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A Mom's way of rise her son

It was a beautiful, sunny morning. Despite the pull of the sun's hazy rays filtering through the blinds, I couldn't bring myself to get up. Not yet anyway. Saturday was my day to sleep in, even the first one of the month when my husband Ken celebrated his brief moment of manhood.

He had forgotten last month. No matter, I had been given to pleasuring myself regularly on Saturday mornings, and even on Sundays — such a delicious sin — and now preferred it. Even when Ken graced my sanctuary with his presence, I always continued after his triumph, sometimes starting before he had even left the room though I was careful not to be too obvious: I was old enough to know that the so-called stronger sex had certain sensitivities which were easily bruised.

On this particular morning, I was lying in bed waiting for my husband, resigned to tolerate his fumbling and so refraining from actually touching myself. Still, a pleasant glow was spreading between my hips in anticipation of my own slow, teasing manipulation. Why didn't he come in and get on with it?

I had heard him leave his room and go downstairs. Wistfully, I remembered the days when he wanted to fuck first and then eat. Now, fifteen minutes later, I was beginning to get more than a little impatient, I was becoming quite irritated.

Just come up and put your silly thing in for five minutes and get it over with, I thought, so I can pleasure myself before having a nice long bath.

The front door closed. I couldn't believe it. I twisted around on my elbow to look at my closed bedroom door, listened intently until I heard the sound of Ken's truck starting, then flopped down in exasperation. In his haste to get to his precious boat, he had forgotten me again, for the second time in a row. Two months!

I was so angry I bit my lip but gradually relaxed. Who needs him? I don't. Women can get along just fine without men. I scrunched up in the bed until, lying on my side like I was, I was almost in a fetal position. Pulling my legs up like that forced the hand dangling over my right hip between my legs. I straightened my legs a bit so I could retract my arm but the pressure of my hand reminded me of what I'd been thinking about before Ken's departure.

So who needs him? Now, where was I?

My hand nestled between my legs as I let my mind settle on that well-built young man who had given me the once over last week in the dress store while he was waiting for his pregnant wife to come out of the fitting room. We had exchanged smiles and I noticed him checking me out while I was appraising myself in the mirror. I don't know what had surprised me more, the fact that he was looking at a woman in her mid-forties, or the sudden tightening in my chest when I saw his eyes roving over my ass and legs.

I should have been offended but I wasn't. In fact, I liked it. I primped and preened in front of the mirror until his wife came out. When his wife began searching for another dress in the maternity section, I misbehaved. I picked out a daring little number and took it to the fitting room. I changed quickly but didn't exit until I heard his wife enter the cubicle next to me. Oh, what a bad girl.

I made quite a production in front of the mirror. I couldn't believe how obvious I was being, flaunting myself so outrageously, but he didn't seem to twig to what was going on. Just as well. Otherwise he probably would have approached me and made a proposition, just in time for his wife to come out, see it, and make an unpleasant scene.

His young eyes were glued on my body and I was simultaneously proud and relieved that I looked after myself. When the girl came over, smelling a sale, I stretched and twisted in front of her, discussing the dress, all for his benefit. It was really enjoyable, an absolutely delicious feeling. I hadn't had so much fun by myself for a long time. The young man's eyes kept straying back to me even after his wife appeared so I decided to leave before she discovered his indiscretion. I didn't want to hurt her feelings in her sensitive condition. I knew how she felt.

I bought both dresses. After all, if I looked good enough in it to attract the attention of a good-looking man fifteen years my junior, it must look good on me, right?

My mind flicked easily from memory to fantasy. The young man was magically in our living room. Somehow, I had let him in and he was admiring my body which for some reason was clad only in a nightie though it was the middle of the afternoon. My finger had been circling my pubes as my imagination ran wild, encouraged by my thumb brushing over my clit. Oh, that warm feeling was spreading already.

Too quick, Patricia. Take your time. You've got all morning.

Despite my reverie, I heard the faint noise of the door knob twisting. I slowed the pace of my finger but didn't stop it completely. I was sure Ken had left, why was he coming back? Had I mistaken Bill's truck next door for his? He hadn't been downstairs all along, had he?

Well, yes dear, he could very well have been. You think you would have heard with your finger twiddling yourself and your eyes devouring a young man's healthy body?

The door clicked open and was discretely pushed closed with the knob being carefully released to minimize any disturbance. Ken was sneaking in, trying not to wake me. Maybe he needed something in my room that he had forgotten and was trying not to wake me. But why would he shut the door if he was just fetching something?

Oh Ken. Please, just go.

