Ultimas:
"Mmmmm, you don't know how I needed that, just now." she murmured as she nuzzled my neck with her lips.

I felt wonderful. I felt the glow of having found just the right gift to give someone you love. I was astonished at having thought of it.

I even told myself it was not a selfish act that I really did it out of love. I suppose it was at least partially true. Besides, you have to take credit when you can.

I now know that I was in fact giving her that loving post-coital cuddling that women voice as the most important part of sex. Anyway, it had been some kind of Hanging-out Saturday, I can tell you! I went back to bed and slept a sound sleep until breakfast smells brought me back to life.

step Mom came in and sat on my bed. She touched my shoulder.

"Your breakfast is ready."

I opened my eyes and looked searchingly into hers. Was it okay? She smiled and stretched, arms over her head, her blouse gaping and showing one breast-filled cup of a light blue bra.

"I had a wonderful night!" she said, "how was yours?"

"Nice. Very nice." I said as I sat up.

It was clear to me that the something that had changed was that we weren't hiding our intimate fleeting moments as much any more. It was okay if we each happened upon the other masturbating for example. It was natural, and now it was natural enough we didn't necessarily have to hide fleeting moments of solitary pleasure. If the sounds of her masturbation loosed an urgent need in me, that would be fine and vice-versa. I shivered at the sexy thought of my step Mom hearing me jacking off and pretending her fingers were my cock. Is that possible?

We each knew that we both did it, now our intimacy would include it. Doors sometimes left open, sometimes not; it was not of consequence either way. We weren't a married couple with the right to Bleep together, at least not yet, I added in my mind, but we could share some additional easy liberties.

Sunday usually was a day that could bring up the question of whether or not any sexual questions had come to my mind. This was one of those days.

She sipped her coffee and looked at me though the steam of her favorite brew.

"Any questions about ... anything, Prince? I know you hate me to ask, but ... I'm still always ... always happy to answer anything that might ... might bother you ... anything?"

"Well, step Mom, yessss. Maybe so. But it would be easier ... to ask in the darkroom." Somehow, the darkroom, while laboring over developing prints, was an easier place for intimate questions.

There, bathed in the dark, a ruby light casting eerie shadows and the physical closeness made a safe place to ask the most intimate questions. I don't know why, but that's the way it was.