Beyond the Borderline Bk. 02

As we strolled to the opening of the hangar, Mom took my hand, gesturing with her free arm towards the mountain.

"Haleakala, Ricky. Happy anniversary and welcome to Maui."

Slipping my arm around her waist, I kissed her, murmuring, "Thanks, momma-love. It's a wonderful gift."

There's not much to say about our vacation/anniversary celebration. We did a lot of the things everybody enjoys, including a trip down the Road to Hana, hitting the beaches near Lahaina and going to the summit of Haleakala. We opted to avoid the touristy crush of the sunrise, instead going in the late afternoon for sundown. We were well rewarded for our efforts, sharing the summit with only a few dozen people. A sunset above the clouds is something everyone should have on their bucket list. I even learned to do a little windsurfing on Hookipa Bay.

In deference to Gina and Paul's privacy, we opted to stay away from the usual accommodations. Some time ago, Paul explained, they had purchased a small, secluded villa on the northern flank of Haleakala, overlooking the small town of Makawao, a charming little upcountry hamlet with many small shops, galleries and an honest-to-god, working western goods store on Baldwin Ave., catering to the local ranchers and paniolos. We frequented a number of the eateries favored by the locals. Gina and Paul were known here and the townsfolk guarded their privacy as fiercely as any phalanx of bodyguards.

Mom and I had an immediate reaction to the town and people. Have you ever gone someplace and felt like you just put on an old pair of slippers and put your feet up? That's what we felt like. There was an immediate sense of connection to the place, which only grew stronger as we stayed longer.

About 4 days into our stay, Mom and I took a walk up to the terminus of the dead-end access road that led to Gina and Paul's place. There, we stumbled upon a small adjacent, abandoned property. A diminutive, salmon-colored, stucco bungalow in local style was just visible from the road, overrun with bougainvillea, shuttered and definitely the worse for wear. There were a few obvious holes in the tile roof, which was protected by two enormous monkey pod trees. The house sat nestled in their shade, a small, flawed jewel.

Mom and I saw it at the same time, with the same reaction.

"What a wonderful little house," Mom sighed, squeezing my arm.

"It's a perfect setting," I agreed. "I wonder what the story behind it is."

Later that evening over dinner, I discretely asked Gina and Paul about it. Paul said that no one had lived there for at least ten years, the original owners having passed away with no heirs. It would probably go on the auction block for unpaid back taxes in a few months, he felt.

When I heard this, wheels started to turn and I began to formulate a plan. The next day, I left Mom and the kids with Gina and went with Paul to the county records office. A little research and a consultation with a local real estate agent confirmed that the county was already in possession of the fee simple deed, but that there had been no interest due to the relatively isolated location and dilapidated condition of the property. A few quick calls to our mainland bank and engagement of a local attorney produced the desired results and two days later I found myself in possession of a set of keys.

With Gina's help. we managed to keep Mom in the dark until I had the keys. That evening, after a sumptuous dinner of obscenely fresh ahi, I found Mom in the lanai of the villa, talking with Gina and Paul. Anna was plopped in Mom's lap, Dee Dee engaged in a ukulele duel with Paul and Emmy was nestled in Aunt Gina's arm, dozing off her dinner.

I caught Gina's eye and nodded.

"Well, sugar," Gina drawled, addressing herself to Mom, "I b'lieve your handsome fella has a surprise for y'all." She reached out and ran a finger across the back of Mom's hand, making her shiver just a little.

Mom smiled shyly and silently mouthed "Later," then immediately turned to me, her eyes glinting.

"Just what have you been up to, Ricky?" she inquired suspiciously. "I know you've been sneaking around the past few days, trying to keep something from me, I just know it."

"I do have a surprise for you, pretty lady, but you'll have to get up and come with me to see it."

"I'm in no mood for more of your shenanigans, buster," Mom warned.

"If you're a good sport, I'll sweeten the deal, boss lady. We'll go into Paia and I'll get you a coconut ice cream cone."

"Paulie and I will look after the munchkins, sugar," Gina added.

"Just what my waistline needed," Mom grumbled. "But okay. I consider myself bribed. Do your worst."

After leading Mom to the car, we buckled up and I produced a scarf. When I made to tie it around her head, she balked.

"For Pete's sake, Ricky, what's going on here? You already forced me to abandon our children and a perfectly comfortable lounge chair and now this? Enough is enough."

