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I sat on the edge of the bath, admiring my son's beautiful naked body. It was wonderful that we could enjoy each other like this — he liked looking at my body too — with no sexual overtones, and my heart welled up with love for him.

As usual, Vincent had an erection — he was at the age when his hormonal activity was burgeoning, and I knew he couldn't help it. Not that I minded — his penis was as lovely as the rest of him, with a long, glistening, heavily blue-veined, startlingly white shaft and a large, bulbous, spongy head that was almost purple, and I knew he liked me seeing it.

I thought back to the time when I'd gone into his bedroom one morning to find him lying on his bed, naked, slowly rubbing his penis. It was a measure of our open relationship that he wasn't embarrassed, but just lay there staring at me as he masturbated. I watched, letting him know that I wasn't embarrassed either, and then he grabbed a handful of tissues from the box on his bedside table. He raised his hips and gasped, still staring at me as he covered the head of his penis with the tissues, rubbing himself frantically, until he fell back, panting.

He tossed the tissues in the wastebasket and kept rubbing his softening penis, and I crossed to the bed and kissed him, letting him know that I understood. Later, when I cleaned his room, I retrieved the tissues — they were soaking wet, and I couldn't resist the temptation to lick my sticky fingers, tasting his semen and glad that he had felt comfortable with me watching.

Now, I trailed my fingers in the bath water — we'd been there for some time, and the water had cooled considerably. I smiled at him and told him it was time to get out, and he started to clamber to his feet. He swinging penis was inches from my face, and I gave it an affectionate kiss. There was nothing sexual about it — I could have as easily been kissing his hand or his cheek, but it was his penis that was closest, and I nuzzled my face against it and kissed it again.

Then I, too, stood up, and held out a towel for him to dry himself, but he grabbed me and tried to kiss me. I laughed and pushed him away, saying that my dress would get wet. Vincent laughed too, and said in that case I should take my dress off. It was only a thin cotton dress, and it wouldn't have mattered if it had got wet, but I went along with the joke and took it off.

All I had under it was a flimsy half bra that barely contained my nipples, and equally skimpy panties that were practically transparent, and Vincent looked at my body admiringly before he took me in his arms and kissed me. Again I thought how wonderful it was that my son could be completely naked and me nearly so, his penis jammed against my bare tummy above my panties, and that we could hold each other like this and kiss with no hint of a sexual element.

It turned out to be one of our special kisses. Some time ago — it seemed like ages — he'd pressed his lips to mine and held me close for several moments. I'd told him not to press so hard, and kissed him properly, working my mouth slowly on his, my head twisting, and soon our tongues playfully teased each other. The kiss went on for a long time, and we were both breathless when we finally broke apart, and then we kissed again like that when we said goodnight.

We called it our 'goodnight kiss', a wet, open-mouthed, lingering kiss that lasted several minutes every night, but sometimes Vincent would grab me in the day and say 'Good night, Mum!' and then he'd kiss me...

I started to help him to dry himself, and he sat on the edge of the bath while I dried his legs and feet, and then he asked me to kiss his dick again. This time I smothered it with wet, tender kisses — soon it was wet with my saliva as I stroked my son's naked thighs, thinking how lucky I was.

It had been only a few months ago that we'd been sitting together in the living room — my skirt had ridden up, and I knew that he could see a wide expanse of my bare thigh, but it didn't matter, there was nothing erotic about it. I could see that the poor dear had another of his erections, and I went over to him and knelt beside him, struggling to free his penis from his jeans. He sighed with relief when I eventually got it out, and as I had done so many times before I kissed it.

And as I had done so many times before, I stared at my son's beautiful penis, taking in every detail. I knew every inch, every millimetre of it — I could see it when I closed my eyes, and often did, while I was lying in bed thinking about Vincent. This time I wanted to experience more of it, and instead of just fondling and kissing it, I started to use my tongue as well as my lips on it. I kissed its swollen head, circling it with my tongue while I slid my fingers up and down its gristly shaft, delighting in the softness of its skin, and soon I was taking it in my mouth.

Mt eyes were closed, and I was delighting in us being like this together, just enjoying each other with no thought of sex, and Vincent stroked my hair, pushing my face down on his penis, and it seemed natural to start sucking my darling. I felt myself trembling with emotion, and then suddenly my son emptied his semen in my mouth. I was overcome with happiness that I'd given him relief, and kept sucking and fondling him long after his penis softened.

It was like that now, and I eagerly took his penis in my mouth once more, again using my tongue and lips. Somehow, it was even more satisfying with him naked and me in just my underwear. I ran my hand up his bare chest — his skin was still damp, and it felt wonderful, and then Vincent took my hand and put it in his mouth, biting my fingers and sucking them as I sucked his penis, and then he gasped and his semen spurted against the back of my throat.

He lost his balance and slipped off the bath to fall to the floor. I followed him down, his penis still in my mouth as I crouched over him, and I felt the boy accidentally grip my breast. I don't know how long we stayed like that, but I'd have happily spent the rest of my life with my son's marvellous penis in my mouth, but eventually we both got to our feet, and I cleaned the bath while Vincent went to get dressed. That evening we started our 'goodnight kiss' very early, and it lasted for well over an hour.

We started our 'goodnight kiss' early the next evening, too. We were sitting side by side on the sofa, very close together, and Vincent had one arm round my shoulders as we kissed. I was wearing a sleeveless black sweater, and Vincent started to run his free hand up and down my bare arm. The back of his hand was brushing against the side of my breast, and then suddenly he was holding my breast through my sweater. It was lovely when he squeezed me fondly, although the wiring of my bra cup impeded him considerably.

