Empty Nest Ch. 05


For the next few weeks, any time he was close to me, Ben had his hands on my stomach, waiting to feel the baby. I could feel all sorts of movements inside me, wiggles and squirms and kicks, but they were still too faint for my son to feel from the outside.

August passed by too quickly, the weeks slipping away as I grew bigger and bigger. My cute little bump stopped being so cute and little, and began to weigh me down. Getting off the couch was becoming a production. The pressure on my bladder meant ten trips to the bathroom a day. I got sweaty and cranky easily in the summer heat, and spent as much time in the air conditioning with my feet up as I could.

Ben hung out with his friends more as he prepared to go off to school, and I tried not to feel too sorry for myself. He wasn’t always there when I wanted him, but we still made love a few times a week. My hormonal surge showed no sign of slowing down.

At least I had those little pokes and kicks to keep me company. They never failed to make me stop what I was doing and smile. At work, in my car, out getting groceries: the world stopped so I could connect with my unlikely miracle baby.

I always felt like crying when it happened. It made me think back to the past, eighteen years ago when I carried Ben in my belly and felt overwhelmed by the idea of being a new mom. It made me think of the future, of how old I’d be when my new son was preparing to go off to college, and whether or not that was fair to him. It made me think of Ben and the precious gift he’d given me, going above and beyond as my son.

In short, it left me overwhelmed every single time those first few weeks. Luckily, strangers and coworkers were understanding. I could usually just shrug away the tears with “hormones.” And Ben was always ready to talk out what I was feeling.

It was a week before he left that I finally got to share one of those moments with him. In the third week of August I was just about six months along, and Ben had his hand on my stomach while we watched TV. Sometimes when I felt movement I just didn’t tell Ben, because it made him sad he couldn’t feel. But suddenly I felt a sharp jab, right under my son’s palm, and he gasped.

“Was that him?” Ben asked, eyes wide. He pressed his hand into the spot on my lower belly, trying to get a better feel.

“Yeah, can you feel it?” Ben kept his hand on the spot, his skin separated from mine by an old t-shirt stretched to its limit. I thought the show might be over, but after a few moments the movement repeated. Ben laughed with delight, and I felt quivery and emotional, finally sharing this with him.

I loved how excited he was. “That’s him,” I assured Ben. “That’s your brother.” There were many days I felt like we were a normal family, that the child inside me was just Ben’s brother and not his son, and I thought it was better to pretend that was the case. But my feelings for Ben had only grown, and our sex life hadn’t stopped.

“That’s our baby,” Ben whispered back, and in that moment he was my man, my mate, the father of my child. I kissed him hard and passionate, the way I couldn’t when we first started trying for a baby.

He returned my kiss with force. Our tender moment turned hot instantly. Ben pulled away and grabbed my t-shirt, roughly yanking it over my head. When we’d first started making love he’d been timid and gentle, letting me initiate or asking shyly and red-faced. It felt like a whole lifetime had passed since then.

Tonight, Ben got me half-naked before I could even say a word. He stared for a moment at my transforming torso, my fat breasts with their hard nipples, the round belly where his child was growing. Then he plunged in and grasped both tits, kissing and sucking at my neck, because he knew it would drive me wild.

I just laid back and took it, letting my son have me. I’d never felt so desired in all my life. My pussy burned as he moved his mouth to my breasts, sucking one nipple then the other, grunting. There was another butterfly flutter in my stomach and I moved my hand there.

“That’s our baby,” I repeated back to Ben, and his hand joined mine. He looked up at me, letting go of my tit. Then he moved his hand down my stomach and into my pajama pants. He tugged at the waistband and I lifted my butt up and he yanked them off. I sat there naked on the couch, waiting to see what he would do.

He stood and I could see the bulge in his shorts. “Turn around,” he said, and I obeyed. I grunted as I lifted my cumbersome body off the cushions, then turned and grasped the top of the couch. I bent down, pushing my fat butt up, presenting myself. We’d been using this position more and more as my belly got too big for him to be comfortably on top.

I heard the rustling sound of him removing his clothes. Then his tip touched my entrance. I braced myself. He pushed in hard; luckily I was quite wet already. We both groaned. Big strong hands grasped my wide hips and my son began to fuck me.

