Mother's Recipe

This is my first attempt to write under the 750-word challenge.

I hope you all like it.

- enjoy.

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Tamarind,

our ferry to Rumeli Kavagi, cruised on the Bosphorus slower than usual, given the unseasonal choppy waters. My husband Kamaal, his mother Mehar, and I sat on the rear deck with three other passengers.

Kamaal had already made two trips to the washroom. With another forty-five minutes of our journey left, no-doubt he'd go a couple more times. Kamaal often got seasick on ferries, especially when they're longer. He would usually take lengthier bus routes to avoid ferries whenever possible.

Kamaal felt queasy and uptight before we'd boarded the ferry. The departure-board warning didn't help much. Minutes later, the waters had turned choppy. After some resilient efforts of the crew, we settled down but got redirected to Eminönü instead. For Kamaal, that made matters worse. Our twenty-minute ferry ride turned into an hour-long.

By the time Kamaal was ready for another trip to the loo, Mehar couldn't bear to watch his son in discomfort.

She opened her arms for Kamaal, "come here."

Kamaal hesitantly looked around. His belly retched as he saw flowing water behind his mother's head. His need for comfort took precedent over the embarrassment.

Kamaal hastily covered the six paces to his mom and lay on the seat next to her. With a set of pre-practiced moves, Mehar opened her blouse, Kamaal laid down on the cushioned bench seat next to her and turned inwards as his head rested on her lap. Mehar nonchalantly drew out her right breast from the blouse, offered her nipple to her adult, married son. Kamaal latched on to the breast without much ado and started sucking as if being breast-fed.

Mehar's hand slipped behind Kamaal's head, and she petted him a few times while pulling him towards her. Mehar's other hand slipped under his head to prop it up enough, getting him at a perfect angle to enable maximum access for the suffering Kamaal.

Kamaal relaxed with each passing minute, and Mehar covered his head and her tit with a scarf. Her son lay in her lap, breastfeeding.

I sat in front of them, stunned, shocked, embarrassed, and extremely horny, surprisingly. I had married Kamaal a few months back and did not fathom something of this nature.

Mehar realizing my predicament, said, "Kamaal has had this problem of seasickness, as you know, since his younger days. Many years back, I came up with this solution to distract his mind from the water. It helps him with his seasickness."

I opened my mouth to say something, but no words came out.

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As life went on, we avoided ferry rides as far as possible. And then a pattern started to emerge.

In rare instances when we did take the ferry to Eminönü or even Rumeli Kavagi, Kamaal would not feel seasick if Mehar wasn't traveling with us. If she was with us on the ferry, there were very high chances of Kamaal finding himself seasick.

To reconfirm my theory, I created opportunities and circumstances to take ferry rides in various combinations until I was sure Kamaal's seasickness was a ruse.

Now I did not know what to do with the information.

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Mehar is a very beautiful woman. She must have been a heartbreaker in her youth. Her face is like an angel, her eyes blueish-grey, and her hair long and lustrous. Her medium-sized stature gave away a marvelous figure she must have had not so long ago. Her body is still lithe, plump at some places, possibly because she's now forty-five.

One day, I was alone with Mehar. We happened to have a moment of open-hearted chat. The conversation, unintentionally, veered to personal and intimate.

And at one point, I let out, "Mehar, I have a feeling Kamaal's seasickness isn't exactly what he projects it to be."

Mehar looked at me, smiled, and said, "I know."

The two words that came out of Mehar's lips had a massive impact on me, instantly. My heart began to pound. I felt numb. Blood pumped through my veins as if turbocharged. I was so buzzed that I could not figure out what to say or do. As the significance of her words sank in, I realized my pussy was pulsing. I was possibly going to pass out.

Just then, Mehar opened her blouse, revealed her white alabaster breasts, supported my neck on her arm, cuddled me with her other hand, pulled me near her chest.

I latched on to her rubbery pink nipple. My arms swung behind her, pulling me into her bosom.