I kissed him on the nose, and got up, saying that I'd be back soon. I went up to my room, and when I returned we settled down again and resumed our 'goodnight kiss'. But then I took my son's hand and pushed it under my sweater, to let him discover that I'd taken my bra off, and now he was holding my naked breast in his hand. It was lovely, kissing like that with him fondling me, knowing that it was totally innocent.

I saw that my poor darling was uncomfortable again, his penis bulging inside his jeans, and I struggled with his zipper and eventually released him from his imprisonment. Vincent was squeezing my breast and telling me that I felt wonderful, although I knew he just meant our sitting close together, and I wriggled against him as I eased my hand up and down his throbbing penis.

He made me stop two or three times, while we kissed breathlessly, our tongues toying with each other. Vincent was playing with my breast, teasing my nipple — it was stiff and rubbery, and he tugged it and rolled it between his finger and thumb mischievously, but then my darling lost control, and his semen spurted over his shirt in great gouts.

I held him close, knowing that he'd be embarrassed that he'd made a mess, and kept kissing and fondling him. He'd gripped my breast hard at the moment of his release — in other circumstances it would have been painful, but it felt wonderful when he dug his fingers into my soft flesh, and I felt waves of affection flow through me, making me shudder uncontrollably.

Vincent leaned back on the sofa, panting, and I unbuttoned his wet shirt and peeled it off. I couldn't resist kissing his bare chest and sucking his nipples — his skin was wet with his semen. Some of it had trickled down from the open neck of his shirt, and I licked it lovingly, running my hand over my son's body.

Then Vincent made a joke, and said it wasn't fair, he was bare-chested while I was wrapped up in a sweater. I laughed, and pulled the sweater over my head, and he stared at my naked breasts. The next thing I knew was that he was doing to me what I'd done to him, kissing my breasts and sucking my nipples. My breasts had always been exceptionally sensitive, and soon I was squirming with excitement, once again in the grip of unmanageable joy, until at last I took my darling's penis in my mouth and shared my contentment with him.

It was a few days later that Vincent saw me coming out of the bathroom naked after a shower. It was nothing unusual — I made no attempt to hide my body from him, and sometimes I thought that he deliberately tried to see with nothing on, perhaps listening for the shower to finish. He came into my bedroom with me to watch me get dressed, and I let him give me a brief kiss.

I was still smiling at him, seeing him staring at my body as I rummaged in the drawer of my dressing table for some underwear, when I accidentally knocked an envelope to the floor, and a cluster of photographs spilled out. Before I could stop him, Vincent bent to pick them up, and I felt myself blushing as he started to look through them.

They had been taken by a young boyfriend of mine a few years ago. Henry was black, aged about twenty, and his body had driven me mad with excitement. He turned me into an animal, and I shuddered to think of the things we'd done together. Many of the photographs were of me naked, in a variety of poses, and others were of us both, taken using the self-timer, with him fucking me in various positions, and me sucking his cock, and I could hardly bear to look at the expressions of lust on my face when I turned towards the camera.

My son was staring at the photos avidly, taking in every detail, and I sat beside him on the bed and took his hand. I tried to explain to him that what he saw was just raw sex, not like the pure, loving way we were together, and how ashamed I was that he'd seen me like that. I asked him if it shocked or upset him.

He thought for a moment, still looking at the photographs, and then he shook his head. I was still naked, and he put his arm round me and kissed me, and I knew that everything was going to be all right. He looked at the photos again, and asked me why my pubic hair was shaved off in the pictures, while now I had a thick bush. I told him that I shaved it off sometimes for a change, and that Henry had liked me like that.

Vincent just kept staring at the photos of me — and also at the ones of Henry fucking me, but I knew he understood, and didn't mind — and eventually I asked him if he'd like me shaved. He thought for a moment and then said yes, and I got the things from the bathroom and sat on the bed and first trimmed off as much of the hair as I could with scissors, and then lathered and shaved off what was left.

My son said I looked beautiful, and ran his fingers over my naked mound, and then, before I realised what was happening, he was kissing me between my thighs. I spread my legs wide, and my darling began exploring me with his tongue. He found my clitoris, and pushed his tongue deep inside me, and I was almost delirious with happiness. He kept using his mouth on me insatiably, and soon I felt the now-familiar bolt of joy flow through my veins. My loins rose against my son's mouth, and I tangled my fingers in his hair, my body jerking spasmodically. In other circumstances, what I was experiencing would have been an orgasm, but this was pure, devoid of sex, and I'd never had an orgasm that had matched the ecstasy that I felt as my son's mouth worked on me.

Still he kept sucking me, drinking my juices, and I began to feel a new sensation — I tried to hold back, but suddenly I was unable to hold back a jet of pee from spurting into his mouth. My darling groaned and stroked my naked thighs, but kept swallowing, and I couldn't prevent myself from releasing a second, and then a third squirt of pee into his mouth.

The next time he went to the bathroom I went with him, and put my arm round him as I watched, enthralled, as he directed a stream of pee from his lovely penis into the bowl. But as the flow diminished I sank to my knees and took his penis into my mouth to drink the remaining trickle, smiling up at him. When he'd finished I told him it was only fair, I'd peed in his mouth, but then I got to work using my mouth in the more usual way, and soon I was swallowing semen.