That’s what this was. Not lovemaking, manisa escort fucking. My swollen breasts dangled beneath me; my baby-filled belly hung down. Everything rocked back and forth in rhythm with Ben’s thrusts. We were animals, unable to control ourselves. In the light of the TV Ben slammed himself into me again and again, stretching me, making me cry out each time.

“Hit me,” I whined, and he slapped my ass. It stung in the best way. “Harder!” He followed his mother’s orders. In moments like this I felt filthy. The thought ran around and around in my head: this is my son. I’m letting my son fuck me. I’m having my son’s baby. I’m disgusting. I deserve to be hit…

Those hormones were really doing something to me.

Ben was going faster, harder, hurting me a bit. I pushed my hips back, wanting him deeper, and he let out an anguished sound. He was so deep it felt like he might touch my womb, and then he wasn’t there at all.

“Turn around!” he groaned. I didn’t know what was happening. I let go of the couch, straightened and turned to find Ben, red and sweaty, holding his glistening hardness. “Sit down!” I let myself fall onto the couch. My son stepped forward, stroked himself once, and ejaculated. His spunk was aimed at my chest.

He always closed his eyes when he came, but this time he made an effort to keep them open, watching his seed spatter all over me. “Ohh!” he cried. “Ohhhh!” It just kept going, spurt after spurt, raining down onto my cleavage, my nipples, my shoulders, my stomach. It was hot and sticky, dribbling slowly down my skin. He’d never purposely come on me before. No man ever had.

Finally Ben’s twitching, spasming penis came to a stop. He stared down at me, eyes wide, shocked.

“Was that okay?” he asked. Whatever animal had taken over was gone now, and my sweet son seemed kind of mortified.

I panted as I met his eye. My hand wandered over my chest, playing with his stuff as it cooled. “Yes,” I said, smiling wide, reassuring him. “You really liked that, huh?”

“I really made a mess,” he said, and it was true. He’d come a lot. But at least none had gotten on the couch.

“You go get me a towel,” I said. “But not just yet.” I moved my sticky hand down between my legs, where I was a bit sore, and pressed my fingers to my clit. I kept my eye contact with my sweaty, panting, red-faced son until pleasure overtook me and I threw my head back.

A week later, all Ben’s stuff was packed and I was doing my best to hold myself together. I faced the loss not just of my son, but my companion, my best friend, my lover. I wanted to be strong for him, to not force him to take care of me. I knew this had to be hard for him too.

We planned to drive him down on a Saturday, and I told him Friday was all his. We would do whatever he wanted. I wanted to thank him for all that he’d done for me, both in the last few months and the last eighteen years. Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday he spent with his friends, and my anticipation built.

Ben picked the nice Italian restaurant we always used to go to for special occasions, a decision that touched me. We hadn’t been in years, and I had plenty of fond memories of putting young Ben in his nicest clothes and taking him there for a grown-up dinner.

We dressed up. I blushed when I saw Ben in a crisp button-down with a tie and suit coat. He’d become the handsome adult man he’d playacted as years ago, and I was happy to be his date. I did my hair and makeup and put on a new maternity dress, dark blue and elegant, showing off my six-month bump and a little swollen cleavage. When we saw each other all decked out, it felt like we were prom dates. Impressed with each other, giggly, excited.

We didn’t act like we were on a date, though. We stayed in the restaurant for hours, talking about Ben’s future and his past, how far he’d come, what he dreamed of doing. I told him again and again how proud I was of him. We let the baby take a backseat for once, instead focusing on Ben and the great adventure he was about to undertake. I stuffed myself so full of pasta I looked closer to nine months than six, and wished I had a glass of wine to toast with.

I was sleepy by the time Ben drove us home, but didn’t want to go to bed just yet. I wanted to soak up every minute I had left with my son. I asked him what he wanted to do with the rest of our evening and he shrugged. “We could just watch some TV,” he said.

“Come on, I want to do something nice for you,” I told him, my hand on his knee. “It’s your last night at home.”

“Just spending some time together is nice,” he said as he drove. “That dinner was great.”

I smiled. “Would you like to make love tonight? We could do something different… we could shower together again, or I could… use my mouth…” I blushed.

He was blushing too, and stayed quiet.

“Is everything alright?” I asked.

He nodded. “I just want to be normal tonight.”

I grimaced; that wasn’t what I was expecting. kushinagar.net He saw my pained expression and backpedaled.

