It is two in the afternoon, the appointed hour. Traffic growls and blares on the busy street. The mass of faceless passers-by ignore the woman in beige at the sidewalk cafe. Nor does she pay them any mind. Her apparent lack of enthusiasm should not be mistaken for ennui, however. A subdued smile shimmers around her painted lips, and she sips at her martini to calm herself. He is late, but that's not unusual. Regardless, no matter how many times she's done this, the flutters in her belly never fail to appear. One look from him, and they will vanish.
He doesn't disappoint. She isn't sure whether she saw him first. From a half block away, his piercing blue eyes are already on her, burning a hole through the throng and causing the nipples to tighten and peak inside her bra. She realizes she's been slouching, and straightens herself, brushing off some imaginary lint. She glances down to check the lie of her breasts. He deserves nothing less than the best.
Marching straight toward her, he seems larger than life. The strong cut of his face and the dark silk suit and power tie make women turn their heads. His jet-black hair and the disobedient wisp that falls perennially over one eye draw a second look from most that squeezes a little juice from their pussies. Just like it does to hers.
But she knows she doesn't need to worry about all those others. He is hers. Not that he doesn't enjoy a motley of lovers. Inevitably, they are all transient, however. One night, maybe a week. A couple lasted a few months. She doesn't bother remembering their names. She is the only one that he will never leave.
He has never spoken her name. Her name is Claire.
With a nonchalant air, Claire takes another sip as he approaches. Hidden under her brow, she keeps her eyes up. She never tires of looking at him. She lowers her glass, forcing herself to tear her eyes away for only the last teasing second. He bends at the waist, cupping her jaw and lifts it to overpower her lips with a kiss that goes on and on, as if sucking the very core of her soul to the surface. Her hands fist on the table, and a cool wetness saturates her panties.
She gasps for breath when he finally releases her. He backs away, only a few inches, and gives her the boyish grin that never fails to open the spigot between her legs.
"Hi, Mom."
Claire nods and acts interested while he fills her in on what he's done over the week since they last met, his work, his women, the steep, rocky cliffs he climbs hand-over-hand on most weekends. He seems charming and affable. But he is a man, single-minded, vainglorious, and hard. In a few minutes, maybe more depending on his mood, he will leave a handful of twenties under her glass, take his mother's arm, and lead her down the street toward the posh hotel room he's already paid for. Sometimes they don't make it that far. He may whisk her into a dark, foul-smelling alley, shove her against a rough brick wall and pull her panties to the side to fuck her ruthlessly. Maybe they'll meander into a boutique where he'll lower her to her knees in the dressing room to take his pleasure from her mouth. He's her boy. She will be fine with whatever he wants.
He was so cute the first time. She had noticed the way he had begun looking at her sometimes. He would make a suggestive remark, then laugh it off nervously. Sniffing his stained sheets before washing them, she knew he'd been with several girls. None had stayed long, and she could guess why. That awkward age around twenty is rough on everyone -- no longer a child, but unsure exactly what it means to be a grownup. He had always been a smart, shy kid, and his last growth spurt had left him gangly with serious skin problems. After she'd helped him clear up his skin, his confidence was still unsteady.
Her husband -- his father -- had decided long ago that younger women fed his ego better than his wife could. That's not to say that Claire was unattractive. With careful eating and diligent exercise, she managed to hang onto her looks through middle age without medical assistance. Her many lovers complimented her sexy butt, her hefty boobs, and especially those shapely legs that had always given her pride. But those same lovers never seemed to be enough. The sex was certainly satisfying. Yet the shallowness of her affairs left her wanting. They lacked a sense of connection.
So when her son's timid overtures grew more bold and more frequent, she figured to kill two birds. The right moment came soon after. He had progressed to vaguely immodest touches that might be written off as affectionate or 'accidental'. Massaging her shoulders while she cooked. Rubbing her feet in front of the TV. A casual sweep of his hand across her butt as he passed. His fingertip grazing the side of her head as he pushed a loose hair behind her ear. With each, she recognized a yearning in his eyes.
After dinner, she was rinsing off the dishes. Reaching across in front of her for a toothpick from the windowsill, his arm made contact with her unrestrained breast. As if nothing was untoward, she kept scrubbing the plate while he withdrew slowly, brushing his entire forearm across the front of her blouse, nuzzling the swell of her shapely teardrop. At the final moment, he felt her soft flesh drag across his open palm. His reflexive whimper was all she needed.
Turning off the water, Claire spun around and glared at him. He stared back, terrified as a mouse cornered by a cat. Without a word, she peeled off her rubber gloves and took him firmly by the hand to lead him up the stairs to his room. Although her husband was on another of his extended 'business trips', she calculated that their bedroom would be too intimidating. If this worked, there would be opportunities for that later.
It was a typical boy's room, smelly and dank. Dirty clothes were piled on the unmade bed. Half-finished models and books were strewn about. She recalled that when he was much younger, she had hauled him to this room in much the same way to punish him. A few times that had included modest spankings. She briefly mused on the possibility that she might induce him to return the favor.
A vague scent of semen wafted to her. She assumed he masturbated. Had he fantasized about her, she wondered? Her mouth watered at the thought of licking her son's sweaty balls, and drinking from his cock.
"Mom? I'm sorry!" he whined. "I didn't mean to —"
A finger to his lips cut him off.
In a quiet, steady tone, she told him, "Don't ever be afraid of anyone. Especially not a woman. If you see something you want, take it."
He gawked at her, stunned. She waited for her words to sink in.
"Do you mean...?"
"If someone objects, then you can apologize. But if you're waiting for an invitation, you will live a sad and disappointed life."
The seconds seemed like minutes while he gathered his courage. She didn't move. With tentative, faltering motions, his hand rose to the buttons of her blouse. His nervous, Pacific-blue eyes were vigilant for any sign of protest from his mother. She returned an impassive gaze while, one-by-one, he released each button. It was perhaps the most erotic thing she'd ever experienced. Her nipples grew aching and hard, desperate to be touched.
There was a moment of indecision when he reached the last button above where the blouse was tucked into her skirt. She was thankful that she hadn't bothered with a bra when he chose to push the shirt off her shoulders, pulling her arms back and forcing her chest out. He gasped at the sight of her bosom, the soft, porcelain flesh streaked with dainty, spidery blue veins. He gave her a questioning look, and she replied with a shallow nod. He lifted her heavy mounds in his big, soft hands. Claire sucked in her breath and closed her eyes, uttering a sibilant, "Yes..."
Emboldened, he tightened his grip, and she thought that she might come on the spot. Then he bent to her, taking one nipple and then the other between his rough lips, and she squeezed her thighs together. Within the limited range of her arms, she managed to get her hands around his head, holding his greedy mouth to her and recalling how she had enjoyed suckling him much like this as a babe in her arms.
