It Never Happened
It Never Happened It Never Happened
It Never Happened
By Wm Emerald Green
It Never Happened It Never Happened
This little book is filled with sexual fantasy stories. Anyone too young to read such filth should leave right now. Also, anyone who would be offended by dirty words or descriptions of sexual acts should just close this book and go find something clean to read. If the thought of a child having sex is appalling to you let me say good-bye. Only minds unfettered by Puritanical mores should venture further within these pages.
It Never Happened It Never Happened
I tried to do as she said but for years whenever I was not busy I would remember. I began a habit of keeping too busy to think about it. At last after a number of years I did forget about it but as my mother became old and was sure she was dying I remembered again. Her death took twenty years and many wondered how I could stay away and not visit my mother. I made excuses that I was busy and besides I would admit she never failed to make me feel guilty with remarks like, “I’m sure I’m gonna die before you visit me again. But that’s okay, you’ve got a life to live and all your mother has to do is die.” To me that was not much encouragement to come to see her if all she did was to remind me of what an awful son I was being.
The thing that I had been encouraged to forget about had started when I was eleven and continued on and off until I was fourteen. When I was eleven my sister who was nineteen had left to go to California and my father had gone out of town for work, leaving me alone with my mother to take care of the farm. We didn’t have much to take care of. We had two milk cows, a few laying hens, and from two to three hundred rabbits. This meant before school and after school chores which took about an hour each.
My sister, who had been a second mother to me, was not coming back. My dad usually came home every other week-end. Although those week-ends should have been happy occasions my parents often would get in loud shouting matches which I called fights. I never knew my father to strike my mother but on occasion she would hit him with thrown objects.
Sometime during that winter after I turned eleven, mother decided that in order to save money we would close off most of the house and not heat it. The part to close off included my bedroom. I would “sleep with her like you did when you were a baby.” She loved to read stories to me, and during the first few weeks, she joyously read to me. I would often fall asleep during her reading and the next night she would have to quiz me on what I remembered from the night before so she would know where to start reading again. This of course honed my memory for detail.
Then one day when I came home from school, I found mother lying on the couch with a damp cloth over her eyes. This was a signal that she was having a bad day and was not to be bothered. Without a word I quietly changed into my chore clothes and went out to milk the only fresh cow. Usually I was not asked to milk the cow because mother was afraid I would not milk the cow completely and thus cause her to go dry but I knew better than to bother mother when she was having a bad day. Before I had finished the milking, mother showed up to finish, “So you won’t cause her to go dry.”
I went ahead with watering and feeding the rabbits, which took me about an hour. When finished I returned to the house to find that mother had prepared a simple dinner and I was told to change out of my dirty clothes and wash up. During dinner I did not talk because I knew mother was not feeling well. When I had finished eating I was told to clear the table, put things away, and leave the dishes in the sink. “I’ll get to them tomorrow,” mother said before going off to bed.
It was turning cold outside so I made sure there was sufficient fuel in the furnace to heat the house most of the night. Figuring mother would not want me in her bed that night I turned on the heat to my room and went there to do some of my pencil drawings that I had been neglecting. About 9:30 I decided to go to bed since that was my normal bedtime. I was about to turn off the light when mother burst into my room and shouted at me to go downstairs and turn off the heat to my room and come to bed.
As was my habit when mother was upset I made no response and complied with her command. She continued to shout at me about costing us for the extra heat as I went down the hall and down the basement steps. When I came back upstairs I could see under my closed bedroom door that the light had been turned off so I went directly to mother’s room where I found her in bed. “You should not have stayed up so late,” she said as I crawled under the covers beside her. “I’m not reading tonight,” she said.
“That’s okay,” I said as she turned out the light.
I lay there unable to fall asleep for a while and when I was just about to do so, she called my name and asked if I was asleep.
“No,” I said.
