How could he possibly write a poem when all he could think about was his mother's body? The curve of her breasts, with their up-looking nipples, looking like tiny ski jumps or something.He stiffened. Wait a minute ... what if...He sat down and picked up his pencil.Thirty minutes later he laid the pencil down, undressed, put on his robe, and went to find his mother. She was in the living room, wearing her robe. This time it didn't bother Robby to see her in it."I'm done." he said. "We can paint now."She got up and stretched. The robe was tied tightly, but her breasts thrust out, pushing the silk toward him. "What did you write your poem about?" she asked, as she began walking toward the studio."The woman." he said.She stopped and turned around. "The woman who ... you think about when we paint?" She was looking at him through lowered lashes."Yes." he answered."I think I'd like to hear that poem. Would you read it to me?" She sounded uncertain, her voice husky."Yes." His voice was. I put on a summer sun dress with no straps, no bra and no panties and left.Town had several clubs but I was not into clubs at the moment so I thought as the burning between my legs got worse. I was rubbing my clit that was swollen and engorged and needed a really good fuck for a long time. There was a lake on the base, far away from the main base but there was almost always something happening there so I drove there and from the gate I could see a huge bonfire by the lake. I drove around the lake to the bonfire and parked the car. I kicked off my sandals and walked to the bonfire. There were about 30 people in different conditions of drunkenness some in couples but a few single guys that had make a day of football and drinking. I made sure to walk so that my tits bounced and went towards the fire. Even some of the couple watched me. I knew some of them and they gave a great hey Sue, what’s up girl? and from the guys, “Damn lady, nice.” I thanked them all and one.
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