I came home early that day because of a cancelled tutorial. Going straight to my room I dumped a couple of books and some notes I'd taken during a lecture on the desk and then wondered what to do.
I could have got down to some studying, and had almost reluctantly made up my mind to do just that, when my attention was caught by a strange sound. At first I wasn't sure if it was inside or outside the house; it was a sort of whimpering sobbing sound.
I listened for a while. It might have been some child out in the street crying because it had hurt itself, but somehow it seemed closer than that, right there in the house, but who would make such a strange noise?
When I'd entered the house I thought no one was home. If there was anyone at home that early in the afternoon it would have to be mother but she was often out doing some church or charity work.
My sister no longer lived at home and my father was hardly ever in the place now, since as I knew for sure, when he wasn't at work he had an interest other than us to take up his time. Her name was Constance; she was about half dad's age and she worked in his office. I'd only found out because her brother was doing the same course as me and he'd told me about dad and his sister.
I didn't think mother knew about dad's little side interest. After considering whether or not to blow the whistle on him I decided not to because I thought as far as mother was concerned ignorance might be bliss and the whole affair might blow over anyway.
I listened to the sound for about half a minute, and then decided I'd better go in search of its source because it did sound as if someone might be hurt.
As I moved about the house I tried to locate the source of the noise and I was finally led to the lounge. The lounge has no door and simply led off from the entrance hall through an arch.
I got about two paces into the room and stopped dead. Mother was home. She was lying back on the divan with her eyes closed but she wasn't asleep.
There are some things you never imagine your parents doing, though God knows why since they are human just like you; but this was one of those things I didn't imagine.
Her tartan skirt was pulled up nearly to her waist and her legs were parted. She still had her flimsy step-ins on and she had one finger pushed up the narrow strip of cloth that ran under her crotch and it was clearly inserted into her vagina. Her matching tartan shirt was unbuttoned to the waist and she was pressing the nipple of one of her breasts.
The finger in her vagina seemed to be making a circling movement and I had certainly traced the source of the sound. Her body was writhing and I could see tears running down her cheeks.
The sound I had heard was now distinct. It was a mixture of sobbing and ecstatic cries; "Oh...ah...oh...ah...oh...ah..."
Of course, mother had not expected anyone to come home at that time of the day, and apart from the shock of seeing her masturbating, I felt terrible that I had walked in on her like that.
The sight of her sweet rounded breasts, and although I couldn't see it clearly, what I imagined must be her soft juicy sex organ, had its effect on me; I felt a tingling sensation in my groin and I started to get an erection.
Afraid that at any moment she might open her eyes and see me I started to back quietly out. Whether I wasn't as quiet as I thought I was, or whether some instinct alerted mother to my presence I don't know, but suddenly her eyelids flew open and her and were looking straight into mine.
There was a moment of paralysed shock, and then rapid panic stricken movements as she pulled her finger from her vagina and took her hand from her breast as she made an attempt to cover herself up.
The moment must have been harrowing for her, and it was certainly wretched for me. I had caught her in an intimate private act and as far as I could tell it had been before she had brought herself to orgasm.
Her attempts to replace her clothing were hopeless because she was in such a state of embarrassment and shame; her hands were trembling so much, she couldn't cope with the buttons. She gave up and burying her face in the cushion at the end of the divan she now began to sob pitifully.
I hung on a pivotal point between running out of the room and going to her. I decided that running away would be pointless and cruel. I had seen her and she knew I had, and we either talked about it now or it would hang over us like a Damocles sword, there, but never spoken of.
I went to her and sitting on the divan I took her by the shoulders and drew her to me. Her head was lying against my chest. Not knowing what else to say I murmured, "Its all right mother...its okay..."
"You saw me...you saw me..." she wept, "I'm so ashamed...so humiliated."
Her distress had the effect of calming me. I felt myself able to offer her comfort, so I said, "Mother, it's nothing to be ashamed of, millions of people do it; they do it to relax themselves to...to overcome sexual frustration or just for the sheer pleasure of the sensation, it okay."
"You aren't disgusted?" she asked, "you aren't revolted seeing your own mother...?"
"Why disgusted? It's me who should be disgusted with my self for interrupting you; it looked rather beautiful."
I took her hand and held it against my cheek. It was the hand the finger of which had been in her vagina and I could smell the faint, tantalising aroma her female fluid. I took the finger into my mouth and sucked it for a moment; there was the lingering taste of her love juice.
Mother's sobs had diminished and she was looking up into my eyes as if seeking something there.
"Darling, you do mean it, don't you...that you're not disgusted with me?"
"Certainly I mean it, I assured her."
I almost told her about the time a girl had let me watch her masturbate just so I could see how it was done by a female; afterwards she watched me masturbate – a very satisfactory way to exchange knowledge. I decided against telling mother.
I was tempted to ask mother why she needed to masturbate but it would really have been a rhetorical question since I felt I already knew the answer.
As if picking up some vibes from me mother, still lying against me, began to speak quietly, if obliquely, about her reason for masturbating.
"It's not been easy, Niall, these past months."
"In what way, mother?"
"Its....its...oh God, I shouldn't be talking to you like this."
She burrowed closer into me, her face no longer turned to look at me."
I stroked her hair softly – strange, I'd never noticed before what lovely hair she had; strong shiny looking hair, wavy and cut to shoulder length. I kissed the top of her head.
"You can talk to me about anything, mother...anything that's troubling or hurting you. I love you, and what's the use of love if not to be there for the one you love?"
She looked up at me again and I thought she was going to start crying again as she said, "That was a beautiful thing to say, darling."
I replied, "I said it to a beautiful woman."