“I think I would feel better if you would lay your head on my breast like when you were little and hold me real tight.” I rolled toward her and did as she requested. Although I felt her breast through her sheer nightgown against my cheek and ear, my right arm was about her waist, and my stomach and chest was pressed against her side; there was nothing sexual about the experience. I was comforting my sick mother. I soon fell asleep.
In the morning I awoke after mother had gotten up. When I sat down to the breakfast that mother had prepared, she said, “It was nice of you to comfort me last night.” I could think of nothing to say in response. It was unusual for mother to compliment me in this way.
Two or three days passed with mother not feeling well and with me falling asleep “holding her.” Then as suddenly as she had become ill she was well and “feeling better than she had in a long time.” She was singing as she was doing the housework when I arrived home from school. When I started to change into my chore clothes she called to me to forget about the chores because she had already taken care of everything but milking Pansy, the old milk cow, and she would go do that after she started dinner. “Go be a boy tonight instead of a farm hand,” she encouraged.
I went to my room where it was too cold to stay so I gathered up my drawing equipment and took it to the kitchen table. I would have preferred the dining room table but the dining room was in the part of the house that was closed off. I was attempting to sketch the human form, I could do men’s chests, shoulders, and arms, but hands and faces were difficult to get in proper proportion. They always wanted to grow larger than they should. It seemed that the detail always required more space.
Mother came in with the bucket of milk. After pouring it in the cooling pan and placing it in the refrigerator to cool, she came and stood behind me. “You need a model,” she said as she went to the stove and lifted the pan-lid to check on the progress of our dinner. Turning toward me she said, “If I was still as pretty as I was when I was young, I’d pose for you.”
I should have looked up and said she was still pretty to me but I continued to work on my sketch and said nothing to acknowledge her remark. I am sure that I triggered her reaction by not acknowledging her attempt to get a complement from me.
Soon she asked me to set my drawing aside so we would have room to eat dinner. Before we started to eat she asked me about my day at school. This was an unusual request and I could think of nothing to tell her about my day. “It was just like any other day,” I said.
“Oh come on, you must have learned something new,” she said as she placed my plate of food in front of me.
“I read about Henry Hudson discovering the Hudson River,” I said as I struggled to remember about what we covered in school. She sat in the chair opposite me.
Mother was silent for a time and I glanced at her. She seemed to be looking right through me as she ate. I had the thought that I could do or say anything and she would not notice. I chose to keep silent and wait for her. I was startled when she spoke again, asking, “Do you have enough drawing equipment…paper and pencils?”
“Yeah, sure, I have all I need,” I responded as I ate my last bite of food.
Mother cleared and wiped the table, saying, “Go ahead and draw some more.”
After about an hour, Mother called me to come to her room. I was ready for a break so I went to her room. When I entered her room I saw her standing at her dressing table looking at herself in the mirror. She was completely nude. I was a little surprised but she had dressed and changed clothes while I was in the same room so I was not seeing anything I had not seen before. She turned to face me and asked, “I’d still be rather attractive if I didn’t have this spare tire around the middle, wouldn’t I?”
I looked her over, at first taking note of the extra weight around her waist. It did not look like a spare tire to me. I then looked at her breasts. They looked perfectly formed but then I had seen no others to compare them to. My eyes wondered down to the triangle of short curly blond hair that covered that part of a woman that I had never seen before. I had seen a few small girls who had no hair to cover them. In each case, I had only seen them briefly and I had not been able to study the details. And now that area that I had been curious about was hidden by a thick carpet of blond hair. I looked on down her legs and saw the curves that I assumed should be there. I looked to her face and saw the question she had asked of me. “Yes, mother, you are attractive. You are the most beautiful woman I know.”
“Thank you sweetie,” she said as she turned again to the mirror. While running her hands over her breasts, she stated, “Bring your drawing tablet and pencils in here and draw me.”
