Robert Lubrican - A Model Mother

"When is it too dangerous to have sex?" I asked.

"Well, tonight isn’t the best time in the world," she said.

"What?"

"I don’t think I’m ovulating yet, but I probably will be in a day or two."

"Damn," I groaned.

"You knew that before you shot your sperm in me a few minutes ago, Darling."

"I didn’t know you were …" I didn’t know the right word.

"Ripe?"

"Yeah, ripe," I said.

"I’m pretty ripe tonight, Bobby. But it’s a Friday night. What can I do?"

My mind was whirling. This was crazy … insane! I couldn’t get my mother pregnant. It just isn’t done. I thought back to what it felt like to cum in her knowing she wasn’t on the pill. That had been crazy, too. But I hadn’t actually thought it was dangerous . Now I knew it was.

I lay there, trying to imagine her flat belly bulging with a baby I was responsible for, that I had made in her.

"Do you want to have a baby?" I asked.

"I don’t want to," she said, "but I’m not going to do anything to avoid it, either."

"I don’t get that," I groaned.

"When I was pregnant with you, I was unhappy," she said. "I hated it. I cried all the time. I felt miserable. I hated Rodney and I hated life. I hated labor and I hated pushing. But then they laid you on my chest, and everything changed. You were so beautiful. You stole my heart in one second. After that, I didn’t complain about anything. I did everything my parents told me to do and I learned how to take care of you. You gave me a reason to keep living, and make my life better."

"Wow," I said.

"So now, here I am, in bed with a man I love, a man who won’t run off and leave me. I mean I know you’ll graduate and get a job and live somewhere else, but you’ll always love me and I’ll always love you. And if I got pregnant by this man, I know I’d love being pregnant. It would be completely different. It would be positive, instead of negative. And if you claimed my womb, then I could finally tell Rodney - in my head, of course - that he lost out, that he couldn’t have me anymore, that my womb now belonged to another man, and that another man’s baby would suckle at my nipples."

She kissed me.

"I know it’s silly. It would be stupid to let you do that, but the idea of it doesn’t bother me at all."

The crazy thing was that, the way she described it, it didn’t bother me at all, either.

I couldn’t beat his ass … but I could take away the womb he had claimed. I could make it mine, instead of his. I could steal away the best looking woman he’d ever had, and make her mine.

This is why, when I got hard again, I rolled on top of her.

Ten minutes later I looked her right in the eyes when I groaned and shot off in her again.

It sounds simple, but it wasn’t. It was, in fact, quite complicated.

She let me inseminate her, but she also calculated the odds. I think she felt pretty sure nothing would happen because of it. Her periods were pretty regular and she knew her cycle well. That might be part of why she still insisted that only on Friday nights would we engage in fully incestuous behavior.

The thing about menstrual cycles, though, is that even if they’re regular, they don’t all operate on a 28 day time frame, which means that a Friday night two or three days from ovulation in one cycle, can turn into a Friday night when she is in the middle of ovulation in another cycle.

By the time that happened, we were seasoned lovers. I had no problem restricting sex to one night a week. This might be because we started masturbating together a lot more frequently than that. That started one night when I got home from school and found a meatloaf in the oven on low and a note that said she was taking a bath and instructed me to open a can of carrots and put some potatoes in the microwave.

Instead, I went to the bathroom, tapped on the door, and went in.

"What are you doing?" she asked, making no attempt to cover up.

"I just wanted to see you," I said. "I love seeing you like this."

"Poor, horny Bobby," she teased.

So I undid my jeans and pushed them down and started beating off. She complained but I ignored her, telling her what I wished I was doing. Pretty soon the water was making waves as she rubbed with me. I grabbed a handful of toilet paper, but she told me to shoot in the water. When I did she scooped up the blobs and spread them on her breasts like it was some exotic body lotion.

The next night we were watching singers on The Voice and she started rubbing her clit under her robe. Remember the short silk kimono thing? When she spread her legs, I could see she didn’t have on panties. She kept glancing at me. Finally, I exposed myself and started doing it with her.

That led to more intentional types of exchanges, eventually ending up with us in bed, next to each other. One night she wanted to taste me when I came. I was only too glad to let her and she sucked me dry. So I sucked her clit in return.

After that there was a lot of mutual masturbation. It’s really cool to watch your lover get closer and closer to an orgasm, without your own mind being clouded by the race to reach your own. I loved watching her hips lurch and her face go all wonky as my fingers brought her to a climax.

But we both resisted fucking, unless it was a Friday night.

I don’t know why both of us ignored the fact that we were bucking the system, and that it couldn’t go on without somebody finding out. I know that sounds really silly, considering the fact that my entire fire science class knew about "her" and that she was my girlfriend. But they all knew her as Jennifer Hart . And think about it. Think about anybody you know at work, whose spouse or significant other you’ve seen somewhere. Maybe you’ve all been to the company Christmas party or something. What do you really know about that spouse or significant other?

Not a ton, most likely. So it’s actually possible , in fact, that the lovely couple you see with two adorable little tykes, grew up together because they are actually brother and sister. How would you know, if they haven’t said something about that? I guess you’d know if you also grew up with them, but if they moved away from home, two or three states away, so they could be in love together, it’s unlikely anyone who knew them would be there. And anybody can make up a story about How did you two meet?

It was different in our case, though, because in our case, the subterfuge was that Jennifer Hart, obviously a cougar, had taken up with one Robert Dean Jenkins. The problem was, a whole lot of people in town other than the fire science crowd knew her as Jennifer Jenkins. More than a few of those people knew I was her son. And one of those people was Maureen Gaskill.

That first night, when she and my mother wreaked havoc at Kelsey’s, she saw my mother in the crowd, being approached by lots of men. She saw me dancing with her, but nobody who suspected I was banging this gorgeous nude model said anything to Maureen about it. Why would they? Sure, they whispered among themselves, but they were a tight-knit group and she wasn’t part of the group. Not yet.

As far as Maureen Gaskill was concerned, I hadn’t known who the model would be and the model hadn’t known her son was going to be in art lab. It was a humorous situation, that both were handling pretty well. The fact that we went places together wasn’t odd, to Maureen. She thought it was sweet that I danced with my mom.

The problem was that Phil, who was hopelessly smitten with her, got under her skin, too. It wasn’t just that he was an ardent and tireless lover. Well, that was a lot of it. She’d played the field with a vengeance after her divorce, never wanting for attention or companionship. But she just couldn’t trust or open up to the men she met. Nothing progressed past a few nights together, and many of those were uncomfortable for her. If she was at his place, she was helpless and dependent on him. If he was at her place, she had to get rid of him, sooner or later.