You know. There is some argument to be had regarding the type of thing that is and is not ok for mothers to do with their kids. Should you, for instance, offer your kids alcohol as a parent, or is it better to pretend that alcohol is evil and never let them touch it?
It’s a weird sort of thing where it seems like it makes sense to be as obstructive as possible, taking all the bad things out of a child’s life and keep all of the good things, but realizing that it comes at the risk of stunting your child’s social and personal development.
With that said, I am actually twenty. And my mom is almost fourty. Her parents had raised her with the belief that one day she would become an adult, but that this day was not today.
So it was a mix of her being informed about sex and drugs and alcohol, but strictly prohibited from talking about it herself.
The result was that after last night’s little happenstance, she felt like she had no idea what she was supposed to do, was extremely anxious about the fact that it had happened, and also a bit nauseous since apparently she had half a bottle of wine even before she’d woken us up for dinner.
“Listen.” I said, pacing thee living room, wearing only my underwear as though to add weight to what I was about to say. “Yesterday was pretty great. I understand all of the implications of last night. Don’t think that I don’t.”
Sveta’s eyes followed me, patiently listening to what I was saying.
“But with those implications in mind, I still do not actually see any real moral or ethical or otherwise issue with what we did.”
“I’m a terrible person.” mom groaned, looking out the window. She was biting her nails and trying to keep her eyes open. “I should have put my foot down. Or closed my legs. Or something.”
“No, listen. Listen.” It was only five in the morning and even though I had managed to sleep for something close to four hours, I felt like there was still some alcohol left in my system. “Listen. A bad person … kills people. Or steals stuff. Right?”
“Right.” Sveta nodded in my support.
“A good person does good things.” I continued, losing some confidence in my ability to conclude this train of thought.
“Right!” Sveta nodded again. “And last night was good! I think it was good.”
“Oh shut up you two.” mom snapped. “This can and will never happen again. We won’t talk about it. This didn’t happen. Do you two understand?”
“That … just feels like such a waste.” I said, crossing my arms across my chest. “That feels like a major step backwards. I’m not saying that we need to have joint masturbation sessions or anything, but what we had yesterday was an amazing night together. We should at least be able to talk about it.”
“Mind your language.” mom said, but with a bit less conviction. “I can’t be the … crazy neighbourhood lady that marries her own children and lives off of their salary and you see her in the backgrounds of pictures that you take with your friends and she just creepily stalks people, rubbing her cooch on trees and lamp posts.”
“No, you can’t.” I agreed. “But that’s not what’s going on either.”
“I think you were really nice last night.” Sveta added. “It wasn’t weird at all, not after the initial … you know, surprise.”
Mom threw her hands up in the air, but couldn’t think of anything to say so she just stalked out of the room into her bedroom, shutting the door behind her.
Sveta and I exchanged glances and shrugged. We’d have to sit that one out, it seemed.
I slumped down on the couch next to Sveta. She was wearing her t-shirt and panties, but nothing else on.
“I can’t sleep right now.” I sighed, rubbing my eyes. “I feel like we have to deal with this today.”
“You were the one that said that time … something about time. How it solves problems.”
“Time changes perspective.” I nodded. “That’s true I guess. Speaking of which, what is your plan with your parents? I never got the full story on what happened yesterday.”
“Yeah. I didn’t want to talk about it.” she nodded and looked away. “They are … they are … just so fucking difficult to talk to.”
I could hear the frustration in her voice. Her hands were clenched into fists and though she didn’t realize it, for a split second, I saw real anger on her face.
“I know that they really care about me.” she said finally, looking at me. “If I didn’t know that, I would have run away years ago. But they care. They work so hard to make my life better. But everything they do is just another complication for me to deal with, you know?
For instance. Two years ago, when I was graduating high-school and starting to learn some basic programing, they bought a summer house in south of Sweden. Their idea was that it would be fun for me to relax, swim in the pool, hike in the forest.
In autumn of that year, I started university and was up to my neck in work. Not even homework, just a ton of work at university. Projects that took hundreds of hours of work to complete.
Can you guess where I am going with this?” she asked, pausing for an answer.
“So. I guess while you were busy working, they wanted for you to relax and send you out to the summer house?” I guessed correctly.
“Exactly. Every weekend I agreed to go with them to that fucking place on the condition that I could bring my laptop. Every weekend we would have this war about me bringing a laptop. They don’t believe that what I am doing is work. They seem to think that C and assembly are just video games. I have tried time and time again to beat into their heads that everything in the world is now run by computers, but for some bizarre, messed up reason they are convinced that it’s all just science fiction.”
She was getting more and more heated, louder and louder the longer she spoke.
I nuzzled my face into the crevice of her neck and kissed her there. It was as though I had turned a valve to let out steam, I could feel her calm down instantly. Flipped a switch to calm the storm.
