Josh Knows Best Ch. 09

Many thanks to JordanJohnson for his editing assistance. Any errors remaining are mine alone. Please enjoy. As always, let me know what works and what needs improvement.

Peace.



I groaned when I awoke the next morning. It took me a minute to realize it was Sunday. And another to realize even if it wasn’t, I was no longer a high school student. As that sense of relief and weirdness wafted over me, I remembered that neither mom nor I had work today. My groan gave way to a sigh and a smile.

I rolled over, looking for mom. She was lying on her side, back toward me, sheet kicked off. Her ponytail had come loose and her still dark hair was a mass of chaotic waves. Losing her hair during chemo hit us both hard. One would think, in the scheme of things, losing your hair would have been trivial. It was not.

Now I understand our grief over the loss of her hair was nothing but a synecdoche for the larger despair we felt over the incomprehensible unfairness of her cancer; of being parted from each other by fate rather than choice.

The coming tragedy was unimagined as I laid in bed that morning, one hand trailing lightly over her back, hip and butt. She murmured, still lost in sleep. I knew if I stayed in bed, I would wake her. She needed her rest more than I needed her body. I got out of bed, careful to avoid jostling her, and left the room as noiselessly as possible.

There was cold coffee left in the pot. I grabbed a glass and did my best to add a few ice cubes without making any noise. A healthy, or unhealthy, I suppose, dollop of half-n-half, plus the cold coffee and I was set.

Sitting on the sofa, atop the hand towel I now carried around as a matter of course, I set my iced coffee on the floor and picked up Old Filth. I had been happily surprised to see our small library had a copy. I was not sure if mom was serious about more skinny dipping, but Ms. Porter intrigued me. I want to have at least read one of the books she recommended.

I was not sure about it at first. It opened with what read more like stage directions than a novel. It did not take long before my apprehensions were left by the wayside. I had read nearly a hundred pages, the ice in my coffee long crunched into nothingness, when I realized mom was standing in front of me.

“You and your books,” she said with a smile.

“I think you’ll like it, too,” I offered as I rose and folded her into my arms. “Last night was amazing. Thank you.”

“I should thank you. I nearly allowed your father to ruin something I have found I enjoy. Quite a lot actually.” She stepped back and patted my chest twice with the flat of one hand. “Come on. I’ll make us breakfast.”

I wish I could tell you what we ate but I cannot. I am appalled at how little, how very little, we remember of our lives.

†

After breakfast, we showered together. We soaped each other’s bodies. Mom first. I rinsed her off and kissed her, fondling her breasts, her pussy. I coaxed her to put one foot up on the rim of the tub and knelt. I took my time, sucking and licking, until she came.

Another lost and, at the time, unappreciated facet of youth – the ability to kneel on hard surfaces and then get back up again without groaning.

Mom recovered then washed me. By then the hot water was beginning to fade. She shut off the shower but made no move to get out.

Pushing the shower curtain aside, she sat atop a folded towel on the rim of the tub. With soft hands, she guided me into position. One leg was between hers, the other foot rested on the edge of the tub.

She cupped my balls in one hand. She had trusted me with her ass. I trusted her with my balls. She fondled me, seemingly by magic knowing when to stop, when the ache of her squeezes and tugs became too intense.

Moving her hands and resting her cheek on my belly, she stoked my butt.

“Are you still sore?” she asked, kissing the point where my thigh merged into my lower belly.

“A little,” I admitted. “But only if I forget and scoot or lean hard against something. I don’t mind. It was fun.” I paused. “I’d like to do that again sometime.”

“Are you sure?”

I nodded. “Definitely. It was incredibly intense. The stinging and burning in my ass seemed to amp up every sensation yet, somehow, narrowed my focus.” I shook my head. I was not making sense. “I was aware of less but what I was aware of was more intense, more real.”

Mom nodded then tilted her body forward to take my cock in her mouth. I watched her cheeks flatten as my dick disappeared down her throat. She gazed up at me, watching me watch her. Pulling back, she bent forward and suck one ball into her mouth.

It hurt a little, especially when she sucked or tugged, but it was a good ache. She let that one go and then took the other in her mouth. All the while her hand floated over my cock.

I thought having my balls sucked on was my new experience for the day.

Nope.

She sat back and smiled at me. I tried to smile. Maybe I managed to. I don’t know. I was lost in the wonder of her smile and the feel of her hand on my cock.

“Turn around, Josh.”

I was confused but obeyed.

“Leaned against the wall.”

