I stayed by Barbara’s sides for the next three days. I propped her up and
made her drink water even when she didn’t want to. I helped her to the
bathroom and of course I lit her cigarettes. She was too weak to hold them
by her self and in spite of her condition; her body still craved the
nicotine. I’d place the cigarette between her lips so she could take a puff
and quite often I’d take a puff for my self.
Barbara smoked her last cigarette on Saturday morning at 8:12. She breathed
her last breath two minutes later. I climbed into bed beside her and held
her body close to mine until the coldness of it reassured me that she had
finally left this world. I called 911. I didn’t expect them to do any thing
for her, but I knew some one would need a death certificate and doctors
didn’t do house calls. After telling the operator that my wife had died
quietly in bed, I hung up the phone and dialed my mother to give her the
news.
We buried Barbara on Monday. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky and it was hot
as hell and every one sweated through the service. My mother never left my
side. She could see that I was taking Barbara’s death very hard and refused
to let me go back alone to the home I had shared with her. She insisted
that I move back in with her until I felt better. I didn’t put up a fight.
As soon as we got to her house, I went to my old bedroom and plopped down
on the bed. I hadn’t had a cigarette for six hours and I wanted one badly
but then again, I also wanted to die. After a couple of hours of lying
there, I heard my mother knock on the door. She asked if there was any
thing I needed. I told her I was fine. She came back a couple of minutes
later with a pack of cigarettes and an ashtray. “I thought you might need
these,” she said.
I didn’t acknowledge her. I supposed Barbara had told her that I had
started smoking. God only knew what else she had told her. My mom sat down
on the bed beside me and lit a cigarette and then she handed it to me. I
took it without speaking and she lit another for her self. It was a
Virginia Slim regular. It was strong like the cigarettes Barbara and I had
smoked but of course it wasn’t menthol. I didn’t complain. My mom and I
smoked her Virginia Slims in silence and fully clothed on my bed. But I
couldn’t get Barbara’s words out of my mind. I wondered what else she had
told my mother.
A couple of hours later my mother returned. This time she had a roast beef
sandwich and a glass of Pepsi. She sat on the edge of the bed and smoked
while I ate. She asked me how I felt and I told her I was doing better.
The next morning I felt good enough to put on some pajamas and come out of
my room. My mother was sitting at the kitchen table drinking coffee and
reading the newspaper. She was wearing a dark blue silk and lace nightgown,
the kind I liked to see on Barbara. We said good morning to each other and
I poured my self a cup of coffee and sat down beside her. She pushed her
pack of Virginia Slims toward me and told me she would go to the store
today and buy me a carton of Benson & Hedges Menthols. I told her I would
appreciate that.
I tried not to look directly at my mom as she smoked in her silky
nightgown. She was a beautiful woman, but I wasn’t ready to think of her as
any thing else except my mother. I had never come straight out and thought
of my mom the way Barbara had described my feelings for her. But everything
she said was true and I had substituted Barbara to fulfill the desires I
had for my mother. I could only hope Barbara had been more discreet with
her than she had been with me.
Even though I wasn’t trying, I caught a glimpse of my mother’s breast
through her V-cut gown. My stomach felt eerily sick as I momentarily
admired it. She was a short woman with large breasts. She was out of
proportion but I had never heard any one complain. Of course what kind of
person talks to a guy about his mother’s breasts. For that matter, what
kind of guy thinks about his mother’s breasts? She coughed and cleared her
throat. The noise brought me back. She told me that she was going to get
dressed and go to the store. Then she leaned forward and kissed me, not on
the cheek like she usually did but on the lips. I smelled her tobacco-laden
breath as she kissed me and I hated my self for loving the way her sweet
breath smelled.
I should have got dressed when she did, but instead I made my
self-comfortable on the couch and watched soap operas and thought about
Barbara while I smoked my mother’s Virginia Slims until she got back from
the store with my Benson & Hedges. It was all so weird. I thought about
being 15 and my mom and Aunt Barbara yelling at me and lecturing me about
smoking. My mom had just bought me a carton of cigarettes and smiled at me
when she handed me a pack.