“I see why it’s a problem.” I nodded. “Would it help if you tried to suggest things that they could do that would actually help you? Rather than just shoot down the things that they are doing already?”
“Not really. Their whole issue is that they want me to be a lawyer or something like that. A profession that they recognize. I’ve pointed out that even if I was to be a lawyer, I would still be using a laptop. But they do this annoying thing where they just smile and shake their head like I don’t know what I’m talking about. ‘Lawyers don’t have to use a computer if they have a degree.’” she said that final part mockingly. “It’s like they both had one wish granted to them, and what they wished for was an additional chromosome.”
“That’s mean!” I laughed. “I’m stealing that.”
“Feel free to use it.” she said, but with no real humour. “But that’s why I don’t want to see you and your mother get into a fight over this. Don’t get me wrong, last night was fucked up. But it also kind of wasn’t. I can’t put my finger on when exactly it all became so sexual, but it felt surprisingly natural. At least you two talk in a way I can comprehend. You’re not aliens, you’re just confused.”
“Well gee, thanks.” I said sarcastically, taking the criticism on the chin.
“You know what I mean.” she just waved me away. “I want things to be good between you and your mother. I don’t know how I can help.”
“Right now, let’s just not … push things. Let’s stay around here, be accessible and approachable for further conversation. And let’s make coffee.”
I got up to turn the kettle on and perform that little bit of chemistry, where I would mix coffee powder with sugar powder. The moment when the two mixed made me feel like I was performing a science experiment.
But as I got back to the couch, Sveta was already asleep. This created a dilemma. On the one hand, waking up to smell of fresh coffee is one of life’s treats. It’s like God was sitting one day, thinking “Their lives look miserable. How can I up their standard of life to keep them from revolting? Hmm. Oh, I know, coffee in the morning.”
But on the other hand, she looked so sweet, snoozing there on the couch.
As my heart couldn’t bear the thought of waking her up, I put the coffee on the kitchen bench and grabbed the covers from my bed to cover her up, keep her nice and warm.
After that was done I sat down on a chair in the kitchen and surveyed the land. There were clothes more or less everywhere. My clothes-filing system – where I had dropped clothes into one pile on the floor – had failed me, since that pile had somehow gotten strewn around the room.
I took a sip of coffee.
How had we even managed to land my bra on one of the cushions? It looked almost like someone had picked it up after the fact. Why would someone pick my bra up?
I imagined Sveta picking it up, looking around the room to check if anyone was watching and then sniffing it.
I took another sip of coffee.
Although I’d never walked around the house wearing nothing but panties, it felt surprisingly comfortable and natural to me right now to sit in the kitchen, wearing next to nothing. I lifted the warm cup of coffee up to my left nipple and felt a nice, warm feeling spread through the whole tit. It felt surprisingly good. Is there anything coffee can’t do?
I took a third sip.
I was sitting in a kind of ‘manspreading’ position, leaning forward slightly with my legs apart. I hadn’t planned to masturbate right now, and it didn’t really feel like this was a good time for it, but as I shifted around on the chair, I felt with my soft, sensitive mound pressing against the flat shape of the chair. Somehow – having only my panties between me and the chair made it really erotic for me.
Looking up at Sveta and then at mom’s room’s door to confirm that they weren’t watching, I took my panties off completely.
I took a second to appreciate the feeling of being completely naked in the kitchen, drinking coffee. I’d never actually done this before. I looked out the window, at the people – well, at the one person – walking around. Life was still normal, this wasn’t the end of the world.
Out of curiosity, I put the cup of coffee to my crotch. The warmth of the cup made me sigh in pleasure. For a moment I just sat there, nursing the cup between my legs, slowly moving it up and down.
Last night I’d had the opportunity to taste some grade-A vagina, but I hadn’t tasted mine – was the thought that occurred to me, as I was sitting with a warm cup of coffee pressing up against my cooch. Looking up again to make sure that no one was watching, I pick up the spoon from the cup of coffee. Turning the spoon so that it was turned a bit like a key, I slowly pushed it into my vagina.
Once it was inside, I turned it horizontally and scooped out some of the juices. It would now be mixed with the taste of coffee, but as far as I was concerned, that was a major improvement anyway.
I licked the spoon.
It wasn’t bad. I mean, it wasn’t anything amazing, but it was alright. It tasted kind of like how a vagina is supposed to taste.
I ran a finger along the labia, slowly playing with the juices that had been produced down there. It felt really good, sending up signals of pleasure that spread through my spine.
I pressed my palm against the upper part of my crotch, massaging the general area of the clit. I was so wet at this point that even with small movement, I could still hear wet sounds coming from my vagina.
Letting my thumb keep the pressure on the clit, I moved my index finger into my vagina and then rubbed with both thumb and index finger.