"C'mon, Mom," I wheedled. "I absolutely promise it'll be worth it, cross my heart and hope to never fuck you again," I laughed.

Settling, the scarf over her face, Mom sighed theatrically and settled into her seat, arms tightly folded on her chest.

"You better be right, buster, otherwise I'll hold you to the 'no momma-nookie' part of that promise."

"God forbid I would let my momma-love down. I'd die first."

"Enough theatrics, my erstwhile son. Let's get this show on the road."

Pulling slowly out of the driveway, I drove away from the house and towards town to obscure my final destination. With many turns and doublings back, I eventually got us back to the bungalow. Helping Mom from the car, I walked her to the padlocked gate and pressed the key into her hand, at the same time removing her scarf-blindfold with a flourish.

"Happy anniversary, Mom. Welcome to Lindermann's Folly."

"Oh. My. God. Ohmygod, Ricky! You didn't! You did! You did, you impossible, wonderful man, you did!" she cried, flinging herself into my arms.

"How did you know, you crazy boy? How did you know I fell in love with this the moment I saw it? I love it! I love you, my handsome, gorgeous, amazing husband-son! I love you!"

Kissing her soundly, I replied, "A good son always knows what his mom needs or wants. It's his job to make her feel happy and loved."

"You snuck up on me again, you brat! Just when I finally turn the tables on you, you turn around and pull a stunt like this. You're worse than impossible. You're incorrigible and irredeemable and I'll love you until my last breath!" she scolded me, her eyes brimming.

Pausing to take a breath, she wiped her eyes with the heel of her palm and smiled, "You made me cry again too, you bad man. Shame on you for getting your mother dehydrated!"

"We'll go into town now and fix that, if you like, Mom."

Smiling mischievously, Mom gently backed me to the fender of our car, her hands going to the waistband of my shorts. As the back of my thighs came into contact with the car, she said, "I'm thirsty for something else now."

Quickly looking up and down the road, then dropping to her knees, she pulled the shorts to my ankles and enveloped me without preamble, quickly raising me to complete hardness. She then proceeded to give me a blow job without mercy, lavishing wet, sloppy attention on me from balls to crown. She kept me at the toe-curling, ragged edge of release for at least ten minutes before she sucked me into a knee-buckling explosion that left her mouth overflowing with my spend and her cheeks and nose dripping with semen. I was so wobbly after her motherly attention that she helped me to the passenger seat and took over the driving duties. We did end up going into Paia, where Mom got her second load of more conventional, tasty, tropical cream, white coconut, of course.

Walking back to the car, holding hands, her head on my shoulder, I pulled her close.

"Love you, gorgeous."

"It's possible I still love you too, son. I'll need to think about it after this latest stunt of yours, though," she sniffed.

"So this means I'm sleeping on the couch?"

"It's a distinct possibility," Mom teased, tousling my hair affectionately.

"Well," I sighed theatrically. "I suppose I'll have to live with that."

"Anyway, I have the feeling that a certain country and western singer I know expects her face to be sat upon tonight," I continued, zinging her again. "I guess I'll just have to be second fiddle again...Owwww!"

"That hurt, Mom!" I yelped indignantly.

"Consider yourself lucky, sport," she retorted. "Would you rather I hit your arm or applied some more...intimate discipline?"

Slipping her hand down to squeeze my ass, she purred, "You know I always need my boy's wonderful cock after Gina eats me, so don't give me that second fiddle bullshit, my fine son."

"Yes ma'am."

"That's better, Ricky. Now let's get home. Gina's waiting for me."

"As my cum slut wishes."

We extended our trip a few extra days and were able to find a well-respected local architect and contractor to undertake the renovations of the bungalow. Eight months later we celebrated the first of many Christmas holidays at our island sanctuary.

As we approached our 19th anniversary, I was quite content, indeed happier than anyone has a right to be. Our lodge ran like clockwork, culinary reviews remained glowing and we were accorded the singular honor of two Michelin stars in the previous year, my proudest professional accomplishment. The joint "special project" with Marcia and Shawn remained an unqualified success, our most circumspect and private portion of the Inn now being fully booked up to 11 months in advance. Under Marcia's discerning eye, we continued to receive interior design and decorating accolades for the Inn and of course, her continued role as the ultra-discreet webmaster of her special website kept the lover's compound extensively booked. Shawn had worked his e-commerce magic with the online version of Mia Nonna Cucina and our internet-derived cash flow now actually exceeded the take of the Inn.