I did as she asked and waited. Her hands stroked the outside of my legs, up over my hips.

She kissed the cheek of my butt.

“Did I spank you too hard, love?”

“No, ma’am. I deserved it,” I whispered.

“Perhaps,” she whispered back as her kisses continued.

Her hands went to my butt cheeks. “Arch your back a little, baby,” she instructed. She spread my cheeks.

She kissed my hole.

I freaked and jerked away and twisted to look at her. She was still smiling but there was a hint of challenge behind the smile.

“I want to show you how good it feels,” she said, rubbing the sides of my legs again. “I washed you. You’re all clean.” She cocked her head and the smile faded. “And it’s not gay, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

I didn’t say anything but, like a sorceress, she was always able to read my thoughts.

“Oh, Joshua. How silly. Really? You have the same nerve endings in your perineum as I do. Just as you have the nerves in your nipples. You enjoyed me playing with your nipples. I don’t have to ask if that is true; it was obvious. Was enjoying that gay?” She continued to rub my legs. “I think you would enjoy it but if you would rather not, I understand.”

“You won’t put anything in me? Your finger or anything?”

The smile re-blossomed. “Not until you ask me too,” she said, with the most adorable smirk on her face.

I nodded, turned, and leaned into the wall.

As was often the case, she was right. I did enjoy it. I enjoyed it more when she reached between my legs and fondle my balls. More still when she reached around and began to stroke me.

I came, hard, with mom tonguing my butt.

This one memory I am absolutely sure of.

†

“Stop over thinking it,” mom told me, once more reading my mind.

Breakfast over, we were sitting at the table sipping a second cup of coffee.

“You get that from me,” she continued. “Having your butt played, and enjoying it, does not mean you are gay. If you were imagining Jeff playing with your butt, you might be. Were you imaging Jeff rimming you?”

“God, no!” I spluttered, almost choking on my coffee.

“Leonardo DiCaprio? Keanu?”

“You’re showing your age, mom. Those guys are no longer hot.”

“Ouch,” she chuckled. “Go for the throat why don’t you? I beg to differ. And my point remains valid.” She stood up. “Let’s go to the lake. What do you say?”

“Cool. Excellent. Let’s do it.”

It did not take long to get ready. The day was beautiful. The sun was about halfway to the top of the sky when we spread out our blanket. No one was there.

We took a swim. The water still carried winter’s chill, which made mom’s nipples nearly irresistible but since we were out in public, I managed to control myself. I was ready to get out after a few minutes. I’ve never been much of a swimmer. Mom loved the water. She began to swim laps across the inlet.

I was toweling off my hair when I heard Ms. Porter call out a greeting. I lowered the towel and returned the greeting before I finished drying off. I made myself comfortable on the blanket, watching the sky flicker beyond the swaying tree branches, while Ms. Porter situated herself.

When I could tell she had settled herself on her towel I sat up and reached for my backpack. I retrieved Old Filth and turned to show her.

“I’m about halfway through it,” I told her.

“And?” she replied.

“I love it.”

“Why?”

“Eddie has had this amazing life and everyone thinks he’s just a boring old fuddy duddy. The author drops all these hints, at random, and so far, hasn’t returned to them. She is telling the reader there is even more to his life than she’s revealing. I’m beginning to wonder if she ever will. Perhaps, just as in life, there will be parts of Eddie we will never actually know, only suspect.”

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it. I’ll say no more. The other two books in the trilogy are good but that one is my favorite.”

“I should have known you would be talking books,” mom called as she made her way through the grass, looking gorgeous, body jeweled with beads of water that sparkled in the sun.

“Hello, Janice,” Ms. Porter replied. “Of course, we’re talking about books. What else is there to talk about? I refuse to allow politics to enter the conversation. Likewise, religion. I don’t watch TV and it seems the only movies being made are from comic books, entertaining enough I suppose but hardly the sort of thing one can sink one’s conversational teeth into.”

Mom chuckled politely and after finishing toweling off her body sat down on the blanket, a respectable distance from me.

“So, Joshua, how does it feel to be a high school graduate?” Ms. Porter asked.

“Strange, stranger than I expected,” I admitted. “Kind of sad.”

She nodded then turned to rummage through her bag for her own book. “Wait until you wake up and realized high school was almost fifty years ago.”

It’s only been thirty years but sweet Jesus she was right. I catch myself looking in the mirror and wonder how the fuck can I be forty-eight-years-old? It seems impossible. I don’t have forty-eight years’ worth of memories.