0 comments/ 46691 views/ 2 favorites Working My Passage By: Starlight My name is Adrian Kimber. I was almost born with, as people used to say, a “silver spoon in my mouth.” I say “almost” because when I was born my father had not quite made it to what he saw as “The Top.” I must have been about four or five when he finally got there, and became what they call, “Departmental Head” of a government department. Once he had reached the dizzy heights we soon moved to a new house in a very exclusive suburb. To my young mind the house was very exciting. It had a huge garden and there were nooks and crannies both inside and outside the house where all sorts of adventures could take place. Among its other glories it had a swimming pool and a tennis court. In fact the place was probably three times bigger than we needed. There were only three of us, father, mother and myself. In that house you could have lived separate lives and never see each other from one week to the next. The garden was beyond the capacity of my parents to cope with, so like most of the people who lived in that suburb a part time gardener was employed and in addition there were two ladies who came in to clean the house three times a week and another lady who cooked the evening meals for us. All of this, as my father said, “Went with the territory. One has to keep up appearances.” I actually saw very little of my father. He always seemed to be going away to conferences and international gatherings, and when he was home he took little interest in me. It was only when I started school we had any significant contact, and that was to discuss my progress and reports. He always seemed a remote figure in my life. Mother was different. I think most boys consider their mother’s to be pretty, I know I did, but from the perspective of adulthood I can fairly say she was indeed very pretty, and even now she is in her late forties she still retains much of those earlier lovely looks. She is not very tall, perhaps five feet four of five with a slender, graceful figure. She had long ash blonde hair that I loved to play with when I was little, and she was what I would now call, soft and warm. Mother was twenty when I was born, and I know I shouldn’t have been born when I was. You see, I was what people call, “Conceived out of wedlock.” It seems that when my father was still climbing the ladder to the top, mother had worked in the same departmental offices as he. Father was some fifteen years older than mother, and it seems they got too intimate too soon, and there I was, on the way. I worked this out when I came across some family documents years later. They had no more children and I became the focus of mother’s love and care. As I look back I sometimes think that for a long time I was the only love in mother’s life. When I was six and had started school some new people moved in next door to us. The man was another Departmental Head. It was considered etiquette in those days to go and welcome a newcomer to the street (or avenue as ours was called). Mother made her visit and two or three days later the lady next door visited mother. It was mother’s habit to come and pick me up from the very exclusive church school I attended, and the lady’s visit coincided with pick up time. It seems she asked to accompany mother and that is how I first met Mrs. Amanda White. I think our liking for each other was instantaneous. This was especially so on my side because on seeing me I heard Mrs. White whisper to mother, “He’s a beautiful boy, Kylie.” At that tender age one does not look for the features in a woman that one might ten years on. Never the less, what I saw was a very lovely woman who, as I later discovered, was some four years younger than mother. She was a little taller than mother, but then, at six years of age every adult looks tall as they loom over you. She was also not as slim as mother. She was, I suppose, what we call “Curvaceous.” Even at my tender age I recognised that what I thought of as her “lumps” (breasts) seemed larger than mother’s. Overall one might say she was Junoesque. On being introduced she kissed me on the cheek and said, “I’m so pleased to meet you, Adrian,” and unlike a lot of people who say things like that, she sounded as if she meant it. I responded in kind and I meant it too. Among the other things I noted at that time was that Mrs. White smelt nice. Not like a lot of the ladies, or even the men, who came to visit and left trails of strange odours I didn’t like and which I now know to have been deodorant and perfume. Mrs. White smelt of Mrs. White, just as mother smelt of mother. We went back to our house and Mrs. White and mother had afternoon tea in which I joined, not for the tea, but the cakes. As Mrs. White was leaving she gave me another kiss on the cheek and said, “Will you come and visit me sometimes, Adrian?” Then she looked at mother and asked, “That would be all right, wouldn’t it?” Mother said it would be fine if I wasn’t too much bother. When she had gone I said to mother, “She’s a lovely lady isn’t she?” Mother agreed that Mrs. White was indeed very lovely. In my limited experience adults rarely ask a child to visit them, so I wondered why Mrs. White had invited me to her house. I asked mother and she said, “Mrs. White hasn’t got any children of her own but she would like one. Perhaps she wants to find out what it’s like to have a little boy around the house.” Not being fully apprised of the methods of begetting I asked mother, “Can’t she go and get a boy of her own?” Mother gave a gentle laugh and said, “No darling, there are special things that have to happen to get a baby.” With the carelessness of childhood I decided the matter was not worth pursuing, so I let it drop. Nor did I pursue Mrs. White’s invitation. Nice lady though I thought her, she was an adult and had no children for me to play with, so there seemed no point in going to visit her. My first visit to her came about through one of those typical childhood events. I accidentally kicked my ball into her garden. My mother told me to go and ask Mrs. White if I could go into her garden and get it. This I duly did and Mrs. White came with me to help search for the ball. As we hunted she kept up a flowing conversation centred mainly about school, what I did at home, did I have many friends and did they come to play at my house. I was amazed by Mrs. White’s garden. I knew she had a gardener because it was the same one we used, but Mrs. White had lots more flowers and even vegetables growing in her garden. I must have said something about this because she laughed and said she loved gardening, especially growing her own vegetables and fruit. Like most of the houses in our street she had a swimming pool and tennis court. She asked me if I could swim and play tennis. I said I could swim a bit but couldn’t play tennis. Then she asked me if I would like her to teach me tennis. I said I would, but would have to “ask mummy.” Mrs. White said she would do that. I left with my ball and a happy heart, not only because I was to learn tennis, but because I had smelt the Mrs. White smell again. My parents used to hold what they called “Cocktail parties.” They were very boring and as far as I could gather the guests were other Departmental Heads or people called “Ministerial Advisors.” They all stood around saying things like, “My minister says this,” “My minister says that,” “What does your minister have to say about it?” The men came with their wives who all looked very old, not like my mother or Mrs. White, and if they spoke to me at all, called me things like, “Dear boy.” Mostly they ignored me. One lady Departmental Head, the only lady head, brought her husband. He seemed a very shy man and nobody spoke to him, so he spoke to me, calling me, “Old boy.” He used that hearty, jolly voice some adults use when they talk to children. On very special occasions a minister would come to the party. Everyone was very nice to the minister, but if he or she left early, as soon as they had gone everyone would say nasty things about them. These parties got better for me after Mrs. White moved in next door. Mr. White being a Departmental Head got invited and Mrs. White came with him. That was how I met Mr. White. It’s a bit hard when you’re little to sort adults out, but I can recall that at first I thought Mr. White was Mrs. White’s father, or even her grandfather. He looked even older than my father. He was tall with a nearly bald head, a curvy sort of nose and a little red mouth that seemed always to be wet. Mrs. White introduced us saying, “Arthur, this is Adrian one of our next door neighbours.” He looked down his nose at me from his great height and said, “How do you do, young fellow,” then turned away to talk to someone. Mrs. White said, “Come on Adrian, show me your garden. I knew mother had already shown her the garden, so I suppose she just wanted to get away from the people. Showing her the garden became quite a regular feature of her party visits, and we would walk around hand in hand as she told me about flowers and trees and insects. I didn’t really mind what she told me about so long as I was with her. I had noticed that when my father went away, after a few days, mother seemed to change a little. I don’t say she got nasty, but she was irritable and snappy. After a while she was even like that when father was at home. Then another change came over mother. She started to get a dreamy sort of look and seemed to be prettier than ever, and wanted to hug and kiss me a great deal. Not long after Mrs. White started to teach me tennis, something occurred that I now understand, but it mystified me at the time. One day