The children were doing great. Deirdre seemed to have inherited Mom's ferocious drive and academic prowess in spades. She was now going to school at McGill University in Toronto, majoring in mathematics, with a full merit scholarship. She was on track to graduate with honors a year early and was already thinking about graduate school.

Anna had blossomed into an even more talented chef than I was at her age. She was enrolled in cooking school in Vancouver and appeared poised to step in as the heir apparent to Casa di Mia Nonna. Almost half of the new additions to our menu in the past year had come from Anna's fertile imagination. It was a wonderful feeling to know that the Inn was going to be in such good hands, staying in the family.

Surprisingly, Jason had developed a real aptitude for business, having been taken under Marsh and Shawn's wing during his junior year in high school, learning the ins and outs of running our various enterprises. He had Mom's stubborn streak, but also her negotiating and people skills as well. He seemed to be able to sniff out a business opportunity over the horizon and was working on his business admin degree like a man possessed.

Now in high school, Emmy was as sweet and good natured as ever and perhaps the brightest of all our children, but blissfully unconcerned about anything beyond the next day. I fussed and fretted as dads always do about her future plans, friends and the legions of boys who came sniffing around the apple of my eye, but for the most part, Mom kept me in line, so I didn't completely ruin her social life.

I can remember one occasion in particular sitting in the kitchen after Emmy had gone to school, Mom scolding me about being overprotective. "Ricky, why are fathers so RETARDED about their daughters? She's got to grow up, to learn how to have normal relationships. Give her some credit, please. Let her make choices, even if they are occasionally bad. She's ten times as smart as I was at her age about boys and being careful, so lighten up, okay?"

I grumbled something about the world going to hell in a hand basket and teenage boys being the priapic spawn of the devil, but Mom held firm, laughing at my dour father-isms.

"Ricky! I never thought I'd live to see the day that my boy turned into an old fart!" she laughed.

"Me, an old fart?"

"Yes, you, my reactionary son."

Grabbing for her, I roughly pulled her into my lap, reaching under her blouse to cup her breasts, tweaking her nipples.

"I'll show you who's an old fart, mother dear!"

"Be careful what you wish for, hotshot. I can still fuck you under the table any day of the week."

"Is that a threat or a promise, momma-love?"

Eventually, I learned to let go a little and made some peace with the maturation of our final, best-loved child. After she departed for college at U.B.C., Emmy continued to surprise us in her usual quiet way, first by majoring in psychology and then by being accepted into the Yale Divinity School, where she took a Master's Degree in Divinity, followed by an additional year for her Master of Sacred Theology degree. The most amazing surprise though, was when she came back to our growing special community to found a church. Her ministry was, to say the least, unusual, attending to the unique spiritual needs of the families and relations of our special village. I sometimes wonder if she made up her mind about that after we had The Talk on her eighteenth birthday. If she did, she certainly held those cards close to her chest, because Mom and I never had an inkling. Nevertheless, it was a most wondrous and welcome surprise.

My beautiful wife-mother was a luminous, fit and eternally beautiful 58 years of age, her figure still trim. Her long-term commitment to healthy diet and vigorous exercise was reaping huge dividends-she easily looked a decade younger than her actual years. Hiking and sea kayaking had made her more fit than most women half her age. True, gravity and time had conspired for the eventual failure of the pencil test, but she remained a goddess to me. While there was some detectable sag, if anything her breasts had acquired a certain character and special charm through childbearing and nursing, with noticeably thickened and elongated nipples (hooray!) compared to her 39th year. Her marvelous ass and legs were almost undiminished by time, retaining much of their supple and taut majesty. If she was slightly thicker through the middle, it was minimally changed from our beginning times. Laugh lines, some crow's feet and a spray of gray in her hair only added to her appeal, as far as I was concerned.

Of course, life has this funny way of throwing you flaming curveballs when you least expect it, and as everyone knows, real happiness consists of being able to appreciate those all-too-fleeting periods of time where the ointment is very briefly free of flies.

It was in one of those blessedly clear-ointment days that I came home to a great, big freaking horsefly in the oil.