I had never had a model before. All of my drawings were attempts to make them look like pictures in magazines and books. Mother had propped up the pillows on the bed and now she rested back against them with her hips turned slightly. Her upper leg covered that part for which I had the greatest curiosity. I quickly sketched her outline and turned my attention to her breasts. My old problem with hands and faces suddenly caused her breasts to appear nearly twice as large as they should. I folded the page over to the back of the tablet and started over. This time I started with the breasts. After fifteen or so minutes of shaping and shading I was nearly satisfied that they looked like the real thing. I started to sketch in the rest of her body when she said, “Let me see what you’ve got.”
I turned the tablet so she could see. There was a moment of silence, and then she chuckled as she said, “You are a man.” I did not know at that time what she meant. She jumped up from the bed and put on her heavy bathrobe saying, “It’s too cold for this now. We’ll do it again when it is warmer.” She then put her hands on both sides of my face and said, “You won’t show that to anyone. You won’t tell anyone I have posed for you. Most of all you won’t tell your dad. I’m sure you know how to keep a secret as well as I do. Now, go take a bath and get ready for bed. I’ve got a special story to tell you.”
It seemed too early to go to bed but I did what she said without question. After scrubbing all over I sat in the warm water casually playing with myself as I thought about drawing pictures of my mother. From my earliest memories I remembered mother telling me not to play with myself but at times like this I could not resist. Suddenly the door burst open and mother came in saying, “I got to pee, couldn’t wait.”
I tried to cover myself as she sat on the toilet behind me. I heard the gush of her pee and I noted that women peed differently from men. I hunched forward to try to cover what I had been doing. “Playing with yourself again?” she asked.
I knew better than to deny it but I could not bring myself to admit it.
She surprised me when she said, “Just don’t do it too often and don’t hurt yourself.”
I glance up and saw her looking down at me. She smiled and added, “Now finish up and come to bed. I’ve got a special story to tell you.”
I was not thinking of her special story, I was still stuck trying to interpret her previous statement. She had just given me permission to play with myself but how often is too often and how does one hurt himself? Remember I was only eleven. Playing with myself meant enjoying the feelings but I had never experienced the feelings of an orgasm, although looking back I had come close.
Never Happened It Never Happened
A Special Story
After drying off I put on my pajamas. No matter what I did I could not conceal the erection that did not want to go down. My pajamas were tented out and I knew that mother would notice. I waited, hoping that time would bring about the desired result. Mother called from her room, “What’s keeping you?”
“Be right there,” I called as I concentrated on combing my hair, hoping that by doing so the pole would go limp. No luck. I decided to just ignore it and pretend it was not there. If mother noticed she said nothing and I soon had my problem concealed under the covers of her bed.
After turning out the light, mother settled in beside me and said, “Well now, I promised you a special story so I best get started. This is a special story I’m sharing just with you and I don’t want you telling it to anyone. Okay, now promise me you won’t ever tell anyone this story.”
“I promise,” I responded.
“I’ve never told this to anyone so you see how special you are to me. I want you to promise again that you will never tell anyone this story.” I hesitated a few moments and she said, “Promise or I won’t tell you.” The tone of her voice seemed severe.
“I promise I will never tell anyone about this story,” I said with full intention to never repeat a word of mother’s special story.
“Okay then, when I started school I was not yet allowed to ride horse-back. My dad had allowed his boys to ride their ponies when they were six but we girls were not allowed to ride until we were sixteen. And even then we were not allowed to ride astride until after marriage, we had to ride side saddle.
“Your Uncle Harold was the oldest and I was second oldest of us kids. He was a little more than three years older than me and then Stephen was three years younger than me. Harold rode bareback on his horse to school across country. By road it was about six miles but from our house across country to school was only a little more than a mile. The trail did lead down into a deep ravine and up the other side before going through a small grove of trees, then through a gate in the school yard fence where the horses were allowed to graze while we were in school.
“My first day of school, I was dressed up in my new dress and dad lifted me up, seating me sideways in front of Harold, who was told to hold onto me tight. He rode bareback with no reigns and controlled his horse with his legs so his hands were free to hold onto me. He supported my back with his right arm while encircling me in his arms. I felt very secure there in his arms.
