I was fixated on my Mom’s secret place. I wanted to see, smell, touch, and taste it. I wanted to bring her pleasure there with my tongue. After twenty minutes of reading, I set the book aside, climbed out from under Mom, and took a shower.
I was agitated. The hot water rolled over me, filling the inside of the tub with steam, but my mind would not relax. It struggled with the problem of mom’s special place.
Her decision to essentially ban me from it didn’t make any sense. I had freely and happily allowed her to put her mouth on my penis. So why couldn’t I put my mouth between her legs? She was, I told myself, like a person who gives wonderful presents, but refuses to accept any.
That isn’t right. You have to let people, I argued, show love and gratitude in return.
But was that–fairness and gratitude–really what I was after?
No, I admitted. There was more to it.
I wanted to give her an orgasm–many. More than that, I wanted all of her body. It infuriated me to think there was a part of her denied to me. I wanted her woman’s secret.
I went to bed beside her. Neither of us woke in the night.
***
As usual, I woke early–before Mom even stirred–so, I went grocery shopping for us to resupply on simple things for me to make for us. Afterward, I stopped at the drug store to resupply us with ointment. After grabbing a tub, I wandered the aisles a bit aimlessly, thinking about Mom’s special place.
It was in the haircare aisle that I suddenly got inspiration. It was the handles on the various brushes that triggered the thought. There was an aspect of woman’s personal sex toy in their design–the bright plastic colors, the knobs and grooves.
I decided to look for what I wanted.
Mom texted me while I was at the check-out counter. I told her I would be back soon to help, and I was extremely excited.
Hauling in and putting away the cold stuff from the grocery store, I finished and raced up to her bedroom with my purchase, keeping it hidden.
“Itchy, sugar! I’m so itchy!”
“I’ve got you,” I said.
Not straddling, but sitting beside her, I spent a good long time applying the gel cream all over her back and legs. I put two coats on her–one to ease the itchiness and a second to give her a long, relaxing massage.
Neither of us spoke. She sighed and hummed her satisfaction. I stared greedily at her bottom.
I did not spend much time on her anus during the first application. During the second, I gently fingered her for a bit. After a minute or so, I asked Mom to spread her legs a touch. I said, “I won’t look at your special place.”
She held in place for a moment as if considering the idea.
“Mom,” I said, “I won’t put my eyes or hands on it.”
Reluctantly, she opened her legs.
I grasped the handle of the device I bought at the drug store. Moving it between her legs, I turned it on. A low electrical buzz filled the bedroom. Before Mom could say anything, I brought the knob to her special place. Mom’s body flinched. She said, “What is–oh, dearie!”
I moved the knob up and down. Mom gasped–twice, and then she moaned deeply. Her body squirmed. She huffed, “Sugar, that’s–that’s my woman’s secret.”
“I’m not touching it or looking at it.”
“But–but–,” she stammered. When she felt me penetrate her with the massaging knob, her head sank into the pillow and she murmured, “Oh, heavenly days.”
“Tell me how it feels,” I said, circling the inside of her
“Oh, sugar,” she huffed. “It feels like diamonds.”
I almost laughed she was so engrossed in her pleasure. Stifling it, I said, “I’m getting behind you. I’m going to look at it.”
With a soft moan, she huffed, “I don’t think–. Maybe you shouldn’t–.”
I rotated the massage wand inside of her, and she gasped with pleasure, opening her legs a fraction more.
I hauled them further apart and climbed between. For the first time in my life, I saw her special place. Without a trace of hair, it glistened with her fluids. I liked how the outer lips spread apart, revealing a pink, surprisingly fleshy little butterfly. I could have reached out and pinched each wing between my index finger and thumb to draw her wide open. When her legs were closed, I knew, those wings would jut out of the crease, impossible to hide. The sight of her clitoris thrilled me, too. With her legs open, the hood poked out–neither large nor small, just prominent. Unmistakeable.
Holding the personal massager against her, I told her that I was looking at her woman’s secret. “I like it,” I muttered.
“Oh, no,” Mom moaned in response.
Her utterance briefly pulled me out of the moment. Her body so replete with pleasure, the words came out between breaths, and her tone had in it a kind of resignation. It was as if she knew something terrible and beautiful had become inevitable.
Gazing at her vulva, I knew she was right to submit to whatever happened next. The desire I felt in that moment was like programming, written into me before even birth. I must do things, I thought, to her special secret.
I first wanted to lick it. “Get on your hands and knees,” I said.
“Oh, no,” she moaned, but she did it. She pushed herself up.
Switching hands with the massager to keep it in place, I rolled onto my back and shoved myself under her.
“Oh, dearie.”
With the knob of the massager buried in her vagina, I raised my chin and extended my tongue toward that prominent, jutting pink hood. Before I touched her there, I felt something on the bed move.
I bent my head back and saw Mom’s hefty breasts dangling. Underneath them were her eyes, looking at me. Her mouth hung open as if in a state of shocked anticipation.
Without breaking eye contact, I slowly licked her secret place. Mom’s eyes closed, and she poured out a sigh of deepest satisfaction, quickly followed by “Oh, no. Oh, no.”
Before licking again, I asked her why she kept saying that.
Blinking and recovering her voice, she said, “Because you’re going to mate with me now.”
Shaking my head, I replied, “I just wanted to see what it was like, maybe lick it–just to give your body pleasure like you gave–.”
She interrupted me. “I know my special place. I know what happens to a man who gets inquisitive about it.”
I stared at the pink slit, and I licked her again.
Mom gasped.
I said, “You can tell me to stop.”
“Then stop.”
“You want me to?”
She didn’t say anything.
I said, “Just one more time.”
She waited for it, cooing sweetly when she felt my tongue. It was thrilling to know that my touches to her secret elicited such delight. For the first time, it felt like getting to know the woman who became my mom. The pretense of motherhood had fallen away. She seemed younger than her age. I loved it.
I clutched her hips and brought my mouth to that beautiful pink hood. There, I fastened my lips over it and drew upon it as if it were the nipple of a bottle.
I felt Mom melt over me. She sighed deeply. Her knees slid apart, and she lowered herself to me. No longer having to crane my neck to reach her, I continued to nurse on and around her clitoris. At the same time, I shut off and set aside the massager, raising a hand toward her special place. Finding it, I wriggled my middle finger between the wings of that pink butterfly. Her body was ready for it; natural lubrication allowed the slow passage of my finger inside.