It was about 2.30 on that warm Thursday afternoon when I walked into my bedroom after having a shower and, since I was a 72 year old grandmother living quite alone since the death of my husband some 12 years earlier, I didn’t need to be modest when it came to walking around the house naked.
Walking passed the dressing table I caught sight of the reflection of my body, in the mirror, and I smiled at what I saw. Okay my breasts were a bit on the saggy side but they had fed a couple of kids when all said and done. The dark pubic hair around my vagina I’d had as a youngster, of which I was very proud, had turned a delicate shade of grey. My sex drive had almost vanished to the point of being non‑existent but occasionally, like about once a year, I’d be reminded of the good times with my husband George.
Knowing that I was having such a moment I closed my eyes and remembered the way he’d cup both of my large breasts before sucking on the nipples in turn. As I began to pant; my left hand moved down between my legs until locating the entrance to my dry vagina. Realising that it might take a while, age and dryness playing a big part, I opened the bottom drawer of my bedside cupboard and searched until finding the one piece of equipment I desperately needed. Now ready I soon located the small jar of lubricant and got onto the bed. As if doing it for George I smeared the gel onto the vibrator and cautiously spread my thighs wanting to start pushing it into my vagina.
I’m not sure how long it took but eventually it just seemed to slip in and out with no trouble at all. Imagining that it was George’s stiff cock I started to roll a nipple hoping that I’d achieve an orgasm. Not sure how long I was doing this but something made me open my eyes. Talk about embarrassment. There in the doorway stood my 50 year old son, looking at me.
“Sorry mum,” he apologised, never taking his eyes off my breasts, “But when I walked in I heard strange noises coming from upstairs and thought you’d maybe hurt yourself.”
“And being a good boy you’d come and investigate,” I half laughed hoping that he wouldn’t be too shocked at seeing his mother masturbating. “Anyway, how long have you been standing there watching me?”
“I’ve only just got here,” he answered and when I looked at him noticed that there seemed to be little expansion in the groin region and was probably telling the truth.
Why I said the next sentence I’ll never know but say it I did, “Have you never imagined me doing something like this.”
“To be honest,” he gulped moving his gaze until staring at the way I still had the vibrator pushed up my vagina. “No.”
“But why,” I asked while gently pulling the vibrator out but keeping my legs wide apart so that he could have a good look and maybe admire what was there.
“It’s not something a son does,” he admitted still looking at the way my vagina remained open. “Thinking about their parents having sex.”
“How d’yer think you got your younger sister,” I half laughed. “The stork brought her one dark winter’s night?”
“I do realise that you and dad must have been having sex,” he stuttered, “But I just didn’t want to imagine you doing it.”
“But,” I smiled looking at him and noticing the slightly larger large bulge in his trousers. “You’ve just been watching me using a vibrator.”
“I know,” he admitted rather weakly. “And I really shouldn’t have been looking at what you were doing.”
“Haven’t you ever watched Janet using one,” I asked.
“Of course I have,” he lamely shrugs. “But that’s different.”
“Why?”
“She’s my wife,” he answered.
“And do you like watching her,” I ask.
“Of course I do.”
“So what’s the difference?”
Hearing the question he looked into my eyes, gave the broad smile of a small boy and answered somewhat reluctantly.
“It’s a sex game we now play,” he grinned with his eyes closed.