all our school lavatories got blocked. It was decided that we children could go home for the afternoon because of this, and as I didn’t really live far from the school I walked, or rather, ran home. When I entered the house I went in search of mother, calling out, “Mother I’m home.” At first I couldn’t find her, but when I went upstairs I heard a sort of shuffling gasping noise from my parent’s bedroom. Taking it that mother was in there I entered, and then I stood stock still. Mother was in there with a man. Mother’s face was rather red, and her clothes were all funny. I mean, she was wearing a shirt but the buttons were done up all wrong and it was dangling outside her jeans. Her hair was messy which was unusual for mother and she looked very flustered. The man was about mother’s age, and I suppose he was nice looking. He had a pair of trousers on and a shirt but they belonged to a three piece suit. I could see the rest of the suit and a tie draped over a chair by the bed. He looked all flustered too. I went to mother to kiss her as I always did when I came home, and she smelt different. She had a sort of fishy smell and I saw some of her underwear on the floor. She stammered hello and then said, “Darling, this is mummy’s friend, Mr. Hammond.” Mr. Hammond muttered hello as he tried to get the rest of his clothes on, and mother said, “You’d better go, John. I’ll ring you later.” He left and mother, still sort of flustered, asked why I was home early and then said, “Darling, Mr. Hammond is mummy’s special, secret friend, so don’t say anything to daddy about him.” Since my father and I rarely spoke at all, I had no intention of telling him about Mr. Hammond, but mother asking me not to made me wonder why Mr. Hammond was special and secret. After that, and when my father was away on one of his endless trip, Mr. Hammond came often to our house. Sometimes he stayed all night. I know that because I would wake up early in the morning when he started his car and left. Mother seemed to be very happy, and as it meant she was happy with me, I was satisfied to leave well alone, except I talked to Mrs. White about it. By then I had been given quite a few tennis lessons by her, and no longer called her, “Mrs. White”. Now she was “Aunty Amanda”. One day after my lesson with her we were sitting in her house drinking some lemonade. I decided to ask her about the mystery of Mr. Hammond. When I had told her she smiled and said, “Sometimes ladies, especially mummy’s need to have a special secret friend. It’s good for them because it makes them feel happier, but I don’t think you should tell anyone else about it because then it won’t be a secret any more and it will be spoilt for your mummy.” I asked her if she had a special secret friend and she said she hadn’t got one like my mother, but she did have a very special friend. I asked who, but she wouldn’t say. As time passed I spent more and more time with Aunty Amanda, so much so that I loved her almost as much as I loved mummy. It was rather like having two mothers. One hot afternoon when I had been struggling with the tennis bat that almost overwhelmed a small boy, Aunty Amanda and I had a swim in her pool to cool down. She was great fun in the water, chasing, wrestling and tickling. She wore one of those things they call a “Bikini,” and I loved the feel of her body against mine as we played in the water. I have learned about “Infantile sexuality” since those days, and although that is supposed to relate to the desire of the small son for his mother, I think it must apply in other situations as well. I mention this because it must have been when I was about eight, and we had been playing in the pool; I felt my little penis hardening as our bodies clung together. I had no idea what I wanted to do with or to her, but I wanted to do something. The only thing I could think of was to kiss her, which I did. She smiled at me and said very quietly, “I love you little Adrian.” I told her I loved her, and we stood in the water, she holding me against her breasts as the water buoyed me up. We held each other for a long time, and she kissed me a lot. After that time Aunty Amanda and I often went out together. She had asked mother if it was all right for her to take me out, and mother had said “Yes.” I think it meant mother had more time with her special friend when I went out with Aunty Amanda. She took me to look at pictures, listen to music and see things at the theatre. I didn’t always understand what I was seeing and hearing, but I didn’t mind as long as I was with her. She didn’t say in words anymore that she loved me, but I knew she did, just as I knew I loved her, and often in her pool we would cling together after we had wrestled, and my penis would be hard, and she would look into my eyes and stroke my face and hair. I used to do the same to her and tell her she was pretty. My birthdays came and went as they do for all of us, and always there was a present from Aunty Amanda; at Christmas too. The time came for me to leave primary school, and my father wanted to send me away to a boarding school. My mother would have none of it. I can remember hearing them arguing noisily about it, with my father saying things like, “It’ll make a man of him,” and my mother responding, “You mean like you?” The upshot was, I didn’t go to boarding school, but went as a day boy to yet another church school. So I continued to see a lot of Aunty Amanda who along with mother had come to play a central role in my life. With the coming of those turmoil teenage years, my physical and emotional changes brought insights into my relationship with Aunty Amanda, and I began to see her through the eyes of a sexually maturing male. The school I went to was solely for boys. It has changed since then, but at the time I know that most of us suffered from the lack of female presence. We started to be given sex instruction. These consisted of pictures and charts of male and female anatomy and we longed to see a female body in the flesh. Twice a year there was a school dance, and girls from another school came and we danced with them. The feel of their bodies drove us nearly out of our youthful male minds, but the dances were always heavily chaperoned by grim teachers, so nothing happened beyond dancing. Some of the boys sneaked in erotic magazines with pictures of nude women and we had out dirty little sniggers and jokes about them, but in our hearts we wanted the real thing. I am not clear now how I first learned to masturbate. It is one of those things that boys seem to instruct each other in. I began to masturbate regularly, first fantasising the girls in the magazines, then girls I had seen around. I can see now that this is all part of the maturing process, but there was one moment of shock when I was about sixteen. On my sixteenth birthday Aunty Amanda became “Amanda.” She said I was too grown up to continue with the aunty title. There had been a small gathering of some of my friends for the occasion, and I could see them looking with amazement at my mother and Amanda. One of the boys said to me, “I thought they were your older sisters. Where did you get a mother and a friend like that, Adrian?” During the following days at school there was much banter about “Adrian’s lovely ladies.” However, I get ahead of myself. After everyone had gone except mother and Amanda – father was away as usual – I escorted Amanda her to her house. When we got to the front door I said goodnight and went to kiss her. This was normally little more than a filial peck, but on this night Amanda pulled close to me and I felt her warm moist lips linger on mine, her body was close and her hips seeming to move her belly against mine. “Goodnight, special friend,” she whispered, and was gone. I staggered back to the house, my penis hard and throbbing. I went straight to bed and masturbated, and as I came I whispered, “Amanda, I love you, I want you.” This was the first overt recognition of an attachment, a love I had felt since childhood for her. Even in the days when my little penis had become erect at the feel of her body, I had no openly sexual thoughts about her. She was my Aunty Amanda whom I loved. Now that love had become something else; or perhaps what it had always been, but was for the first time out in the open. I was so worked up that I had to masturbate twice more that night, and every time is was Amanda who was my fantasy. Images of her beautiful breasts clad only in a barely covering bikini top; the thin sliver of clothe that passed under her crotch to sink into her vagina; my hands playing with her hair as I kissed her soft lips haunted me that night. In the morning I felt I could not face her again, although I longed to see her. In class I was unable to concentrate and twice got reprimanded by the teacher for inattention. That evening I was due to play tennis with her and almost didn’t go I felt so shy about seeing her after all my thoughts about her. As it happened her husband had returned from one of his conferences and in a way it was a relief. Had he not been around the place I might have burst out with something, and in doing so might have lost her friendship for ever. Her husband stayed home for a long time, and given the increasing level of study I was experiencing, my emotions gradually settled down, and I told myself it was ridiculous to feel sexually attracted to a woman at least sixteen years older than me. I went occasionally to play tennis with Amanda, but both of us seemed to have changed. Amanda was less boisterous and playful especially in the swimming pool. I held back from her for fear of getting worked up again, thus giving myself an