“I see,” I nodded, most of that making perfect sense to me, especially the first part. Mom needed to balance these two very different, clearly contradictory sides, and I not only needed to allow that, but to go out of my way to help her do it. Which seemed to mean paradoxically that in order to be strong for her, sometimes I needed to be weak and vulnerable; but not too much so.
She continued, somehow reading my mind, “Achieving the balance is the tough part, especially when your sexual urges are so strong and virile at your age.”
“I’m always horny,” I agreed.
She looked down at my hard cock, “That’s part of your charm, at least for some of us. But for your mother you’ll need to learn to understand her needs, her desires and her own complexities.”
“That’s what I’m not sure about.”
“Remember my telling you about mental sexuality?”
“Kind of,” I said, having heard, but not necessarily absorbed, so much thought-provoking information from her.
“The mental part is different for men and women. For men it’s a ‘let’s do it’ thing, you’re stimulated simply by being. I mean, you’ll get hard from a cool breeze,” she explained teasingly.
“I will not,” I protested.
“Yeah, yeah,” she waved at me. “You get turned on by almost anything.”
“Okay, I’ll give you that: it is tough to argue,” I agreed after a moment’s thought.
“As I mentioned before, for women it’s the act itself that excites us. We get pleasure from pleasing others, since our psyche is controlled by the sexual act itself. Sucking cock isn’t primarily about the sensations of sucking cock, at its core it’s about giving pleasure to someone else, about giving one’s self to the act or to the man. It’s about fulfilling a natural hierarchy created by the Lord himself to serve as a caregiver for another. This could also apply when it’s between two women. The point is that women, by nature, by evolution, by creation, were born to please,” she summed up, as if this were just the way it is and has always been.
“All women?”
“Well, I’m grossly overgeneralizing in order to make my point, and there are exceptions to every rule, and at the moment I’m talking more about the inner woman than whether someone has a vagina or not, and everyone has at least some feminine traits on the inside so this applies in varying degrees to everyone. But disclaimers aside, what I’m describing applies pretty much to most women, and it absolutely applies both to your mother and to me,” she said, “if that’s as clear as mud,” as she poured herself another cup of coffee… black coffee… a cue that it was almost time for me to supply her with the homemade cream she liked so much.
“I see.”
“Now women are stimulated by visuals too,” she continued. “Your big fat cock is an appealing visual for a woman that stirs a fire inside, a fire that we often can’t control. Sure, we try. But the truth is that the more we deny our own inner carnal lust, the more miserable we become. The women you find who are the most miserable on the one hand or complete bitches on the other are almost always sexually unsatisfied or repressed, even if they don’t realise that’s the cause of their unhappiness.”
“You should host your own talk show: ‘Sex Talk’,” I only kind of joked.
“That would be a stimulating job,” she deadpanned. God, she was a funny woman.
“On that note, where’s your inner carnal lust level right now?” I asked, having pretty much recovered from my recent orgasm and feeling ready to make a second morning deposit.
“On a scale from one to ten: seventeen,” she quipped, just before I slid my cock in her mouth.
Ten minutes later I deposited a load into her open mouth, which she then spit into her coffee mug.
“I’m bringing you supper tonight,” I said.
“You really don’t have to,” she said, as she sipped her cum-flavoured coffee.
“What’s your favourite food?” I asked.
“Chinese of course,” she smiled.
“Not American sausage?” I asked.
“That’s more of a snack.”
“I’ve never been more insulted in my life,” I faked outrage.
“But a snack I could enjoy a few times a day,” she soothed.
“It is low on calories,” I tossed back to her, as I put my pants on.
“You’re going to be late again.”
“It’s too bad I can’t tell my teacher why.”
“Is your teacher a man or a woman?”
“A woman.”
“Then why not? Perhaps not in front of the class, but you could try whipping out that one-eyed monster you show to me all the time,” she smiled. “I imagine she’d understand immediately.”
“Something worth considering,” I laughed, wondering if it could really be that easy. I mean up until now it had been, yet my test cases had been a carefully selected few (selected by my Dad), so I still wasn’t at all confident about my own ability to seduce anyone from a standing start. Having proud possession of a big, fat cock was only a seductive weapon if the woman knew about it.
“Trust me,” she assured me. “She’d be on her knees begging for it.”
“That I’d like to see,” I said, thinking of Mrs. Camden, a larger Latina woman, with a wide butt and a cute face. The idea of her babbling incoherently in Spanish as I plunged into her ass was kind of hot.
“So would I,” she replied.
As it happened, it was Mrs. Camden’s class that I was only five minutes late for this time, and then I spent most the hour wondering what her lips would look like wrapped around my cock. Wondering what it would feel like to drill her big backdoor booty. She always dressed in a skirt that showcased her wide ass, but never nylons. That would have to change should she become my slut.
The day was uneventful, although I couldn’t help but admire (not in a sexual way this time) Heather, who in English class recited a poem she’d written about gender equality. A few kids snickered, a couple of them whispered lesbian; most weren’t even listening, but I saw her as being so brave.
Heather was considered a wallflower by most people in the school. She didn’t play sports, she wasn’t a cheerleader, she got marks as high as mine. Yet I saw her as far braver than any of them. Even though the poem expressed the fear of coming out in a sexist, shallow world, I didn’t think she was a lesbian, although there was no evidence to support the idea either that she wasn’t, or that she was straight. Mostly I just hoped probably selfishly, that she was straight.