Water sluiced from the metal cabin roof, a trickling, chuckling audible testimony to the cold rain driven sideways by fitful gusts of wind. Light fog lay about the small but homey structure occupying a spur of Lookout Mountain that overlooked U. S. Highway 11 far below. Soggy silence enveloped an auburn-haired woman of forty-one standing near a post on the front porch.
Dana Marlow was hardly dressed for this sort of weather. She realized that she could resolve her growing discomfort by either going back inside where her twenty-year-old hulk of a son, Carey, still slept or by doing the smart thing...getting a coat and then standing outside if she must. She stubbornly elected to do neither and wrapped her arms about herself as if that would ward off the shivers threatening to become shakes at any second.
She wore a form-fitting pair of denims that had been on the trail for some time, so to speak. They were limp, faded to a pale bluish white and rode tightly over the tops of her black Dan Post high heeled boots. She wore only a man's thin ribbed undershirt cut off and hemmed slightly below her sizeable, heavy breasts. Her areoles were large, dark brown and quite plump, tipped with hard nipples that protruded through the undershirt as if they were little blackberries. Her 29DD chest was large enough that the shirt hung from her nipples, well away from her muscled abdomen. A gold ring pierced her navel and supported a small emerald ball at the end of a two-inch chain.
The face above this sensuous display was slender with deep green eyes, a Roman nose, and a wide mouth that seemed as if it ought to smile easily. But there was no smile today. Long auburn waves fell over her shoulders to the middle of her back, also framing her sad face. Her breasts rested warm and comfortably heavy on her crossed arms, but she seemed to not notice.
It had been a year now since Gary, her husband and light of her life for nineteen years had died. Florida State troopers arrived to inform her graciously and with every professional courtesy that Gary had been struck by a vehicle on I-95 beneath the flyover from Palm Beach to the airport west of the city. For some unfathomable reason a driver had stopped his pickup on top of the flyover, was struck from behind and was launched out over the retaining wall onto the interstate below. Right on top of Gary's Rodeo. No one could have survived such an event.
Carey was well into his second year at college. He rushed home, assisted her in handling all those necessary and dreadful tasks that must be dealt with for only one reason: because a loved one has died. He reminded her of his father, big, powerful, thoughtful, and solicitous of her needs. They had always been extremely close as a small family, and during his later teens she and Gary had never concealed from their son their loving affections for each other.
Despite her increasing cold, her mind drifted back over years past. Tears misted her eyes and finally ran slowly down her cheeks. She and Gary had always caressed openly and easily around others. At times this disconcerted friends and distant family who finally got used to it, but they had lost several friends who just did not like the sensual displays of unassuming, unplanned love that she and her husband enjoyed.
She recalled how Gary would hold her breasts or remove her top altogether as they sat watching television. By the time Carey was eighteen he had a fully developed sense of humor and joined in good-naturedly kidding his mother about her breasts. He and his father would hoot at her studied determination to not make a big deal out of her assets even as she would sunbathe topless at the beach or wear some extremely suggestive outfit with his father. She took it all in stride.
"You're just jealous, Large Human," she would shoot back with a broad grin. This was followed by a shake of her torso that caused her breasts to quiver as if they were mounds of gelatin.
Even after having been graduated from high school Carey remained very close to his family. He brought dates to their home, and his mother was the perfect host, combining attractiveness with humor, imagination and her respect for their son's guests. For some reason, and she and Gary had never ceased to give thanks, Carey had avoided those painful years when teens become less pleasant than a cold barium enema.
Even with friends about, however, Dana rarely restrained her penchant for partial nudity and would swim topless in their pool or at the beach. Carey's acquaintances liked Dana for a variety of reasons, not the least of which was her nudity, but they also thought she was a work of art. Other aspects of their respect and affection for Carey's mother were her insistence that they respect her and her seemingly unending sense of humor.
She recalled how her husband and grown-up son [had he really matured so rapidly in such a short time?] had, without pretense, hugged her and cupped her breasts or tugged at a nipple as they greeted her or departed for the day. What Dana did not know was that her son, sometime during his nineteenth year, had realized he not only loved her but was in love with her. This had grown in intensity until she rarely left his thoughts.
Carey believed his mother to be the sexiest, most sensuous woman he had ever known. During the years at college he dated often and had many female friends; but his desire for Dana never abated although he managed a tight rein on his expression of it. His return home and residence there during the past year since his father's death had provided opportunity for a very delicate and slow yet definitely growing intimacy between the two.
This tender yet unconventional relationship signaled its presence through their more and more frequent trips out together, several dinner-and-movie engagements that in reality were nothing short of dates, a subtle change in the way they kissed and Dana's now habitual dressing in revealing clothing when they sat watching television together in the evening. These times were precious, quiet, not especially loaded with sexuality, yet increasingly significant in their changing relationship.
They sat together rather than separately. She had purchased several thongs as swimsuit replacements for her son to wear when they swam or sunned together, and in contrast to the likely reaction of many older teens Carey enjoyed doing so. At the very first he thought he would have died rather than get himself something so skimpy. But as he wore them to please her in the process he began to enjoy the sensation of being so bare. Eventually, he came to relish being stared at by others.
Still, their relationship was casually sensuous, not aggressively overt and deliberate. On more than a few occasions when Carey's friends who had never met his mother saw them together, they were quick to ask where in the world he had found this Babe with a capital B.
Now here they were in this cabin on a rain-swept ridge in the heart of the Southland. Dana heard the screen door open behind her, then heavy steps crossed the porch and Carey stood behind her. She felt his arms encircle her waist, his fingers immediately fondling her navel pendant. He buried his face in her auburn waves and whispered into her left ear.
"Okay, what's my favorite Mother doing out here dressed like this?" He gave her navel jewelry a gentle tug, then ran his fingers up and down her bare abdomen. Dana shivered with something having nothing at all to do with temperature.
"Gotta admit that I am about to freeze," she responded softly as she wiped away a tear.
Carey kneaded her tummy as she raised her arms back behind her to touch his face with her hands. As he looked down her chest from over her left shoulder he saw her breasts pressing outward, her nipples dark and outlined. At that point her son gave up his self-imposed restraint and slid his hands upward beneath the cutoff top, enfolding her heavy breasts and tenderly thumbing those delicious plump little shapes on top of them.
