I lay on the raft alone in the moonlight for a few minutes after my mom left for the house. My cock was now semi-erect, but still pulsating with a dollop of jizz remaining at the tip. If it was possible to feel euphoria, shame, confusion and peacefulness simultaneously, I was doing it then. Nothing in my life had prepared me for that five minutes on the raft with my mother and I had a sneaking suspicion that this was not the end of it with her.
Slipping off the raft and out of the pool, I toweled off and walked naked through the back yard up to my house. There was really no possibility of neighbors seeing me back there, especially now that it was dark. The cool night air felt wonderful on my skin and the nakedness was pretty exhilarating too. As I passed my parent's bedroom suite on the way to my bedroom, I heard the shower running in the bath. Mom was humming in the shower-something I had not heard her do previously. What was the tune? I paused and listened. Aretha Franklin's "A Natural Woman". I chuckled and headed for my own shower.
My camp clothes were still dirty and in my duffle bag, so I went to my big brother's room to borrow some of his shorts and a t-shirt. I usually went commando in the summer anyway, so I would not need any of his boxers. Faintly in the distance I heard a mechanical, whirring sound. It would not be a lawn mower at this hour, I thought. Hmm. Sounded more like my dad's Norelco beard trimmer. Walking back to my bedroom, I now detected that the unmistakable sound of dad's trimmer coming from my parent's bathroom. What the heck would SHE be doing with that?
Now dressed, I went back down to the kitchen and put the pasta water on the stove. Mom taught me that in Italy, they salt the pasta water generously, so I added two fistfuls of salt from the large container. Mom had already set the dining room table for one, as she was expecting to be alone, so I made another place setting for myself across from her. Opening up the fridge, I saw that she had also made up a fresh salad with vegetables from our garden-romaine lettuce, cucumber, tomato and shredded carrot. This was going to be a great meal!
"What do you think, Greg?" Mom was at the kitchen door, grabbing the doorframe with both hands and looking at me over her shoulder. She was wearing one of my old blue and white pinstripe oxford dress shirts. At her height, it drooped a bit at the shoulders and went clear down to her knees. She had rolled the sleeves up to her elbows. The top four buttons were undone and it was obvious enough that she was bra-less. Her cleavage was truly spectacular as she faced me, drawing closer. She wore no makeup except for dark red lipstick. I was once again speechless. "I'll take that stare as a sign of approval. Do me a favor. Go to the basement and grab a bottle of Amarone from the wine rack." she said turning to attend to her Bolognese sauce.
Dutifully, I descended the cellar stairs to the wine racks. We had mostly Italian wine in the collection, all of it red. "Mom" I yelled up the stairs, "1958 or 1962?"
"Let's live it up a little, Greg" (like we hadn't already), she called back. "Bring up the '58!"
I knew this was a special bottle, as it had a piece of bright orange yarn tied around the neck, which was dad's way of denoting an expensive wine. I wondered if he would be more pissed off knowing mom drank his precious Amarone without him, or knowing that she had just sucked her son dry in the pool?
The table was now completely set with our salad, bread, pasta and Parmesan cheese. Mom was ladling the awesome sauce onto the fettuccini when I arrived back in the kitchen cradling the Amarone.
"Have you ever uncorked a bottle of wine before, hon?" mom asked, as she reached into the cupboard for two wine glasses.
"Well, no mom, but I can certainly give it a shot". For a first timer, I did pretty well, only getting a few small pieces of cork into the wine bottle.
"That's fine, hon." mom said encouragingly. "The older corks are just a bit more delicate." She poured two tall glasses, and she toasted us saying "In vino, veritas" as we then clicked glasses and tasted. The Amarone was heavenly, tasting of raisins, cherries and musk. Mom sometimes allowed my siblings and me a diluted glass of wine, half water/half wine, on special occasions. This was my first straight-up glass of wine, and even a few sips made me feel flushed.
A devout Catholic, mom always insisted on saying a prayer before every meal, and she held my hand as she offered, "Heavenly father, we thank thee for the bounty thou has set before us. We pray for those not with us and for the less fortunate. We ask for these blessings in Christ's name. Amen." I'm not sure what the heavenly father or Jesus Christ would think about incest, but am fairly sure they might take a dim view of it. I also thought that I might want to be a fly on the wall of mom's confessional booth after this Sunday's mass. Would she dare tell father Connelly?
We dug into the food with ravenous appetites. After having eaten such disgusting cafeteria food at camp for four weeks, my taste buds were having a little party. Mom and I had great conversation with lots of laughs as I regaled her with stories from camp. Normally a bit reserved, I found myself much more talkative and free than ever before. The wine was clearly having an affect upon me. We said not one word about what had occurred an hour ago at the pool, but I think we wisely kept that out of the conversation. What had happened was now history and words would not change that.
"I have something special for dessert, so save some room, Greg." Mom said, as she rose to clear the table.
"Let me do the cleaning, mom. You already worked so hard to make this great meal." I said, putting my hand on her shoulder and re-filling her wine glass with the remaining Amarone.
"You will get no argument from me" she said, sitting back down and tucking her hair behind one ear as she took another sip. As I rinsed the dishes and cleared the table, she began humming "A Natural Woman" once again. She walked over to the stereo in the den and put an album onto the turntable. Aretha Franklin was blaring through house speakers, accompanied by mom, slightly off-pitch but exuberant.
