“Well?!” she finally prompted me. “How was it?!”“You want the details of my afternoon with Cecilia?” I asked her skeptically. “How was Y...UR afternoon?” I asked pointedly.“I’m just asking how things went,” she said defensively. “If you don’t want to talk about it, just say so.”“I don’t want to talk about it,” I told her, taking my bowl of soup out of the microwave to stir it and decide whether it’s warm enough or needed more time.“You HAVE to talk about it, John!” she argued immediately, like. It was the first time I've ever witnessed any woman masturbate - the naughty thrill that it was, in fact, my mother made me feel almost drunk with desire.All too soon her calves were bunching up as she dug her heels into the mattress - shoving her hips up to working hands. Her nipples had wrinkled and hardened like points on a missile. Her pale smooth body had broken out in a glistening sweat. She was, I realized, fast approaching her orgasm and I knew, without a doubt, what I was witnessing. More

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