Though I didn’t really have a set routine for how I masturbated, this method was one I would often use. There was something about one finger being on the outside and one on the inside, as they rubbed the flesh in between, that was incredibly erotic to me.
My other hand played with my nipples, pinching them lightly and pressing them into my chest. It was nice to feel the warmth of my hand against my bosom and the pinching sent off tiny waves of pleasure through my body.
I added a second finger to my vagina and starter rubbing faster and harder. I hadn’t sat down to drink the cup of coffee with the intention to masturbate, but there was no going back now. Like the soldiers sitting inside of the Trojan horse, I couldn’t just leave. I had to finish what I’d started.
My hand moved faster and with increased intensity, squelching sounds came from my vagina with every movement of my hand. I looked up to see if anyone noticed, but the apartment was quiet. Normally I would be terrified of the idea of getting caught, but right now that same idea just made me even hornier. I didn’t know, to be honest, what my mom’s reaction would be if she came out of her room right now to find me masturbating, my panties on the kitchen table. But according to my horny, juvenile imagination – there were a lot of good things that could end up taking place.
She could come over to me and hug me from behind, her large, soft breasts pressing up against me. She’d grab one of my tits and massage it. Her other hand would stroke my head. And my cheek. And then she would put a finger in my mouth to let me suck it.
I was so incredibly close to an orgasm right now, my fingers had lost all sense of order down there and were basically going berserk on my vagina, my left hand pressing my labia as my right hand moved in and out, simulating the feeling of getting fucked.
My imagination asked for a few more seconds to finish the scenario, but my vagina told it to just shut up for a second.
I bent double as I came, my body shaking with the orgasm. I lost all sense of spacial awareness and almost fell off of the chair I was sitting on as my vision went red for a few seconds.
“Holy Jesus.” I said, or maybe whimpered.
As far as random orgasms go, this was one of the better ones. Absolutely somewhere up near the top. I looked down at myself and noticed the pool of juices on the chair. Damn it. I got up and grabbed a few tissues to wipe it off, but in the process my post-orgasm juices ran down my leg.
I quickly wiped those up too and decided that the right thing to do right now was to take a shower.
As the hot water covered my skin, the warm jets stimulating my scalp, the heat of the water loosening tension in my shoulders, the lack of sleep finally started catching up to me. I swayed in the shower much like how a tree sways in a nuclear blast, almost slipping and falling once or twice. But I prevailed.
For some reason I felt like shampoo was a terribly irritating thing to use in this moment, and so I went for regular soap to wash the key areas – arm pits, bum and crotch, but let the water take care of the rest on its own. Hell, I was clean enough, right?
The longer I stood in the shower the more I let my mind wander and unwrap itself. And the more it unwrapped the more anxious I became.
Shit. I fingered my mom.
My girlfriend ate my mom’s vagina. Shit.
What did this mean for me and Sveta? Had we technically cheated on each other? Would she expect more attention from my mom in the future? Should she?
And what would mom do now? I tried picturing myself in her position and realized that I couldn’t. I had no idea what she was thinking right now.
She had seen me grow from a teeny-tiny girl into the woman I am right now. I say ‘woman’, but that term is probably contested.
The stereotype of a teenager – and I am not a teenager, having finally reached my glorious twenties – is that we yearn to be seen as adults. But I’ve never been like that. I never asked for more authority or acceptance. I was fine, really, with being told what to do – as long as what I was told made sense. I’ve always been fine with being the younger, less experienced person. In a way, that made things more liberating, gave me more leeway to do whatever I wanted. If I was told to clean my room, the task itself was pretty straight forward, but the parameters were set by myself.
What that meant was that I could easily just refurnish my room instead. I could throw everything in the room out, or swap out my bed for a futon, fill my room with boxes or turn it into a painting studio. There was no real ‘fail condition’. And the person who’d given me the command – ie my mom – would have to deal with the consequences of my actions based on her instructions to me.
So having never really seen myself as an adult – beyond the biological aspects, like pubic hair and menstruation – I couldn’t really imagine what mom was going through right now. Was she feeling like she had been dis-empowered? Maybe that she had somehow been cheated or tricked into engaging in sexual activity with me and Sveta? Like we had ganged up on her?
I shook my head and turned off the water. Thinking about these things in isolation never did any good. With no new information I had no way to form an accurate view of the situation. In fact, the only way for me to know what she was thinking was to ask her.
Bracing myself for whatever might happen in there, I put on a t-shirt and one of my long skirts. One that could be unclasped at the waist a bit like a curtain, rather than forcing me to bend over to put it on over my legs.
I knocked on mom’s door and entered after a heart-beat’s pause.
“Oh.” I stopped and looked, frozen in the doorway.
“Don’t worry, I’m not doing anything crazy.” mom sighed, as she put a dress on the bed. “I’m off to work in one hour, I don’t want to look too homeless.”
