Chapter 5

Mom went on the pill, and we went on a royal sex binge. In addition to doing it a couple of times a day, we paraded around naked so much of the time that we had to turn up the heat in the apartment to eighty. Now we could satisfy our curiosity about all the things we'd caught glimpses of but didn't really know. I feasted my eyes on the swing of her breasts as she walked, nipples tracing loops in the air, proud to be her leading edge, her snatch winking at me from the curly crown of her legs, the slow sway of her hips, the regal lift and fall of her ass—all her parts working together with such fluid grace. She could ogle my dangle—her own creation and biggest fan—bobbing up and down, hairy balls rolling from side to side, peering up adoringly at her with the endearing homeliness of a droopy-eared, long-nosed basset hound.

We explored each other's forbidden secrets to our heart's content. Diana wanted to get caught up on everything she'd missed in my development. She used to know every bit of my body—she'd changed my diapers, bathed me, dressed me, but then gradually had to withdraw to avoid "indecency." For years we'd hidden our bodies and hearts from each other, but now we could share them again and be as indecently loving as we wanted.

"You know," she said with one of her last blushes, "I'd really like to take a close look at this thing you've got." She wore only a pearl choker and pearl studs in her ears. Her index finger pointed towards my middle. "Come over here."

Mom sat on the edge of her bed, elbows on her knees, breasts swinging free, and I stood in front of her so she could examine my penis. Her face reflected adoration and repulsion, appetite and apprehension, fascination and fear. As my member felt her gaze, it stirred pleasurably but was too satisfied to spring instantly erect. "The last time I really saw it, not just a glimpse, but really ... when was that? It must have been that time you sat on a bee ... you were about ten. It stung you right here." She patted my bottom. "Turn around and let me see if it left a scar."

I about-faced, and she ran her hands over my cheeks. Her touch revived the memory of the sting.

"No, it's all gone," she continued. "It was a mean red lump. You came in crying, pointing back there. I had to pull down your pants."

"I remember. I was so embarrassed."

"You were! You insisted on taking off your underpants yourself. It was all swollen and red. The stinger was still in, right about there"—she poked my bun—"and I had to pull it out with tweezers." She gave me a little pinch. "You didn't like that at all. But then I rubbed salve on it ... that seemed to help. You stopped crying." She rubbed me, reminiscing, and my bottom tingled with excitement.

I stroked mom's head, which was bent over inspecting my butt. "That's 'cause you made it all better."

"But I couldn't help see this on the other side." She petted me in front. "I felt guilty but I wanted to see. It was growing, but it still had just this fine downy hair."

"It's growing right now." I turned to show her.

"So it is." She watched it rise to ninety degrees and point at her as if saying, You! I pick you! You're the one I want. She gave it a little kiss, just a peck on the tip, then took it in her hand. I quivered all over. "It didn't seem fair that I wasn't supposed to see it, let alone touch it. After all ... we used to be quite close."

"It loves you to touch it." I was having trouble breathing, as if my air and blood were both flowing down there to expand it and make it stand.

She lifted it and inspected it more closely. "It's so ... interesting ... the long part, the round parts. It's not really pretty ... but it's so strong ... and ... well, interesting. Now you've got kinky curls like mine. Let's compare." With her other hand she reached into her bush and—"Ouch!"—plucked out a pube, which she held up to mine. "See, they match. We're the same. But not quite." She tickled her fingers the length of my pole, and it stiffened more, craning up towards vertical.

"What about the hair under the arms?" she asked.

Right now I couldn't have cared less about that, but we looked at each other's arm pits and felt the fleecy hair, straight and finer than our pubes. "The same," she said with a smile. "You really are my other half."

I used to be bothered by the hair under her arms, wished she'd shave it. It embarrassed me, but I didn't know why. Now I realized it was because it reminded me she had a pussy, something I couldn't let myself think about. It was great now to be able to enjoy her four forests of hair, their different textures and aromas.

"Yours smell better than mine," I told her.

"Well, you're a man. That's the way it's supposed to be."

Proud that she called me a man, I asked her, "Am I your man?"

"Yes indeed, the best I've ever had." She kissed my belly button. "I can do things with you I'd never dare with anyone else. We're so close ... and I trust you so much."

"What do you want to do with me?"

"Well ... grab this." And she did, her hand encircling it firmly. "And play around with it." Curious, she moved it back and forth and side to side. "It's like a stick-shift on a sports car. BRrrmmm!"

"Just don't put it in reverse. We're going too fast."