asked.
"I moved the inside the barn about 4:00AM this morning. Didn't you hear the thunderstorm roll though?"
"No, I didn't hear a thing. I was sleeping very well." she said, blowing across the top of her coffee cup. "And you're to blame for that." she said with a smile.
"I slept very well myself, thanks to you; right up until the thunder woke me."
She came across the room and sat down across from me. A somewhat serious look came over her face.
"Last night" she began, "when I was on the couch I started to say something about your father."
"Yeah, I remember."
"You told me there were things you wanted to know. What kind of things" she asked.
Admittedly this was a little awkward but there were things I was curious about.
"Well, I was just, you know, wondering about your sex life with him because I've done things to you that you've said you'd never had, or felt, before. Like when I blew through your bra or like last night when you had a squirting orgasm. You said that had never happened before. So I'm kind of...curious."
She slowly put her cup down on the table. "Don't get me wrong, son. I loved your father very much. He was a good man, a good husband and, I believe, a good father."
"He was." I agreed.
"He had very good morals and old fashioned values and ideas, particularly in the area of sex. I enjoyed being with him, I really did but at times I felt frustrated because he never wanted to really try anything different. I would read about things in magazines or my friends would tell me things that they did with their husbands; things that, hmm, that keep things lively in the bedroom, and I'd mention them to him, but he never seemed interested in trying anything new. He would pleasure me with his hands, tongue and his, you know.."she said with chuckle, "Whew, it's kind of hard to talk to you about this. You're my son!"
Laughing lightly myself I said, "Yeah, this is a rather odd conversation to have."
"Anyway," she continued, "My hands, my mouth and...down there," she said pointing to her pussy, "gave him pleasure, but that was the limit of what he would, or was maybe comfortable with. He never did things like blow through my bra, slid his fingers inside of me the way you did; and the belly button thing, forget it. I'd never heard of that one but even if I had he would have never done anything like that."
"Were you ever tempted to find a man who would do those kinds of things, the kinds of things you wanted to try?" I asked, thinking maybe I shouldn't have.
"No, never." she replied. "That thought never crossed my mind." Continuing she said, "You know I haven't had sex in the 5 years since he passed away. Actually, it's closer to 6. The last year he was alive he was so sick most of the time and, well, sex was put on the back burner out of necessity."
"Understandable," I replied sympathetically.
"Not because I didn't want to," she said, "but because I didn't know where to find it. So now, here I am, having sex with a man who is more, liberated, if that is the right word, in the area of sexuality. You do things I've never had done, things I've never even heard of. Even when you do things that he did you do them differently."
"How so?" I asked, my curiosity really peaked now.