unnecessarily agonising time over her. On my seventeenth birthday Amanda was overseas with her husband, and stayed overseas for three months. On her return she greeted me effusively, as I did her, but I felt it was all on the surface. As the year drew to an end, and with it my time at school, the university lay ahead. My father gave his royal command in virtually one word, “Law”. I promptly applied to enter the School of Botanic Science,” my true love. He was furious, but in the face of my mother’s support he submitted. Working My Passage I noticed that my mother and Amanda seemed to see a lot more of each other after Amanda returned from her time abroad. Incidentally, mother’s “Special friend” still visited her regularly. I had known for several years what that meant and silently wished mother a happy time with him. My one and only intimate contact, or should I call it a collision, was on the night of my last school dance. As we were all leaving school chaperoning was of no use. A girl and I fumbled with each other in the back of my car, and we had a miserable time, and I got nowhere near the goal. As I made my wild endeavour she mumbled, “I might get pregnant.” That ended that. For my eighteenth birthday there was a special celebration with friends and relatives coming for all over the place. I must admit that, having seen and been involved on the edge of many parties, I find them rather tedious. However, I tried to make sure that my guests had a good time up to the point of what I thought of as “Police threshold.” That is, no one called the cops because of riots in the street. Father was at home for once, but still rather disgruntled at my choice of university course. Amanda came and at one stage I found myself alone with her and mother. Amanda gave me her gift, a magnificent gold Cartier wrist watch.” I got this for you while I was overseas she said. I’ve got another gift for you, but you’ll have to come to my house to get it tomorrow.” It was all very mysterious, and I saw mother and Amanda exchange covert smiling glances at each other. I saw little of Amanda for the rest of the party, and I continued to speculate what her additional gift might be. I tried pressing my mother who admitted she knew what it was, but refused to tell. I decided it must be something fairly spectacular. As she was leaving Amanda kissed me and said, “About ten tomorrow, then?” “Fine,” I said, trying to hide the erection even her mild goodnight kiss had initiated. I was promptly at her house at ten next morning. She greeted me with another mild kiss but said nothing about her gift. Instead, she invited me to a game of tennis. It was a hot day and we played for about half an hour, and then Amanda suggested a swim. We dived into the pool, splashing and swimming around for a while as we cooled off. Then Amanda started our old games of wrestling around, her body clinging to mine as she laughed and splashed. I was continuing to wonder about the gift, and still nothing had been said. Then Amanda, seemingly as part of our game, wrapped her legs round me. There was something odd, unusual about how she felt. She was looking deep into my eyes as we clung together and she whispered, “I love you very dearly Adrian.” Her closeness had given me a raging erection and a struggled to find words of response to what was really her declaration of love. Finally I came our rather lamely with, “And I love you Amanda.” She pressed her lips to mine in a kiss that was soft and long. Her warm moist mouth held to mine, her tongue flicking over my lips. Then she said, “Darling, here is my other gift for you.” She broke away from me and I felt her pull down my swimming briefs. She was partially buoyed up by the water, and as I was now considerably taller than her and quite strong, I felt no strain as she slowly slipped down my body and I felt the tip of my penis nuzzle up against something soft and warm. The next moment it was engulfed in moist warmness, and then I knew. Amanda had removed her bikini bottoms and my penis was entering her. I gave out with a gasping sort of groan as I felt the delicious sensation of paradise that was the vagina of one I loved. I felt a sense almost of disbelief, but Amanda was softly kissing me and saying, “Enjoy me, my love.” Using the buoyancy of the water she began to move up and down on me and I was moaning with ecstasy. My first time with a woman and that woman my dearly beloved Amanda. I felt the first tingle of an approaching ejaculation and Amanda must have sensed this. She began to move more rapidly, and as the first ejection of my semen thudded into her she slowed down to keep pace with each expulsion. I was almost weeping with joy and crying out, “I love you Amanda, I love you.” I heard her murmuring close to my ear, “And I love you, my darling.” With the last thrust of my sperm into her she pressed down hard so that I was deep inside her. She clung to me like that for a while after I finished. I held on to her still telling her I loved her. Then kissing my face she murmured, “Was that good, my darling?” “It was…was…it…” For a moment words failed me. I wanted to find some superlative to match the depth of my feelings, but nothing that I thought of would do. In the end I stammered, “It was love…an act of love.” She smiled, looking deep into my eyes; “Indeed it was, my darling.” We got out of the pool and went into the house to dry ourselves. Amanda removed her bikini top, so now we were both completely naked. The sight of her breasts, a sight I had fantasised about so many times as I masturbated, was lovelier than even my imagination had conjured. They were large but firm, with delicious pink nipples and light brown aureoles. I reached out and touched them and Amanda said, “I think we should love properly now, don’t you?” She did not wait for me to reply but took my hand and led me to a bedroom. It contained as the main item of furniture a huge bed. She drew me onto it and bent over to kiss me, this time pushing my lips apart with her tongue, then thrusting into my mouth with it. She seemed to want to explore its deepest recesses. I was about to touch her breasts when a jarring thought struck me. It was completely out of tune with what we were doing. I freed myself from her probing tongue and said, “Mother, she’ll be expecting me home for lunch.” Amanda laughed. “No she won’t my love. She’s knows quite well what we are doing. We arranged it between us long ago.” “But how…why…?” “Darling, I knew a long time ago I loved you…loved you as a woman loves a man. I made no secret of it with your mother. She understands such things. Remember her special friend? I told you a long time ago that I also have a special friend, you. I also knew what you wanted with me. I have eyes to see and I can feel. I felt your erections when we played together in the pool. Your mother and I agreed I should do this with you after your eighteenth birthday.” Another thought occurred. “Amanda, is this only for today?” She laughed again. “Of course not my love. If you want it to go on into the future, then it will, for as long as you still want me.” I felt a wave of relief sweep through me. I don’t think I was the type then, and I am not now, who seeks the one night stand, the odd coupling. I wanted and want, the ever flowing fountain; a place to which I could always return to assuage my thirst, and my thirst was for Amanda. She stopped further discussion as she placed her hand under one breast and extending the nipple said, let me suckle you, darling. I bent to take her nipple into my mouth, and sucking a licking it I inhaled that odour I had always thought of as the “Amanda smell,” enticing and arousing. She drew my hand to her other breast and closed my fingers gently over it. Taking the hint I caressed it, giving little squeezes to its nipple. Amanda sighed a sound of deep contentment. “I’ve waited so long, my love,” she whispered. Her hand drew mine to her vagina and I felt the soft moistness of it. Her thighs felt very wet, and although in school sex instruction we had heard about female lubrication to feel it in reality was exquisite. She had opened her legs, drawing them up as she did this. “Come into me, darling,” she said. A little awkwardly I settled between her legs and tried to feel for her entrance with the crown of my penis. I felt her hand take hold of my organ and guide me to her, and then I was slipping into her depths. I felt as if I had entered a heavenly realm. I wanted to say over and over again, “I love you, love you,” but instead I listened to her soft little whimpers as I moved up and down in her.” Suddenly I felt her begin to quiver and she held on to me tightly, her legs wrapped round me, and began crying out, “Don’t leave me, don’t stop, please don’t stop…” I felt her nails dig into my back and she began screaming, “Deeper, deeper,” and I put my hands under her buttocks and thrust in hard. She gave one final shriek, and then seemed to subside, weeping and moaning, “Don’t leave me, don’t leave me.” I felt the first jerk of sperm up my shaft, and then I was pumping into her again, desperately fighting to get to the very centre of her being to plant my seed in her. Inhibitions abandoned I groaned and yelled my passion for her. When we had finished we lay sated for a while. I had been overwhelmed by my first entry into the heaven that is woman. All the smutty sexual jokes of school boy days had been washed away. Nothing in our adolescent imaginations had come anywhere near the reality. Had I succeeded in penetrating the girl in the back of my car, I might well have found the experience a poor one. Now, as I lay with Amanda, I knew I adored her. She was the “Earth mother,” my Venus, goddess of love and fertility. In that moment I could not imagine my life without her. It was only some time later that the responsibility for our deed made itself evident. Now in our post coital peace Amanda was speaking quietly. “Was that late birthday present worth waiting for, my love?” I laughed and said I hoped I would be able to have a late birthday present every day. She looked at me solemnly for a moment and said, “Perhaps not every day, darling, but as often as possible.” I understood what she was implying. In the elation of our love making thoughts about her husband had not been present. He was not always away at conferences. A stab of jealous pain shot through me. “Do…do you and…your…Arthur…do you…?” “No darling,” she said, smiling warmly. “We don’t, so there is no need for jealousy. You have no rivals to worry about. What I have to give I give to you.” “But,” I began. I wanted to ask her why she and her husband didn’t make love but she interrupted me. “One day, Adrian, when the time is right, I may explain to you, but not now.” I had to rest content with that. Another thought struck me but I did not voice it. My mother might know about and may even have encouraged this sexual relationship with Amanda, but my father was a different proposition. I could well imagine that he would raise hell if he found out. Then again I thought of my mother’s lover. He had never found out about him. I could see that care would be needed if my newly established relationship with Amanda was to continue. Amanda broke into my thoughts. “Darling, you’re looking dismal. Let’s not worry about what tomorrow might bring. Look, we’re all hot and sticky, let’s have another swim and then come back here. I’ve got something I’d like to show you.” I dropped my dark thoughts and we ran hand in hand down the stair and out to the pool. I think I shall always remember that pool, the place of my first coupling with a woman. We swam until we had cooled down then raced back to the bedroom. Amanda leapt onto the bed and without preamble opened her legs wide and said, “I don’t expect you’ve ever seen female genitals, have you?” “No,” I replied, “Only in pictures.” “Come and look at me, darling,” she said enticingly, “I want you to know what I look like.” She gave a rueful smile and went on, “Some men can’t stand the sight of a woman’s vagina, and I don’t think that’s fair. After all, we women have to look at men’s sex organs. So come and see if I horrify you.” I knelt before her and gazed at her genitals. At first there seemed little to see except some dark hair and a mound below which ran a slit that disappeared under her groin with what looked like swelling lips on either side. Then with her fingers Amanda parted the two lips and revealed two more, but instead of being a light brown like the outer lips, these were pink. I thought they looked beautiful, like pink rose petals. Amanda was about to part the inner lips, but hesitated and said, “You open them, darling.” I placed my thumbs on the lips and gently opened them, and beyond was an opening. “That’s where you enter me, Adrian, but look.” She lifted and little flap of skin at the top of her vagina and said, “My clitoris, darling, that’s where a woman feels an enormous amount of pleasure when it is touched properly.” I had seen this too in pictures, but found myself fascinated by the little nub beneath the flap. I had long been aware of the birth process, and as I looked now at her sexual organs I felt a sense of awe. It was as if I were looking upon something sacred. As if by some instinct I leaned forward and kissed her clitoris. “Oh my love,” she burst out, “No one has ever done that to me before.” I kissed her clitoris again, this time tasting it with my tongue and taking in her aroma. This was the Amanda smell I had long ago experienced. The taste and the smell of her womanhood sent me into something like frenzy. I sucked on her clitoris then entered her vaginal opening with my tongue. I felt as if I wanted to consume her I was so beside myself with love for her. I felt her hands press against the back of my head, indicating I must stay with her. She gave little flicking movements against my mouth and she became extremely wet. Suddenly she began to shake and moan. I held on to her as her whole body started to vibrate and she began screaming and crying out. Her movement and cries reached a climax, and then began to subside, her movements and loud cries ebbing away to a soft whimper. My face was soaked with her fluid but she moved so as to kiss me and began licking my mouth and face, tasting her own discharge. I had an aching erection and she pushed me onto my back and took my penis into her mouth. She was sucking and licking its crown and I knew I could not hold back. I tried to warn her of my coming ejaculation, but she ignored me and kept sucking, taking more and more of me into her mouth. As I felt the first burst of sperm arriving a tried to pull away from her but she clung on to me, and I was discharging into her mouth. Once I started I made no more effort to withdraw but held her head, forcing her to stay with me until I had shot my complete load of semen into her mouth. When I had finished and was relaxing she came away from me. Her mouth and chin were sticky with my sperm and she kissed me again, this time forcing me to taste my own discharge. “You are my love, my darling, my lover,” she whispered. “That was the first time ever for me as well.” We lay back, replete and happy. By then it was late afternoon and Amanda said, “Your father is away, so why not go and tell you mother you’ll be staying the night with me. She loves you darling, but you would be doing her favour. You see, John (her lover) is coming tonight. With you out of the house they came make as much noise as they like. We both laughed and I went to clean up before presenting myself to mother. When I entered the house and found mother she looked hard at me then asked, “Well?” “Very well, thank you mother,” I said. And we burst out laughing. “Amanda loves you very much, Adrian,” she said. “I know mother,” I replied, “I love her too. I shall be spending the night with her. I understand that it will please you.” She looked at me seriously and said, “Thank you for keeping my secret all these years, Adrian. One day I might be able to tell you what it has meant to John and me.” “Another revelation for the future,” I thought, but said, “Thank you for understanding about Amanda and I, mother.” “Darling,” she chuckled, “I could see very clearly how you two felt about each other. Amanda wasn’t going to make a move and I knew you wouldn’t. Certainly from when you were about sixteen Amanda admitted to me her growing sexual attraction for you, so in the end I told her, ‘Rape him if you have to, but for goodness sake don’t let this wretched frustration you’re both suffering from go on any longer.” She chuckled again and said, “I take it she didn’t have to rape you.” I grinned and said, “Not very much, anyway.” “Off you go then. John will be here soon. And don’t bother to take any pyjamas, you won’t need them.” We both laughed and I fled back to Amanda for what we afterwards always called our “Honeymoon” night. In the following weeks and months Amanda and I came together as often as we could. If luck went our way, my father and her husband would be away at the same time. In that case we spent the nights together during their absence. This was just as well because after my university course started I had less chance of being with Amanda during the day. It was about seven months after Amanda and I began our love making that the moment of truth came. Amanda announced she was pregnant. Had we been married or if I had had been at the end of my university studies, the situation would not have been so difficult. Then there was the fact of Amanda being married to Arthur, and, horror of horrors, my father. I saw clearly that at eighteen I had taken on a man’s responsibility for an ongoing sexual relationship. Again, being truthful, if sex was all there was in our relationship, it might have been easy to end it, but sex wasn’t all there was to it. We really loved each other. We both would have been over the moon about the pregnancy, but so much seemed to mar the possibility of celebration. In discussing what was to be done, Amanda ruled out abortion. I had not even thought of suggesting it, being, despite the difficulties we faced, romantic about the child as a “gift for our love.” It was at this time that Amanda finally told me about how things were with Arthur. “Adrian, it’s not a nice story and I’m not proud of my part in it. I don’t know what you’ll think of me when you’ve heard it, but you might as well know the truth.” “Like your mother, before I got married to Arthur I was a clerical assistant in the same department as him. It paid just about enough to live on, but nothing more.” “Arthur was Departmental Head, and I thought he might be a way out of my poor place in the scheme of things. I knew I had looks, and I noticed Arthur taking a particular interest in me. I thought I had him sexually interested and started to play up to him.” “He got around to asking me to go out with him a few times and I tried to bed him, but that failed. I thought he must be some sort of Puritan, you know, no sex before marriage. I even saw that as an advantage. I’ll be frank, I didn’t really fancy him sexually at all, but he looked like a very luxurious meal ticket.” She stopped for a moment, looking at me. “See what a conniving bitch you’ve taken on?” I said nothing, waiting for her to go on. “You know, Adrian, I had misjudged the whole situation. He