Jill Mulvaney loved to spread her legs open.
As a teen, many years earlier, Jill competed in gymnastics. Her body was lean and limber. She learned the thrill of pushing her body to its utmost. When she stretched and pushed her limbs as far as they could go, Jill felt most in sync with her deep animal core. That connection always gave her joy.
Later, in college, Jill discovered the sexual advantages of being limber. She could fold and extend and contort her arms and legs and torso in ways that held her lovers in rapt attention. The men she knew intimately always marveled at the many positions Jill's lean body could hold.
Of all Jill's positions, one inspired admiration above the others: legs spread wide, pussy on display.
No other position left her feeling quite the same exquisite combination of vulnerability and strength. When spread, Jill could never forget that she exposed and revealed her most private parts. But when spread, she had power, too. She could see that power reflected in her lovers' eyes. Around pussies, men became little boys. They could never get enough, never see enough. When confronted with one, open and on view, they all seemed to be subdued by its power. A delicious thrill took Jill every time she parted her legs. The wider she spread them, the more power she had over her lovers. The men she knew in college, exposed to Jill's spread legs, fell under her spell every time.
Her late husband John was different. John loved Jill's pussy, but he was never cowed by it. John and Jill would lie in bed, naked, Jill on her back. John would push gently against her knees, until they opened, and Jill exposed herself, and then John would attend to her. He would caress her, lick her, tease and tickle her. He would push her lips back with his fingers and carry on a long, silly conversation with her pussy. John would tell Jill's pussy what a pretty pussy she was, that she was just right in every way -- that she had the right amount of swell and curve, the ideal, flirty slit, the perfect little hooded button of a clit, and just the right degree of lippiness. Jill never could get enough of his words and his fingers and the press of his hand against her knees, pushing them open. She could never get enough of his swollen cock, pressing against her folds and entering her with the perfect mix of urgency and tenderness. John never failed to bring her to orgasm, nor did he mind that she often squirted into his hands and his face when she came. He drank whatever he could with glee. The days and nights in bed with John led Jill to connect the spreading of her legs with some of the happiest and most fulfilling moments and sensations she had ever known.
John had died two years before, of a sudden illness. Jill was 45 now, widowed, horny, and ready to find a mate again.
It was late summer, mid-morning, and her son Jack was downstairs, probably still sleeping in his bedroom. Jack had just graduated from college, and he was staying at home with mom until the fall, when he would move to another city to start a job.
Jill sat on the floor of her upstairs bedroom, back propped up against the side of the bed. She sat naked, with her legs spread straight out from her body. She looked at her reflection in a full length mirror a few feet away.
When she was a gymnast Jill could have spread her legs perfectly straight out, so that they formed a horizontal line from toe to toe. Though still fit for her age, she was neither as lean nor as limber as she was as a teen, and now she had to settle for her legs forming a wide, shallow 'V' instead of a straight line.
She wasn't a teen, anymore, but she looked good, she thought. She ate smartly and exercised. Her body held up well against the onset of middle age.
She reached between her legs and pulled her labia back.
Jill liked the contrast between the damp, rich pinkness inside her pussy and the pale, freckled skin of her body. John had liked it, too, and he had told her, many times, how much he had liked it. She thought about his words as she touched herself.
My God, I miss him, she thought.
She dipped a finger into her pussy, pushed it deep inside and curved it up to feel the spongy G-spot, and then pulled it out again to press it against her clitoris. Her hand moved in quick circles. Her breathing grew faster and shallower and louder. It wouldn't take long for her to make herself come. Her ass bounced off the carpet. She closed her eyes to concentrate on the coming orgasm.
Before she came, she heard footsteps. Her eyes opened. Looking up, she saw her son Jack, just inside the bedroom door, staring at her, mouth open and eyes wide.
Jill shrieked, and her legs snapped closed. Her hands flew to her breasts and to her pussy, to shield her nudity from her son.
"Sorry!" Jack cried. He jumped off the carpet, put his hands up, and turned and ran away, out of the bedroom.
Jill sat against the bed, quivering. She wondered why she hadn't closed the door. She wondered what her son thought of her. She wondered how she would face him.
She jumped off the floor and closed the bedroom door. She sat on her bed for a long time, thinking.
An hour later, dressed in khaki shorts and a white short-sleeved top, she left her room and walked down the stairs to the kitchen. She wore thick, black-rimmed eyeglasses to correct her near-sightedness. Her straight, red hair, falling about her shoulders, was not quite dry from her shower. When she turned the corner from the bottom of the stairs, she saw her son Jack in the kitchen, munching on a leftover burrito from the previous night's dinner, and holding a coffee mug.
Jack looked up from his brunch. Their eyes met, and they didn't know what to say to each other. After several awkward moments Jill broke the silence.
"Jack --."
"Mom," Jack interrupted her. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have gone into your room. I'm sorry about that."
"I should have closed the door. I'm sorry . . . I'm sorry you saw that."
"You don't need to be sorry, mom. You don't have anything to be sorry about."
"Yeah," Jill said. "But still . . . that's not something a son should see." She smiled grimly. "I hope you're not traumatized for life."
Jack smiled too.
"I think I'll recover, mom. Why don't we try to forget about it. Next time, I'll shout and knock before I come into your bedroom."
"Sounds like a plan," Jill said.
She walked to the refrigerator and pulled some fruit and leftovers out. She and Jack spent a while eating their respective meals without speaking. Jill broke the silence.
"It's been hard," she said. "Without your father. I haven't had a man in my life for a long time. I hope you understand that."
"Mom, you don't have to explain," Jack responded. "You and dad were always open-minded about things -- things having to do with sex. I always appreciated that. You don't have to explain anything to me. You don't have to be sorry about anything."
"I appreciate that," Jill said. "I should let you know . . . I'm thinking about dating. What do you think about that?"
"It's been two years, mom," Jack said. "I totally understand. I'm sure it's been, like, really hard. You don't need to worry about me."
"Thanks, Jack," she said.
"Dad would want you to be happy, mom," Jack said.
Jill almost cried at that. Her son's understanding about her needs surprised her. But Jack had always been mature for his age.
"The truth is," Jill said, "I've gone on a couple of dates already. Through an online dating site. I hope that doesn't bother you."
Jack was surprised. He had no idea his mom had started dating again.
"When . . . when did this happen?" he asked. "Why didn't you tell me?"
Jill put her head down, avoiding Jack's stare, before answering him. She was embarrassed she hadn't told him.
