Kit smeared cold cream up her cheeks. She paused before erasing her mascara. She suddenly realized that she did not want to remove her mascara when her son was talking about the prettiness of another female. Mascara was the one essential makeup she used. It had not been smeared. It emphasized the wide, round, lascivious innocence of her brown eyes. She would leave it on.
With fresh tissues she wiped off the excess cold cream.
He continued, "I told Lily how really pretty her dress was. I mean, I always see her in a t-shirt and a denim skirt. She ought to dress pretty more often because of how good she looked."
Kit seized up a hairbrush. She said, "Yes, for her age, her shape is very nice. She bit her lip. She had been about to say something bitchy. Brushing out her hair, she shot a glance at Sonny, leaning against the doorjamb, thumbs hung in his pockets, looking very pleased with himself. And still stiff in the pants. Because he was thinking of Lily? Or from watching his mother's breasts dip and bob as she vigorously brushed out her hair? The yellow dress was cut low in front and the bra was loose enough to provide a display.
He said, "Lily's got a new bikini swimsuit. Tangerine colored, she said. Maybe I'll take her to the pool tomorrow afternoon when we're finished transplanting.
Kit said, "I hope her bikini is not as revealing as my yellow one.
"Well, I haven't seen hers. You mean your real sexy one? Yeah, everybody says you look great in that. Last Saturday when you were sunbathing in the back yard, Mr. Folsom kept staring at you from the greenhouse, like his eyes were out on stems."
Kit smiled; pleased with this, shift in the conversation.
He said, "Lily says her bikini is like three postage stamps."
Kit scowled.
Oh, she had to be the center of attention. She was vain, she could not help it. She did not want to hear another single word about Lily's pink dress, her shape, or her bikini.
Still brushing her hair she asked, "Unzip me, will you, Sonny?"
She would teach him to prattle about some skinny young girl!
"Your dress?" he asked, sounding choked.
"Of course. Unzip and unhook me. I'm tired."
She laid down the hairbrush and watched herself, narrow-eyed. Her face looked pouty in the fluffy nimbus of her hair, a luxuriant copper and gold silkiness. What did Lily have? Black bangs. Very plain!
Sonny appeared in the mirror, blushing.
She would show him that Lily was not the only female in his life!
He fingered her zipper. It scratched open. She touched at her bosom to keep the dress from falling.
He went to work on her bra hooks. His fingers were shaking.
Kit smiled. Oh, he was aware of her, all right, not so blinded with love for Lily that he no longer realized how much he owed his mother.
She expanded her chest to tighten the bra hooks and make it more difficult for him.
She said, "I'm glad you like my yellow bikini. Of course, I have to wear it carefully. If I lean over my bosom just tumbles out. It doesn't cover my breasts as much as support them."
He wrenched savagely at the hooks. At last they were free.
Holding the material to her titties, Kit rose, went to her dresser and took a lime-green nightie from the drawer, then faced her open closet to hang up the dress. There she realized that it was a summer dress, destined for the laundry hamper. She had already taken a hanger from the closet. Her mind felt feathery. Was this the effect of the drug? Hanging up a summer dress! But Sonny would not notice the difference.
She peeled the dress up her body.
Then she realized that she had previously removed her panties and was showing him her bare ass.
God, she thought, am I trying to seduce him?
No, I'm befuddled by the marijuana I smoked, tangled in the dress and bra, taking them off now. Hanging up the dress, standing here stark naked, hearing Sonny breathe hard. He's staring at my nude body- What am I doing?
Rid of the dress, she slipped on the nightie. Oh, God, it was a shorty! Hip length, to be worn with matching panties. They were in the drawer. The garment was as transparent as cellophane, a lime-green was merely tinting her torso.
He said, "That sure is a pretty nightie."
So he was staring!
She could not get to the panties in the drawer without facing him. Her dressing gown was in the bathroom. She would have to bold it out.
She turned and walked toward her bed.
He said, "Of course, Lily isn't as pretty as you are, Mother."
She dropped to the bed, lay on her side facing him, an arm hiding her titties, a hand hung over her pussy.
He said, "Well, it's late. I better go to bed."
But his prick stood out like a pole tenting his pants.
He moved to her. Time for the ritual goodnight kiss. He bent over her.
Something within her spoke, an urge she had failed to subdue.
"Sonny, turn out the light. It hurts my eyes. Then come sit down a moment. I want to talk to you.
He switched off the light.
Moonlight glowed in the window. If only it were darker!
He sat on the edge of the bed.
She thought, What am I doing?
She choked, "Sonny, you have to understand a mother's viewpoint. When her son dates a girl it changes things."
"Like I'm not a little kid any more?" He laughed, sounding self-satisfied. But nervous, too.
"Yes, it's a separation, like having adhesive tape torn off my skin. I'm so lonely. I feel-all alone. I mean, you should go out with Lily. But you see, tonight I was at these people's house, a married couple, just one of me all alone."
Over his thigh she could see the head of his prick stretching his pants.
He asked, "Do you want me to go to bed?"
She could not speak. Her throat was agonizingly dry. A pulse hammered within her.
Sonny bent over her, as though to give her a goodnight cheek kiss.
She gasped, "Lie down a minute. Hold me, Sonny. I'm so-alone-lost. Please?"
He obeyed. She rested her head on his arm, wove her fingers into his shirt. He was fully dressed, in shirt and pants. It would do no harm to let him lie here.
She thought of him kissing Lily. Then something happened, one or both of them moving. His breath touched her lips and she pressed to him, rolling her lips over his, finding his tongue in them, kissing her son like a lover.
Going wild. Her hand gripped his shoulder. Her fingers began walking, marching rigidly, angrily, down his back to his hip. Greedy fingers. She clutched his thigh. Then her hand inched down the curve of it.
She seized his hard cock.
He groaned in bet mouth.
Blame it on the grass she had smoked, or on the delirium of Myra's tongue up her cunt, delicious but not hard-a woman needed cock, yes, a woman had to have her hole filled, and what did it matter whose prick did the job? Her hand was compressing a foot of bone, the heat of it burning right through his pants.
He groaned, "Mother, I can't-stop!"
Her whole belly had knotted up, was gulping at itself, hurting, on fire, clenching painfully.
She rasped, "Take off your clothes! Quick!"
He tore from her, unbuttoned his shirt and flung it away. He unzipped. A curve of cock leaped twanging into view. She had to have it. She clutched her throbbing pussy. So hot, burning- He kicked away his clothes and in the moonlight his lean body was white and beautiful, his man-meat a rigid prong, his scrotum hanging across his thigh.
Kit flung her arms and legs wide and lay waiting.
"Mother, do you want-"
"Yes!" she cried. She tore the nightie up her body, exposing her white belly and the dark muff fringing it, the hair bushing out between her spread thighs, hair masking her slit from her view but not his as he climbed between her legs and his cock dipped down, aimed at her crotch.
She shot a hand to it. God, it was a bone, a concrete club, an iron staff, a throbbing cylinder of, cock, the hardest she had ever touched, capped by a bulbous end like an apple. Bending it down with her thumb, she fingered his fat balls.