“Your grandfather taught his boys that they had one paramount goal in life and that was to protect the people, especially the women, in their lives. They had to be protected from the accidents of nature such as falling. They had to be protected from the un-Christian heathen who attacked in unspeakable ways. And at last they had to be protected from bad habits.
“Your Uncle Harold was always small for his age. Although older than me he was never taller than me. But he was strong, stronger than boys twice his size. He never started fights but he always finished them. I've seen him take a punch that would knock anyone else flat, then he’d give them two quick jabs to the face and a right-upper-cut to the jaw and the other guy was done. You can see why I always felt safe and protected around my brother Harold. No bullies messed with him or me more than once.
“I don’t know when it started but Harold would slip his left hand up under my skirt and petticoats as we rode to or from school. His firm hand stroking across my bare leg felt good. I never told anyone because my mother had always told me there were bad men and bad boys who would want to put their hands under my skirt and I was not to let them. But Harold wasn’t bad and I did not want mother to call him bad. He was good and his hand made me feel good.
“Of course he was curious and, sometime during the second year, his hand found my private parts and that felt good too. It wasn’t long before my curiosity caused me to find his private parts and he told me how good that felt and I wanted to make him feel good like he made me feel.”
Mother was silent for a while and I thought over what she had told me. All the times mother had told me to not play with myself were put aside. Under the covers, both my hands found the opening in my pajama and my erection within. It had not diminished since I got out of the tub. I tried to stroke it without moving the covers so mother would not know. Thinking of mother and Uncle Harold giving each other pleasure made me want a sister near my own age.
I was suddenly startled by my mother whispering in my ear, “I know what you are doing, you little dickens.”
Trying to sound innocent, I said, “I wasn’t doing anything.” I moved my hands to my sides so that in fact I was not doing anything. I waited for her to accuse me of trying to hide from the truth.
Long moments passed and suddenly I felt mother’s left hand seek out and find my bone hard erection. No one but me had ever touched it in this condition and an adrenalin rush caused my heart to beat like a corps of drummers. She gripped it tightly and said, “Oh my!”
My first impulse was to push her away. I wanted to take her hand in mine and push it away but I did nothing. I then wanted to get away. I wanted to jump from her bed and run from the room but I did nothing.
Mother whispered softly in my ear, “You want me to play with your weewee, don’t you?”
I croaked out an, “Uh huh,” the sound of which surprised me.
She began stroking gently but firmly up and down on my hard penis. Because she had had me circumcised as an infant I have little or no loose skin so she was stretching what I had to the point of causing some pain but the feelings of pleasure that I felt surpassed the pain.
“Does that feel good?” she asked.
Again I croaked, “Uh huh.”
All of my attention was on the feelings she was giving me when she said, “You can play with my breasts if you want.”
I thought how does one play with breasts? I fumbled around with my right hand until I felt one of her breasts through her sheer nightgown. I gave it a gentle squeeze and felt the hardened nipple against the palm of my hand. I took the nipple between my thumb and index finger and gave it a gentle squeeze. Mother’s soft mummer told me I was doing it right.
We lay there for a long while with her stroking my erection and me gently rolling and pinching her nipple. We would each occasionally moan softly to tell the other of our pleasure. All thought of anything but the pleasure I was feeling was gone. Time seemed to stop.
I was startled out of my dazed state when mother sat up in bed and removed her nightgown. As she lay gently back she took my head in her arms and placed my face against a breast. “Suck on one while you play with the other,” she commanded. At the same time that I took a nipple in my mouth and began to suckle, I began to again roll and pinch her other nipple. “That’s good,” she whispered as I felt her hand return to my penis. I was experiencing more pleasure than I dreamed possible.
