Oedipus Was Right

Chapter Two

I woke first, coming awake suddenly, feeling her beside me before I even opened my eyes.

The scent of our sex was still strong in the air, and I inhaled deeply, enjoying it.

My need to pee, I realized, was what had awakened me. I eased, very slowly, not wanting to wake her, out of bed and went into the bathroom. I sat to pee, to be quieter, and didn't flush. I really, REALLY, didn't want to break the spell.

Back in the bedroom, deliberately tiptoeing, I stopped and just looked.

For the first time, I saw my mother, naked, in the daylight. And she was an eyeful. She's tall for a woman, just a hair under my 5'10", and slender. She had been a gymnast as a girl and still retained the strong shoulders and lack of body fat from those days. Her legs were long, the left bent so that her foot touched the knee of her right. She was leaking from last night, and I found the thick whiteness running slowly out of her to be so sexy I was instantly hard again. She's a natural redhead, and her bright orange pubic hair, thick and curly, formed an almost perfect delta from a little below her belly button down to where she was leaking. The lips between her legs were full with just a hint of the delicate pink inner lips peeking out. Her belly button was high, a cute innie. I could count her ribs, she was that thin. Her breasts were very small and her nipples were very big. They were wet and as I watched a drop of milk, thick and white, formed and then spread.

Her eyes were open when I got to them, and she smiled. It was a good smile. She was one of those women with incisors that were slightly protruding. It gave her a unique smile. Her teeth weren't bleached either I was glad to see. I always think those appliance-white smiles are so, well, so artificial they kind of turn me off.

But mom's was a good smile, and I smiled back. She pointed, and giggled, and said, "is that for me?" The funny thing is, I hadn't even realized I had come erect as I looked at her.

I didn't say anything, I just crawled up onto the bed, crawled between her legs, and slipped inside of her.

And there it was again. We didn't just fit. We "matched." It was like every cell found its mate and embraced. She was relaxed and smiling, enjoying our merging as much as I was.

"This is as perfect as I had imagined," she said softly, still not moving, just accepting me into her body. Then, suddenly she laughed. Not a harsh laugh. Not a big belly laugh. A pleasant expression of joy.

"Whoever decided this is taboo," she said, and she used muscles deep in her belly to squeeze where I was inside of her, "obviously never tried it."

She took a deep breath and kissed me, a light, gentle, loving kiss.

"Do you feel it too, Davey?" she asked.

"Feel it?" I asked, aware, on some level, just how fucking odd it was to be having a conversation with my mother while my erection was deep inside her.

"How we go together," she said, then she kissed me and did that squeezing thing again and said, "how we BELONG together."

"Well, we do fit nicely," I said, smiling and then kissing her.

"No baby," she said, her palms flat on my face now, her eyes locked on mine, "we do so much more than just 'fit.' Don't you feel it? We MATCH, David. We truly merge into one."

"Of course I feel it," I said, turning my head to kiss her palm, "but that's light-years from understanding it."

I touched her nipple, wetting my finger with a drop of her milk and then sucking it off of my finger.

"You had to have thought about this," I said, "hell, you had to have planned it. I seem to remember something about 'six months.' How did you......" but I wound down then, not sure where my question was going.

She giggled, giving me some very interesting sensations where I was inside of her.

"How did I know?" she asked, "Is that what you're wondering?"

"I suppose, yes," I said.

She giggled again, and said, "I ran into Greg and Stephanie when I was on a date."

That stopped me. Greg had been my best friend since fifth grade, and Stephanie was his mom although always "Mrs. Dunham" to me.

"On a date?" I asked.

"Yes, honey, I wasn't exactly celibate while you were away. Well, not until I ran into them anyway," she said and paused, holding my eyes with hers, both of us holding still. "They were obviously a couple," she finished.

I started to say something but she touched my lips, shushing me.

"Annddd," she went on, stretching out the consonant, "Stephanie was hugely pregnant." She giggled at that. "Davey," she went on, "I would not have been surprised if her water had broken and she had gone into labor right there."

I was absorbing what she said.

"Ummmmm," I said, thinking, "Greg's?"

"Yessssssssssssssss," she said.

And for some reason that broke my control. I grabbed her shoulders and my hips started bucking crazily and I came.

"Oh my," she said, chuckling deep in her throat and kissing me, "you like that image?"

"YES!" I said.

I softened and slipped out and she rolled away from me, off of the bed, and headed into the bathroom.

