Morgan's Exploration 1

Morgan's Exploration

Chapter I

Forbidden Knowledge

All comments are welcome at vola.novikov@gmail.com

Permission is not granted to repost any portion of this story for any reason whatsoever.

For Steve Brown, who provided the spark to re-edit this first chapter.

I hope you enjoy the new additions.

Enormous gratitude goes to my editing team: Aree, Jordan, & George. They caught many things I didn't.

Thank you also to Neil, Charles, Ashley & Cass for their excellent suggestions.

Morgan Ghent hopped down the school bus steps and onto the sidewalk. She turned and waved goodbye to her friends, Carly and Rachel, still on the bus. Both girls smiled and returned the farewell as the bus driver retracted the flashing stop signal, and pulled away from the curb.

It was a bright spring day. Throughout the suburban neighborhood, strong, green buds were developing across the tips of tiny, delicate branches which in turn hung from mighty oak and maple trees. Between skipping and walking, Morgan made the two blocks to her house. Her brown hair was styled into a ponytail, and as it bounced along, she thought about her homework assignments:

A three–page essay on my reaction to the book our English class had just finished reading; Robert Cormier's After the First Death. That was a sad story but I bet it is close enough to how a hijacking would really occur. Oh, a few Algebra worksheets for Chapter 15 to complete. Clip a newspaper article, write a summary, and fill-in the accompanying worksheet.

She tallied how long that would take her to finish and smiled inwardly. A few hours, but only the rough draft of the book response was due tomorrow. Easy.

Morgan reached the front steps of her house and stopped. She found the key in her backpack, bounced up the steps, and let herself in.

* * *

Morgan's mother, Karen, shouted up the stairs, "Sweetie! Dinner's almost ready. Please set the table."

"Okay, Mom. Coming." The girl dropped the pen she was holding onto her notebook and pushed back from her desk.

Morgan left her room, made her way across the upstairs hallway, and slid down the banister. At the bottom, she fake-tumbled onto the sofa. Her body was lithe and supple from years of gymnastics and she enjoyed careening around... when she could get away with it. This was not one of those times.

"Young lady!" Her mother admonished. "How many times have I told you not to bump the furniture around? Now, get the yellow napkins and set the table for three. Your Aunt Leslie is coming over."

"Aunt Leslie is coming for dinner? Dinner will be fun. I love her, so much. I wonder if she is going out with that guy again?" Morgan asked as she brought the napkins to the dinner table and began folding them into pyramids.

"I'm not sure, you'll have to ask her about it," replied Karen.

When Morgan finished the napkins, she began aligning the silverware against the plates in a tiered fashion. She asked her mom, "What are you doing over there?"

"I'm making your favorite," Karen replied.

"Oh," Morgan responded, "Which favorite?" Karen kept at her work and winked at the girl over her shoulder.

"How many favorites can a girl have?" she asked smiling. Morgan stopped her work at the dining table to glance at the countertop. She saw celery sticks, peanut butter, and raisins.

"Oh goody," she said. "Ants on a log are my most favorite."

"Yes, quite. And—" Karen sharply inhaled, and stopped talking.

Morgan quickly stepped towards her mom. "Are you okay? Your face is a little pale." Morgan moved to put her hand against her mother's cheek. Karen brushed it away with annoyance.

"I'm fine," Karen snapped. Morgan's face flashed with surprise and hurt at her mother's rejection. She retreated a small step.

It was a few seconds before Karen was able to respond. "Oh, honey." Karen's face returned an expression of empathy at her daughter's emotional state. "I'm sorry I did that. I know you were only trying to help."

"I—" Morgan started to speak, but Karen cut her off, "Hush dear, please. I'm fine. There were some hassles at the office, that's all." She distractedly ran a hand through her auburn locks.

"Mom," Morgan protested, "Doctor Jackson said you should really avoid getting anxious at work."

"Oh, stop that kind of talk right now! You know very well how I feel about my clients. I will do nothing less than what's needed. What would you rather I do? Stand at arm's length from my casework?"

"Well... yes. You need to tone it down for yourself. You cannot let your job overwork you. How many times has everyone said that? You remember the last time you fainted. You were out of work for two days."

"Well, it's a conundrum that isn't going to be solved anytime soon. Nevertheless, you're right. I really need to know when to say `No'."

Karen was in great shape. She swam 2 miles every morning at the Y and liked to run most evenings. However, a few years ago she was diagnosed with minor neurocardiogenic syncope—a simple case of fainting. Her primary care physician said her condition was easily manageable with regular exercise. Not to mention a good sense of when to back off at work.