I didn't want his impatient hands fumbling around with me, not now when my dream was just getting good. As my mind began to lose the image of the young man my senses refocused and became more acute, so much so that I could tell Ken was barefoot. The gentle lift of the covers behind me and the weight easing onto the bed confirmed my husband's intention. The last wisp of the young man disappeared from my thoughts.

Ok, Ken, but please get it over with quickly, I sighed to myself.

I pulled my hand away from between my legs and rested it on the outside of my hip. My nightdress had been dragged up to my hips but it was too late to do anything about that now. Anyway, if he found me bare and ready, maybe he'd get it over with even quicker than usual and leave me to my own devices all the sooner.

Yeah, right, I thought.

The morning was ruined and I knew it. I would probably just get up after Ken left to polish his boat, or whatever it was he did all weekend at the marina.

What the hell was he up to? He had shifted near me under the covers but not close enough to touch. Was it possible he was going to be super considerate and warm up before pressing his cold limbs against mine? No, don't be silly. That's not my Ken.

Now that I thought about it, I could tell he was holding the covers up and looking at me. What could he possibly be finding new to look at? The young man had looked at me but this wasn't anything like that. I didn't feel a tightening in my chest or any thrill zinging down my spine to warm my pelvis and tickle my womanhood. Nope, this just felt weird.

Come on, Ken. Shove your little thing in there like you usually do, huff and puff for five minutes, and be done with it, for Christ's sake!

But Ken remained still, just looking at me. I was about to 'wake up' and spoil whatever game he was playing when I finally felt the tentative caress of his fingers in the crook of my waist. They waited there, as if seeking permission to stay, or to move. I didn't know what to do, so I stayed still as if I was really sleeping. This was so different. Ken was usually quite matter-of-fact and just got on with satisfying himself. I was intrigued. What had brought this on? Had one of his boating buddies said something about how you have to treat a boat like a woman, gently, to convince her to do your bidding and bring you safely home, or some such nonsense? What the hell was this?

Ken's hand suddenly moved, briefly upward until his fingers met the swell of my breast, then down, along my waist and up onto my hip where it stopped as soon as it slid off my nightdress onto the bare skin of my upper thigh. There was a long pause, as if it was seeking permission to move again, then did, caressing the outside of my leg all the way down to my knee, leaving a strange, excited tingle all along my outer thigh. This was so unpredictable. His familiar but strange touch was very exciting. Frozen and inert on the outside, inside I was a seething cauldron of intrigue. What would he do next?

The hand dipped down behind my knee, swirled a finger around the soft, pulpy tissue there, then trailed up the underside of my thigh to the bulge of my buttock. There, it was joined by its brethren and, together with a palm, formed a cup which closed lovingly around my right cheek. He held it for a moment, as if sampling its weight and taking its measure, before slipping up to grasp it more firmly, culminating in a gentle squeeze. The jolt of that sensation was still bursting through to my tummy when the hand journeyed outward with a rubbery, clasping drag that pulled my cheek behind it, forcing my buttocks apart. He held me spread like that for several long seconds before casually allowing the upper half of my ass to slump back to meet its sister. His hand rested again, inert on my hip.

The slow, deliberate fondling of my ass raised the temperature in my whole pelvic region and set it aglow. Ever since we had first tried the spooning position years ago, Ken liked to enter me from behind while I was lying on my side, but he never played with my ass. I think the only reason he liked doing it that way was so he could avoid eye contact because he became excited so easily and finished so quickly. But this morning, he had definitely found a new game to play.

Ken's other hand squeezed under my waist. It startled me but I managed not to react, in keeping with my pretend sleeping state. The hand pushed further until it's fingers were able to curl up to encompass my left breast, clutching it in a gentle grip. The hand on my hip moved down but surprised me when it reversed direction and returned, underneath my raised nightdress. The surprise and the fact that I wasn't wearing panties sent a jolt into my juncture which, already sensitized by my own ministrations, twitched uncontrollably and when the fingers on the hand holding my breast closed around my nipple which immediately stiffened in response.

Oh, God Ken. Don't start too soon. Keep doing this for awhile, I prayed.

Ken's right hand slipped past my secret area, teasingly skirting the outside of my mound onto my belly, then up until his fingers pressed between my cleavage and closed around my other breast. He held my tits without any further massage but my nipples still became rock hard pinnacles in his fingers.

Pinch them, I begged in my mind. Roll them around and stretch them out. You never do that and I've always wanted you to.

I almost cried out when his fingers pinched my nipples and I bit my lip when they were rolled and tweaked. Was he ...
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