I LOVED watching her ass as she left. If you're a fan of that TV show "Yellowstone," and you've seen that scene in Season One where Beth is walking to the water trough with her champagne bottle in her hand to take a bath, her ass on display, you've seen mom's ass too. It's a dead ringer.

"Come on, honey," she said, over her shoulder, "rub my back."

I rolled out of bed and followed her, not sure what she meant. By the time I got to the bathroom she was on her knees in front of the toilet and as I watched her back arched and I could hear her starting to throw up.

So I did as she had asked. I got to my knees beside her and began rubbing her back.

She kept going, throwing up, over and over. I would think it was over as she relaxed with her cheek on the cold porcelain, gasping and suddenly she would turn back and retch some more. After she was empty the sound changed. It was actually louder as she got down to dry heaves. Her entire body was involved. As she tried to throw up more I could feel the rigidity in her muscles.

Finally, she was done. She was hanging on to the toilet, as if she might fall, gasping, tears running down her cheeks, snot and a thick drool running from her nose and mouth.

And she was smiling, albeit a very weak smile.

"Stay put, rest," I said, and went to the sink and started the water running to get hot. I soaked a washcloth and then went back, got to my knees beside her, and washed her face. Which needed washing. She was a mess.

"Thank you," she said weakly.

"What," I said, wiping a spot of thick drool from her breast, "was that all about."

"Help me up," she said, so I stood and helped her up.

"I'm okay now, and I'm starved," she said with a giggle, reaching over and flushing the toilet, "let me make us something to eat and I will," and here she gave a passable Groucho Marx eyebrow waggle, "reveal all," she finished, the last with a fake Gypsy accent.

She went to the sink, washed her mouth out, took a big mouthful of Listerine, and was swishing it around in her mouth as she headed for the kitchen.

Her ass looked JUST as good this time, as I followed her.

She grabbed a piece of bread and wolfed it down, smiling at me as she did.

"Sorry, honey," she said, "that leaves me starved."

I just smiled and sat to watch her. I had watched her make breakfast, of course, hundreds of times when I was growing up. But watching her naked was a first.

She made coffee first, smiling oddly shyly as she put the cup in front of me.

I laughed a little as she laid the two poached eggs on toast in front of me and then made up two for herself. I wondered how many hundreds of times we had done this breakfast when I was growing up. We ate in companionable silence. Then we did the dishes quickly, me washing and her drying and putting away as we had always done.

She got a water glass, filled it with orange juice, took a big drink, topped off the glass, and put the orange juice back into the refrigerator.

Then she took my hand and led me back to bed.

She put the glass on the nightstand and laid back.

"Okay," she said, drawing a deep breath, then looking up at the ceiling, obviously gathering her thoughts.

I propped my chin on my hand, laid my hand lightly on her belly, and waited.

"Okay," she said again and got started, "yes, I've been planning this. After I ran into Stephanie and Greg that time, well, I couldn't resist. I got Stephanie on the phone and invited her over and we talked."

She took a deep breath, looked over at me, and went on.

"Oh, we talked a LOT, Davey," she said. "She started by telling me that, yes, it was Greg's baby. And the thing is, she wasn't shy about it at all. She was proud. I suppose the most profound thing she said to me, something I understood myself already, was that all women fall in love with their sons. It's natural. But the taboo is powerful, so most don't do anything about it. But for the few who do, it's wonderful."

She looked at me again, and smiled, and said, "I knew, from that instant Davey, I knew what I wanted."

I was absolutely captivated as she talked. As she gathered her thoughts some more I leaned over and kissed her. "Go on," I said.

"Honey, I started the next day, to get what Stephanie and Greg had," she said. "I went to the doctor to see what I would need to do to induce lactation. I spun him a yarn about a niece who was pregnant but wanted a wet nurse because she had to get back to work quickly. Hell," she giggled, "I don't know if he believed a word of it, but he explained what would be involved and wrote me a couple of prescriptions."

Another pause for a sip of the orange juice and she went on.

"That was a little over six months ago," she said, "and getting ready for you to come home has consumed me since. I was terrified you'd say 'no,' but unable to not go ahead," she giggled at that and added in a completely different voice completely, "sometimes a double negative is the only way to say it properly."

She turned and met my eyes. "Thank you for not saying 'no,'" she said.

"What you saw this morning," she went on, "was morning sickness. The hormones have that effect." She giggled. "My body thinks it's pregnant."

