Chapter 15

One evening while I was taking off mom's underpants, I saw a gray hair gleaming in her bush. It scared me, intruding like a ghost at the portal of my birth and the playpen of our pleasure. I even lost my erection—as mortality raised its ugly head, the head of my penis drooped. Diana was aging—all her hair would someday be gray. Later she would die. And I would be alone.

I was filled with tender sadness towards her. She was with me now, and I needed to cherish and protect her, to appreciate her while I had her.

Mom caressed my back, stroked my head, and, with her unerring intuition for my inner state, asked, "How's my baby?"

"Just a little distracted. I need to focus more ... on all of this ... your beautiful naked body." I spread open the twin columns of her legs, stroked her voluptuous thighs, and gazed adoringly at the red, hairy cleft. The gray strand had disappeared amid all its black companions, but I searched through and found it, hiding and insulted by my negative reaction. I apologized, gave it a kiss, and said it actually looked quite special. It forgave me.

I moved up a bit and rested my cheek against her tummy, listening to her digestion, heartbeat, and breath. This ticking bodily mechanism now seemed fragile and fleeting. Mom was more than her body, but without it she wouldn't be here—and here was where I wanted her. Clinging to her perishable flesh, I kissed her belly button, the link in the ongoing chain, then embraced the whole round spread of her haunches.

She rubbed a hand over the hair on my chest, teased my nipples, tickled my tummy, tiptoed through my pubes, then seized my stem in eager fingers that tweaked it and stroked it until it raised and stiffened under her loving attention.

I dropped back down to her gates of life where the gray hair now shone boldly. Underneath the protective cap of kinky curls, her rosy lips lay brooding with impatience at having to wait so long for attention. The scent of freshly plowed earth, fertile and subterranean, wafted up. This was my native soil, and my root craved to be back in it. The aroma was so arousing, I began to tremble and pant, almost drooling with desire.

With the tip of my tongue I licked the ridges of mom's labia, then watched them respond, stirring to alertness, swelling with pleasure. More, they pleaded. I slid my tongue between them and ran it along their moist length, pressing into both sides, then turned it wide and drove it deeper in to spread her petals, which squished as they opened. I pushed as far inside as I could and tongue-fucked her, thrusting in and out, then reamed around the rim, pressing hard and slurping up her nourishing juice as she stroked my head and moaned.

I loved splashing in her swampy garden, and she loved it too. It was our own Eden that we could return to whenever we wanted.

We were breathing with long in- and exhales, like experienced runners jogging at an easy pace, the ultimate low-impact aerobic sport.

I focused on the pert little pip of her clit, sucking it gently. "Yes ... oh ... how lovely," mom's voice floated over me.

The slower I sucked, the faster she breathed, until her whole trunk was heaving and quivering. "My son is sucking me and making me come. I love it!" Her voice became a wild cry as she twisted and fishtailed around the bed.