Not hers. She opened her eyes. It was her son, Gregory, lying close beside her, propped up on one elbow, looking down at her. His free hand caresse... her breasts. Her back arched, pressing her sensitive nipple against the palm of his hand. It felt wonderful.They locked eyes in the dimness, their breathing settling into synchrony. She knew that he would have questions. He would be wondering what to do next. Wondering at the enormity of what they had done. Yes, she could see it in his. "I had a look in the bathroom. Everything's fine." You didn't get hard at all, did you?" she asked."No, hun," I replied. "Those fucking pills are still working. I wasn't hard at all." What did you dream about?" she inquired."I can't remember," I replied - a little too quickly. Even to me, it sounded lame, and I inwardly cringed."Don't lie to me, Michael," she said quietly. "Whatever you dreamed about made you so aroused that you were able to have a wet dream - even though you weren't hard. I. More

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