Chapter 4: Greed

I didn’t take Walk into my bed very often. Every few months, at most. But, from time to time, I thought about the fact of it. The implications. What it said about me. What it meant to him.

He was 16 now, and seemed fairly well-grounded. Having had two serious girlfriends living here — Mindy first, then Pilar — probably gave him a perspective beyond his years. And, having Vanessa as a second mother was both an education and a revelation.

Daddy had been, and still was, the most consistent adult male in Walker’s life. Not a father figure, not exactly, but a rock of stability, a man the boy admired. And loved.

But, no question, I was his main influence. He no longer tried to mask his ... adoration, his love for me. I can make him blush, make him start panting with just a certain glance. I owned the lad.

I guess Walk had been like almost every adolescent boy. He discovered his penis, and with my guidance, learned how to make himself feel good, to pleasure himself. I made sure my comments were positive, made sure I helped to build up his own self-image. Over time, he lost his growth-spurt awkwardness, his shyness about all things sexual. And, I continued to work to build up his self-confidence.

Oh sure, I ragged him all the time, but only when he seemed in a comfortable enough space to take it.

Walker was certainly not perfect — he was a teenage boy for fuck’s sake. But he was a pretty decent specimen. Considerate of others, usually unselfish, open to admitting when he was wrong.

For me, over the past few months, there was one bedroom question that I arm-wrestled with from time to time. I didn’t obsess over it, but it did creep into my consciousness from time to time.

Blowjob ... yea or nay?

When I did invite the lad into bed, I always masturbated him — usually two or three or four times. While a hand-job means more to me than a handshake ... well, it’s still such an inconsequential kindness, I’ve never had second thoughts with Walk. After our first time, after I realized he not only wasn’t traumatized, but had fallen deeper in love with me than ever ... well, I just compartmentalized the act as a small pleasure, one that I was happy to bestow.

But sucking him off?

Now Vanessa was all for it. She was convinced that Walk was mature enough to keep everything in perspective. That it wouldn’t shockwave the boy. She told me, “He’s emotionally stable, babe. It’s just another way to show your love for each other.”

In middle school, I followed my older sister, Autumn, in going through the usual, fumbling stages: necking, hand jobs, blowjobs, intercourse. Well, I no longer fumbled through the bedroom. And, I’d led Walk through the first two phases.

But sucking him off?

While the deed itself was easy for me, and I usually enjoyed the pleasure it gave boys ... but, he was my son. If I did blow him, would he eventually expect the next step? I’m definitely not going to fuck him. Although on a certain Alaskan cruise, I did almost lose control. Once, just that one time, though.

Still, he was awed. I had, as the kids liked to say, Winterized him. But certainly not to the point where he needed Extreme Unction.

In any case, the BJ question did pop into my mind every once in a while, and it triggered an internal dialogue that I doubted many other mothers had. But, hey, they probably didn’t teach their sons how to neck nor how to French-kiss, so what did they know?

Vanessa was in Chicago for a four-day restaurant conference. So Lina Paloma was in charge of Euforia. Pilar was back living with her mother and Poppy. Mindy Montgomery was back at film school in UCLA.

Which left Walker and me Home Alone.

I finished up some bills and emails in my little office. Still in the Livestock Exchange Building in the rejuvenated Stockyards down by the river.

Back at the Wrigley, a nude, and throbbingly erect, Nature Boy, said, “Floor please.” His sister, Edwina sighed; he asked that every time, of every passenger.

“Penthouse, and make it snappy, bubba.”

Hobo and the Proper Villain were on sentry duty, as usual. As usual, I spent a minute or two, showing my appreciation for their ongoing vigilance. I checked the bowls — yep, Walk had put out fresh food and water.

A quick after-work shower, then I wrapped myself in a black and white mini-grid towel from Unison Home and knocked on the lad’s door.

“Enter at your own risk.”

For some reason, he wasn’t absorbed in destroying virtual universes. I said, “Homework?”

He checked me out, up and down, “Done.”

There, I had discharged my maternal duties for the evening. “Get your butt in gear. Unicorn Club.”

He mock-saluted, and I said, “And don’t jack off.” I gave him an enigmatic wink, one that would keep him guessing. I went back to consider what to wear for my evening out. Our evening out.