“Ok.” I said, still working words into my mouth. Though I’d seen quite a lot of her last night, I hadn’t really seen her fully in the nude before. Well, almost fully nude – she was wearing black stockings. “Wait, you’re working today?”
“Well, it’s a monday.” she said. “You have school today too, don’t forget that.”
“That’s awful.” I groaned. “I’m dead tired. But I wanted to talk to you ...”
She stopped what she was doing and sat down on the bed.
“I know.” she said. “But I don’t … I feel like we don’t have time for it right now.”
“I just need to know what you’re thinking!” I said quickly. “I don’t want you to go to work thinking like you’d done something bad. But I also don’t want to be sitting here, thinking that I’ve taken advantage of you. I don’t know what you’re thinking. And I need to be sure that you’re not stuck in … in some kind of a negative loop.”
“You taking advantage of me?” she said in a surprised tone of voice. She rubbed her eyes and swept her hair back, as though to let air cool her head. “I … I have needed something. Something that could make me feel good. Being a single mom is hard. Being a single woman is hard. I always feel like I should put you first in every situation and myself last. But … at the same time, I feel like I haven’t actually changed as a person. Even though I don’t sleep around with men, doesn’t mean that those urges have vanished somewhere.”
“You know I wouldn’t stop you if you wanted to be with someone.” I said, just adding to the conversation.
“I know. That’s why I make that choice myself.” she nodded. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m really stupid. But what happened yesterday was in no way your fault. I just needed it so goddamn bad that I couldn’t put my foot down.”
“You know.” I said, sitting down next to her on the bed. Although I’d just masturbated, the heat of her naked, gorgeous body made my crotch heat up again. I decided not to ignore it for now. “I thought that – as it was happening – that I’d been given this amazing gift. I couldn’t believe my fortune that I would be able to do something like this with you. For years we’ve just been mother and daughter. Just arbitrarily aloof, never quite connecting. But yesterday we connected. We connected so hard. I don’t want us to go back to how it was. I want us to remain close. And if we get more out of it -...” I took a chance and put my hand on her inner thigh. “…- then that’s just great.”
I let my hand move up to her crotch and then back down again, slightly brushing it, not ignoring my vaginal instincts any more. And she wasn’t moving away. She seemed to be so deep in thought that I wasn’t sure that she even noticed my hand.
“And even if you don’t want to be intimate with me, and I understand if you don’t by the way, I still don’t want us to go back to being just mother and daughter. I like how it is. How we can talk freely now.”
“I mean, I thought we were pretty close before. We’d always joke and so on.” she said after a while.
“Yeah. I guess. But all we ever talked about was school and work. About how you and dad didn’t get along. You gotta admit, none of those three topics inspire extended discussion.”
I felt her thighs clench and release, but then reluctantly she put her hand on mine and moved it away from her crotch.
“Then taking sex out of the equation for a second … what would you like us to do more of?” she asked, looking at me.
“Mom, I don’t want this to be a chore or a check-box for you to tick off!” I said, trying to explain to her what meant. “I just want us to have some shared interests. Clearly we have similar sexual preferences. But I don’t know anything else about you because we’ve never taken the time to talk about it. Even though we’ve lived together my whole life. I think that’s a bit fucked up.”
“Language. But I guess I see what you mean. Maybe we can talk more about this when I come back home from work?” she asked. “I really need to get ready.”
“Ok, but mom?”
“Yeah?”
“I want to leave you with something nice to think of at work, alright?”
“Sure..?” she said, her eyes getting suspicious.
Very slowly and carefully, maintaining eye-contact with her, I went down on my knees. She still didn’t seem to know what I was doing. I moved to sit right in front of her. I put my hands on her knees. I parted her knees and as I did, realization dawned on her.
“Oh honey no … not now!” she whispered in a conflicted tone of voice. “Let’s not right now!”
“It’s a present!” I whispered back. “A present for me.”
As her knees parted, the perfumed smell of her vagina overwhelmed my senses. It was a powerful, warm scent that was partly her natural lubricant built from sexual excitement and partly her regular perfume that had become, to me, her trademark scent. I inhaled deeply as I moved my head in towards her vagina. My tongue reached out and licked along her labia, tasting her flesh and underneath it the surprising amount of liquid that had built up.
I let my nose flick over the top of her mound, right over where her clit was hidden.
Her mound was like a plump peach, it stood out as quite as quite a bulge. For a moment I let my face get buried in it before pulling back slightly to resume licking.
I let my tongue penetrate her and lick from the bottom up, putting pressure on the clitoris with every lick.
Having only tasted two vaginas in my life, well three if my little tea spoon experiment earlier today counted, I didn’t really know the full range of tastes on these things, but I knew that what I had tasted so far wasn’t bad. But it also wasn’t amazing. The erotic feeling of eating a vagina was what really made the experience worth while. Knowing that I was bringing pleasure to someone else was a fantastic experience in and of itself. But tastes were those of vaginas, there’s no getting around that fact.