“Mom, I’m sorry. That wasn’t what I meant. I just meant normal, like I’m not leaving tomorrow. Can we just have a quiet night?”

“Of course, sweetie,” I said. “Whatever you want.” I worried again about the relationship we’d developed, if I’d gone too far, warped my son for life.

At home we got out of our fancy clothes and sat on the couch and watched TV. Like a normal night. Like it wasn’t Ben’s last night at home. Like we weren’t lovers on top of being mother and son. It seemed comforting to him, to not make a bigger deal out of it.

Of course I was sad, bursting with emotion and so many things to say. It felt like the clock was running out on Ben’s childhood and we were just sitting there watching game shows. At least I’d gotten out a lot of what I wanted to say during our dinner.

When Ben yawned and announced he was going to bed, it took all my strength not to beg him for a few more minutes. “Thanks for the dinner,” he told me. “I had a great night.”

I nodded, we said our I-love-yous, and I let him go off to bed like it was a normal night. I sat in front of the TV feeling lost until the show ended, then I made myself get to my feet and waddle up the stairs. Tomorrow was a big day; I needed rest.

When I got to my room Ben was in my bed.

“I changed my mind,” he said quietly. All of a sudden, six months pregnant or not, I felt much lighter. I was grinning ear to ear as I got in bed beside my son and cuddled up to him.

I held him close, letting his head rest on my bosom. I kissed his forehead. For one more night, he could be my baby.

We didn’t speak. I stroked Ben’s hair and ran my hands down his back and enjoyed his weight against me. He stroked my tummy until the baby woke up and started to squirm around. Ben kissed my bump through my nightgown. Once at first, then all the way across its roundness. His rubbing hands found my hips, then my thighs. I began to feel his chest.

Ben kissed my shoulders, then moved down my chest. My nipples stood on end under the nightgown. He kissed each of them gently through the fabric. I continued to rub his chest, his stomach.

This was no torrid, nasty fuck, the kind we’d had last week. It was slow, gentle, and tender. We were saying goodbye to each other, at least for now. It took a while before Ben peeled up my nightgown and lifted it over my head, quietly admiring my naked body. He covered my skin in kisses, from my chunky thighs to the spots on my hips where new stretchmarks were appearing. He caressed every inch of me, like he was committing my body to memory.

After a while of that I undressed him and did the same. Feeling his strong shoulders and his bony chest, the shape of his hips, his ever-hard penis. He groaned when I touched it, twitching in my hand. He moved his own hand to the wetness and warmth between my legs and I shivered.

We were ready. He helped me roll my gravid body over, knelt behind me in bed, and inched himself into my body. I moaned into my pillow as my son made love to me, thrusting slowly, the bedsprings quietly creaking in rhythm. His hands stroked my back and my butt and my hips.

When we’d first started making love Ben could barely last a minute, but tonight he was inside me for what must have been fifteen minutes. He would pause here and there if he got too excited. He removed his penis then carefully pushed it back in, driving me crazy.

My back and hips ached from holding up my heavy body but I wanted this to last. I picked up my head, turned, and met Ben’s eyes. We smiled at each other as he thrust in and out. The eye contact seemed to do something to him, because soon his expression was changing.

“Do it, baby,” I whispered, rocking my hips with him, still watching his face. “Do it!” Ben’s features scrunched up and he pushed forward and moaned. Warmth flooded my insides.

Soon we were back the way we started, with Ben resting his head on my chest, except we were both naked.

We laid there in the dark for long enough that I was sure Ben was asleep. It had been a long day, and I was getting close to drifting off myself. But then I heard his voice.

“Are you sure it’s okay if I leave?”

I looked down at him. “Baby, what do you mean?”

He sighed. “I feel bad. Leaving you to have the baby on your own. Going off to school and having my own life.”

I wanted to tell him not to go. I wanted to say he could stay here with me as long as he wanted; he could always re-apply to school in a year or so. He could be here for the last months of my pregnancy. For his son’s birth. He could help me through those sleepless newborn months and talk me down off cliffs when I got overwhelmed and tell me I was beautiful when I felt old and gross.

I wanted to tell him to stay home so he could see his son’s first steps and first words. To feel the joy I had felt raising him, seeing the world through young innocent eyes, watching a human being grow day by day. “Stay with me, Ben,” I wanted to tell him. “I’ve never loved anyone like I love you. If you leave it’ll break my heart, so stay here and love me forever.”