Morgan bit her lip, "Mom... I worry about you."

Karen brought the girl into her arms. "It's nothing, pumpkin. I'll be okay."

Their hug was long and comforting.

* * *

Aunt Leslie pushed her chair away from the table. With her finished supper plate in one hand, she reached out with the other to stack her sister and niece's plates on top of her own. She carried them to the sink and let them slide into the hot, soapy water.

"That was delicious, Sis. I always enjoy coming over for dinner." Leslie smiled, grabbed a sponge from the dishwater, squeezed it, and began scrubbing a few spots of spaghetti sauce that had dried out on the stove.

"Aunt Leslie?" Morgan tentatively began.

"Yes, honey?" she turned her attention from the sink to where Morgan still sat at the table.

"Can you stay and play Scrabble with us tonight? Please?"

"Aw. That would be fun, but I can't. I am going to the movies with a few friends and my new date."

Morgan missed it, but Karen shot her younger sister a raised eyebrow and smiled happily. Leslie returned the gesture with a wink.

The young girl, much less enthused about her aunt's new boyfriend than she had been earlier in the evening, donned a mock pout, folded her arms, and sat back in her chair. It's stupid that her boyfriend is taking up her time. She should be hanging out with me tonight. If only there was some way...

Her mother got up from the table and ruffled her hair, bringing the girl back to the present.

"Leslie will come back again soon." Karen said. "We'll play games another night. Today is Thursday, so how about this coming Monday?"

Leslie thought for a bit. "Hmmm, Monday you say? No, but Tuesday will work." Leslie had finished with the stove and counter, and moved onto the dishes. Her sleeves were pushed up her arms, and soap suds extended erratically past her wrists. The kitchen rule in the Ghent household was simple: One cooks, another cleans.

Leslie rinsed the last plate and put it in the dish rack to dry. Turning to Morgan she asked, "Have you finished your homework, young lady?"

"Almost. I have a few more paragraphs to type for my reader response draft."

"Mmhmm, and when are you going to do that?" She teased.

"Tonight, after you leave. I don't wanna miss a minute of your visit."

"Aw, you are very sweet. I think my visit is just about up though. I need to get home and change before the movie."

"You promise to come back Tuesday to play Scrabble?" Morgan turned her big green eyes on her Aunt.

"I will be here—count on it. C'mon, give me a hug."

Morgan purposefully bumped into her Aunt, knocking her back a couple of steps. "Oomph. You're getting mighty big for this. Young women shouldn't act like children you know," Leslie chided.

"But I like it," Morgan replied almost sulkily. Leslie extended her arms on Morgan's shoulders and pushed the girl back a pace.

"Yes, they were fun, but you're a big girl now. You're almost sixteen, right?"

Morgan stepped away and did a single jumping jack, "One more month."

"Yes. My point exactly. You're no longer a child, but a young woman, and as such you should behave accordingly. You need to find a new hobby. It'll distract you from childish things."

Morgan couldn't meet her Aunt's gaze. Uncomfortable with being disciplined about something she knew she had outgrown—and having it occur in front of her mom made it so much worse too—she looked down while she bent her ankles out, rocking on the sides of her feet.

Leslie changed the subject. "Your birthday party will be awesome. I heard your mom is planning something special."

Morgan stopped considering her shoes. Head up, her eyes shuttled back and forth between the two adults searching their expressions for some clue about her upcoming party. She came away with nothing. Her face resembled an angry squirrel.

Leslie laughed at her niece's lack of success.

"Hush now." Karen playfully slapped Leslie's shoulder. "Morgan isn't to know a single thing about her sixteenth birthday party. Everything is a surprise." Karen shook her head at her sister.

Leslie grinned at Karen, and stepped closer to her niece. She leaned in to kiss the girl on the cheek. Morgan responded with the same.

"Let's walk Aunt Leslie to the door," Karen said.

As they all walked to the front door, Karen was asking Leslie about her new date and what movie they were going to see. Morgan had her phone out and was texting to Carly, and Rachel. She pocketed her phone as Leslie opened the front door.

"Bye-bye, you two." Leslie smiled and waved as she made her way across the front porch and down the steps. Mother and daughter waved back, smiling.

They both watched as Leslie's Prius pulled away from the curb and into the road. They headed back inside once she was out of sight.

"Aunt Leslie is so fun." Morgan went to kneel at the sill, staring wistfully out the window. It took her a moment to acknowledge that her mother had not responded. "Isn't she, Mom?"