I had just returned from a whirlwind trip to Kelowna and Summerland, trying to track down a rumor of a couple local fruit growers reputed to make the finest jams and preserves in the province, hoping to acquire their output for our catalogue, but without a definite deal. The twins, who had accompanied me, expressed an interest in shopping the Granville Market, so I left them with the car in Vancouver and cadged a floatplane flight to Victoria and had the Inn's shuttle pick me up there for the rest of my homeward journey. I called Mom when I landed in Victoria.

As I entered our kitchen, I had no more on my mind than a couple fingers of Armagnac and a cuddle with my woman by the fireplace, but all that changed when I saw the envelope on the counter of the breakfast bar. My name was on the front, in Mom's distinctive penmanship.

The message inside was, in usual Jennifer Marie fashion, succinct and to the point. "Jason is out fishing for the day. Get you cute ass and swinging dick upstairs immediately. Mommy needs a good, hard fucking RIGHT NOW."

Shedding layers as quickly as possible, strewing them behind me, I moved quickly towards our bedroom. (Note to self - it's much better to get your pants off all the way before trying to climb stairs.)

Willie preceding me by the usual 8 inches, I made my way through the door. The sight which awaited me was mesmerizing. Mom, naked, was on her knees in bed, ass upraised towards the door, looking back directly at me as I crossed the threshold. Her left hand was between her legs, the middle finger pistoning at her heaven's gate, her thumb rubbing her little pearl. With her right hand, she was rotating a finger in and out of her beautiful pucker, gliding between her cheeks. Everything I could see glistened with her juices.

"Get over here right now, lover," she husked. "I don't care where you stick that wonderful cock, just FUCK ME!"

I always follow good advice.

Crawling up behind her, I licked in a continuous motion from clit to rosebud. She moaned. "Dammit, I want your cock!"

Teasing her unmercifully, I rubbed my little soldier's head up and down her slit, toying at her vaginal opening, then dragging across her perineum to apply light pressure to her little hole. "Hmmmm," I teased. "Decisions, decisions." She pushed back wantonly, trying to capture my throbbing invader. "Mommy is being a real cum slut today, isn't she? She wants her little boy to fuck her sooooo bad. She wants to be real bad, doesn't she?"

"Yesssssss," she hissed. "Do me Ricky, I need your cock. Stick it up my nasty ass!"

Rising up onto the balls of my feet, I directed my helmet at her anus, pushing steadily and firmly. Already relaxed by her previous digital ministrations, I slid in easily with a slight pop. Normally, Mom adores a very slow, steady beginning to our ass fucking sessions, but this time, she immediately pushed herself back quickly and firmly, taking me immediately to the root, and then pulled forward with a jerk, leaving only my glans imbedded in her back channel. She then slammed back into my hips with a heavy grunt and growl. "Unnnnhhhhhh!"

Reaching over her back, I gently entwined my fingers in her hair and pulled her head back and around so she could see me. Leaning forward, I whispered to her. "Mommy's really horny today, isn't she? Mommy needs something really bad, and only her son can give it to her. But to get this, she's going to have to tell him what to do. What do you want Ricky to do, Mommy?" As I was whispering to her, I was withdrawing from her ass.

She slammed back against my hips again. "Unh! Mommy needs her son to fuck her nasty asshole real hard!" she whispered. She began to move her hips in earnest, now setting up a steady, heavy rhythm. "Unh! Unh! Harder! Fuck me harder!"

I moved over the crests of her buttocks, gripping the sides of both ass cheeks with my knees, settling fully into the saddle. With that, I began to move in earnest concert with her hip thrusts. With every cycle of movement, she issued a primeval grunt as her ass met my thighs. "Unh!" Slap. "Unh!" Slap. "Unh!" Slap. As our pace accelerated, I could tell she was going to crest soon. Her left hand was busy over her clit, rubbing furiously as she sought release. Presently, she stiffened and thrust her ass upwards and back, practically lifting me off the bed. Straining, maintaining this position, she rolled into her orgasm like a tsunami. "Oh god oh God oh God, Ricky! RICKY! CUMMMING! MOMMY'S CUUUUMMINNNGGGGGGGGGGG!" As her ass contracted in huge spasms around my meat, it was all I could do to hold myself back. Straining until my neck muscles bulged and veins stood out, I concentrated, actually biting the inside of my cheek to distract myself. I already could tell that one cum was not going to take care of Mom's need today and I needed to be ready for a much longer ride.