Several months stretched out in the heavy emotional wake of that dreamy night when we drank and had watched that "Indecent Proposal" movie and had kissed  inappropriately. Bobby was finding it more difficult to get over here to Oakland and spend a little quality time with me. I wondered if he was feeling pressures from Susanna, or if he was anxious over the tensions between us. Oh, there were! When he is here, the sexual tension permeates the Living Room so, you could cut it with  a butter knife. And I know he can pick up on it, too -- the cloud of pheremones. They say it takes two to Tango. Meaning, if you feel like you are dying to fuck that other person in the room, the odds are he or she will be dying just as bad to fuck you. Which was why I always had a buzz on before he arrived and a drink in hand for him at the door. I do hold my liquor well. Sometimes.

Usually, I had prepared a light meal for him. I am not a good cook. Awkward silences often ensued. While he cleaned up the Kitchen I would quietly go change into one of my several silk robes, then as quietly return and sit on the sofa, leaving a place on my left for my Son. This pattern was ritualized -- in the manner, almost, of a long-married couple. I would have the TV on, the sound off. And when I sensed he was done, I would tipsy call to him, "Bobby, come 'ere an give your old mom her yum-yums."  

Oh, yes I did! Bobby would bring a fresh vodka ice for me, and settle in on the soft sofa where I patted. Some old "I Love Lucy" re-run would be on, with no sound, mind you. We were silent too, maybe five minutes, no more. When I would stir and figet against him, get my head up on his shoulder, and purr husky, "Give your old mom her yum-yums, Honey." My hand clasping the back of his neck. And we would kiss. We would re-run that first night of stolen intimacy, my Son cheating on his wife, sexy-kissing his mother. Good Lord! And I knew...just knew while we were doing it...that he was thinking of her, dreading facing her, hating her...just what I wanted...and why our kissing lasted longer, much longer. Why the tie on my robe would somehow always come loose and the panels part, and why my Son's penis would rise up high and hard in his slacks like the center tent pole of a summer carnival.

Every vivid intoxicating moment was recorded in our merged sensual memory, oh yes. Mother and son, don't forget. But just like the first time, we would straighten up and pretend it hadn't happened, it was an unspoken deceipt we shared, which could only drive the sexual tension to a painful pitch. How many times had I given my Son blue-balls. Not a question.

Okay, going forward now: But on this day, on this night, the longest foreplay ever by a mother and son would end. I don't have to call Guiness Book of World Records, thank you. This was my 53rd Birthday. Wife Susanna, who was supposed to come, begged off, claiming a prior commitment at the Lab. It meant Bobby and I would be left to ourselves, unescorted. *wink*

Oh, dear Fans, my preparation began in mid-week at my hairdresser. Natural Dark Brunette I had tinted lustrous Black. Then a mud-bath and a facial at the salon in Montclair. Sunday finally came, and my nerves with it. Bloody Mary fix. You know that corner 3-way mirror in my bedroom? I tried on half a dozen summer dresses, before picking the strapless white kiana wrap dress, which clung to my hips and tummy like it never wanted to let go of this hot middle-age-sexy body. ( lol) So I removed it slowly, teasing myself and the dress. Then a nude naked fabulous Dottie emerging, ahhh...standing in my...53rd birthday suit. Hand on a cocked hip, right knee drawn up coy...exercising my right to be vain...nostrils flaring...eyes vamping the three Dotties in the mirrors. Damnit, I wished I could give all  three of Me Me Me to my Son that night! But I will just have to give my Son the most unforgetable pleasure he can handle with the curvy MILF in the middle. That's Mother-I'd-like-to-fuck! Do I make the cut? Bobby? Do you want to make me? Son?

I stripped the super-king size bed down to the pad. Tore open the wrapping on the satin lavender fitted bottom sheet I'd bought at Macy's, my hands shaking. I stuffed six king-size pillows into the lavender slips and arranged them in two tiers at the head. I stepped back and looked. This was to be the stage for the sexual intercourse that seemed would never happen between my Son and Me. So much love thwarted, denied... so much pitiful frustration and tears in those wasted years. Under the recessed ceiling lights the bed shimmered with a store-window elegance. This was the Arena on which in about six hours my Son and I would set off the potent and unruly passions of incest...intertwining bodies and souls...mating for our very lives.

to be continued...