Chapter 3

Carly left her meeting with Linda and headed home. Carly felt better for having told Linda about Stephen's phone call. But on the other hand, she had even more questions about the strange call in which Stephen thanked his mom for her willingness to talk about his sexual problems with his wife Paige. And then, needing intimate contact with someone, masturbated while Carly was still on the phone with him.

Carly again reminded herself that Stephen was clearly extremely lonely. And that he and Paige hadn't had sex in months. And, when he called her, Stephen had been drinking. He was out of town, in a hotel, lonely and drinking. "That explains it," Carly had thought.

But her conversation with Linda kept popping up in her mind. Not only wasn't Linda shocked by Carly's phone call story, she was intrigued. Carly thought, "That's just Linda. She's always horny ... and slightly twisted!" Carly laughed to herself. But she wondered about some of the things Linda had said. Do some teen boys really get turned-on by their mothers and jerk-off into their panties? It seemed possible. However, as Carly had reminded Linda, Stephen was 24 and married. He shouldn't, he couldn't be thinking about his own mother sexually. Could he?

When she arrived at home, Carly found her husband Paul asleep in his office easy chair, the book he had been reading on the floor next to him. Carly was used to going to bed alone, so she covered Paul with a blanket and went upstairs to their room. She went through the usual bedtime ritual, putting on her night shirt and boxers (something she got used to wearing to bed years before, when the children still lived at home, in case she had to get up and tend to something in the middle of the night).

Carly often climbed into bed alone, planning to read before she fell asleep. This night, she decided to check her email before opening her current read. She leaned against the headboard and propped her laptop on a pillow on her lap. She logged onto her email and saw a message from her son Stephen in her inbox. "Maybe he's canceling our lunch date for tomorrow. I wouldn't mind postponing that," she thought. She opened the message and read: "Hey Mom! I'm taking the last flight out tonight. I'll get a few hours of sleep at home, head out for a couple of meetings and meet you for lunch as planned. It's been a great trip. I'm looking forward to telling you about it. And to seeing you, and talking to you in general. Love you ... Stephen"

"What does that mean?" Carly thought. "Why is he looking forward to seeing me, and talking to me?" She thought about that. "He's your son, you idiot! You're getting paranoid, Carly!" She read through another half dozen emails, replied to a few, then shut down the computer. Carly tried to read, but found she couldn't focus. After ten minutes she put her book aside and turned out the light. But she couldn't sleep any more than she could read.

Carly's mind was racing. She was unable to stop thinking about Stephen, his strange phone call a few nights before, the things Linda said, Stephen's email. "If only Paul was willing to talk to him," she thought. But her husband's mind was much more open to addressing business or academic problems than relational ones.

"Stephen couldn't really be thinking about me, could he?" she wondered. "I'm over twice his age. Well, just over, but I still am. Linda said nice things about the way I look. I get that I'm still attractive and that I look younger than 49, even though my husband doesn't notice or care. But I'm Stephen's mother for crying out loud. Still, he wouldn't be the first younger man who's shown interest in me. Not by a long-shot. What am I saying? He's not showing interest. He's my damn son!"

Carly turned from her side to her back and stretched out on the empty bed, just warm enough under the covers. She wanted very much to sleep and to put these thoughts out of her head. But Carly felt restless and she couldn't get comfortable. She put her hands behind her head and ran her fingers through her thick blonde hair. She liked the way that felt, so she did it some more, pulling at her hair and stimulating her scalp.

Her hands then began to roam over her body, down the sides of her neck, her arms and shoulders, her stomach, down to her hips, her thighs and back up again. Carly slid a hand under her shirt. She liked to touch her own bare skin. She knew she had some padding, but she believed she wore it well. And it felt good to her hands. Very soft. Carly knew that she could stand to lose some weight, but she also knew she was pretty fit for her age. And she was also well aware that her curves still turned many heads.

Carly's hand stroked her stomach, then moved up to her breasts. She was feeling a bit more relaxed now. She let her other hand stroke her thigh. "I used to be able to feel the muscles a lot more!" she thought. "But it still feels great." Carly eventually slid the hand under the waistband of her boxer shorts. She felt the softness of her pubic hair. She had never been extremely hairy, but she did have a bush that remained fairly blonde, despite the fact that her blonde head needed some work now and then to hide some approaching gray. "I haven't had reason to shave or even trim this hair for a while!" she thought, chuckling lightly.

The hand inevitably found its way between Carly's legs, which she spread slightly. She let that hand slowly stroke and pat occasionally, while the other roamed back and forth between her breasts and her stomach, fingers finding their way into her navel, then back up to gently pinch her nipples in turn. Carly wondered, as she had many times, why life had turned out as it had. She had a faithful husband in Paul. But a husband without physical passion. He had plenty of energy for his work and his teaching. He was successful and he encouraged Carly's success. But he had shown little interest in intimacy for many years.

The hand in Carly's boxers absentmindedly stroked the outside of her mound. She enjoyed the pleasant, tingly feeling it produced. Her fingers traced her slit, her lips still tucked inside. Her mind left Paul and turned back to her phone conversation with Stephen. "Why did he do that?" she wondered. "I understand he needed someone to talk to and I'm happy to do that. But why would he want to have such an explicit sexual conversation with his mother? Of course, since he's in conflict with his wife, I'm probably the person he's closest to. He does trust me. But come on! He jerked off and he wanted me to talk to him while he did it. It's outrageous!"

Carly almost didn't realize that she had begun producing vaginal lubrication and that her middle finger had penetrated the folds and was moving to free her labia from her slit. As her mind came back to her body, she felt a very pleasurable sensation that surprised her as her finger found warm wetness. "MMMmmmmmmm," she moaned very softly as her finger moved up and down, getting wetter and causing more wetness each time.

"He played with his cock," she thought. "Stephen was stroking his cock while he talked to me. It's perverted! OOOOooohhhhh," Carly let out an almost silent, breathy exclamation. "It must have been the alcohol. He didn't really mean to talk to me about that. It just happened. He just got horny and started touching himself. Like I just did!" Carly laughed quietly at the irony. "And it does feel really good. No wonder he continued. "MMMmmmmmmm ... aaahhhhh..." Carly now moved several fingers back and forth, tracing her wet lips on either side of her pussy. She grazed her clit hood very very gently, wanting to make that part of her wait a while to receive more direct stimulation.

Then something very unexpected happened. Carly heard Paul coming up the stairs to the bedroom. She turned and looked at the clock and thought, "He never comes up this early." She removed her hands from inside her night clothes, wiping the wetness from her vagina onto the sheet on her side of the bed. She then rolled over, facing away from the spot Paul would soon occupy. "That figures. Just when I was starting to have a little fun." Paul entered the bathroom and closed the door. Carly heard the water running as her husband brushed his teeth. She heard the toilet flush and heard the water again as he washed his hands.

Upon his exit from the bathroom, Paul pulled off his shirt and draped it on the chair next to his side of the bed. He removed his pants and did the same, then socks. Paul wore briefs to bed, just like his wife, although hers were mens' boxers and much more colorful. He climbed into bed, moved halfway to the center and lay on his back. Carly lay silently, facing away from Paul, a position she had come to know extremely well. Then she had an idea. But just as she turned to face Paul, almost on cue, he rolled the other way. But Carly felt a spark of determination. She moved toward her husband.