My left hand was wedged between us and I moved it to be able to touch my mother’s hip. She must have felt the movement because she raised her hip and this allowed me to move my hand under her. I felt a big handful of flesh. She rose a little more and I slid my hand further under her; as I did I curled my fingers and found at the tip of my fingers a moist slippery area. I knew nothing about the area I was now exploring, but I was sure what I was touching was not her asshole. It felt nothing like my own.
Of course I had seen a cow’s triangular vulva and the protruding vulva of a dog. What I was now touching had to have some similarities to those but all I felt was moist slippery smooth textured skin. I wanted to ask to see what I was touching but I was afraid to speak. I continued to suck and pinch her nipples as I attempted to move the fingers of my left hand deeper within that intriguing hole. Mother assisted by moving up in bed and all four of my fingers slipped right in. I felt more warm moist flesh. Still I could not imagine what I was feeling, looked like. I wiggled my fingers and mother said, “That’s it—that’s good.”
She began to stroke my penis faster and I began to move my finger in concert with her movements. “Oh yes,” she said as I began to move my mouth on her right nipple and my right hand on her left nipple at a comparable speed.
She squeezed my penis a little tighter as she continued her rapid up and down stroking. For the first time in my life I felt that pre-ejaculation pleasure building deep down in the pit of my stomach. I did not know what it was but I liked it. Suddenly my hips involuntarily thrust forward. Mother said, “Oh my,” as she stopped stroking and held her hand cupped over my penis. The fingers of both my hands continued what they had been doing and I sucked in more flesh than just her nipple. As my hips continued to thrust I moaned my pleasure.
Suddenly I relaxed. I felt tired—totally spent. Mother rubbed her seaman coated palm over my penis. The feeling was intense—pleasurable but intense. I had slobbered all over the breast at my mouth and I attempted to lick it dry. My hands remained where they had been but they had stopped moving.
“Don’t move,” mother said as she moved away from me and reached for something. I could not see in the dark but when the lamp turned on I was nearly as blinded by the light. I closed my eyes as I felt mother using a tissue to wipe the seamen off my stomach. I don’t know when the blankets had been thrown off but now I felt them pulled back over me. The light went out and mother said, “Time to go to sleep.” I had lots of questions but before I could frame my words I fell asleep.
At breakfast the next morning I started to ask, “Last night I wanted…”
Mother interrupted me with, “It never happened. Nothing happened. Forget it as though nothing happened.”
I looked up to see mother sitting opposite me, looking down into her coffee cup. She murmured, “Nothing happened. Forget it.” I had the impression that she was saying it to herself as much as to me.
I did not ask my questions. There would be another time to ask the questions. Mother’s moods changed from day to day. I could tell that on this day mother was on the verge of having a bad day; however, in the past I had often failed to predict correctly mother’s moods. I could only hope I was not the cause of her bad day.
Several days went by with us falling back into our normal routine. Mother read to me at night and I fell asleep with her reading. The next night she would quiz me so she could begin where I had gone to sleep the night before.
Dad came home for a week-end visit and I was relegated back to my bedroom. The first night (Friday) I played with my penis until I ejaculated. With the light on I watched the white creamy liquid squirt from my pee hole. Although I was only eleven years old, I knew what this liquid was. I had seen bulls mount cows. I had seen my own dog mount the neighbor’s bitch and of course, on a weekly basis I was responsible for seeing to the breading of my rabbits. From four to seven does had to be brought to one of our four bucks’ hutches and held in place while he did what we called, “Whiff bam, thank you ma’am.” The bucks did their duty so fast; I wondered if they enjoyed it.
Now that I had ejaculated and felt what an orgasm felt like, I could understand why male animals would mount females. All these thoughts were going through my mind as I prepared to ejaculate for a second time. There was not as much semen the second time but the pleasure was the same. I cleaned up, using tissues and putting them in my wastebasket. I climbed into bed and turned out the light.
I lay back on my pillow and wondered if dad was playing with mother or maybe he was mounting her. If he mounted her, would I have a little baby sister? As I thought about this my hands found my hardening penis. I again wished for a sister and fell asleep.