I started to say something but she went ahead.

"Anndd," she said, "the hormones are holding menopause at bay."

"I take a handful of pills every morning and night, and I pump every could of hours," she said.

That last caught my attention. "Pump?" I asked.

She did the one eyebrow-raised thing, looking at me, then giggled and rolled over, reaching into a drawer on the nightstand.

I watched, absolutely fascinated, as she carefully fitted a small plastic bag onto the end of a big conical cup, then used some vaseline to lubricate the cone, and then pressed it to her breast while she reached over and flipped a switch on a little box in her drawer. The box started emitting a sort of relaxing whoosh-click sound and I could see her nipple being pulled in a steady rhythm. In just a few seconds her milk started to flow.

She giggled and switched off the machine, used her finger to break the suction on her nipple, and put it all back into her drawer, saying, "I don't think I'll need that for now."

She rolled onto her side then, meeting my eyes, holding them, and said, "keeping me fertile too, David, or at least that's what I hope for."

She lifted her breast and squeezed a few drops of her milk out. "These are yours, whether you say 'yes' or not," she said, very serious now, her eyes locked on mine, "but I want your baby, honey." She giggled. "What's that stupid song? Having my baby, what a wonderful way to say how much you love me, or something like that? Well, I don't think it's so stupid anymore."

She was so serious I couldn't resist kissing her.

And it was like a dam broke. She was in my arms, holding me, CLINGING is a better word.

"You don't have to decide now," she said into my neck, "we're going out tonight with Greg and Stephanie. See what they have, at least wait that long. before you say 'no.'"

It was my turn to giggle, well, to chuckle, as I wrapped my hands around her thin upper arms.

"Yes," I said.

"Yes?" she asked.

I laughed then, used those skills I had learned in karate dojos, rolled her on top of me, and slipped inside of her, our bodies fitting so naturally again.

"Yes, mom," I said, lifting her onto my arms and looking up at her, smiling, "I'll knock you up."

She squealed and giggled, as much at my language as at my answer I think, and pushed herself up until she was straddling me in the classic cowgirl position.

"Will you still want me when my belly is out to here?" she asked, holding her arms out, her fingertips barely touching.

"Yes," I said and I realized it wasn't something said just to please her. I liked the image. Okay, hell, I LOVED the image.

"Yes," I said again, squeezing those muscles deep in my belly so I would move inside of her, "yes, and I'll love working with you while we work out how to keep this up when your belly is out to her," and I gestured about where her fingers had met before.

Her rhythm was slow, her excitement liquid, her scent strong and exciting. As her hips rocked I reached up and gently rolled her nipples, very hard in her arousal, until white drops formed. She dripped, slowly, as she kept her hips moving.

I'm not sure if you can call her climax then an orgasm. There were none of the hard contractions deep in her belly. None of the loud cries of release. She just drew a deep shuddering breath and started flowing, soaking me. I could feel her ecstasy first wetting my balls and then running down the crack of my ass. Her eyes were closed, her mouth was open, and she drew in another breath, deep, her body kind of vibrating with her pleasure.

She kept going like that more than I would have imagined possible. Her mouth was wide open and she would draw in one of those breaths, hold it, tremble a little, and then let it out in a slow hiss before doing it again. My hands were on her hips, just holding her, feeling how hard her muscles were under my fingers.

Finally, her whole body shook, almost violently, and she let herself lean forward to kiss me. Her legs straightened and she locked her calves with mine.

"I love you, Davey," she said.

"I love you, mom," I said.

Her relaxation was complete. I could feel all tension leave her body as she molded herself to me.

My body's reaction was slow too. We were joined, merged in that perfect matching, and I could feel that wonderful pressure building deep in my belly. I wasn't moving, it was just the perfect blending of two bodies, and I like to think, the love we felt, that was getting to me.

I'm not sure how long we lay like that, two partial bodies forming one perfect being. Certainly minutes. Maybe an hour. Hell, maybe a measurable fraction of eternity.

When I felt myself ready to overflow I broke the wonderful silence.

"You are going to be so beautiful when you're pregnant," I said as I started to flow into her.

My own release mirrored hers. There were none of the hard contractions I associate with ejaculations. None of the pumping and sudden ecstasy over almost immediately. This went on, flowing, not pumping, slowly filling her until she overflowed, and still going on.

"Thank you," she murmured.

"Thank you," I whispered.