didn’t want me sexually before or after marriage. Arthur is gay.” She paused while I absorbed this news. “Why the hell did he marry you then?” I asked. “In those days, darling, to be gay was to be virtually outcast if people found out, not like it is now when it’s generally accepted as a sexual alternative. Arthur had kept it hidden, but the higher up the promotional ladder he climbed, the more prominent he became and his life more open to scrutiny. He lived in constant dread of being found out and disgraced.” “It must have been a shock when you found out, though, and I still don’t see why you married him.” “It wasn’t really a shock, Adrian, you see, he told me before we got married, even before he asked me to marry him. It was a two-way deal, I gave him, or he hoped I would, an aura of sexual respectability, and he gave me a nice comfortable life.” Working My Passage “The only catch turned out to be, that he went on with his brand of sex, but there was to be no hint of scandal where I was concerned. I mean, your mother has put a lot at risk for herself with John.” “You know, the strange thing is, Arthur could be wide open about his sexual preference these days, and be perfectly safe in his job and social relations.” “The other thing is I got to want a child. To do him credit Arthur did try, but he really has no sexual desire for a woman at all. He just couldn’t do anything with me. Some gay men can manage it, but he couldn’t.” “Then you came into my life. You must have known something of how I felt?” “I was the son you wanted?” “I’m afraid so, darling. Obviously it became something else over time, but yes, for years you were my son. I know, because your mother told me you used to talk about me as your ‘other mother’.” I smiled as I remembered. “Yes, that’s true.” “So you see, my darling, you’ve got a sordid, money grubbing woman as you lover; a woman who right now would give almost anything to be with you all the time.” “Then why not, my love? I can drop university and get a job. We can set up house together.” “She gave a rueful smile. “And in ten years time you’d be looking at me and thinking or even saying, ‘You ruined my life’. No my love, I’ll not let you wreck your life for me. I wanted this baby with you; I shall take responsibility for it.” She had given me my escape route, but with the fervour of youth I didn’t want to take it. I began my protest. “But it’s my baby as well, Amanda, and…” “I know my love, and I’m glad it’s your baby as well, but you’re in no position to take responsibility. I knew that when I let my self get pregnant.” I seemed to be getting shut out of the picture. Whichever way I turned I could find no viable way of being involved that was acceptable to Amanda. For the moment I gave up and asked, “What will you do?” “You’ll have to leave that with me, Adrian. Just know that only you, your mother and I will know who the father is.” “But this leaves me right out of the situation.” “Yes, and for now that’s where I want you to be. In time perhaps it will be different, but for now be sensible, get on with your studies, and leave me to handle the matter.” She sounded almost cold. She was rejecting me and as if to confirm this she said that she did not want to make love with me. I left her house thoroughly depressed and with as low an opinion of myself as I think I had ever had. I decided to speak to mother about the situation only to find she already knew of Amanda’s condition. I tried to explain how I felt cut out of things and wanted to be involved, but Amanda was opposed to this. “Yes darling, I know, and I think she’s quite right. She knew what she was doing, it’s what she wanted. Women have a way of coping in these situations, you’ll see.” Well, I certainly saw. I had a full round of lectures and tutorials next day, and didn’t get home until late. A serious faced mother was waiting for me. “Amanda’s gone,” she announced without preamble. “She left a note for Arthur and went.” “Where? Where has she gone?” I said with a note of panic in my voice. “She didn’t say. Arthur’s been here and he has no idea where she might have gone. Oddly he doesn’t seem much bothered.” Arthur may not have been bothered, but I was. “Mother, you must know where she is, you two were really close.” “As close as you?” she asked. “I’m afraid I don’t know, Adrian, and I don’t think it’s going to be much good trying to find her. I think she doesn’t want to be found, and when people don’t want to be found it’s incredibly hard to find them.” I felt as if I was being torn apart inside. My first, and as I thought with all the simplicity of youth, my only love gone without a word. Unmanly though it might seem I broke down and wept. She had said she loved me and had gone I knew not where. Mother tried to comfort me, but her words washed over me. I was a deserted lover. Amanda had gone carrying my…our…baby in her womb. I said I would contact the police and tell them she was a missing person. Mother responded that it was up to her husband to do that, and the police were not likely to take any notice of me. She was right because I did go to the police and they asked a lot of embarrassing questions, and the sergeant ended by saying, “I think it’s up to the ladies husband or a near relative to talk to us, sir, and we’ve had no contact from them reporting the lady missing.” I felt utterly bereft, but hung on to the one hope that she would contact me, asking me to go to her. It was a vain hope. I tried the Salvation Army who had a service for finding missing persons. They were sympathetic but because I couldn’t establish a clear relationship to her, I got the same reply as the police sergeant had given me. I seemed to lose track of time and my days were spent in misery, longing for Amanda, desperate to find her. My studies became a mess and I was in danger of being dismissed from the course, so I made a mighty effort and pulled myself together. I began to tell myself that she had left me, so to hell with her. If she didn’t want me, then I would find someone else. I had a few of the one night stands that I had mentally abhorred, and found that I still loathed them in the flesh. I even settled down to one particular girl, but then found that I wasn’t the only one who had settled down with her. I decided that as a lover I was a walking disaster area, and came to the conclusion that a lifetimes masturbation was all that lay ahead of me. I was rescued from this fate in a most unexpected way. It must have been six months after Amanda disappeared from my life when one day my mother said, “You’re still missing Amanda, aren’t you?” “Everyday,” I muttered. Without any warning my mother asked straight out, “Darling, would it help if we made love?” To say I was startled would be an understatement. The last person in the world I would have considered as a sexual partner was mother. I recognised that she was attractive, but there was father and her lover John and I knew of the abhorrence many people had for incest. I began to make what I suppose were protests and in the process mentioned father and John, “Suppose they found out?” I asked. The fact that I was concerned about our being found out, suggests that despite my surprise at mother’s offer, somewhere in the recesses of my mind I was already considering her as a sexual partner. “Adrian,” mother replied, “I think I’d better explain something to you about your father and I. We haven’t had sex for years. As you know, we sleep apart and have done so since you were quite small.” “You see, when you were about six your father seemed to lose interest in me sexually. Then I found out that his conferences and other activities that took him away from home included being granted sexual favours. That was when I moved out of his bed.” “Oh, he still wanted me around to look after you and be the pleasant hostess at his parties and dinners, and it suited me to live the lifestyle we have and to make sure you grew up in a good environment, at least, financially speaking.” “Sexually it was a wretched time for me until I met and fell in love with John. You must realise that John and I have been faithful to each other for years. If I were unfaithful to him now, it would be because I love you and hate seeing you so unhappy and frustrated. It would take nothing away from your father that he wants from me, and it wouldn’t diminish my love for John, and providing there was no jealousy on your part and you didn’t mind sharing me, I’d like to help you.” “I made some more vague protests, I think more as a matter of form than lack of desire to have mother, so she said; “You don’t have to come to a decision right now, Adrian. Give it some thought, and if you decide you would like to come to me, then you know I shall be very happy to be with you sexually.” She left me to think it over. I have found that often I would make what might be called an “instinctive decision” about something, and then proceed to mull it over only to come back to the thought I had in the first place. I am sure that my first thought was, “Yes, I want sex with mother.” Then I went through the agonising process of putting up all the arguments for and against to finally decide that I would like to make love with mother. When she put the suggestion to me in the first place it seemed to be in a rather cold, rational manner. When I told her I would like to have sex with her she was far from cold. My father was away and John was not coming that night so I spent my first night in her bed. I suppose I must have known that mother had some degree of sexual vitality, why else was John still her lover? I had no idea, however, just how vital she was. I had anticipated that she was