Morgan waited another two seconds, and then turned to her Mother. Karen's hand was up to her chest. Her face was pale, breathing short, eyes drifting out of focus.

"Mom!" Morgan jumped up from the rug and put her hands around her mother's upper arms, "Mom, are you okay?" Karen's eyes fluttered and she took in a short gasp. Karen became unsteady on her feet. A moment passed.

Karen asserted herself and spoke, "Yes, dear. Just help me up to bed. I," a pause, "I need to rest now." As she finished speaking, her eyes fluttered shut.

Morgan's mind leapt back to her recent health class where she had learned what she could do to help someone who was showing symptoms of fainting.

First thing was to make sure the victim didn't fall and injure their head. She dashed behind her mother, grabbed her elbows, and placed her arms across her chest. She wrapped her arms around her mother's shoulders and had just enough reach for one hand to grab the other wrist. The girl walked awkwardly backwards to the couch. Morgan sat down, pulling her mom down on top of her— "Ouch!" She squealed at the sudden press of weight on her own small frame. Morgan eased out from underneath her mother's body as carefully as she could and set her head against the back of the couch. Next, she moved her mom so that she was lying down. Karen's eyes were closed, but the rapidness inside her lungs was gone.

Now to make sure the victim can breathe easily. Morgan took in her mom's outfit. Karen always wore tight-fitting collared dress shirts to the law office, along with a dark-colored pencil skirt and high heels. The heels were gone the minute she came in the door after work. Unless she went for an evening run, she liked keeping her fancy office attire on until she showered before bed.

Morgan's fingers leapt to the top button of her mother's shirt and fumbled for several seconds trying to get it undone. This stupid, tight-fitting button. Morgan struggled a bit longer before determination devolved to anger. She mentally apologized for what she was about to do. I'm sorry about this, Mom! Sliding the fingers of her hands in-between the gaps in the expensive garment, Morgan yanked the two sides apart. Threads popped down the line with buttons careening off. Snapping as they hit the wall or plopping softly on the rug. One button hit Morgan on the eyebrow. "Ow," She muttered, rubbing it gently. With a sigh of defeat, she found that she had managed to accidentally remove every button from the shirt. Uh-oh. No time to worry about that. Morgan pulled the shirttails from the front of the skirt.

Karen's eyes were still closed and her breathing had narrowed. Morgan thought that was typical for someone who had fainted. A very similar incident had happened just last month, only Karen had been sitting on the couch when she passed out, and it had been after her evening run, so she was already wearing her pajamas. She awoke a few hours later, a little groggy, but otherwise healthy. She had gone to her doctor the following day for a check-up.

The two halves of the white shirt were splayed open revealing her mom's ample chest, concealed by a white satin bra. Her tummy, tight from years of swimming and running ended where the pencil skirt began. Oh, her abdomen is still constricted. Morgan's hands went to the front of the skirt. Ugh, the closure is on the other side. Carefully, Morgan slid her hands under and down to the small of her mother's back to find the hook-and-loop. She tried fiddling with it, but her mom's bodyweight was too much to get her fingers in the right position.

Wrenching, she tore with her hands until she felt zipper and fabric tear apart. Mom, please don't be angry at me for wrecking your outfit. Morgan pulled her hands free, and went to the end of the couch by her mom's feet. Reaching forward, she grabbed a fistful of skirt in each hand and firmly yanked. The skirt slipped off her legs so easily Morgan almost stumbled backwards. She let it slip from her fingers to the floor. Karen's legs, sun-darkened as they were, still stood stark against the dark brown leather of the couch.

The dialogue from the video in health class was readily available in her mind and Morgan knew what to do. Elevate the feet to aid blood flow to the brain. Morgan grabbed a pillow from a chair and slid it underneath her feet. Immediately, she could tell that compared to the video her feet weren't high enough. She grabbed another pillow and added it to the first one. That should work now. Morgan stepped back to assess her handiwork.

Karen lay almost naked on the couch in the living room. A shadow caught Morgan's peripheral vision. Outside, she saw their neighbor, Mr. Hemmings, was walking his dog on the sidewalk. Morgan gasped—afraid of someone having extraordinary knowledge of what had happened here—then let it out with relief. There were several steps up to the front porch—and the window sills were even higher than that—nobody could see inside. Still, she felt uneasy. Her mom had fainted and was lying half-naked in the middle of the front room. Make smart decisions, girl.

