“Oh, Lars,” she cried, “please fuck me a little first.” She looked so young and beautiful kneeling there with her eyes pleading and her hair shining as she began taking out her breasts.
“I’m in a hurry. Nilla. You will wait.”
“Yes, Lars, I will wait.” There was a marvelous yielding in her soft voice.
I raced downstairs and jumped into the Mercedes beside Mother. Neither of us said anything on the way. She parked, and we carried everything through the beautiful woods and brindled light and sweet singing until we came out of the trees beside, a lovely lake.
“Here we will have complete privacy,” she said, and put down the things she was carrying. I looked at her, not knowing what was next. Then I put my things down, too. There was a tense moment.
“Lars,” she said in a husky voice, “I’ve been thinking a lot about your problem; about your obsession with my body. I’ve decided the only solution is to let you see it.” I must have jerked because she quickly added: “See part of it, I mean.” She flushed a little, and began spreading towels on the grass, laying out lotions and sunglasses. She talked while she worked, keeping her face turned away. (God, she was so beautiful!)
“It is natural that you should be curious, Lars, considering the total ignorance the orphanage imposed on you. It’s a healthy curiosity. But it’s a little… ah… unusual to direct it towards your mother. Boys aren’t supposed to look at their mother’s… at their mother’s flesh. Not the way you look at mine… but what are we to do? I can hardly ask your sisters to show their bodies to you. Or the servants. So I seem the only one left. I’ve decided that, however unnatural it might seem to some people, and despite the fact that it makes me a little… shy… Well, Lars, I’ve decided I’d let you see some of my body -then we can be close to each other again.” This last made her blush red. “I mean that if I can help you with this thing, then we can forget it.” There was a long pause. “What do you think, Lars?”
“You know what’s best, Mother.”
“Very well, but remember, son…” She was standing facing me with her eyes down and her fingers at the top button of her dress. “Remember that this is to cure you. Remember that I am your mother, Lars!” She opened the top button. The dress was a loose fitting green sheath with buttons from neck to hem. She was fumbling a little. She got the second button open. She didn’t lift her eyes. Mine licked like flame at her, searching out any flesh that might show. A third button. And a fourth and fifth.
It was unbelievable. Here was my fresh, dignified mother just three feet away unbuttoning her clothes! I could reach out and open a button myself. Finally, all the buttons were open! The dress was held together by only the belt. She took off the belt. Still the dress didn’t open. And I still didn’t know what I’d see when it did. Was she or wasn’t she nude under it?
She was watching me now, seeing my extreme agitation, smiling at my obvious shame and embarrassment. In her eyes was a growing fever. She could see my excitement, and she was affected by it! Something stirred in my loins. My blood moved faster. Faster! She was staring frankly in my eyes only three feet away. Her eyes grew languorous, teasing. Slowly, very slowly, she moved her shoulders. Suddenly the dress slid to her feet!
There was a dazzle of white before me. She was naked! No, as my eyes quieted, I saw she was wearing a white two-piece bathing suit. Still, there was a staggering amount of bare Mother in front of me. Nude, gleaming, immediate, close. She lifted her arms over her head and slowly revolved. Big breasts straining the halter. Naked belly. Navel. Hips. Long rounded thighs, bare. Flesh. Pavilions. Undulations. Textures. Beauty. Beauty. Beauty.
“Do you like your mother, Lars?” she whispered. “Is it as nice as you thought? Was it worth lying on floors and peeking through keyholes for?” I just kept gulping, unable to speak. “You poor darling. I shouldn’t tease you. But I think you like it!”
“I love you, Mother,” I stammered blushing.
“I’m glad, Lars.’’ Her voice had a throaty intensity that maddened me. “In that case, I guess it would be all right to go a little further. Just looking may not be enough for you. You might have to touch. Isn’t that right?” I shuddered visibly. Was she going to let me put my hands on her? “Well, Son, I think you do want to touch your mother. And there is a way that isn’t sinful. You can rub my suntan lotion on for me. After all, lots of boys must do that for their mothers. That isn’t bad, is it?” I shook my head. She gracefully lay down, then sat up. “Oh, but you better change into your trunks, Lars, so you don’t get it on your clothes.” I looked around for a place to change. There were only the trees. I started toward them. “Wait, Son, you don’t have to hide in the trees. There’s nobody here but me, and I’m your mother.” She wanted to see me! But what could I say? “We must learn to be at ease together, Lars, as a mother and son should be. You can turn your back if you want.” Her eyes twinkled, but there was also an avidity in them.
I turned and began to undress. I was extremely clumsy because I was so conscious of her watching. I was sure she was watching. I managed to get everything off but my shorts. I couldn’t just pull them down a few feet in front of my mother’s face.
“The shorts, too, Lars. Take them off.” Her voice was so strange and low I could hardly make it out. I pulled my shorts down, terribly conscious of my bare backside. I tried to get my trunks on quickly. The problem was to make sure my penis didn’t dangle where it-could be seen from behind and that the cheeks of my ass didn’t stretch open in front of her when I lifted my legs. Finally, it was done. I turned toward her. She looked very happy.
“You have a splendid body, my son. Now come and take this lotion. You may rub it all over me. That way you can touch me as much as you want, and we won’t be doing bad. But, Lars, remember I am your mother. You must touch only where you can see. You must always respect your mother.”
I knew that she meant I was not to touch her breasts or cunt. That still left a lot to touch. I poured the lotion on my hand and knelt beside her. She was lying face down, her face on her arms, and her eyes closed. I hesitated a moment, then put my hand on her back. She made a sound somewhere in her.
Something answered in me. There was a splendor in my band. She was like petals. It was like bathing in whipped cream. Mother’s skin was astoundingly suave. Firmness and softness combining to a luxury. I smoothed the suntan lotion over her back. I worked it in. My fingers flexed delicately into her resilient flesh. She sighed deeply. The literalness of my hand stroking the actual mother flesh twisted my bowels. I discovered there were endless parts to her back: textures, countries, depths, infinite shadings of her fault responses. There were bones, muscles, soft parts, articulations. I was shocked by the intimacy possible: that one could sense the body inside.
The color, too, was a surprise. I had thought of her as white. She was an infinite range of pink and pearl and rose and cream and bisque. Nothing was so lovely. But even stronger than the sense of fabulous wealth so gigantically close to me was the lust. Almost despite myself, my hand was an invasion. It insisted on the fact of her flesh. It insinuated itself on the slippery flesh. It was personal. My hand wasn’t putting lotion on a back; my hand was playing with my mother’s body. And her body knew it. Her body tensed and squirmed-however subtly. I worked up and down her sides, and she flexed. I returned again and again to where the strap crossed her back. Finally, in a strained voice she told me to open it.