Chapter Eight
"Sooooooooooooooo," I said as we got back to the house, "just what is it that, as Greg put it, you 'have in mind'?"
"Sit, baby," she said, pushing me to the couch, "let me make us a couple of drinks. This is gonna take some 'splainin'," she finished in her best Ricky Ricardo accent.
So I sat. This sounded serious so I didn't turn on the TV or anything. I just waited. Anyone who has been through basic training knows how to wait.
Mom came back, a big screwdriver for her and a beer for me, handed me mine, took a drink from hers, and then sat in the middle of the couch. She was close enough to touch me but not so close I'd be tempted to grab her.
She took a deep breath and started.
"David," she said and her use of my full name instead of Davey made it clear this was a serious conversation, "I'm glad you said yes. I look forward to our new life. Hell, I can't wait for us to get settled into our new life."
She took another drink and another deep breath.
"But here's the thing," she went on. "Stephanie and I have different, well, call them different roles. She's Earth Mother, the keeper of the home place, the pioneer woman standing up to the Indians or the outlaws or whoever threatens the homestead."
Another drink. I was fascinated. I mean, so far this was all pretty straightforward and I really couldn't see what all the damn fuss was about.
"Annddd," she started back, "she can be big and fat and pregnant and barefoot and look so goddam good that I'm jealous all the time. But I can't do that. My, well, my role is to be the more mature wife, standing in attendance to her man, looking professional and that means looking slim and trim and like I just stepped out of a goddam boardroom or something."
Another drink and I was starting to think I understood where this was going.
"I can't be her, David, I can't have what she has. I can't get fat or hugely pregnant or look brassy and blowsy and wild," she said. "I just can't have that," and I realized a tear was about to fall, "and goddammit, I'm so fucking jealous I'm having trouble handling it."
"What," I started but she held up a finger.
"Soooooooooooo," and it hit me that apparently she and Greg had had a few drinks at their thing earlier. She was getting tipsy. Not drunk, but tipsy.
"Sooooooooooo," she said, "I'm going to take as much of that as I can."
She took another drink, flashed me a predatory grin, and said, "and you, son-o-mine, are going to help me."
I felt the grin spreading across my face and realized I must have looked like some foolish junior high school boy sneaking his first peek at a boob.
She leaned forward and picked up the paper bag that was sitting on the coffee table. She opened it and dumped the contents on the coffee table. I laughed and said, "hmmm, a plain brown wrapper. And where have you been?"
She giggled and said, "to the special store where Greg got Stephanie her baby."
She held up a shiny thing, looking very much like a tool of some kind.
"This," she said, holding it out to me, "is a speculum. You'll use it to open me up."
I held the thing, shiny and heavy, I guessed stainless steel and puzzled out how it worked. A thumbwheel built into the handle would spread the two legs and I realized, all of a sudden, this would open her pussy.
"Okay," I said, meeting her eyes.
"And this is the baby," she said.
It looked to me like a little pink blob on the end of a stick. Then she took a bulb, exactly like the rubber bulb the doctor squeezes when he's pumping up the blood pressure cuff, squeezed it a couple of times, and I realized the pink blob was kind of a balloon and would look like a baby when inflated.
"And this," she said, smiling, and showing me a zippered wallet like Greg had used to get Stephanie started, "is the collection of drugs you're going to have me on."
I knew I was grinning like a fool and couldn't help it.
"Now I can't take it to extremes as she does," she said, "but I WANT at least what I CAN have."
She stopped, finished her screwdriver, and looked at me, a little bleary-eyed now.
"David, am I making any sense?" she asked.
"I think I understand," I said, "so no real baby for us?"
She giggled and said, "too late honey. I haven't had a period in over a year. I'm officially a crone."
I laughed and stood, picked up her glass, and went into the kitchen to make her a fresh screwdriver and get myself a fresh beer. I got our stash bag out of the cabinet and rolled a joint and went back to the couch.
I fired up the joint, took a hit, and passed it to her.
Two hits for each of us and I carefully stubbed it out. It's VERY good pot.
"Soooooooo," I said, this time it was my turn to draw out the vowel, "when do you wanna get knocked up?"
She took a deep breath, another drink, met my eyes, and said, "right now."
After a few seconds, she added, "please."
I stood and took her hand.
"Let's play doctor," I said and we both broke down in uncontrolled giggles.
It's VERY good pot.
We got it together and I walked her into the bedroom and told her to undress, wishing I had Stephanie's hospital gown for her.
I went into the bathroom and washed my hands very carefully, very thoroughly, with hot water and soap and a full two-minute scrub.
I was getting into my Doctor role.
VERY good pot.
When I went back into the bedroom she was sitting on the edge of the bed, looking like a patient in any examination room.
I thought for a couple of minutes, trying to figure out how to pull off the stirrups.
I snapped my fingers and hurried downstairs and into the backyard where four bar height stools lived under our patio roof. On the way through the kitchen, I had the presence of mind to grab one of the flashlights we kept in the junk drawer.
I made it back to the bedroom without dropping either of them and set them at the side of the bed before going into the other bedroom and commandeering a couple of pillows.
"Feet in the stirrups," I said and she giggled, scooted forward so her ass was right at the edge of the mattress, and she laid a heel on each of the stools.
I got her a pillow and then pulled over a footstool to complete the image of Doctor David, the Gynecologist.
I breathed on the stainless steel speculum and rubbed it between my hands before using the fingertips of my left hand to part her labia.
"Now relax," I said as I touched the stainless steel to those tender inner lips.
She clenched and giggled and said, "easy for you to say there, doc."
I rubbed her mons veneris very gently, lightly caressing the delta of her coarse pubic hair.
"Relax," I said again and pushed, gently.
The speculum slipped in easily the first inch or so, and I left it there, letting it warm up, continuing to gently rub her mons.
I pushed it in, deeper, slowly, until I felt it hit bottom.
And then I started working the thumbscrew, spreading the legs of the speculum, opening my mother's pussy.
And I got hard. It was as instantaneous as any erection I ever experienced, including those unexpected erections when puberty was upon me.
As I opened her, wider and wider, I could see her fingers digging into the edge of the mattress.
"Do you want me to stop?" I asked, knowing what the answer would be but making her say it.