“Mom?” Ben asked.

I shook myself out of it and gave him the sensible answer. “Ben, of course. I want you to go. You’re at the very start of your life. Your best years are ahead of you, they’re starting right now. You’re going to go have adventures and get in trouble and learn who you are. Your world is going to get so much bigger. I can’t wait to watch it happen.”

“But what about you?”

“What about me?” I smiled. “I raised a smart, kind, loving son, and the last part of my job is to let him go out into the world. I’m going to be cheering you on every step of the way. And it’s not like you’re moving to Mars. I’ll still talk to you. I’ll still see you.” I wanted to sound more confident than I did, but my shaky voice betrayed how hard this was for me. Ben laid his hand on my shoulder and it made it worse. I wanted him here to touch my shoulder every time I got upset.

“And besides,” I said, taking his hand from where it laid and moving it down to my solid belly. “You’ve given me something to keep me busy. You gave me the greatest gift I could ask for. You went above and beyond as my son, Ben. Please don’t feel guilty about leaving.”

Ben rubbed my belly. The baby was quiet and still inside me, probably sleeping. “Okay,” he said, and his voice was hoarse. “I love you so much, Mom.”

“I love you too,” I whispered, and pulled him in close, burying my face in his shoulder. Our naked bodies wrapped in each other, our child between us.

That was our real goodbye. The one the next day, after I’d spent a three-hour car ride trying my best to be chipper and upbeat when my heart was breaking, after Ben had refused to let me carry anything so heavy as a bag of clothes into his dorm room, was more for show. Ben didn’t want to get emotional in front of his fellow freshmen, and I didn’t want to reveal just how bad I was hurting.

We had a simple hug by the elevator, the kind of hug the other moms and kids were having, and on the ride down I joked with the other parents about how relieved I was. I got back to my car and locked the doors and cried until my stomach hurt. The drive home took forever. When I got home the house was so empty, so quiet.

I’d lost him. I had a man I loved more than life itself and I’d lost him. I knew I was being silly, that he was only a quick drive away, but I also knew how this went. Ben would call every day at first, then twice a week, then once a month. He would settle in to his new life and forget about the special love we had.

He’d start by visiting every other weekend but soon he’d have parties to go to, friends to hang out with… dates to go on. Even my quiet Ben would flourish, and before I knew it he’d be out in the world with a job and a wife and a family of his own. Every mother’s dream.

When I’d lost Ben’s dad, I’d been broken. But Ben, only a few years old, kept me going. His smile and laughter had given me a reason to go on, to feel okay in a shitty world. I had weathered that storm, and I would weather this one. Ben might have been out of my house, but he wasn’t out of my life. And the baby in my womb would help me get through it.

I was too sad to have an appetite when I got home, but I knew the baby needed nutrients so I made myself sit and have some cheese and nuts and an apple. It made me feel better. After my snack I visited the bathroom, and I was on my way to bed when I paused.

I went to Ben’s room instead. The springs of his little bed creaked under my weight as I got under his sheets, inhaling deeply, smelling him. The scent started me crying again. I didn’t have to hold it back anymore, not for Ben, not for the parents and students at the dorm. I let myself feel as bad as I wanted and eventually the tears dried up and I felt lighter.

The baby stirred inside me, giving me a gentle kick, and I smiled wide. “It’s gonna be okay,” I told him out loud, and I pulled up my top and rubbed my stomach. I followed the movements until they stopped. The feeling of my hands against my skin was soothing so I kept rubbing. I found myself holding my breasts without even thinking about it.

I massaged my own tender boobs, my breathing getting deeper, the good feelings picking up, but my top and bra were in the way. I shed them awkwardly, rolling around in Ben’s bed like a turtle on its back. Half naked, I felt freer. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t taken that bra off the second I got home. I rubbed them and hefted them, feeling their weight, toying with the nipples until my toes curled. I played with them the way Ben played with them, and when I closed my eyes I imagined his hands were on me.

One hand found its way down the slope of my tummy and disappeared. I teased myself through my maternity pants, knowing I was hot and wet already. I groaned and imagined Ben fumbling with my clothes, ripping them off my lower half. I twisted around in bed until I got the pants off, then my underwear. I could smell myself. But I wanted to smell Ben.

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