In the middle of the night she crept away from her son's bedroom and went back to her own. In the morning she got up and went off to work while he was still in bed. When she came back in the evening he was out. His bedroom was as it had been the night before - the girly mags on the floor, the stale bed in a mess, even the crumpled handkie still on the bedside table.
Things must not go back to how they were. Rapidly she gathered up the mags, took them out, stuffed them in a black rubbish bag, took them down to the bin. She ripped the sheets off the bed, made it up tidily with new. Opened the window to let some air in.
Then she had her shower, got changed, had something to eat - heaven knows where he was, but she would get him supper if he wanted it when he came in. She wished he was there - they would have to confront what had happened, and she wanted to get it over with. Though she had no idea what to say, except that she must somehow reassure him. Till then, there was nothing for it but to settle to her chair and a book, which she only half-read.
She heard him come in and go to his room. Then he burst in on her.
"You've thrown everything away", he said. Like a child cross and almost tearful at the removal of his toys. But he was not a child, damn him.
"You can't go back to how you were," she said. "I'm sorry, neither of us meant it to happen, but it did. I dare say that wasn't the right way to deal with it, but it happened. I'll do anything. Why don't we have a party for you, or you talk to your friends, or I'll try to help you get a date - I can put out feelers, I've lots of friends. I don't know - anything. Only please don't slip back."
He stood and stared at her, and she rose and walked towards him, moved by sympathy for him, wanting him to see how she cared
Suddenly he'd grabbed her. His hands were mauling her bottom. His thigh was pressed into her groin. He was shoving her backwards. She tripped, and they fell on the carpet. He was shoving with his knee between her thighs. My god, he was trying to rape her. She would get hurt and he would never forgive himself. She shoved her hand down, grabbed his nuts through his trousers and squeezed hard. With her other hand she slapped his face.
"Stop it," she said, "Stop that. I'll do it, you can have it if you must, but not this way."
He went limp on her, slid off her and - burst into tears. She cradled his head to her . "It's all right," she said, "I understand. You're so pent up. So you explode. There now. I'll give you what you want. Better than living as you were. I'll try to help you through."
He was sobbing more quietly. They were strangely, unexpectedly together. She must move things on but not break the spell. She lay on one side, raising one knee, and took his hand and put it softly on her crotch.
"There it is," she said, "Feel it. You can have it. Get used to it. It's all right."
He rubbed her timidly. She was wearing plain black satin pants - he could not see them from where he was, but she liked the idea that they would feel sort of shiny.
She held his head. She was touched by his need. And surprised at his power when he had launched himself on her - he was potentially a real bull, not the familiar wimp at all. He just needed to learn how to feed all that smothered energy into his life. And - she liked the feel of her own power. She had him - she could do what she wanted with him.
She stroked his cock gently through his trousers. It swelled to half erect. She pulled down his zip, fumbled around in his pants, got his cock out. Ah, the feel of it again, warm and fat and swollen. She loved it. She had pretty much forgotten how much she loved it - raw bare cock, swelling under her fingers.
She started to clamber to her feet, keeping a firm grip on his cock. He rose behind her. Firmly, she led him into her bedroom. Like a bull with a ring through its nose.
She let go of him by her double bed, threw the duvet away on the floor, hurled herself flat in the middle of the bed. She dragged couple of pillows from behind her, pulled up her skirt, and tucked them under her bottom. Then she drew up her knees to near her shoulders and parted them. She was displayed to him, bottom raised, thighs open, black pants tight over her cunt. She tucked the sides of the pants down the sides, so that the shape of her cunt was on show for him.
"Take your shoes and trousers and pants off," she said. Standing by the bed, he did so. "Tuck your shirt into your vest."
He did that too. She liked that - his bare thighs, his red cock sticking up, and then his shirt and vest still on. A bit absurd, and also sexy - she liked it, him doing as he was told, so desperate for it.
"Kneel on the bed and look at me," she said.
He knelt in front of her, looking down at her spread thighs and her crotch. She started to stroke the pouch of her pants softly.
"Look," she said, "When I push my fingers down the sides, how fat my lips are. They're the lips of my cunt. Look. Now stroke yourself."
He started to stroke his cock, and it responded, got fully erect. She loved it, that straining head, full of blood, as if aching to shoot its sperm into her. However, she was in no hurry, and if he was that was too bad. Some people thought sex was just about having it, about orgasms, but for her sex was about sexual excitement, and she liked that intense and prolonged. Orgasm was lovely, but loveliest when she had got really high. He would learn the same. This was not one of his quick wanks. And looking at him staring with such absorption at her crotch while she stroked the black satin, she felt he was really of the same mind, would soon learn.
"You feel it," she said. He put a hand over it. "Hold it," she said, "It's not just a hole. Hold it, that's the lips, lovely and fat."
He clasped her cunt, felt down the sides of it, squeezed it from the bast. Then - and here she began to realise how much they might have in common - rather than pulling her pants aside or anything obvious, he started to scratch the black satin with his nails, scoring them down over her lips till they swelled and thrilled.
"Now watch how to open it and get it ready," she said.
She pulled at one side of her pants to bare her cunt. He was totally concentrated on it.
"Look," she said, "I slip my finger in at the bottom, where the lips open most easily. Then I run it round and round - look - my vagina and just outside it because that's where the juice is and if I press with my finger and I'm excited then the juice flows and I get nice and wet for you to fuck me. But I have to be excited. It's no good just trying to do it physically. And I'm excited now because I can see you are excited and that turns me on, you staring at my cunt, and stroking your cock and the way it's trembling and straining, that's what excites me, your response.
"See, when the juice is coming and my finger is good and wet, I slide it up between the lips like this, and open them up, and I go right up to my clit, can you see it, and I rub that side to side a little, but gently, not shoving away at it as if I was stuffing a pipe the way some men do. That's how I do it when I masturbate. Watch me masturbating, and you masturbate with me."
She ran flicked her finger lightly over her clit, ran it slowly down and around and into her vagina, took it out and rubbed her clit again. He was rapt, stroking his stiff cock almost absent mindedly while he looked at her.
"Now - take my pants off".
Breathing seriously, he took hold of the top of her pants under her bottom, which she raised, and drew them slowly down over her bottom then her legs, which she held high in the air so he could get them off and chuck them aside.
He stared. She was open and all on show. She loved his fascination. A woman on the verge of middle age - her bum and her cunt might not be everyone's ideal. But he was transfixed.
