Circumstances are different now. My son is 24 years old. Instead of being in the comfort of our home, we’re in the clinic. I’m so certain of the synthetic drug I’ve created that I’m willing to perform the latest trial on my son, who’s my intern and wants hands-on experience. It’s a prototype drug that aids sleep and recovery.
As most of the employees go home, I plan on spending the night here, sleeping on the couch to observe every detail. I don’t normally do this, but it’s my son. The cleaning people are performing their duties down the hall. My assistant is in the other room.
I stand near the bed and watch the stats on the small screen. Heart rate, blood pressure, oxygen saturation, temperature. Everything is normal, exactly as expected. This will be the best sleep of Christopher’s life.
After a while, I step outside the room for a break. I know the trial is safe because these compounds are benign and there have been previous tests with other subjects, but as a mother, it’s natural to worry. Plus I’ve made a few small adjustments to the drug. Harmless, I’m sure.
In the hallway I see my loyal assistant, who comes to me after hearing my footsteps. I’ve known her a few years and our chemistry together is strong. There’s something about this young Afghan refugee (who was educated in America) that appeals to me. Perhaps it’s her emerald green eyes or the brightness of her smile.
She wears a perfectly wrapped hijab, a different color or design for each day, and her small frame has an upright posture. Having her around brightens my day and I’m thankful. The truth is, she’s one of the most lovable people I’ve ever met.
“Are you sure you want to stay?” Ferhana asks with her slight accent. “You can go home and sleep. I’ll keep an eye on things.”
I smile. “No, no. I have to be here.”
“Let me know if you need anything. I’ll be staying here, too.”
It’s affirmation that people like Ferhana are a godsend. Life is better when there are people you can trust with anything. And I have feelings for her, but nothing will ever come of that, for obvious reasons.
My assistant is texting in the hallway while I go back into the room where my son sleeps. As a mother, I know I’m overreacting. This drug is safe. The compounds are harmless and my son is a healthy young man. All of the blood tests confirm that.
As I stand over Christopher’s bed, I notice something. A slight shift in his movement. Then again. His legs squirm. This causes my senses to become alert, sending me into mom-mode to determine if there’s an issue.
Is this a normal sleep pattern for Christopher, or a side effect of the drug? I can’t be sure because I’ve never observed his normal sleep pattern as an adult. Regardless, it’s my job to check and it’s too early to alert Ferhana about anything unusual. More than likely, this is nothing. I’m probably overreacting, which tends to happen with things regarding my son.
The legs move again and Christopher breathes a short sigh. Is he having a dream or a nightmare? I wonder. The heart rate goes up a notch. It’s nothing to raise concern, but I’m good at my job because of my strict attention to detail.
Finally I see it. As my son’s legs stretch and spread, I notice a bulge in the crotch area. Through the blanket curve and dim lights of the room, I can tell it’s an erection. With my son asleep, there’s no attempt at covering it. The bulge protrudes without obstruction and it makes me pause.
It’s normal for men to have erections while sleeping, but that usually happens early in the morning when testosterone reaches a high level. A potential side effect? It seems likely and I make a mental note of this, something to examine tomorrow.
Looking at Christopher in this vulnerable state is eye opening. I see him in a new, strange light. A potent combination of innocence and lust. It’s an unusual combination because it’s my son and his hard penis is mere inches away. If this were a random male, these feelings wouldn’t exist.
In a few minutes, Ferhana will come to this room for a routine inspection. It would be an unnecessary embarrassment for Christopher to be seen this way. I also wonder if the erection is painful, if it’s caught within the fabric of his underwear lining. I’ve often wondered if it’s a problem men face while they’re sleeping.
An idea comes to mind that will solve these problems in the short term. I don’t like it, but it’s necessary at the moment.
I lift the blanket and slip my hand underneath Christopher’s clothes, beneath his underwear. The tips of my fingers touch his penis. I swear it’s my first time touching his erection. The skin is soft as silk, the way a penis should feel. I move it around to make sure it has space to grow. The solid girth of the penis is impressive.
Mentally, I chide myself for being aroused because it’s been over a decade since I’ve been with a man. Women are my primary interest. Nonetheless this task must be done and I maintain my sense of being a diligent mother.
When the penis is ‘comfortable’ in its current state, I cover it and smooth the blanket so everything looks normal. Christopher’s erection is more difficult to notice and hopefully it will go away. Hopefully my assistant won’t notice it.
My fingertips still tingle from having touched my son’s penis. What a naughty, messed up feeling. But it’s done for the right reasons and that’s all that matters. I wonder why I’m so aroused. I’ll always remember how it swelled in my hand. At least I didn’t look at it, I justify to myself, which makes me smile.
Footsteps approach and my assistant is coming. I give a quick visual inspection to ensure the erection is less visible and I act like nothing wayward happened. As if I didn’t just touch my son’s dick.
“You can sleep if you wish,” Ferhana whispers, holding a folded blanket. “I’ll stay up for a while.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m watching a movie on my laptop.”
I accept the blanket. “Thank you. You’re sweet.”
With moisture between my legs, I lay on the couch and wrap myself in the blanket. It’s me and Christopher in the room together. I look at him, wondering if his penis is still erect. I wonder what he dreams about.
With my son asleep and my assistant in another room, I slip a hand beneath my pants, under the cover of a blanket, and touch myself. I use the same two fingers that touched Christopher’s penis. It’s my first time doing anything like this while my son is in the same room.
***
In the morning I see Christopher awake in a pleasant mood. He stretches and moves upright on the bed. Of course he’s in a good mood, I think, because that erection must have felt like a wonder.
“You seem glowing.”
“I do?” Chris says, still stretching his legs. “That was great. Best sleep I’ve ever had.”
“Perfect.”
I push my blanket aside and go over to my son. The vital signs on the screen look normal. I remove the wires from Christopher’s body, and going back to mom-mode, I run my fingers through his hair.