The Unicorn Club — I was one of the five original founders — was casual and comfy, just up the banks from the Missouri River. But none of us had known anything about running a restaurant. Bear and Vanessa had saved us from impending bankruptcy — had turned the joint around.

Well, we were out of financial peril now. And it was time to patronize the joint. I liked to be seen, so I ditched the towel and considered some options, one by one. Too conservative. Too trashy, too blah, too blatant.

I selected a newish calf-length silky number that was sheer without quite being transparent. Unless I stood in certain ways, in certain lights. Which I knew how, and where, to do. It was a light pink color which contrasted nicely with my golden tan. I checked my three-sided mirror and nodded in approval.

Then ... second thoughts. The dress looked good, but it didn’t, somehow, match my mischievous mood. I rehung it, and sorted through my walk-in closet again.

Aha!

A new seersucker blazer, white with thin blue stripes that almost matched my eyes. Double-breasted, which was appropriate, because so was I. I slipped it on and buttoned the one inside button. A lot of cleavage, I mean, a lot. The jacket was designed to be worn over a blouse, but not this night.

I then fastened the two outside buttons and that made a subtle difference. Not quite so much exposure for my puppies, but it was still obvious that I was bare underneath. And closing those buttons gave the blazer a better drape and a slimmer silhouette.

I considered, just for a mo, skipping everything else but heels. No, I wasn’t feeling that mischievous, not quite. A pink thong followed by navy-blue short-shorts. A blend of cotton and a stretchy performance fabric. I had to take the blazer off and lie back on my bed to squiggle into the shorts. The effort was worth it, totally.

I looked in the mirror over my right shoulder, then the left. My butt was ... in a word, gorgeous. In front, there was just the barest hint of pussy-outline.

Of course the blazer would cover the shorts, but that merely heightened the mystery. Was I stark fucking naked underneath?

Walker, looking sharp in his own navy blazer and white duck pants, pretended to be shocked. He whispered, “Winter, you’re not wearing a bra.”

“Are you sure?”

Cheeky bugger took that as an invitation and slid his palm under my jacket. Rubbed one nipple in a circle, then the other.

“Pretty sure.”

“Good, let’s roll.”

“Wait! What about ... er, pants, or shorts, or something?”

“None of your beeswax.”

He started to reach underneath my blazer, but I slapped his hand away, “I am your mother, you know.”

And that set the tone for that Tuesday evening.

_Vignette:

I was planning to drive Matt’s Audie, then thought: margaritas. More than one. On the rocks. Avec du sel. We Ubered it.

Since it was a Tuesday evening, the Unicorn Club wasn’t packed like on a weekend. But it was still hopping. Walk and I wove our way through the dining room to the bar area. I could feel the men’s eyes on me, but was also aware of the women checking my son out. And why not? He was tall, blond, slender, and good-looking.

In the bar, three guys in their late 20s hopped up and offered us their table. I knew the three of them, but had never snogged with any of them, even in my pre-Vanessa days. They were staring at my bare chest ... hope springs, and all of that.

The boldest one, Buddy, said, “I’m just getting into astrology. What’s your sign, Winter?”

Walk answered, “Yield.”

Cheeky little git. Well, not so little, not any more.

One guy — Oscar — held out a chair for me. I gave him a quick smile and pushed my arms into the sides of my boobs to give him a quick peek as my blazer flared open a little. Hey, courtesy merits courtesy.

Walk said, “I saw that.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

Bess Cuthbert, the sassy waitress, sashayed over and kissed Walker full on the mouth. She winked at me, ‘I heard about Pilar. Girl is off her gourd.”

I sniffed, “Please show some decorum; this is a licensed establishment.”

“Walker has a license to visit my bedroom any time he wants.” She kissed him again and left to bring our margaritas. His eyes followed her twitching butt.

Hmm ... with Pilar gone ... Well, I’d talk it over with Vanessa when she came back. Maybe a fling with Bess might actually be in the cards.

She returned with two on the rocks, the rims properly coated with sea salt. She had undone one more button on her white dress shirt — a shirt that contrasted nicely with her dark copper skin. She poked a nipple into Walker’s arm as she set our drinks in front of us.

I hissed, “Hussy.”

Bess whispered something into my son’s ear. Something that made him grin like a fool and blush at the same time. It was turning into that sort of evening.