It Never Happened It Never Happened
Spring Is on the Way
Sunday afternoon, before dad left to go back to work, mother and dad got in one of their shouting matches. Although it was winter, probably late March, a warm spell caused it to be almost spring like so I went for a ride on my bicycle to get away from them. I had dressed warmly but I had worn no gloves.
As I rode aimlessly, I wished I had more than the two friends that I had. Both of my friends were only children of single mothers and in each case their mothers objected when I dropped by without any prior planning. More than once I had been chased away because they did not know I was coming, so in effect I had nowhere to go except back home. My aimlessness caused me to go down a road that I had never been on before and before I had ridden more than a mile on this road I came to a dead end at a large farm house set up a narrow lane far back from the road. There were several children playing tag near the farm house. I had the wish that I had brothers and sisters so I would automatically have someone to play with. I immediately turned around and began my trip home.
When I reach home I found dad had left to return to work. The moment I entered the house mother told me to get in my chore clothes. As I did so she came into my room and said, “I’m not feeling so good. I’m letting you milk Pansy. You make sure you don’t cause her to go dry.”
I think my hands felt especially cold to Pansy. She made more attempts than usual to put her foot in the milk bucket but I kept my head pressed into the soft spot between her knee and ribs so that when she would raise her foot my head was pushed by her knee into her ribs causing her discomfort so she would lower her foot. She seemed to relinquish her milk more readily than usual and soon I found I could strip no more milk from her large teats. I looked down into the milk bucket, held between my knees, and saw that it was more than half full. This should please mother, I thought.
After I had completed all the chores I found my dinner on the table. Mother had gone to bed leaving me to wonder if I was expected to come to her bed or sleep in my own bed. I did the usual things like clearing the table, making sure the furnace had enough fuel for the night, and turning out the lights. When I went to my room I found the heat was still on from the week-end. I got out my sketch of mother’s breasts and worked on the rest of the sketch. I kept an eye on the clock so I would be in bed and with the lights out before 9:30. A short time later I heard mother go down the hall to the bathroom, flush the toilette, walk back up the hall, stop at my door, and then go on to her room. I slept well and awoke with the alarm.
I decided to not even check with mother whether I should do all of the chores but before I could pick up the milk bucket mother called to me from her bedroom. Going to her door, I opened it and there was mother in front of her dressing table looking at herself in the mirror. The first thing that I noticed was that her hair was a mess, the way it would be if she had sweat a lot during the night. Then I noticed she was naked. She turned toward me and said, “I don’t feel like it but I’ll milk Pansy.”
“Okay,” I said and went to do my chores.
After taking care of the rabbits I went to the barn where I found mother milking. Before I could say anything mother announced, “Go get cleaned up. Your breakfast is on the table.”
I could hear by the sound of her voice that she was not in any mood for conversation so I said, “Okay,” and went to the house. My school day was a normal day in which I kept myself busy so that I did not think of anything other than school.
When I arrived home I found mother getting ready to do the chores. I quickly changed out of my school clothes and into my chore clothes and caught up with her when she started with the rabbits. We worked side by side. The chores went fast when working together. When finished with the rabbits, I went to the barn to stanchion Pansy by feeding her a pan of rolled oats.
Mother arrived with the milk bucket with warm water in it and a washcloth. Using the cloth and warm water, I washed Pansy’s udder and teats. Mother did the milking and I stood by watching. Pansy did not even try to step in the bucket.
At dinner mother said, “I want you to shut off the heat to your room and come to my room. Bring your sketch-pad and pencils.”
I did as she had instructed, after taking a bath and getting into my pajamas. When I arrived in her room, I found her in bed with the blankets pulled up to her neck. As I positioned the dressing table chair and sat in it she uncovered and I saw she was in the exact same pose that she had been in when I sketched her before. As I began to work on my drawing I noted that she was wearing a pair of pink panties. I had only worked about ten minutes when mother said, “That’s it for now. It’s too cold.” She covered and added, “Come to bed now and I’ll read.” After she had read for a while I fell asleep.
