An idea went off in my mind like a firecracker. Instantly, I sat up and straddled Mom again.
She whimpered.
Prying her apart, I began gently collecting the stray drops and lines of my semen and shepherding them to the small puddle on her anus.
“What are you–?” she moaned.
“Yes,” I muttered. Then, I coaxed the fluids into the hole with my finger until all of it was inside of her.
In a weary voice, Mom wheezed, “Oh, dearie, oh, sweet potato pie, there’s so much semen in my fanny right now.”
I bent down and softly kissed her bottom. Once, twice, and three times. Then, I grabbed my shorts and pulled them on, and then I sat beside her and very, very gently massaged ointment all over her back and thighs. She fell asleep without another word.
I checked on her every few minutes, but she kept sleeping past twelve-thirty in the afternoon. Every time I saw her naked fanny, I smiled. Once, the sight made me so thrilled that I pumped my fist.
***
Mom’s favorites have all been made known to me over and again for years. She liked talking about the things she liked. So, it was easy for me to call in an order of her favorite meal–Eggplant Parm–from her favorite place to get it. The round trip took me just over thirty-five minutes, but I brought along one of Mom’s food warming cases.
Clouds returned while I was out, darkening the afternoon. As I pulled onto the gravel driveway, it began to sprinkle.
I hesitated before I climbed out of the car. I knew why I was doing these things for Mom, pampering her and such. I wanted to ease her anger with me.
I had taken advantage; I knew it. I just didn’t know how I could have stopped myself. Something about the physical intimacy of being near her naked body–her naked bottom, really–threw a switch for me, deep down. Seeing, touching, and smelling her, those things only amplified the power that switch had already engaged.
But, it was no excuse for my actions. That she appeared to derive no small degree of pleasure from our mating made some difference, but not enough. I remembered her vocal objection to anal sex–“Good girls don’t do that, and gentlemen don’t even ask.”
In my lust, I had made Mom a naughty girl, and I had been ungentlemanly. I needed to find ways to be a gentleman and treat her like a lady.
But, I also awakened to another need. It grew upon me the moment I had joined with Mom’s body and ejaculated. I needed to show her gratefulness, compassion, and love. I wanted to care for her and protect her. I wanted to bring her happiness and make her feel cherished.
I had no idea from where these impulses started in me, but they felt like a natural product of our mating. The specific circumstances of our coupling didn’t matter–where, when, how; I always would have felt this intense desire to protect and care. It felt male, too, as if I were designed to respond this way to my first woman.
I took the food and hurried into our home. Dashing upstairs to check on her, I discovered she was in the bathroom. I quickly and quietly laid out her special lunch, along with fresh iced tea, beside her bed. Stepping back, it all looked perfect. Nothing was missing.
I silently closed the door. Turning to leave, I hesitated. I could wait here, I thought, and listen at her door again. I might hear her reaction to me bringing one of her favorite meals.
No, I decided. I should give her some privacy.
I went downstairs and pulled up a video describing how to fix the spray nozzle for a kitchen faucet. Ours had been busted for some time. Fifteen minutes later, I was done, and it had worked. I wondered why I hadn’t thought of trying to fix things around the house for her before.
I wanted to now. What else, I wondered, is broken around here that I could fix?
A text message pinged on my phone. It was Mom: “Come up.”
I went upstairs, half excited, half nervous.
She was covered up when I arrived, and a pang of emptiness struck me that I couldn’t see her big naked fanny. Her food had been eaten, and I smiled.
“You’re grounded,” she declared, “grounded from this bedroom going forward.”
“What?”
“Since you are unable to treat me with respect and act like a gentleman, I will receive no further assistance from you for the duration of my troubles.”
“But, how are you going to–?”
“I will find a way.”
“But, I want to help. I–I fixed the spray nozzle on the kitchen faucet just now, and I was going to–.”
“Enough,” she cut me off. “Grounded. That’s my final word on the matter. Now, take these dishes and obey my decision.”
Maybe being eighteen had changed me. Or, maybe it was that I was now a man who had lain with a woman. Either way, Mom’s strict and cold demeanor failed to cower me. In fact, it may have resulted in an opposite reaction. I felt spirited and rebellious.
Brimming with confidence, I said, “I’m not grounded from your room. That doesn’t make any sense. I’m asked to leave your room.”
Shocked, Mom retorted, “Mister, if ‘grounded’ won’t suffice for you, then you’re banned–banned from this room.”
“Better,” I said, and then I reached for the door.
“Take these dishes,” she snapped.
I stopped. “Nah. I don’t think that I will. I think you said you’ll ‘find a way.'”
Her eyes were wide with shock. “Why, mister! Who are you, and what have you done with the gentleman who used to be my son?”
“I smelled your fluids, Mom. I saw the stain on the sheet from them. I know you liked the things I did.”
“That’s not–you’re imagining things.”
“You had a mirror.”
“I needed to make sure you behaved yourself,” she asserted.
“Then why didn’t you stop me when you saw me pull out my penis?”
She drew back. “I–well, I thought perhaps you were adjusting yourself as men sometimes do, and I didn’t want to embarrass you.”
“No,” I said, “you knew it was erect. Why didn’t you stop me when I masturbated?”
“I was too shocked to speak.”
“No, you told me what I was doing felt good.”
“Yes, but not sexually–for my sunburn!”
“Mom!” I hollered.
A short silence ensued. Then, with a coldness I hadn’t witnessed in years, she said, “Don’t you, mister, raise your voice to–!”
I cut her off. “You’re grounded.”
Aghast, she sputtered, “What–?”
“You’re grounded, Mom, for lying. You are not allowed to leave this room, understand?”
She opened and closed her mouth twice.
Before she could put together words, I said, “Now, I’m going to take your dirty dishes downstairs–and I haven’t forgotten that you haven’t yet thanked me for bringing you a special lunch–and when I come back up here, you better be in this bed, resting.”
I snatched the tray and left.
“Very funny!” she called to me. “We’ll see about this, mister! When I get to feeling better, you’ll rue this day! Rue it!”
I was laughing as I listened to her. I had never felt more self-assured.
***
I threw away the trash and took the garbage out to our dumpster. I loaded and ran the dishwasher, and then I wiped down the entire kitchen. Then, I quietly ascended the stairs, making not a sound.