I felt mom put her hands on top of my head, and though she gently gripped my hair, she didn’t put any additional pressure. Playing along, I moved my head deeper in, adding more force, more pressure. Letting my tongue go as far in as it could, essentially using my tongue as a cock, moving it in and out, focusing on as much positive friction as possible, focusing on adding pressure to her clit.
“Oooh yes.” I heard from above me, a moan of pleasure. “Can you move up and down a bit more?”
I was happy to comply, moving my face up and down, letting the tip of my nose rub lightly against her slit. Up and down, creating even more pleasurable friction, spreading the juices across my face. Though I slightly regretted taking a shower before doing this, I also felt like this was one hundred percent worth it.
My mom’s thighs clenched, holding my head in place, keeping me there to make sure that I wouldn’t pull out, not that I’d dream of it, and she hunched over, the tips of her breasts resting on the top of my head as she moaned under her breath, breathing heavily.
As her orgasm passed, her leg muscles trembled, clenching and releasing, before she completely relaxed and threw herself back on the bed.
“Oh my god yes.” she whispered. “I don’t know how to feel, I can’t deal with this right now.”
“But was it good, did you like it?” I asked. After all, my goal had been to give her something nice to think about.
“It was the best. But I don’t know if I should like it.”
“Well … like it for now and we can talk more later, ok?”
“Fine. I really need to get dressed.” she said anxiously, looking around the bed for her clothes. “Damn it, I’m all wet now down there.”
I picked up a towel that was hanging in her wardrobe and, placing one hand on her shoulder, used my other hand to wipe her between the legs. Carefully, gently making sure to get as much of the human juices as possible.
“Well thanks sweetie.” she said, raising one eyebrow.
“No problem.” I responded, sitting down on a chair to wait for her to get dressed.
“I have a new group of interns coming in today. Going to have to show them the ropes of the hospital. You’ve no idea how much I hate interns.” she shook her head, as she was fixing her hair back into a prim state.
“Why?” I asked, curious.
“It’s just that they are so needy, you know? The problem is that in theory, the best way for them to learn is to let them work on their own, taking instructions but not direct micromanagement. But with the bureaucratic shitholes that all hospitals have become, I have no idea which of the students are actually trying to become professionals, and which ones started studying liberal arts and ended up somehow in a hospital. The bar used to be higher. So was the pay. Now they push anyone and anything into the job, in exchange for not raising any wages ever. They can get fucked for all I care.”
“Language.” I said, smiling.
“English.” she replied. “Aren’t you going to get ready for school?”
“I don’t have to go until nine. Although Sveta is probably starting earlier than me.”
I jumped as mom slapped her face with her hand so hard that I was sure it would leave a mark.
“Shit. Sveta. What is she going to think of me now!?”
“Relax. She thinks you’re the bee’s knees.” I tried to calm her.
“I think you’re great miss.” we both turned to face the small voice from the doorway. “I just don’t want to cause any problems. I … heard noises from this room, so I came to investigate. I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s fine!” I said. “Come here.” I beckoned her over to me. “Confirm that she’s the bee’s knees.”
“She is.” Sveta nodded, confirming.
“You’re sweet Svetlana. Really. I wish you hadn’t gotten caught up in this mess.”
Sveta bit her lip but didn’t say anything.
I looked at her questioningly but she remained silent as we both watch mom get dressed.
“Come on, spit it out!” I said finally, as two minutes of silence had passed, during which Sveta seemed to struggle with something she wanted to say but couldn’t.
“It’s just that I don’t hate being caught up in this.” she said finally, getting really red in the face for some reason. “I don’t know what it’s like for you two, but -...” she breathed in deeply, trying to arrange her thoughts properly. “-… last night was kind of a fantasy come through. Last night was something I might have dreamed about but never believed would happen. Yes, it wasn’t quite like in a fantasy, but if we can do it again, I would want to be a part of it without a doubt.”
Mom looked at her thoughtfully, but then shook her head. Not in a ‘No way, José’ kind of way, but more in an amused sort of way.
“I forget that you are just kids.” she smiled. “I’ll think about it. I realize that it might be too late to start thinking now, but better late than never.”
And with a kiss on both our cheeks she left the room to make some coffee.
I cleared my throat, not being able to help looking a bit embarrassed.
“So you saw me and mom just now?” I asked sheepishly. “I don’t want you to feel like you’re intruding or that we’re pushing you away, I swear.”
“Well, I only saw the end.” she replied, shyly. “I don’t feel like you’re pushing me away, not considering that you’re letting me be part of this. I mean, how much closer can I get to you two?”
