“It was wonderful, mother,” I reassured her.
She gave a sigh of relief and said, “I’m starving, I think I’ll cook something for us.”
“That’s strange, I replied, “I feel hungry too.”
“I wonder why?” mother said in a taunting tone of voice.
When we had restored our clothes she gave me my orders.
“You make the tea while I cook.”
I obeyed while she set about cooking a pile of eggs and bacon.
I had the odd thought that this too was wonderful. It was like having the ordinary and the extraordinary; having both things with someone you loved and wanted to be with. Not like when I was with the widow. After I’d screwed her two or three times in succession I was lucky to get a cup of instant coffee.
The tea was ready before the food, so I sat at the table with my cup watching mum turning over the bacon and listening to her complaining when the cooking oil splattered. In a manner unusual for me I went to her and said, “Here, I’ll do that, you go and drink your tea.”
Was it gratitude for what she had let me do with her that had brought about this change in me, or was it in the hope that my action would reap future reward?
She didn’t drink her tea – at least, not right away.
Saying, “I’m sticky and uncomfortable,” she hurried from the room to return a few minutes latter wearing an odd pair of track suit trousers. I must have thumped a lot of sperm into her.
She was just in time for me to dish up the food.
We both ate voraciously, as if having gratified one sort of hunger we had released yet another.
“We shouldn’t have done that,” mum said through a mouthful of egg.
“What?” I asked, pretending not to understand, “You mean we shouldn’t have cooked and made tea?”
“You’re just being stupid, you know what I mean; we shouldn’t have made love.”
“There you are, you said it,” I responded, cutting the rind off a slice of bacon, “We ‘made love,’ and it says in the bible we should love our neighbour, and you’re my nearest neighbour, so I love you; and look at what a wonderful appetite its given us.”
“You know the bible doesn’t mean that and…”
“No, but it should,” I quipped.
“The trouble is,” she said thoughtfully, wiping a smear of egg from her chin, “once you start something like this and you like it, it’s hard to stop.”
I picked out a piece of bacon from where it had become lodged between my teeth and replied, “Who said anything about stopping.”
She looked across at me earnestly.
“You…you don’t want to stop?”
I looked back at her with equal intensity and said, “No, I don’t want it to stop.”
“You do realise I’m a one man woman, and I expect my man to be a one woman man, don’t you?”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“No more widow?”
“No more widow, she’s got enough in tow anyway.”
Mother looked coy as she asked, “But you will do some of the things you’ve done with her, with me, won’t you?”
“No point in wasting good training,” I replied, “we’ll do all of them and anything else we can think of.”
“Let’s hurry up and finish eating and then we can have a shower and start getting inventive, darling.”
It was only when I sucked on those ripe pink nipples of hers, and felt her wet squishy sex organ descend on my mouth that I discovered mother was a lot tastier than the widow. I’d never really liked it when I had raised my head from the widow’s genitalia and the lower half of it was covered in her juice. With mother it was a joy to be soaked with her fluid, especially when she licked it off.