I heard Mom draw a quick breath. Was she going to say something to stop me?
She didn’t.
I pulled my finger back to the first knuckle and drove it in, again stopping just at the place where the contours of the digit widened to form the second joint.
Another light moan fled from her lips. It was followed by a long gust of air–a sound that could only have been made by someone blowing through tightly pursed lips.
In and out, my finger delved and retired; back and forth, I stroked my penis. On the ninth or tenth iteration, I drew the digit back and almost completely out of her. There, I paused.
Mom’s body froze in anticipation.
Then, I fed my finger back inside of her, feeling the muscle expand and roll over the second, much fatter, knuckle.
“Oh!” she gasped.
I played with her like that for a time, letting that second knuckle slip in and out of her anus. All the while, lust grew within me to the point of madness. I made a horrific, amazing decision.
Keeping my head down so as never once to look into the mirror, I asked her if I was making her feel better.
“Yes.”
I asked her if it felt good.
“Yes.”
I asked her if she wanted more.
She hesitated. “Yes.”
Now I was like a kamikaze pilot from the old World War 2 movies my pop used to watch on Saturday mornings. The choice was made. Any voice in my head telling me to stop was drowned out by the intoxicating thrill of the decision. I just had to point myself in the right direction.
Keeping my finger inside of her, I maneuvered my body to enable me to pull my shorts over my knees, one at a time, and off. Soon, I was stark naked, straddling her thighs. In full view of her mirror, I gathered a fresh gob of gel cream on my index finger, and I began to spread the lotion all around the knob of my penis.
“Wha–?” Mom began, but she didn’t complete the word because the moment I heard her begin to speak, I drove my middle finger all the way inside of her. She responded with a moan.
As she breathed and recovered from this deeper, thicker penetration, I slowly drew my finger out, gripped my erection with my newly freed right hand, and ratcheted it down until the plum tip vanished inside the cleft of her bottom. I felt the gentle pressure of the two globes hugging the knob. Slowly, I dragged it through the cleavage there, up and down.
Curiosity overcame me; I glanced at the mirror. It wasn’t angled toward my face, but down along her body, no doubt giving her a clear view of her fanny and the erection jutting into it. Moving a bit, I could see the reflection of her face. Her mouth hung open. Her eyes seemed riveted to my penis in trepidation.
I could hear the faint, plaintive groans under each labored breath Mom took. She spoke when I parked the tip of my erection against her anus. “Oh, I–a lady mustn’t–,” she began. Her voice was airily feminine. “You shouldn’t–a gentleman would never–.” She broke off when she felt my erection begin to dilate her.
Peripherally, I saw her drop the mirror, plant her hands on the bed, and brace herself. When her little star swallowed the knob, she let out the breath she’d been holding in a brief, soaring cry.
I stared down at the place where my body and hers joined together, luxuriating in the taut grip.
Panting, Mom cried, “Sugar!”
I couldn’t say a word. Astonished by the jointure of our bodies, I groaned.
Between rapid chuffs, she cried, “You’re mating with me anally!” It was not a complaint; it was more of an alarmed declaration.
Nothing else to say and too exhilarated to find better words, I murmured, “Yeah.”
She replied with a plaintive gasp.
I fed more of it into her. The shaft didn’t glide; it steadily plodded, further distending her anus. Between Mom’s wheezes and cries, I heard the sticky crackle of the gel cream as it lubricated the slow passage.
Mom’s head collapsed onto her pillow, facing sideways. Her eyes were tightly shut. I watched her lick her lips. She gasped, “Your penis–it’s inside my fanny.”
I stopped. “But,” I asked, “does it help?”
A beat passed, and she nodded, mouth agape and sucking greedily at the air.
Curious, I asked her how it helped.
“The–the thickness,” she gasped.
“Thickness?”
She nodded.
“It scratches the itch?”
She nodded, still panting.
I stared down at her big bottom and muttered, “More.” Grasping each thick globe, I pushed at my hips, steadily supplying her body with more thickness, more penis.
“Oh, gracious me,” she huffed.
Deep inside of her but not yet hilted, I began a gradual withdrawal of the shaft. As her anus rode against the bump of my knob, she wheezed. I began feeding the shaft back into her.
Mom blew out her breath, voicing a drawn-out “oooh.”
And back again. And forth.
“Oooh.” The sound she made was a thrilling combination of suffering, exhaustion, and satisfaction.
I mated with her slowly and languorously.
“Oooh,” she vented. I liked how vigorously she panted between these utterances.
The taut grip of her body on mine, the sound of her blowing, the feel of her big bottom in my hands–it was all too much. My erection began to convulse.
Mom gave a sharp cry.
Though I drove into her at a snail’s pace, the pleasure infusing my body raced through me like lightning. “My semen,” I suddenly grunted.
“Oh, heavens!” Mom cried.
“Mom, I can’t stop it.”
She moaned at the fierce contractions of my erection.
I had to see it. I had to.
Holding her fanny apart with one hand, I drew my penis free. Underneath it lay the gaping, throbbing hole it left in its wake. Mom issued a long, relaxed moan at the relief of the tension.
I grasped my penis, aiming it. “Keep it open–your anus,” I snapped.
“Sugar!” she gasped, “I don’t know if I have the–the wherewithal to–.” She quit speaking the very moment the first jet of sperm zipped from the end of my erection and straight into her little gape. Not a drop missed.
I grunted, watching more fire into her.
“Oh, my gracious word!” she cried. “Your semen!”
No longer jettisoning, the sperm oozed from the tip and plummeted inside of her in gushes. A dollop landed on the outer edge, but gravity quickly drew it inside of her.
The perfection of the feeling reached its peak. I closed my eyes and stroked the last remnants free with a gasp, not caring where they landed.
Mom moaned, “It’s inside my body.” So utterly spent, she looked like someone talking in her sleep when she continued, “There’s semen in my fanny.”
I took one final glance. Her little hole was blanketed under a pool of sperm. Her body must have sealed shut at the end. I shoved myself away from her, landing on the bed and chuffing air.
Mom wheezed limply.
Though my body was exhausted, my mind was afire with fierce joy. I wanted to scream an awful, thrilling curse word right there beside her. Instead, I gritted my teeth, slammed my eyes shut, and growled, “Yes.”
Mom gasped.
I didn’t know it could be so good, so perfect–actual intimacy with a woman, actual sex. And, my gosh! I realized. When I make love with a girl in her secret place–truly mate with a woman–it would be even better and more thrilling. At that moment, I felt this strange happiness about my place in human sexuality; I really, really liked being a man.