Jason was rousing from anesthetic just as I walked into the recovery room, murmuring softly to himself as his head moved slightly from side to side in the dentist's chair. I stared at him, concerned. Surely the anesthetic had kept him unconscious, but I didn't want my baby to have been in pain beneath the consciousness. My friend, Martha - her son had his wisdom teeth pulled the month before and had assured me that the demoral they wrote him a prescription for had kept him so asleep that she had spilled a hot bowl of soup on his leg that she meant to leave lying on his nightstand and he only stirred a bit, so surely there wouldn't be any pain involved in being unconscious while the teeth were extracted. Still, soup was not dental instruments and . . . was Jason erect? Oh, God. Yes he is. I can see the bulge in his jeans. He might not feel anything beneath the anesthetic, but his body sure responds. I arched my back and rolled my shoulders proudly for the nurse at the size of the bulge, who strangely responded with a raised eyebrow and half smile. Had she? The bitch. No, of course not. I was being paranoid.

"Jason, honey," I said, rubbing his shoulder. "It's me."

"Mommy?" he answered groggily, his eyes on my breasts and not my face.

I waved my hand dismissively in front of them to take his eyes away. It didn't work as usual. Instead, he smiled widely and looked up into my eyes, leering at them unlike my breasts which he usually watched in thoughtless consternation or with a hazy, needing look when he should feel guilty. I might add that he has quite an interesting way of doing that to get my attention, like now, when he needed something. Mother's intuition is valuable, but if it weren't for his unconscious, furtive glances at my breasts, I wouldn't ever know when "something was bothering him." From the look in his eyes, he needed . . . dear God. No. No. "Sweetie, Mommy wants to take you home now. You want to, don't you?" Where was my mind? "It's warm and safe and you can stay, until you get better. Until all the pain goes and all the drugs fade. Mommy wants you home. Come." I held out my hand to him and he lurched out of the chair, into my arms.

"Mommy," he said again, resting against me.

I hugged him close. "We're going to see how you love me," I breathed into his ear before steadying him on his own feet.

"There's a prescription waiting for you at the desk," the nurse told me. "He'll be unconscious for most of the next day and a half. It'll give you time to catch up on your housework, if that's what you really want to do. Make as much noise as you want. He would wake up if you put a cigarette out on his forehead." She seemed to weigh me with her eyes. "That's not permission to. Get out of here before the doctor comes back in."

"Jason," I said in the car. I want to give you three numbers. Forty-five, thirteen, and seven. I want you to remember them. It's very important. Can you do that?"

"Forty-five, thirteen, and seven," he murmured back to me.

"Okay, let's go drop this prescription off then I'll take you home and I'll get you all settled in bed."

I put him in my bed without thinking. It was fun, remembering his sick days from school when he was younger and wanted to spend the day in my room. Of course, that was because I had a television in my room then and he didn't. He flopped down on the mattress, fully dressed and I had to urge him to put his head on the pillow. "Forty-five, thirteen, and seven," I whispered to him and left.

Two hours later, I woke him up to take the first dose of pills. "What are my numbers, dear?" I asked as I handed him two tablets.


"The numbers that were so important. What were they?"

"I don't remember any numbers. I'm sorry, mom."

I raised my eyebrows.

"Mommy? I'm sorry."

"That's a good boy. Now let's get that shirt off. You'll breathe easier. I want to watch your belly rise and fall as you breathe." With a struggle, the shirt came off. He laid his head back on the pillow and smiled up at me, not so innocent, but so trusting. I sat in the chair in the corner of the room and turned on the television. He drifted off and I slid a hand through the elastic of my pants to touch myself, slowly taking the edge off as I watched him. When I'd had enough, I went downstairs to make dinner. My mind was spinning. I knew exactly what I wanted, but didn't know how to force myself to do it. There would never be another chance. Wine. Wine would be good. A glass. Two. Three. I climbed the stairs in a haze a few hours later with more pills to feed to Jason. He took them and fell back asleep without saying a word. I unbuttoned his pants and touched his penis, which barely responded. Crap. Sliding into bed with him, I began whispering in his ear.

"Jason, baby, I love you so much, so much that I'm going to do what I always wanted to do and you're going to take it like a good boy because you owe me that tonight. I'm going to take your cock in my mouth and suck and suck and suck." His penis was stirring to life. I crawled over him and hooked it in the elastic of my pants, beneath my panties, so that it's head rested at the entrance to my vagina. "Baby, this is wrong," I said and grabbed his penis with my hand, squeezing harder and harder till finally his mouth opened and a noise escaped. "That's good. I don't want to hurt you too much." Again and again, I crushed his penis in my fist as he started making goose-like honking sounds, growing harder and harder. "If you can do that ten times without stirring your head, I'll suck your dick." He winced the tenth time but his head didn't move. I trotted off to the bathroom to fetch my bottle of baby oil. Pouring it all over his penis, I began to rub and play at it sensuously then with wild abandon, feeling his balls, his dick, running my hand down between his legs to touch his asshole. "Fuck, that feels good," I told him. He was going to be so dickless in the morning. Turning the lights out in case he woke up, I jumped into bed and sat beside him. I wished I could throw his thighs over my shoulders. He was only fourteen and weighed less than I did. To hell with it. I pulled off his pants, and scooped my arms under his legs, burying my kisses on his dick and the insides of his ass, placing a hickey on his inner thigh - something for him to wonder at later. His ass tasted beautiful, like a pussy but different. Then his little boy dick. Oh, dear God. My lips, my mouth, my wild, fervent sucking, pumping lips. I thought for sure he would wake up, but he couldn't even stay hard. When I couldn't stand it anymore, I mounted him and fit his dick to my pussy. It was hard enough to enter, so I ground against it, becoming so excited that soon I was bouncing up and down on his limp boy dick, my eyes closed, my head back. I am the best mother in the world. I am the best mother in the world. I am giving my son exactly what he's wanted, what he wants, what he needs. I am going to cum. I can't. I can't. I am going to cum and drench him again. And again. Five times, I flooded his crotch with my nectar then stopped to lick it off, to suck him again, frantically until the fever subsided and I forced his penis out of my mouth with my tongue, spitting it back on his belly. "You are fucking beautiful, my darling. Baby. You'll never cum in my pussy until I know you love me enough, but we can fuck anytime you want. I hope you can remember that somewhere in that head of yours." I paused. "You'll cum when you can. Now go to sleep and dream of me, so often that it'll make your head spin." He'll blush and get hard some mornings if that worked. I crawled up his torso. "I love my baby." Then for the coup de grace. I lowered my head and kissed his belly button hard with my tongue. He moaned and whined and thrashed his head a bit on the pillow. Don't you fucking forget it. Worried I'd fall asleep atop him, I rose wobbly and dressed. Then I lay down beside him and, eying him a bit suspiciously, slipped off into dreamland with him.