merely setting out to give me comfort and sexual release. I was very wrong. Smaller both in stature and figure than Amanda, she was never the less delightful. Her small breasts had sweet little pink nipples and the aureoles were a slightly darker shade of pink. Her pubic hair had been removed to reveal, not so much a vaginal slit as a bud that proved to be the entrance to a tight vagina and a vaginal muscle she could flex to great and thrilling effect. Our first coupling took place very quickly as we were both so highly stimulated. I was astounded when she had three orgasms in quick succession during the one coupling. After that she wanted everything from me and gave everything to me. She didn’t seem to flag for a moment. No sooner had I finished one ejaculation than she was stirring me up for another. During that first night we must have run the whole gamut of sexual possibilities, including anal sex, that I had not experienced before. “My God,” I thought, no wonder John has been faithful all these years, but how does he cope with her? She must wear the poor devil out. No wonder she was so willing to take me on. She’d have no problem coping with a dozen men let alone two.” She was wonderful, beautiful and insatiable and the last ejaculation I could manage was with my penis between her breasts. Both of us were in a dreadful mess. Our faces and bodies were covered with each other’s fluids and the bed looked as if two dogs had been fighting in it. I collapsed beside mother, exhausted, and even as I fell into a deep and dreamless sleep, mother’s hand was playing with my penis trying to make it rise for yet another joint effort. Thank God the next day was Saturday and I had no lectures or tutorials to attend. I slept late and woke up aching in every limb. Mother was gone from the bed but the residue of our passion was very evident, including the after smell of our multiple sexual unions. I rose with a groan and staggered to the shower and emerged from it somewhat revived. I went in search of mother and found her sitting in the kitchen drinking a cup of coffee and mulling over the newspaper. She looked up as I came in and gave me a beaming smile. “Good morning my darling, what a beautiful day after such a wonderful night, and really my love, I must say Amanda has taught you well. Pity you went to sleep so soon, I could have gone on a lot longer. I did think about waking you this morning so we could have some fun, but I decided to let you sleep instead.” “Now, about today, darling; let’s have a bit of a break this morning and then we can go to bed this afternoon. I’m afraid we can’t have the night together because John will be coming, but I’m sure I can make you happy this afternoon.” There was no question whether or not I wanted to go to bed with her that afternoon; it was just taken for granted. I hoped my testicles were in good working order to enable me to survive the afternoon. “What will you do this morning, darling?” she asked. “Er…I’ll do some studying,” I replied, which being translated meant I was going to hide in my own bedroom and get some rest to be ready for the coming scrimmage. Mother bounced off out of the kitchen singing as I had heard her do after her nights with John. She seemed to me to have undergone something of a personality change, but that was probably due to the change or extension of our relationship. The afternoon session was hardly less strenuous than the previous night, but I had the advantage of knowing what was coming, and so was ready for it. I found there to be a marked distinction between sex with mother and sex with Amanda. It was not just the obvious fact they were two different women with their own physical characteristics. With Amanda our coming together had been the result of a love relationship that had evolved since my childhood to finally flower into sexual union. Our couplings were the outcome of a deep love in which we explored each other almost with reverence. Of course there was joy in our sexual performance but neither of us ever ended up feeling physically fatigued. It was as if we drew strength from each other and emerged from our couplings with a profounder love for each other. With mother sex seemed to be simply fun. In the sexual act she was entirely ingenuous, an innocent out to gain life’s pleasures. That afternoon she said, “Did you and Amanda ever try this?” She sat across me, which of course Amanda had done many time, but instead of facing me she was turned to face down my legs. “It’s really fun,” she went on, and I felt my penis slide into her, and have to admit it did produce a different and delightful sensation. Then before either of us had an orgasm she leaped off me and lowering her sex organ to my face said, “Do give a lovely licking darling, I think I’d like to come while your doing it, so don’t stop until I’ve finished will you.” So it we went on for the afternoon. During our activities mother would frequently keep up a stream of joyous chatter, “Is that nice, darling?” Oh, that does feel good.” “Do that again darling.” “Do you like this sweetheart?” Once again she drained me to the last dribble of my semen and when I had to admit I really couldn’t achieve another erection she said brightly, “Never mind darling it’ll all come back tomorrow.” “My God,” I thought, “she’s been with me most of the night, then this afternoon, and she’s taking John tonight, and she’s looking forward to more sex with me tomorrow! The woman’s libido is frightening. How has John on his own coped with her?” Mother never commented on her sex life with John until some years after our time of making love had ended. It was then that I realised that the relationship between mother and John was of the same quality as mine with Amanda. They were two people deeply in love and had remained so for many years. Sex between mother and John was very different from sex with me. True all the same physical things took place, but with John they carried a different meaning. Mother’s loving act in allowing me to enjoy her body at first absorbed and even drained me physically, but like most sexual relationships after the first flowering has been and gone, things calmed down. When this happened to me I found myself contemplating Amanda again. During sex with mother I began to fantasise Amanda. I confessed this to mother, thinking she might not wish to continue having sex with me on, as it were, false pretences. She chuckled softly. “That’s all right, darling, of course you fantasise Amanda. I know how much you love her. I’m not at all hurt. So long as we can just enjoy each other, why worry?” It was over a year since my loss of Amanda and six months into my sexual relationship with mother, that a dramatic change came into our lives. My father was overseas dealing with some government business when we got news that he had dropped down dead during a conference. It was heart failure and we had no idea that there was anything wrong with his heart. We learned from his doctor, however, that he had been receiving treatment for some time, but had kept it hidden from us and his department. His body was brought home and he was cremated following a rather splendid funeral at which all sort of important people, or at least, people who thought they were important, said their farewells. I had never had much to do with my father. His life and interests always seemed to be elsewhere. At the funeral I learned how highly he had been thought of, and had the doubtful pleasure of seeing three female mourners who, my mother told me, had been numbered among his inamoratas. It was hard for me to feel the emotions that are considered proper for a son to feel at the death of his father. This, I suppose, was because emotion had never entered into my relationship with him. I felt some sense of gratitude that he had been so well placed on the financial scale that I had not had to feel the sting of deprivation as I saw some of my fellow student suffering, but I fear that was all I felt. Mother was clearly ambivalent about her feelings. She too had been given a better life style than she might have had without him. He had not been unkind to her, simply careless when it came to the sort of love mother had needed. For a couple of weeks all sex between us, and I suspect with John, ceased. Mother seemed to turn in on herself, shutting out the world around her. Financially mother was well placed as my father’s superannuation became available to her. In his will he had left me some “Blue Chip Stock” that, as I discovered, paid out enough interest to keep me above the poverty line, just. Not that I had to worry as I was still living at home at no cost, so for the time being the money from the interest was more than adequate, in fact I even ploughed some of it back into further investment. When mother invited me to her bed again I found I had a quieter sex partner. She was no where near as demanding as she had been, which to some extent was a bit of a relief for me. Then three month after my father’s death she dropped her mini-bombshell. It had several elements to it. First she announced that we would be moving. “I don’t want to keep living in this huge place,” she explained. Next she pointed out that she and John would be living together with the eventual aim of getting married. In the meantime she wanted me to live with them, but sex between us would cease. “I seem to have a penchant for losing my sex partners,” I thought wryly. Yet I understood her reasons. She would now constantly be with the man she had loved for many years, and she would want to devote herself entirely to him sexually. I had just begun to think what I was going to do with my own sexual needs