“So ...” I rubbed my tired eyes feeling like I was being given too much leeway with my own opinions. “So what it appears to be is that … and this sounds fucking odd. But that you, me and mom are now in a relationship together. Is that … did I get that right?”
“I don’t know. I mean, do you want me to call her ‘mom’ as well?” Sveta laughed. “Or ‘miss mom’?”
“Her name is Ana. Well, technically her full name is Anastasia but she hates being called that because of that cartoon movie.”
“I liked Anastasia!” Sveta exclaimed. “What’s wrong with that movie?”
“Well. It’s kind of like … you know when people keep comparing you to someone entirely different? Imagine if you looked just like Anna Kendrick? And every time you met someone new they would say ‘Oh boy! You look just like Anna Kendrick!’. At first you might be flattered. But eventually you would start compiling a list of people to kill based on the frequency of their ‘Anna Kendrick’ comparisons.”
“I guess I see why that might be annoying.” Sveta nodded. “No one’s ever compared me to anyone.” she added, musingly.
“Yeah, that’s because you’re one of a kind, beautiful.” I said, smooth as a bar of soap on a slip and slide.
She just laughed and hugged me.
As we entered the kitchen, we walked in on mom chugging her cup of coffee.
A sudden realization made me look around the kitchen. I looked for the cup of coffee I’d been drinking. It had been left half-drunk on the kitchen table. I searched for the spoon. I searched for the spoon real hard. But the only spoon I could find was the one in mom’s coffee.
I went instantly red and wanted to hide. Shit. I should have thrown it in the dish washer. Or put a sticky note on it. Mind you, any note I’d have put on it would have been sticky.
“Alright, bye you two. Don’t forget school. Have a good day. We’ll talk later.” she said the last part just as she closed the door behind her.
I picked up the spoon from her empty cup of coffee. I scrutinized it. I sniffed it. I couldn’t tell if it was the same spoon. Shakily I put the spoon into the dish washer and turned to face Sveta.
“I really don’t want to go to school today.” I whined. “I mean – who really needs education in this day and age, with Google and YouTube out there?”
“You’re telling me you’ll get better at graphical design through Google?” Sveta asked.
“Or something. Why isn’t ‘homeless’ a viable career choice?”
“Because usually being homeless isn’t a choice.” Sveta shrugged, sipping on her own, fresh cup of coffee. “How would you make a career out of it anyway? Panhandling?”
“I don’t know. I guess it’s not as viable as I thought. I still would rather stay here and … you know. Get lucky.”
“Wow, you’re really fired up today. First you go down on you mom, now you want to go down on me?” she said, looking at me as though scrutinizing me, or maybe my intentions.
“Or something. Although we have a few hours left before we have to leave, I actually kind of feel like we should try and sleep the remaining time away.”
“I actually agree with that. And the dark circles around your eyes look almost unnatural.”
“Ah, don’t worry. You’ll get used to them.” I waved her away and made my way towards the couch, where only twenty minutes or so ago Sveta had been sleeping.
But although I was really tired, I realized that I didn’t feel like sleeping. In spite of the tiredness, I also felt like I was on fire.
“I don’t know what to do with myself.” Sveta said, sitting down next to me. “I feel like on the one hand, I am in some sexual fantasy of mine. On the other hand – I don’t know what you’re thinking. Does what happened yesterday and today mean that we are now just completely open about sex?”
It was sweet that she felt like she had to be in any way, shape or form reserved around me. To make it easier on her I put a hand on her thigh and kissed her.
“We can do whatever you feel like whenever you feel like doing it.”
“Then can I do something?” she said, sounding nervous.
“Sure.”
“I want just look at parts of you. In my imagination, the way I pick up a woman is by inviting her home. Then we start talking and she tells me about some or other problem that she has. And I tell her ‘Ok. You know how I can make you feel a bit better? I could give you a massage.’”
“I’d love a massage.” I grinned.
“And then I slowly start rubbing all over her body, even all the secret parts, slowly getting more and more sexual.” Sveta bit her lip, her hands softly rubbing my inner thighs, playing with the wetness from my vagina.
“I can dig that.” I nodded. “How about we go to my room and you can make me ‘feel better’?”
I took off my t-shirt and laid down on my bed, face down. My breasts pressed comfortably against my chest as I rested my head on my forearms.
“I seem to have this problem with my everything stemming from stress at school. Any chance you could help me out, doctor?” I asked in a playful voice, helping Sveta get going.
“Well. Maybe a massage could loosen some of the tension in your muscles and help you relax and think clearer?” she asked rubbing my shoulders.
“Maybe that.” I agreed. “See what you can do, doc.”
“Masseuses aren’t doctors. Or not necessarily doctors, I think.” Sveta said, her hands massaging my back in broader strokes than strictly necessary.
“I don’t care, doc.” my body shook as I laughed. “I just need your help.”