After dinner, my mom told me she was going to take her make-up off and put
on her nightgown and suggested we could watch some TV on the couch before
going to bed. I grunted OK and took my place in front of the TV and waited
for her.
Mom came back about 20 minutes later wearing the same nightgown I had seen
her in at breakfast. She looked beautiful but I didn’t say so. She sat down
beside me so close that our shoulders were touching and then she pulled a
cigarette from her pack and asked me for a light.
I lit my mother’s cigarette and felt my penis stiffen under my pajamas. I
hoped she didn’t see what I felt. And I wondered what Barbara had told her.
I didn’t have to wait long.
“I know Barbara was very sick at the end” she said. “When was the last time
you two were able to have sex?”
“I don’t know. A couple of weeks ago, I guess. I really haven’t thought
about.” I said. I couldn’t believe it. My mom had just asked me when was
the last time I had had sex and I answered her.
“It’s been more than a couple weeks for me”, she said. “More like three
years. I really miss it”, she said.
I stared silently toward the TV in disbelief as I listened to what my
mother said. She was coming on to me. The reality of the situation was
fucking with my mind. I was sitting on the couch smoking with my mom and we
were dressed for bed and she was coming on to me. I felt her hand come to
rest on my thigh and I didn’t flinch. It moved across my groin and stopped
on my penis. I didn’t move. A huge puff of my mother’s smoke wafted across
my face. I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply. It smelled so sweet and my
penis grew larger.
I turned to face her just as she was pulling her cigarette away. I touched
my lips to hers and opened wide to inhale her smoke. I was kissing my
mother and she tasted wonderful. I was out of breath when she pulled away.
She stood up and reached out to me. I took her hand and followed her to her
bedroom.
She smiled shyly as she pulled back the sheets and climbed between them. I
pulled off my pajamas and climbed in after her and took her in my arms. We
kissed and caressed each other’s bodies for at least an hour before she
reached for a pack of cigarettes. I took her cue and lit one for my self
and then I positioned my self on top of her.
I can’t imagine what we must have looked like. A mother and her son chain
smoking in the missionary position. Our exhales met in the middle and
combined to make one cloud between us.
I had always enjoyed making love to Aunt Barbara and she was wonderful in
bed, but this was the real thing. My mother spread her legs wide and
welcomed me back home. She flinched just a little and bore down on her
cigarette as I entered her. Her eyes grew big with amazement. I started out
slowly but deeply giving us time to smoke several cigarettes. It felt so
wonderful from start to finish. I would have given any thing for it to
never end.
My mother came first. Smoke spewed from her nostrils as she thrust her hips
into mine and I followed her lead rearing back. I felt like a young
stallion snorting steam on a brisk winters day. I felt powerful until the
orgasm slowly faded, leaving me weak and vulnerable. I collapsed in a heap
by mother’s side as she panted, trying to catch her breath.
We shared a cigarette together as she cuddled up next to me. When we
finished our cigarettes, she lit another and without speaking pulled me to
her breasts so I could suckle while she smoked.
She fell asleep in my arms and it was the most restful and peaceful sleep
of my life.
Barbara was right. My mother made me and we were made for each other. I
settled Aunt Barbara’s affairs and my mother and I sold our houses. We
moved across the country almost a year ago where we live as husband and
wife. Of course we’re not married but we have the same last name and what
people don’t know won’t hurt them.
Of course behind closed doors we’re not husband and wife. I’ll always be
her son and she’ll always be my mother. But we’re lovers all the same.
The orgasmic smoking thing is still new to mom and she can’t get enough of
it and I’m not complaining. We’ve both stared smoking a lot more since we
moved out west. Mom’s up to five packs a day. I’d love to smoke more too
but she limits me to three packs a day except for weekends. What can I say?
She’s my mom.
The End