when mother thrust a piece of paper into my hand. Written on it was an address. “What’s this?” I asked, puzzled. “It’s her address, darling.” “Amanda’s?” “Yes.” “Then you’ve know, you’ve known all along!” “No darling, but I’ve know for some time. She asked me to give it to you when I thought the moment was right. I think this is the moment.” I felt a sense of anger and burst out, “You two women always seem to be plotting something concerning me.” “Perhaps you should be glad we have, Adrian,” mother retorted mildly. “Why couldn’t she have sent me her address instead of doing it through you?” “She had her reasons, and if you decide you want to see her she’ll probably explain. By the way, it was a little girl.” That sobered me rather quickly. A girl, a daughter, my…our daughter, “She must be six months old by now, and I haven’t even see her…wasn’t even told…” “Go and see them, Adrian,” mother said quietly. I needed no second telling. It was late morning and I leaped into the car and hurtled through the streets to the address. It proved to be in a less affluent suburb than ours, and the house was really a small cottage. I knocked on the door, and there was no answer. I knocked again, louder and still no answer. I ended up hammering but got no response. Working My Passage I felt miserable and angry and wandered disconsolately round the back to look the place over. The garden was full of flowers and towards the end of a path that ran down the centre of the garden I saw a pram. I went towards it and there, behind a row of climbing beans, was Amanda, kneeling and digging with a trowel. So as not to give her a fright I said quietly, “Hello, Amanda.” She looked up at me, startled. “Adrian!” She rose and stood before me, looking straight into my eyes. All the things I had planned to say on seeing her fled from my head. She was dressed in old gardening clothes, but looked lovelier than I had ever seen her before. I stammered out, “M-m-mother g-g-gave me your address, so I came.” She smiled and said, “So I see.” There was a strange distance between us that I did not know how to overcome. I thought when I saw her we would be in each other’s arms, kissing, but no, we just stood there looking at each other almost as if what had been between us had never happened. That is had happened was quickly made evident when Amanda said, “Would you like to see our daughter?” My throat seemed to have gone dry but I managed to croak out, “Yes please.” We went to the pram and I looked down at a tiny bundle lying there. She was asleep but I thought she must have been the world’s most beautiful baby. “I called her ‘Amorina’,” Amanda said. “I hope you don’t mind. It means ‘Love’. I thought it appropriate as she was conceived in love. Perhaps you’d like to hold her when she wakes up.” There was something very calm and peaceful about Amanda. She was also a little remote. She glanced at her watch and said, “She should be waking soon, it’s getting close to her next feed. Come in and we’ll have a cup of tea and talk.” I sat the kitchen table as she made the tea. She had brought the pram into the kitchen and it was next to me. I found my attention divided between looking at Amorina and watching Amanda’s graceful movements as she went about her simple task. She asked me neutral questions like how had I been, how were my studies getting along, and she was sorry to hear about my father. I tried to respond in kind and managed a few hoarse questions as to her wellbeing. I hardly needed to ask since she looked in the peak of health. The tea made she sat opposite me at the table. “So your mother thought it was time to give you my address?” “Yes.” “Is there any special reason she chose now, do you know?” I gave her brief outline of events since my father’s death, ending with mother setting up house with John. Finally I could contain myself no longer. “Why did you leave me, Amanda? I thought you loved me.” She looked at me as if weighing her reply for a moment, then said very tenderly, “I left you because I love you.” “How can that be?” I protested. “When you love someone you don’t want to leave them.” “You’re right,” she went on, “you don’t want to leave someone you love, but if you really do love them, then you leave them if you think your presence in their life is destructive. I told you before I left that I would not ruin your life.” “I knew I would have to leave Arthur when I knew the baby was coming. Would you believe, when I told him I was pregnant he said nothing about my leaving. I think he understood that being heterosexual I had been severely deprived both of a sex life and a child.” “I wasn’t told, as they used to say in the old melodramas, to ‘Never darken my doorstep again’, but I felt the need to leave. When I decided that, I also decided you were not to know where I was.” “I tried hard to find you,” I said miserably. “I went to the police and the Salvation Army but they couldn’t or wouldn’t help. I used to look for you everywhere I went, hoping one day to see you.” “I know, Adrian, your mother told me.” “And that’s another thing,” I retorted, “you two seem to be set on making decisions for me without bothering to consult me. And also you went off with my baby inside you, was I supposed never to see her?” “Adrian, you are seeing her,” Amanda said with obvious logic. Suddenly she changed the direction of the talk. “So your mother thought it was time we met?” “Yes.” At this point a sort of gurgling noise came from the pram. “Feeding time,” said Amanda, and came to pick the baby up. “Would you like to hold her for a minute? I’ll need to change her after her feed so if you just look after her for minute I’ll get the things ready. She put the baby in my arms and I was at a loss to know what to do. I had never in my life held a baby before, and seeing me wavering about with the child Amanda said, “For goodness sake, Adrian, just hold her close to you. She won’t break and they say babies like to feel masculine strength, it helps them feel secure. I finally got the hang of the thing and looked down at Amorina. Even at that stage she had Amanda written all over her except for her eyes, which were the same colour as mine. I experienced a sensation I had never had before. However foolish it may sound, I felt protective. I wanted to guard this little scrap of humanity. “She’s lovely,” I said, more to myself than Amanda or Amorina. “Well tell her so, you idiot,” Amanda scolded. “You know girls like to hear that sort of thing.” “But she won’t understand,” I protested. “Of course she will if you say it properly and mean it. She’ll feel it.” Amorina was looking up at me speculatively so I said very softly, “Your lovely, Amorina.” “Glurkel.” “You see, I told you she’d understand. Now give her to me.” Amanda had undone the shirt she was wearing, and taking the baby from me she sat and undid her bra that was fastened at the front. Her milk laden breasts seemed to tumble out, and she put her hand under one breast to extend the nipple, and the baby began to suck. It reminded me of the time when we had first come together when she…I stamped on the memory as too painful to bear. I had never seen a baby being breast fed before and now I was riveted by what I was seeing. “Oh God, Amanda, that is beautiful.” Amanda flushed and even knowing what I meant she asked, “What is?” “You and the Amorina. I wish I could paint a picture of you both. Oh Amanda, I had no idea it was so exquisite.” I felt a wave of love overwhelm me, a sensation of love I had never experienced before. I didn’t know how to cope with it or express it. Amanda nourishing my…our baby. However much I had loved Amanda before, I now felt…what? I wanted to weep, to embrace them both, to absorb them into my life. There were no categories, no words or easy platitudes that I could resort to. I loved them, but how did you express this new sensation of love – no, not sensation – this reality of love? I spoke out without even thinking of what I said. “Don’t take this way from me, Amanda.” She was in the process of transferring Amorina from one breast to the other, so she was silent for a moment. As Amorina settled to the new source of nourishment Amanda looked up at me. “Is this what you really want, Adrian?” “Yes, this is what I really want. Don’t shut me out.” She said nothing in response and I sat silent, drinking in the sight of mother and child. How was there such beauty, and I had never known? Amorina, sated with breast milk, nappy changed, went back to sleep. A sleep that would one day prepare her for her own acts of love and creativity. Her breasts tucked away, Amanda turned her full attention on me. “Adrian, is this what you really want? Amorina and I? I left you so you could have time to work out what you really want in life. I left you so you would have time to consider. You didn’t even have sexual pressure. I know your mother relieved you of that. We arranged it before I left.” “You what…” “Adrian, I wanted you to make a free choice about me…and Amorina. If you only wanted me for sexual relief, then we had no future. If that’s all you want from me, then seek your sexual pleasures elsewhere. If you feel you can love Amorina and me, then say so, but don’t deceive yourself or us.” I felt as if my life was in the balance. Could I accept the responsibility for these two human beings? Amanda had confronted me clearly and now I voiced my instinctive response to the challenge. “I want you and Amorina…I want to be with you.” I don’t know what I expected in that moment; perhaps falling into each other’s arms, a long passionate kiss, and then bed time. It didn’t happen like that. I made a move to kiss Amanda, but she backed away. “No, not