Sveta was quiet for a moment.
“Would you mind being a bit more serious?” she said finally. “Like you’re not interested? I want to try and win you over.”
I sat up to look at her.
“You’re really pushing my acting skills there.” I said. “I am so wet down here-...” as I was talking, I grabbed her hand and pushed it down my skirt. “-… that I could cum by sneezing without expecting to.”
“Ok, sorry. It’s just something I thought of.” she quickly said, licking her fingers after having touched my wetness. “That tastes nice.” she added.
I laid back down and let a wave of calm wash over me, forcing my thoughts to stillness. I wanted Sveta to get her thing, I felt like I was being rude by not living up to her expectations.
“If it’s just a massage, then I guess it’s ok.” I said. “My shoulders and back could use some work.”
“No problem.” Sveta said, resuming her rubbing my back muscles. “So what in school is stressing you out?”
“I kind of feel like talking about it will make me more stressed.” I mumbled.
“You were the one that said that talking about something, shining a light on it, makes it feel easier to deal with.” Sveta pointed out.
So as you might have gathered at this point, I talk a lot of life advice and philosophy. I think that’s fairly normal, most people have a philosophy in life that they want to share. The problem that I experience is that I am twenty years old, but people who should know better listen to my advice as though I read it to them from engraved stone tablets I found on top of a mountain. And I am not always self-aware enough to tell people to be free to ignore me.
I have neither the life experience nor the intellect required to give people advice.
In spite of this, far too often people listen to me.
“Right.” I said, remembering that I did indeed tell her that. “I guess I’m stressed because it feels like graphical art is over-saturated. Everyone too dumb to go into hard sciences go into art. I worry that I will end up like one of those cartoon homeless people, walking around a high-way with a sign saying ‘Will do art for food’.”
I expected Sveta to not have anything useful to say to this, but she surprised me.
“Yeah, there are a lot of people going into art. But there are lot of people going into programing as well. My dad deals a lot with hiring and firing personnel. I think you will like to hear what it’s like.
Sure, he doesn’t work in art or code, but it still applies.
The average person is going to be late to work fairly often, take out sick-days when they’re not really sick but rather just hung-over, be lazy in their communication with their superiors or feel entitled to things outside of their employment contract.
Then there are the odd ones who treat their place of work like their own apartment. The ones who keep arguing with management on everything as though they are the ones who should be in charge.
If you are as good at art as the average artist but your behaviour is above average in all the other ways, then you will be seen as more valuable than the average employee.”
“You make it sound easy.” I chuckled.
“Nah, it’s never easy. But you make it sound hopeless, and it’s totally not.” she said soothingly.
“Why are your hands on my butt?” I asked suddenly, as she spread my butt-cheeks.
“Oh! Uhm. There is a lot of tension here-...” she rubbed right in the middle at the top of my crack, scratching an itch I didn’t know I had. “I just want to help you release all tension.”
“Oh, ok I guess.” I said doubtfully. “It feels nice, I have to admit..”
“Yeah, that’s right. Now I’ll massage your legs. Thighs and calves carry a lot of tension, especially on the upper calves and inner thighs.”
“Sounds nice.” I said as her hands started working my feet, then slowly moving up my legs.
She spent some amount of time rubbing and kneading my calves, but I felt that she was hurrying though them to get to my thighs so that she could start working my sweet spot. Getting into character, I decided not to let it happen just yet.
“You know, if you could just rub my heels a bit. They are sore from all the walking and talking and doing stuff.”
As she went to work, I felt that this wasn’t actually a bad idea. I’d never had my feet massaged before. I wasn’t even entirely sure if my feet had ever been touched before at all, even by me. I tried to remember my “putting on socks” routine, but the only times I put socks on, or indeed removed them, was before and after sleeping, both times where I wasn’t entirely cognitively present.
“How does it feel?” she asked, lifting one of my feet and massaging it with her both hands.
“I feel like my foot is a hotdog.” I said.
She had cradled my leg between her breasts, slowly moving it up and down. Her breath on my foot felt really nice.
“Now just stay there and let me release all of your stress.” she said, placing my foot back on the bed and then sitting on top of it, slowly gyrating her hips, as though hoping that I wouldn’t notice.
“Mmmm, that sounds like a good idea.” I replied, letting it go. “What an unorthodox move – to massage feet with your genitalia.”
“It’s an ancient-...” she broke off with a little moan, “-… ancient, Chinese style of treating travel fatigue.”
“You are so full of crap!” I burst out laughing.
She joined in, grabbing both of my butt cheeks with her hands, forcefully kneading them.
“And this is an ancient Egyptian technique for making it easier to pull things out of your ass, is it?” I asked, still giggling.
“No, the theme today is Chinese.” she laughed. “This is how you do if … you want to have an orgasm but don’t want to give it away.”
