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“What is it John?” she asked.“No, nothing,” he replied, and she could see the evasion.“John, come on,” she begged, “be open with me. I need you to do that.”He clearly did not want to say it, but she gazed at him until he shrugged and spoke.“I heard, ‘thanks’, then you disconnected,” he said, and let it lie.She wondered for a moment and then got it.“Yes, I understand,” she admitted. “No farewell words of love.”He nodded, but he knew she would see he was not asking for an explanation. He had acceded to her demand to be open, and no more. However, she could not leave it there, she felt she owed it to him.“When I said thanks, I waited for him to say something. He disconnected first.”She shrugged.John nodded and that was the end of it.The day before she left was Sunday and after Mass they cooked a Sunday lunch together as they had become accustomed to doing, enjoying it as a couple. In the afternoon Catherine and then Clare came to visit, having heard that Claire was going home the next. As I did this, I glanced in the wall mirror opposite the bathtub. I saw my mother absent-mindedly squeezing water from a washcloth all over her body. She would occasionally splash water over her pleasantly abundant breasts.I studied my mother's body. She wasn't much more than 5'4" and maybe 125 or 130 pounds. At the time, she was really still in pretty good shape, having just a slight stomach. Her face was pretty, very Midwestern, which was where she was from. She had brown, slightly curly, shoulder-length hair that was damp from the bathwater. The real highlight of her body, though, was the immaculately groomed mound of hair above what I knew to be her vagina. She epitomized everything that woman was to me at that time.As my mind regained its awareness, I noticed my dick getting erect. Having just recently discovered "boners", I again could feel my face redden. And I could not for the life of me urinate. I now concentrated on trying to relieve myself. I heard my mother, behind me,.
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