It was a very gentle and natural thing, Joan said. After daddy died, mommy felt lonely and lost and asked me to stay with her for a bit. I heard her crying sometimes at night in her room and I asked her if she would like us to sleep together for comfort. That first night, we slept in each others arms and we lay in late in the morning talking to each other in whispers. She still cried in her sleep sometimes even though i was with her and one night she woke feeling frightened. On an impulse, I undid my pajama top and cradled her face against my bare breasts and whispered to her to suckle on them as if she were a child. She obeyed me without a murmer. I still don't think the origin of the gesture was sexual though I admit that I enjoyed and wanted to prolong the exquisite sensation of have my nipples sucked into the hot moistness of her mouth and probed with her tongue. We both fell asleep like this and she was still asleep in my arms when I woke. We didn't talk about what had happened but I sensed during the day that a subtle change had taken place in our relationship. I felt that I had become a sort of mother to my own mother. I touched her cheek with the back of my hand and she smiled at me gratefully. At bedtime, and quite on the spur of the moment, I left off my pajama top. I swear I hadn't thought of doing it beforehand. It just seemed the natural thing to do. Mommy, who was already in bed, looked at my bare breasts and at once peeled off her own top. I clasped her too me, my small, pointed breasts pressed against her rather larger breasts which are still shapely at 67. « Joanie, » she whispered. « You are so good to me. I love you so much . » I kissed her lips softly then more insistently as her body melted against mine. « Darling mommy, » I told her as my hand slowly traced its way down her body and inside her pajama bottom where the tips of my fingers penetrated her wiry bush and finally her wet cleft.