Morgan stepped to the front door and flipped the deadbolt shut. For good measure she locked the door handle too. She considered the curtains and nodded to herself as she pulled them shut. It was too dark now in the living room; she had shut out the light from the early evening glow. Morgan moved to the switch by the front door but hesitated. The overhead fixture seemed out of place for the context of the situation—it was too... invasive. I need something more... Her eyes went to the lamp in the corner opposite her mom's head. She moved to the table it was on, pushed the button and rotated the dimmer to midway.

Morgan was standing between the front door and the end of the couch at her mother's feet. Her mom's body lay before her... gracefully illumed by the dim light from the lamp. Her figure clad now in only a torn dress shirt and underwear. It was a sight young Morgan had never had the privilege before to appreciate. It was a view unlikely to repeat itself; she was sure of it. Why not take a short minute to admire her mom's athletic body?

No harm would come of it.

Her mom worked very hard to maintain her shape, but she didn't have anyone else—there hadn't been a boyfriend for some time now—to appreciate it for her, no one to give her a compliment on all that hard work. This was Morgan's chance to recognize her mom's accomplishment and to say something nice—even if her mom couldn't hear it. Maybe tomorrow after all of this was over, Morgan would find the right time to say something tasteful about her mother's physique.

Although Morgan was unaware of the term voyeur, or even its meaning, she intuitively felt herself the interloper. Having access to this vision of femininity was something she wasn't ever meant to know until she had developed it herself. Her mom's body, decorously hidden all these years, now almost fully revealed to her only daughter was most unbecoming. She knew she needed to stop, return her to a decent state of dress. She stared anyhow.

Truly, this is a woman. Hair a little longer than shoulder length, tanned shoulders and arms, full breasts, a flat tummy leading into shapely hips, matching white satin underwear, and gorgeously long legs with cute feet. Wow, Mom. You're stunning!

Knowing it couldn't last forever, Morgan let her eyes gorge themselves. They raked up and down her mother's body, taking in all the curves and bumps, trying to save this beautiful image for another day. Her eyes flicked to her mother's right leg as it slipped off the two chair cushions and onto the floor. It landed, propped at the heel, and turned away from the couch. Morgan moved around the large piece of furniture. She squatted down, grasping it delicately in both hands. Then stopped, hesitating. Knowing she was about to make matters worse for herself didn't matter; her gaze was drawn as if by magnet.

Her vision was directly in line with the cleft between her mother's legs. Her eyes stayed for longer than she knew was fitting. That none of this was—even for an instant—proper, did not occur to her. She wondered: what does it look like? She really had no idea. The white underwear echoed the pale light cast by the lamp, hiding it entirely from view. Her curiosity for the forbidden knowledge her mother kept was so deep as to be almost unquenchable. Morgan inched her head closer, having never been so close to something so intensely unknown. Even her own vagina remained largely unfamiliar to herself. She let her fingers wander a few times, but always felt embarrassed and retreated before making any significant progress.

A sturdy line of trimmed pubic hair escaped out both edges of her mother's underwear. Some hair even extended past the upper hem, stopping just short of her lower belly. The color was quite a few shades darker than the hair on Karen's head, an observation Morgan found unexpected. It reminded the girl of a picture of an Aleutian Islander wearing a jacket with a fur-rimmed hood. She giggled softly and accidentally squeezed her mom's foot. She let out a quiet squeal, startling herself after temporarily losing focus. Shaking her head, she brought her eyes back to their exploration. The pubic hair didn't stop past the hem of her underwear. It extended down her mom's inner thighs a few inches. Morgan knew some girls liked to shave their body hair, and although Morgan didn't know what that would look like, she found her mom's current choice of style welcoming and natural. Shaving it all off... why do women do that? I like the way Mom has hers.

Her eyes came back to her mother's foot still in her hands. I should put it back up. Morgan carefully eased the foot towards the chair cushions when a wild thought entered her head. She gulped, her eyes dashing around nervously. No one is watching you, silly. It would be okay, right? I'm not hurting anyone, just curious.

Instead of returning her mother's foot to the cushions, she lowered it back down to the floor. She appraised her mother's thighs, shaking her head. Not enough room. Morgan reached out her hand and gently eased her mother's knee farther out, creating a barely obtuse angle of her mother's legs. Rising up on her knees, and placing her hands on the edge of the couch, she leaned forward and dipped her head so far between her mother's thighs, her nose was almost touching the satin fabric. Instantly, Morgan was aware of the heat of her mother's thighs radiating intensely into her face. It felt wonderful. It felt like being home.

