Chapter 9

Jacquot got a job. Jacquot wanted to be my pal. Jacquot wanted to have us over to his pad. When we kept turning him down, Jacquot got mad.

He started calling us up, ranting about his "rights." At first mom felt sorry for him, thought maybe we should see him, but the more obnoxious he got, the more turned off she got. We noticed him hanging around outside the building at weird hours. He got a motorcycle, an old Triumph without a muffler, and we would hear it go by late at night. He'd kick it into low gear and rev it up, make it roar. Finally mom got so pissed she threatened to call his parole officer. That backed him off.

I felt like a bastard for hating him, then realized it was his fault that I actually was a bastard, so I hated him all the more. I had driven him away when I was a baby, I could do it again.

We tried to forget about him but couldn't totally. He lurked in the background of our thoughts, reminding us we weren't alone. It wasn't just him—there was a whole hostile world out there that could bring down our love. To block out his and its presence, we clung to each other all the more.

One of the things I loved to do most with mom was nurse. She would half-sit, half-lie in bed with pillows behind her back and cradle my head in her arms, holding it up to her breast. Her skin there was pale and translucent, webbed with tiny blue veins deep within. Naked I would cuddle into her soft ample roundness. Together we would go back in time and relive total contentment. As soon as my mouth was on her nipple, both our brains waves seemed to switch into calming alpha and we were floating off in our dream. Even the songs she used to sing me then started drifting back into my mind, and we went sailing through the Milky Way with Winken, Blinken, and Nod.

When my mouth was bulging full with one teat and my hand bulging full with the other, the double delight seemed to trip me into another state of consciousness.

Something flowed out of them, something subtle that maybe couldn't be measured, but still quite real, a nurturing elixir of femininity. It always brought me to peace. I loved to suck one and drink in the other through half-lidded, sleepy eyes. They were full, demulcent cones that flowed and rolled but held their shape. They were ice cream cones and Christmas trees. They were mom's tits and they liked me.

The nipples were so alert and responsive, always changing and reacting to new stimuli. And it wasn't only touch; they responded to looks, even thoughts. They were very giving of their nourishment, but they were quite greedy when it came to attention. They liked to be focused on, whether by my lips, eyes, or mind. It perked them up, gave them power. They didn't like a brassiere any more than a cat likes a leash. They liked to be free rolling mammas, out in front, the first thing you notice. When the weather was warm, they wouldn't mind being bare for all to admire. But they didn't like being cold. Maybe that was one reason they liked my warm mouth. They were proud they'd kept me alive as a baby. Back then they'd been life itself to me. Now they were more of a psychic balm, but if they still flowed with milk I'd want no other food.

"Nursing you as a baby was such a sensual trip," mom said as if reading my thoughts. "You'd latch onto my nipple, and I'd start floating in bliss. The feeling would spread all over me ... like my whole body was a tit, and its making you happy made me happy.

"You used to get hard then. Just like now." She delicately touched my swelling pillar. "I used to wonder about who would be your first, a little jealous and possessive ... but I never dreamed it would be me."

"Are you glad?" I asked her.

"Very. But you know ... I'm also glad we didn't do anything back then. It would've been a bad idea. What do you think?"

"You're right ... it wouldn't've been good. It was better to wait. I wouldn't've known what to do. And I sure couldn't've satisfied you when I was little."

"Let me cuddle up and nurse on you," mom said. I thought she meant my tiny nipples and couldn't imagine that being much fun for either of us, but she went down and slipped the tip of my cock into her mouth and sucked it like a nipple. The sensations made me tingle all over. Curling around it in the fetal position, she nestled in and started slurping and gurgling. Her eyes were half closed and dreamy; she became like a baby. As I petted her happy face, I saw her as the child we could never have, and I was hit by a pang of love and loss that almost made me cry. No little ones for us. It didn't seem fair.

You can't have everything, I told myself again, and what we did have was so much greater than what most people have.

Gradually mom took more and more of me in her mouth and increased the force of her sucking, like there was something deep inside me that she needed. I could feel my lubricant trickling and tickling up my channel into her mouth. The taste of it must've increased her thirst, because she sucked harder.

She took it out and nibbled down the bulging central vein with her teeth, stopping here and there for a little swirly action with her lips and tongue, then opened her mouth wide to take in both my balls. With her hand now stroking the shaft, she sloshed my stones around and hummed on them—the tune to the Stones' lyric, "My obsession with your possession." This quite amazing humming vibration lit me up and switched on pleasure nerves I never knew I had; my jaw dropped open with a gasp.

By now I was panting, rock solid, about to explode. She put the mast back in her mouth and slid up and down the length of it, taking it deep into her throat, then drawing out to the tip, which she licked with her tongue and nipped gently with her teeth.