The next morning, Tuesday, we did the chores together and that evening was a copy of the day before. The next two days were just like Tuesday and Friday started out to be the same but as we finished dinner mother informed me that she was going to visit a friend and would not be home until after I had gone to sleep.
Before going to bed I worked on shading in my drawing of mother. About 9:30 I stopped working and decided I was done with the drawing. I stood it up on mother’s dressing table. I stood back to study it and decided this was the best drawing I had ever done. Too bad, I thought, that I cannot share it with anyone but mother.
I began to play with myself and wondered again what that concealed part of a woman looked like. I wondered what mother would say if I asked her to show it to me. I imagined myself asking her and without saying a thing she showed me. My imagination was not good enough to show me what it looked like. I was sure it was not like a cow’s or a dog’s. I grabbed a couple of tissues from mother’s dressing table to catch the seamen. Using a third tissue to wipe myself I tossed the lot into the wastebasket next to the dressing table. Shortly after my head hit the pillow, I fell asleep.
When I awoke in the morning, the sun was shining in the east window, lighting the room more brightly than normal. I turned away from the light and found mother next to me. She was facing away from me, sleeping soundly, breathing quite deeply. I called, “Mother.” She made no response. I lifted the blanket and saw she had come to bed without a gown. I thought, now is my chance to see what I had been thinking so much about. I raised the blankets a little more and was overcome by the most pungent of odors. The only thing I could liken it to was spoiled meat. Any thought of continuing my quest was stopped. I lowered the blanket and got out of bed.
I went about my chores. I had finished with the rabbits and was putting Pansy in the stanchion when mother arrived with the milk bucket. While I washed the cow’s udder, mother apologized for not helping with the rabbits. “Had to bath,” she added.
I was thinking about losing the opportunity to see what I wanted to see because mother did not bath before coming to bed. My thoughts were interrupted when mother said, “I like your picture. Wish I still looked that good. I think you got me how I looked about 10 or 15 years ago. Before I had you anyway ‘cause I put on weight with you.”
She began the milking as I looked on. I stroked my hand across Pansy’s shoulder, feeling of her course thick brown hair. I wondered if all Jersey cows were brown. Again interrupting my thoughts, mother said, “Tell you what, you go in and open the draft of the furnace a little so as to warm it up a little. I’ll pose for you again tonight.”
“Now,” I asked.
“Yeah now…I’ll finish up here. You go in and do as I say and I’ll pose for you again.” The tone of her voice had changed and I immediately did as she said.
By 7 o’clock, it had warmed in that part of the house that was still being heated and I had bathed and was in mother’s room ready to make another drawing of her. Mother was on the bed, naked as before, laying in approximately the same pose as before but instead of having the pillows propping her up she lay down as she would if she were about to go to sleep.
I began to sketch and before long mother’s eyes closed. I continued my sketch and after a few more minutes mother said, without opening her eyes, “I stayed up too late last night. I’m about to drop off to sleep. When you finish or get tired, cover me, go down and move the damper back to where it was, and come to bed.”
I agreed that I would and continued my sketch. I watched as mother fell asleep and I could see her slowly relax. Both of her arms and legs shifted with this relaxation. After a few more minutes she moved more to her left side and drew up her knees. It was then that I realized I was looking directly at what I had wanted to see. In future years I would learn that each woman has a unique appearance down there but I would always compare those that I have seen with my mother’s since hers was the first that I ever saw. I flipped over the sketch that I had been working on and began a new close up view of mother’s most beautifully presented private area.
