Chapter 7

Abigail awoke with the crumpled blanket tangled at her feet, half hanging off the foot of the bed. Her long chemise was bunched at her waist. She lazily stretched her arms and curled her toes. A content smile spread across her face as her eyes leisurely opened.

Since the death of her husband, Abigail had masturbated sporadically, usually when she had been overcome by unbearable loneliness. It had been a way to reconnect with her late husband. But last night had been different. She hadn’t been lonely. She hadn’t been missing her husband. She had simply been aroused. She hadn’t even been aware of her arousal until her hand, on its own volition, found its way between her legs. The jolt triggered something she couldn’t explain. Only that it led to the biggest orgasm she could remember and was followed by a second and a third. In the past, when overcome with loneliness, she had brought herself to a small orgasm and fell asleep. But last night the first orgasm was earth-shattering, and it was only the beginning. By the time Abigail had fallen asleep, her body was drenched in sweat and couldn’t stop shuddering.

Now awake, Abigail stretched again. She felt wonderful.

Abigail’s clammy body needed a quick sponge bath before dressing. She removed the chemise and padded to the pitcher of water and basin on her dresser. About to reach into the basin for the sponge, she jerked her hand back. The sponge was on the dresser. In the basin, the remnants of her son’s copious amount of semen that she had caught in her cupped hand the night before floated in the water.

That brought back memories of last night. Of her son saying it was her smell that had caused his “problem.” Goddam it, Abigail thought, it’s an erection! Call a spade a spade! And was it really my smell? I was leaning on him, pressing my tits on his back, hanging all over him. Jesus, what was I thinking? In our undergarments no less. Wyatt isn’t a baby anymore.

But what troubled her more was how she had felt masturbating in her bedroom afterward. She admitted it was her son that had aroused her. His hard cock. Her holding it. Jerking him off.

Abigail opened the shutters to her bedroom window and tossed the water from the basin outside. She then refilled the basin with water from the pitcher and gave herself the needed sponge bath, spending considerable time between her legs, on the pubic hairs caked with her dried fluids. Then she dressed and went into the front room.

Wyatt wasn’t there.

Abigail ran out the front door and looked around. Her heart pounded. But she calmed down when she saw her son putting hay in the corral.

“Wyatt,” she shouted, “why are you up so early?”

Her son stopped what he was doing and pointed to the sun high in the sky. “It’s not early. Doing my chores.”

“Oh my, I slept late. Did you eat?”

“Nope. Been waiting for you.”

The two ate an early lunch and then separated to do their respective chores. Something always needed to be done on the ranch. Abigail was working hard in the unusually warm day and kept wiping the sweat off her brow with her bodice’s long sleeve before it managed to drip into and sting her eyes. Most times she was a drip late. Gazing up at the blue, cloudless sky, she thought, Another bath would really be nice right now.

Abigail searched for her son. She found Wyatt in the rear corner of the barn, moving the bales of hay that formed a wall back to where they belonged. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, showing the red sleeves of his long johns, and the top buttons of his shirt were undone leaving his shirt gaping. He had even opened the top buttons of the long johns. It was even hotter inside the barn than outside and sweat stains darkened the underarms of his shirt. His kerchief hung out of his back pocket for easy access rather than be tied around his neck.

“Do you have any chores that must be done now?” Abigail asked as she walked up to him.

Wyatt heaved the bale onto another and turned to face his mother. He pulled the kerchief out of his back pocket and wiped his sweat-dripping face.

“No, just keeping busy,” Wyatt said. “You know what the Bible says, idle hands are the devil’s workshop.” He chuckled. “See, Mama, I do pay attention when we read.”

“Then how about a reward. Would you like to go for a swim?”

“Oh boy would I. Now?”

“Yeah, finish up what you’re doing while I get ready. I’ll meet you at the lake.”

Abigail felt like a little girl as she rushed to the cabin, almost lightheaded. In her bedroom, she removed her bodice and skirt, and then the thigh-length chemise. She slipped on a pair of ankle-length pantaloons and tied them at the waist. Then she donned the ankle-length chemise she slept in. After sweating so much last night, having it soak in the water would refresh it.

Abigail reached for her skirt, but stopped before picking it up. She had put the pantaloons on for modesty, like she always had when they swam, but remembered Wyatt telling her that he knew she didn’t have a penis because he had seen that when they went swimming. How much did he actually see? she thought and then felt an uncontrolled tingle between her legs. Feeling naughty, Abigail lifted the bottom of her long chemise, tucked it under her chin, and removed the pantaloons, letting the chemise drop back down. This was how she had been dressed last night with Wyatt while reading the Bible. How she was often dressed in front of him inside the cabin at the end of the day.

After putting her skirt and bodice back on, Abigail left the cabin for the lake. When she got there, Wyatt was sitting in his long johns. His outer clothes, hat, and boots were piled on the grass away from the shoreline. He watched her as she stripped down to the long chemise. He had done that before, but this time it felt different. Not in a bad way. She enjoyed him watching her strip down to her undergarment. It was a thrill to have a man watch her do something so intimate. She had loved when her late husband had. But this Wyatt was not her husband. He was her son. Why was she suddenly thinking of him as her husband?

“Aren’t you going swimming?” Abigail asked.

As if Wyatt had been waiting for the starter of a horse race to fire the pistol, he jumped to his feet and leapt into the lake, his butt and back hitting the water first. He jumped up and down and splashed in the water until settling down. Then, crouching with the water lapping his chin, he waited for his mother.

Abigail got in more slowly. First a foot to test the water and then the other. As always, it was cool. The bottom of her long chemise floated in the water as she took a few more steps, exposing her calves underwater. They were usually covered by the ankle-length pantaloons she wore to swim, but today she had gone in without them. She pressed down on the sides of the chemise as she waded in deeper until the soaked material ballooned but stayed submerged. When the waterline reached her tummy, the coolness through the chemise spread goose bumps all over her body and stiffened her nipples. Now that her most sensitive part was underneath the water, she bent her knees and, holding the chemise down, crouched until only her head was outside the water. She had to keep slapping at her chemise to it keep it from floating up. That wasn’t something new, but she wasn’t wearing the pantaloons that normally covered her legs.

The two frolicked in the water, splashing each other, dunking each other, laughing all the time. At one point, Abigail floated on her back while her son stood waist-deep in the water talking to her, and staring at her. It was the end of a perfect day with her son, her best friend, her only friend. But all good things had to come to an end, so she held onto her chemise as she lowered her legs to stand.