“Subtle.” I nodded. “I thought you wanted realism?”
“I also want to cum.” she whispered, her rubbing on my foot getting heavier and harder.
“It’s quite a dilemma.” I nodded, as I started to help out, moving my foot lightly between her legs, pushing up into her love triangle.
It was a weird feeling. This kind of “hands free” love making, where I was face down on the bed, just casually wiggling my foot as somewhere above and behind me Sveta was gripping my butt and masturbating with my foot.
The more I moved my foot around, the less friction I seemed to be feeling, as though she was completely soaking through her underwear. I was dying to turn over and have a proper look, but we were in this really harmonious state that I didn’t dare to break it.
She didn’t say anything as she came. Her breathing went into hyperventilation and she, perhaps unknowingly, pressed her head into my ass, her body arching and trembling.
“I feel so much better already, doc.” I said, as she slumped right on top of me, her body covering mine.
We were almost as tall, I was just slightly taller than her, but as she lay there she covered me almost perfectly. I enjoyed the feeling of her soft, warm bosom on my naked back. The feeling of her lips, still breathing hard, on the skin of my shoulder.
I wasn’t in love with the smell of her breath, but my breath was nothing to write home about either so I let it go for the time being.
“I want to say that I love you but I don’t know if it’s too early or even if it’s true.” she said, her mind coming back to her.
“Oh it’s fine.” I said, my voice slightly muffled as my head was pressed into the bed by her weight. “You can love me for now and I can love you. If we stop loving each other one day, then at least we will have loved a little.”
She was silent for a moment that stretched for so long that I was worried about having somehow upset her. Maybe she hadn’t meant to say the world “love”? Maybe she meant something along the lines of “glove”? Like - “I want to say that I glove you”? Because she wanted us both to take up the glove wearing profession?
“That is a very strange way to look at love.” Sveta said, breaking apart all of my stupid thoughts. “But for some reason, it feels so right. I’ve never thought about it like that, for some reason I always thought that love was … I don’t know. That it was supposed to be forever maybe?”
“Don’t worry about it. Nothing lasts forever.” I shrugged. And as she lay directly on top of me, she involuntarily shrugged as well. “Just make sure to fill up on the good stuff now and again. Like, I really want coffee again.”
“No, wait, don’t.” she quickly said. “This is a deep, philosophical conversation about love.”
“Then tell me about love. What is love to you?” I decided to let her get all of her thoughts out, since she clearly had something to say about it.
“Love to me is this … sort of insane, almost contrarian thing. Love is something you have in spite of everything else. When I was a girl, my dad brought home a cat, Jalal. And mom didn’t like it because it was a bit … well, you know the jokes you read online about cats? He was a lot like that. Stand-offish and extraordinarily narcissistic. But I loved him. Really, I did. I was the only one whom he listened to towards the end, would always follow me around. He liked to listen to my voice. But, if I’m honest, he was a bit of an asshole towards everyone else.”
As she paused for thought, I just waited, interested to see where this was going.
“He was already five or maybe older when dad brought him. Cats don’t live very long, you see. He died a few years ago now. And I was really heart broken.
And, in a way, that kind of sums up love. It’s tangible, emotional attachment that – when it’s broken – hurts as badly as if something physical broke.
I know you are a bit emotionally detached, it must sound very silly.”
“I am emotionally detached?” I asked, perplexed. “I am very emotional. I am so emotional that blinking gives me mood swings. I am so emotional that if I was the ice berg that Titanic hit, everyone would have survived but also gotten married then and there.”
“I don’t understand the analogy.” Sveta admitted, “But I was thinking more of traditional emotional responses. Somehow, you can make a joke out of anything. It’s like you’re bullet-proof with a snarky shield around you.”
“Ok, but let’s not make this about me.” I decided to turn this ship around before we went aground on shores where *my* monsters lived. “So you feel that love is that kind of traditional feeling? But I said that I was fine if you feel that you love me now. I just know that we’re really fucking young. I have never even paid taxes. One day, maybe long after we’ve started paying taxes, it’s reasonable to think that we would stop loving each other. People change. You are not the person you were when you were five, right? Or I hope not, otherwise I should be in jail.
That five year old is dead. And had she been alive, I wouldn’t be banging her. As time goes on, everything changes. The people we are right now won’t exist tomorrow. And since they are different people, we can’t really assume that they will love each other. We don’t know those people. We just know each other. Right now.”
“You’re freaking me out.” Sveta said, then laughed shakily. “But you love me now?”
“Fuck it. Yeah, I do.” I said, and turned over, with Sveta falling off of me. “I do so much right now. It’s not just the sex. It’s the whole situation. It’s so weird. But it’s also kind of liberating. I just feel so good with you right now that yes, I love you.”
“What if we get hurt?” she asked.
“Come on. What’s the worst that could happen?”
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