Laura

About a month after my wife died, maybe it was two months, my mother and father reportedly rented a U-Haul, loaded it up with everything that was in our apartment, and gathered me up, and brought me home. I say "reportedly" because those days were a blur. If I had any coherent thought during those months, it was visions of my wife, and then the reality of a large, black void that was now my life. I was lost elsewhere.

My parents did everything they could think of—from taking me to doctors who prescribed little bottles of pills to bringing every person I'd ever cared about to my bedside, but nothing worked. I wasn't coming back.

My mother, Laura, would rub my back, and lean over me, whispering into my ear, the flesh of her lips grazing my earlobes, sending chills into my brain. Sometimes, exhausted, she would lie next to me in bed, spooning me against her body. I could feel her breasts pressed up against my back as she stroked my arm. Willing me, I suppose, back to life.

She had given birth to me once, and now it seemed as if she was ready to give birth to me again, as if she could expel me from the darkness back into the light with sheer will.

I was her favorite child. It had remained unspoken all of these years, but everyone knew she had a fondness for me. My brothers and sisters would tease me and I would protest—but a part of me always knew that they were right.

"David," she whispered, the tip of her tongue grazing my ear.

Her voice was almost a purr as she pressed her pelvis against me. I don't know what it was, whether the sound of longing in her voice or the pressure of her warm belly against me, but I felt myself pushing back against her. It was a subtle movement, but she felt it, and the hand that she had on my bicep quickly found my thigh.

I unfolded my body slowly, stretching, and turned over to face her.

She is a beautiful woman, and I gazed into her face for awhile, feeling myself stir at the long lashes that framed her eyes, the curve of her nose, and the fullness of her mouth. I wanted her.

I placed the palm of my hand against her cheek and stroked her smooth, cool skin, my own eyes open, looking back into her without blinking. My eyes were her eyes. I wanted to crawl inside them. I wanted to crawl back inside of her body. I reached down and rested my hand on her hip and pulled up her nightgown swiftly. I wanted to slide between her legs and bury my head there. Smell the musk all woman have. I closed my eyes and imagined her throwing her legs apart, grasping my head, and bringing my head to her openness. I imagined slipping my head up inside her, pulling my body behind me, feeling myself enclosed safely within her womb. Her belly would be stretched enormously over my body, and because I dreamed, I dreamed that it gave her great pleasure to be pregnant with me again. She caressed her great full breasts, beads of milk like pearls on the ends of her nipples. She rubbed her belly, marveling at what it contained.

She whispered my name again and it brought me back to the woman lying next to me.

I had pulled her nightgown all of the way up to her waist. She was naked and exposed. I slid one leg between her legs and pushed her legs apart. My cock was throbbing between my legs. I rolled over onto her in one graceful turn of my body, my cock pressed against her, snug between her legs and warm pussy. I looked down into her eyes to make sure she wanted me. She had her eyes closed—but she was gripping my shoulders, pulling me down against her. How long had it been since I'd spoken to my mother? I couldn't remember.

She ground herself against me. I didn't wait for another invitation and rose up and guided my cock against her lips. I pushed forcefully and the end of my cock opened her cunt. I groaned and pushed harder and slid deep inside her. She gasped and I covered her mouth with mine.

As we kissed, our tongues caressing each other, I pushed again until all of my cock was engulfed in her pussy.

"Mama," I whispered as I began to hump against her slowly at first.

She stroked my hair from my face and kissed my mouth. She answered me with just one word, "David."

And I began to thrust wildly into her as if by my own will I could return to a place where I'd once been safe and warm.

She grunted now, loudly, and I remembered the times when I had heard her behind closed doors making love to my father. These were the same sounds, only it wasn't my father between her legs, it was me. I rocked and rocked against her, feeling as if my cock was swelling inside her to impossible lengths. The sound of the bed filled the room, squeaking on its frame, and I thought about how my cum would return to the place where I was born, where I was created. I imagined it spurting from the head of my cock and flowing into her uterus, seeking out her seed, and impregnating her. I wondered if she was still fertile and hoped that she was. I wanted to fill her up with my cum. Long, white sticky strands of cum.

Suddenly I felt the first seizure in my cock that foretold that I was ready. I wrapped my arms around her body and thrust deep inside of her, sending her backward on the bed. I moaned loudly, wanting her to hear me, grunting in her ear.

"David," she cried again as the first spasm was followed by another and another.

I was filling her now, shooting deep within her, my cum spiraling up through her cervix, seeking out a way to create life. I grimaced; the pleasure was so intense, my whole body bursting outward. And I slowed my thrusts and kept pumping, gentler each time. I did not want to pull my cock out of her. I wanted it to stay inside her, warm and wet, held tight by the walls of her pussy.

"David," she began, but I put my hand over her mouth gently and shook my head. I didn't want her to say anything. I searched her eyes for guilt, regret, but saw none.

I pressed my forehead against hers, looking into her eyes, and kissed the end of her nose.

"Mama," I said softly, "I'm back."