After working for more than an hour I decided I had completed this drawing. Any more pencil marks would be overdoing the work. I moved the chair I was sitting in and prepared to start a new drawing. Suddenly, mother moved her right (upper) leg up further and at the same time straightened out her left leg. I had a new view because her movement caused her vagina lips to open slightly. The very pink, almost red flesh within caused me to want to open it further but I kept my distance as I began to quickly sketch what I saw. When I finished this drawing I noted that the clock said it was after nine. I turned back to the first sketch that I had started this night and tried to finish it. By ten o’clock I was not finished but I was too tired to continue.
I covered mother, took my two special drawing to my room, leaving my sketch pad with the unfinished drawing in mother’s room. I went to the basement where I closed down the damper and returned to mother’s room, where I turned out the light and groped my way to bed. I don’t think I had one complete thought before I fell asleep.
The next day mother commented that I must have gotten tired before finishing my drawing and that she would have to strike a different pose the next time she sat for me. The way in which she said it I did not expect her to pose for me for a long time, but right after lunch she led me to my room where she said she would pose sitting on my bed. While I went to her room where I had left my sketch pad she undressed. When I returned I found her seated cross legged on my bed holding a book. She read to me while I sketched. After sketching for nearly two hours I was feeling tired and mother had finished the book she had been reading.
Suddenly she said, “Let’s see what you got?”
I was pleased to stop and I turned the tablet and lay it on the bed in front of mother. “Hmm yes…that’s not the most attractive pose is it?”
I did not understand her question. Instead I thought about her showing me her private parts. Without any further thought I said, “Let me see your privates.”
“What?” she said softly.
“I want to see you down there,” I said.
“Honey,” she said as she closed her eyes. Long moments passed before she said, “I don’t think I should…” The last word seemed to be hard for her to say. Her eyes popped open and she looked at me. I wanted to hide from her. “Oh hell, why not?” she said suddenly as she scooted to the edge of the bed. As her feet hit the floor she spread her knees far apart and asked, “Do you see what you want?”
What I wanted to see was hidden in shadow so I said, “There’s not enough light.”
She shifted so that the light from the lamp on the table lit up the desired area and she said, “Well get down here and get a close look. I don’t want you to wonder what I look like.”
I got down on my hands and knees and moved to within a foot of the subject of my curiosity.
“Let me show you everything there is to see,” she said as she spread the lips of her vagina. She added, “See this pink bump here, that’s my clitoris and when rubbed like this it feels real good. And down here is my pee hole.” She spread herself even wider open and said, “And this is my fuck hole. That’s where your dad sticks his pecker and fucks me.”
The beauty of what I was seeing was spoiled by her words. I had seen what I had wanted to see but I continued to stare. My ears were burning and I know I had flushed bright red. I had not suspected my mother knew that word nor that she ever used it. I inched forward as I studied the folds of red flesh within her “fuck hole.” I wanted to tell her that I thought it was beautiful but I was struck dumb.
“Seen enough?” she asked as she continued to spread herself wide open. I didn’t answer because I was studying the position of her fingers so I could draw a picture from memory. Suddenly mother stood and I fell back on my haunches. She turned and picked up her clothes and left the room.
I immediately began to sketch what I had seen. Of course my drawing was in black and white and it did not do justice to the real thing. The drawing turned out to be nearly double life size. I was sure no one would ever be interested in looking at it but I also knew I would take it out every once in a while to remind me of what I had been allowed to look at.
I hid the drawing with others I had done and went looking for mother. I wanted to talk to her but as I looked in the kitchen I wondered what I would say to her. When I did not find her I saw her bedroom door open so I looked in. She was lying on her bed on top of the covers fully clothed. I then noted that she had a cloth over her eyes.
I quietly returned to my room, closed the door, and pulled out my new drawing. For the first time I thought of sticking my pecker in that fuck hole (not my mother’s.) I felt an erection coming on so I placed the drawing on the floor, dropped my jeans and shorts, and sat on the edge of the bed. As I looked down at my drawing I stroked my penis vigorously. Using tissues I caught all the semen and tossed the tissues in the waste basket. I continued to masturbate until I ejaculated two more time. I was getting very sore and I remembered mother warning me not to hurt myself.