The Cuthbert family — Bess, her parents and her younger brother — were from the Gullah-Geechee community in the coastal Lowcountry of South Carolina. Descendants of slaves from Benin in West Africa. When Bear recruited them to run the Unicorn Club, they brought with them to Kansas City not only their cuisine, but a practical, frugal management style. Bess’s mother ran the dining room, her father was the chef, and her brother Tom, manned the bar.

Walk and I had a second margarita, then ordered dinner. Now technically he was not old enough to drink alcohol — by five years. But the Unicorn has shown leniency to Mindy Montgomery, then Pilar and Walk.

Two drinks — that’s his max, but not mine. We started with fried corn cakes, rich with bell peppers and celery. Then, Gullah rice studded with shrimp and andouille sausage.

It was a whirlwind night, Bess flirting blatantly with Walk; boys stopping by to chat with me. And to check out my seersucker blazer. My short-shorts were still covered, even sitting down, so I imagine there was some considerable speculation. Was she stark fucking naked underneath, or not?

I signed for dinner and we strolled out to the patio for a cognac and cigar (me) and peaches and cream pie (Walk, although I cribbed my fair share).

The air was velvety soft with just a hint of moisture. It felt like it would rain later on, but we could still see the stars pretty clearly. Down by the river there weren’t any streetlights, nor tall buildings blocking the view. I grabbed a second cognac and Walk held my hand as we strolled away from civilization.

We stopped, gazing at the reflections in the slowly moving current. I leaned my head against his arm. He whispered, “Winter, I gotta know — what are you wearing underneath?”

I shrugged, “Check it out.”

His fingers were pretty steady and he didn’t fumble much as he undid the two buttons. But he’d forgotten, or probably never knew, about the inside one.

“Oh.”

That obstacle overcome, he opened my blazer and said, “You chickened out, didn’t you?”

“Whatever do you mean, child?”

“You were gonna go commando, I bet.”

“Walker Jennings! I am your mother, you know.”

Then I reached over — yep, hard as a rock. I rubbed my palm, up and down, up and down. He moaned softly into the night. I put my hand on the back of his neck, and he bent down to kiss me. As our tongues sought each other out, my bare nipples rubbed against his blazer.

Five minutes later we were in the backseat of a Lyft Malibu, and I continued to massage his erection. I wouldn’t make him cum in his slacks, although it would have been easy-peasy.

Nature (Floor please) Boy and Edwina, plus the Grand Duchess Anastasia Nikolaevna, ferried us up to the sixth floor where Hobo and the Proper Villain were on guard duty.

I said, “Shower,” and we went our separate ways. Both of us were a little flushed from kissing, from copping feels, from ... well, whatever lay ahead.

We met in the kitchen, wearing white flannel robes. I decided against a nightcap; I was right where I wanted to be. I took the lad by the hand and led him over to our green leather couch, facing east, facing Main Street. His breathing was a little raspy. For a change, I left the lamp on; we both looked good under its soft glow.

I drew his head down for a kiss, and then we were necking like teenagers. Well, he was one, but I felt like I was 14 or 15 again. I was also curious, and decided to see what moves he would put on me.

As eager as he was, he slowed down and became surprisingly gentle as he untied my robe and slid his palm from one nipple to the other. I resisted reaching for him, although I certainly was tempted.

I thought to myself, “Let Walk run the show. This time, anyway.”

The next thing I knew, I was lying flat on my back, still in my robe, but it was wide open. Sometimes when he’s kissing me, he just can’t get enough, and this was one of those nights. And that was fine by me — my mood matched his.

He still had his robe on as he started licking his way south. That signaled that he was laser-focused on me, on my body, on my own pleasure. He moved from nipple to nipple, licking, sucking gently. I moaned softly as he continued south.

Unlike the last time — which was the first time he’d gone down on me — he took his time. Used his fingers gently and his tongue aggressively. He was obviously hungry for my pussy, ravenous, but he concentrated on my sensations, not his own.

A thought flashed through my mind — should I reciprocate? Oral pleasures for oral pleasures? The consideration was gone in a nanosecond as I re-zoomed into my own selfish enjoyment, my own love of the attention he was paying me.

I was getting closer and closer — suddenly I thrust my pelvis up and rasped out, “YESSSSS!”

To his great good credit, Walk didn’t even pause, kept right on licking and caressing until I was back on the brink again. This time he removed his fingers, slowed way down, and circled my clit using only his tongue. He was half teasing me, half extending my ... excitement, my need.