now.” “But if I’m going to move in with you…” “You’re not moving in, Adrian, at least, not yet. I want you to move with your mother to the new house she and John will be living in. Then if you really mean what you said about wanting us, come and visit us. Get to know Amorina…and me.” “But I do know you.” “No you don’t, Adrian. You think you do, but you have to understand that when a woman has a baby there are certain changes that take place in her, both physically and emotionally. You will need to grow used to that. When we first made love I was in a sense young and free, now I have the responsibility of a child I intend to be very careful about who comes into our lives.” “You have to consider whether you want to take on a woman sixteen years your senior with a child. You still have to get on with your studies and prepare yourself to earn a living, because you’ll have to do that for Amorina if you want to be with us. All that is some way down the track.” I asserted that I had money already, but she already knew that. Mother and Amanda certainly got their heads together over me. She pointed out correctly that what I had would hardly keep me, let alone her and a baby. I was prompted to ask how she had managed to live over the past months. “I told you Arthur bore me no grudge for being pregnant. He had his own needs which from the very beginning ran diametrically opposite to mine. As I told you, we both knew this when we married. He was and still is grateful to me for being what he calls, his ‘Saviour’. I was his mask of respectability. So, he continues to give me some support. If you eventually move in with us, that support will cease. Even if Arthur doesn’t stop it, I will.” “Come and visit us often Adrian and when you do I’ll show you how to change a baby.” We both relaxed and laughed. “Well if you want to be a responsible father, that’s a good place to begin,” she said. We made arrangements for my further visits and I returned home. “Well? Asked mother, “What did you think of your lovely daughter?” “You’ve seen her, then?” “Of course, I was there at her birth.” “And you never said a word to me!” “No, Amanda was adamant I shouldn’t. What did you think of Amanda?” “She’s changed, I couldn’t get close to her, physically I mean.” Mother gave a chuckle. “You know what you are going to have to do, my boy. You are going to have to engage in a bit of old fashioned courting.” “What do you mean?” “You’re going to have to woo her, win her.” She laughed and said, “You might even have to go out and slay a fire breathing dragon for her.” So my courtship of Amanda and I suppose Amorina began. I moved with mother and John into a smaller house. I had never got to know John as mother kept their relationship very private. I found him likeable enough but he and mother were so wrapped up in each other I felt a bit like an interloper. Considering how many years they had been lovers one might have expected that some of the heat would have gone out of their relationship. From what I could see, it hadn’t. Well, not so much from what I could see as from what I could hear. The house was fairly solid, but even given the substantial nature of the walls and the distance of my bedroom from theirs, I could often hear mother’s cries as she climaxed. This made the absence of a sexual partner in my life even more distressing, and I felt the urgent need to move out and leave these two passionate lovers to their joy in each other. My wooing of Amanda moved along slowly. I learned the art of changing baby, including bottom cleaning. Amanda, much to my deep pleasure, continued to breast feed Amorina in front of me and I never seemed to tire of the beautiful picture that they made, but the time for weaning arrived. I was put to further uses in preparing the food and heating bottles, followed by washing up. I tried the old fashioned ploys of wooers, and knowing that Amanda did not like cut flowers I bought her plants in pots and even unromantic tomato seedlings for her garden. I plied Amorina with rattles and soft toys to what effect I wasn’t sure, but my holding her when she cried seemed to have a calming effect on her, so I felt as if I was winning her to some extent. One day Amanda said soon after I arrived, “Arthur and I have divorced.” I had no idea that they had even begun divorce proceedings, so the announcement took me a bit by surprise. It also gave me pause for thought. If Amanda was free, then if I did end up being invited to live with them, marriage was a distinct possibility. I let that sink in for a while. I wondered how Amanda was going to manage financially now Arthur was gone. I asked her and she said briefly; “We came to a settlement arrangement to be continued until I remarry.” That was even more food for thought. Amanda and I had got to the point where we exchanged kisses. They were very virtuous kisses but at least they were an advance on no physical contact. Amanda did not use disposable nappies for Amorina and one day I was battling at the kitchen sink to remove the worst of Amorina’s joyous emissions when Amanda came up behind me and putting her arms round my waist and hugging my back, laughed and said, “You really do want to be a daddy, don’t you?” This was the first such physical contact of this sort since I began visiting her, and its effects of me were electric. My penis began to expand and harden at a rapid rate along with it my blood pressure must have roared up. I wanted to turn and clutch her to me, to feel her body once more. Instead I continued my endeavours at the sink and said, “No, I don’t want to be a daddy. I want to be a very specific daddy – Amorina’s.” “I can see that,” she said, and moved away from me. My need to move out of the house and away from mother and John became more pressing a week later. Mother, now in her forties, announced she was pregnant. I had heard of the dangers women of that age faced when pregnant, but when I voiced this mother seemed to be quite tranquil about it. “It’s what I want, Adrian. John felt the same as you, but I have to confess I trapped him into it. I took myself off the pill and waited to see what happened. It’s probably my last chance, and I want this with John.” On my next visit to Amanda and Amorina I carried my wooer’s gift of two packets of beans for planting. Amorina had for some time now recognised my presence as a particular entity in her life and in her own way made me welcome. I told Amanda about mother’s pregnancy, but as usual, she already knew. “Kylie’s been plotting that for some time,” she commented, and seemed to become very preoccupied. She was so inattentive that she began dropping and tripping over things. I even made sure I did the baby holding, just in case. I had my evening meal with them and together we put Amorina to bed. We talked for a while seated in the lounge, then I said I had better go. Amanda stood up as I did, came to me and kissed me very softly but sensuously on the lips and said, “Would you like to stay with me tonight, darling?” “You mean I’ve served my apprenticeship?” “You’ve served it very well and devotedly, my love. Are you going to stay?” “I’ll ring home and let them know I won’t be home tonight.” So Amanda and I had that night what came to be called our “second honeymoon.” Doubts fled. We both knew what we wanted with great assurance. What comes to us easily is often dismissed by us just as easily. Amanda had as they say, made me “work my passage,” and as on that night I sought to meet her passionate needs, I realised that she too had been working her passage and both of us were the stronger in our love for having gone through the time of trial. I did not move in permanently for some time but started to spend more and more nights with Amanda until it got to the point where it was ridiculous not to move in. Having learned not to press matters too hard or soon, I still waited for word from Amanda. In her usual way the invitation came in a simple and direct manner. “Be with us all the time, darling.” I left the two love birds in their nest and mother was looking in splendid health. I think even at her age pregnancy agreed with her, and she looked as lovely as she ever had looked in all the years I had been with her. A wicked little memory came to the surface of my mind and I thought, “Lucky John.” After I moved in my courtship had to continue in a sense. There was the matter of marrying Amanda and she was going to make me work my passage for that as well. She told me she would not even consider marriage until I had graduated and had a career started. That put rather a sense of urgency into my studies. I wanted no failures to halt my journey towards the longed for goal, and Amanda was as good as her word. It was not until I began work in the city Botanic Gardens that she would think about marrying me. It is my contention that she already knew what her answer would be; she was just forcing me to think again. This I did, many times, and I always came up with the same answer. Finally I got exasperated with her delays in giving me a straight answer, so one evening I said, “I’m asking you to marry me for the hundredth time, Amanda, but I won’t be asking again after this.” She looked at me for a while, smiling sweetly and then said, “So long as you know you own mind, Adrian. If this is the last time you’ll ask I’d better say ‘Yes’, hadn’t I?” She took the wind right out of my sails and I didn’t know what to say. “Adrian, I said ‘Yes’, didn’t you hear me? “Er…yes…er, I heard you.” “Well aren’t you supposed to kiss me?” “Yes, I suppose so. Let’s do it in bed, shall we?” “All right, but we mustn’t wake the baby, I’ve only just put her down.” That’s family life for you!