Impulsively, she closed her eyes, and inhaled deeply. A strong, but not unpleasant, aroma was hidden behind that thin veneer of cloth. The girl bit the inside of her lip and had another idea. She allowed her respirations to moderate and began a steady rhythm of breathing in through her nose. Almost instantly she felt herself desperately wanting to let the scent permeate her entire being. Suffuse me, Mother. Morgan could feel the heat from her mother as it traveled into her cheeks and throughout her own body. It pushed out a shiver that rippled across her, replacing it with an internal fire Morgan had not known existed. This is amazing.

The entire experience was so far beyond Morgan's comprehension, she felt intoxicated. She was having trouble keeping track of all the sensations: touch, smell, sight. She swore she could almost feel the satin against the tip of her nose, despite knowing she was actually just shy of it. What if I... no, I couldn't. That's too much right now.

A short time passed and daughter continued drinking in her mother's wonderful aroma. She now had been holding her position and breathing pattern for a few minutes, and had become aware that her mother's smell was much stronger than she initially thought. It was almost invasive—she soaked it in as deeply as possible, savoring the foreign and unique fragrance.

There was one more thing Morgan wanted to see. She inched her head back a bit to bring her mother's underwear-clad vagina into better focus. The sense of heat ebbed, but only just. She had to move her head back just a little more to get the right distance... Right there. Strongly muscled and tanned thighs framed a mounded white triangle, with a near-black border on all sides. It was a gorgeous contrast. Morgan thought happily, Almost like a piece of art. The fabric extended out of view around her hips, and down below, out of sight. Morgan wished she could have saved a picture of the sight.

Morgan knew she should stop this, that she had gone much too far already, but she realized a deep desire had been nagging her for some time. She could ignore it no longer.

It won't make a difference at this point, with what I've done already. It'll just take a second. Besides, I'll never have another chance at this. I have to know.

Morgan took a deep breath, and once again moved her face towards her mother's underwear. The intense heat returned, seemingly almost hotter than before. It flashed against her cheeks, forehead, eyelids, lips and nose, and down onto her neck. But, instead of stopping short as she had previously, she allowed her nose to make contact with the sheer fabric. The satin felt warm and tender against the tip of her nose. It almost tickled. Her mother's pubic hair offered a delightful resistance, but gave easily as Morgan pushed her nose ever so gently forward. The fragrance was stronger than ever now: deep, and unbelievably powerful.

Unfathomable joy scorched through Morgan's mind, creating an electric shock between her legs. It felt like nothing Morgan had ever experienced.

She stayed that way for some time, reluctant to leave such thrilling harmony. But knowing she was absolutely pushing every conceivable limit, she forced herself to end it. Finally, sadly, Morgan pulled her face away, and pushed up with her hands, bringing her out of the well between her mother's legs. The final absence of her mother's heat against her face was felt as a tangible loss, and she wanted desperately to return, to return to snuggle between those legs, while her mother held her hands. Upright as she was now, she was aware that she couldn't detect the faintest hint of her mother's aroma, and that understanding created an equal pain in her chest. The epiphany the scent had created already seemed to be evaporating from memory. Morgan fought back a tear at the new emptiness.

Her thoughts turned inward: Is mine like that? It's definitely not bad like the other girls at school say—and yet, they had seemed so sure of themselves that it was funny, or awful. They don't have any real idea, do they? It was just gossip. Morgan giggled at her private knowledge. I bet none of them even know what a fully developed—dare she say the word, even in her head?—vagina looks like.

Morgan didn't like the slang terms she heard for a woman's private place. `Twat' is definitely at the top of my list. `Pussy' isn't so bad, I guess, though. `Cunt' seems to be the one most other women find offensive, although I am not sure why—doesn't seem offensive to me. `Flower', `hoo-hoo', and `ya-ya' just seem incredibly immature, as if whoever would choose to say such things cannot even bear to think of the real thing. She snickered to herself at the absurdity of anyone trying to have a serious conversation about the topic while simultaneously using such absurd words. Morgan decided her problem with these terms was that they—and anyone who used them—suffered from a lack of sophistication.

I'm sure these others girls haven't seen one as close as I have. Okay, no—I haven't seen one, and I don't know exactly what a full one looks like yet, obviously, but I will. The corners of her mouth turned upward into a small smile as a new thought fluttered into her mind: Maybe Mom will show me hers when she wakes up?

Next, came shock. Where did that come from? Why would I think that? Ew! Gross, Morgan. Totally fucking gross. That's not even close to ordinary, Morgan. I mean, she wouldn't even do it, right? She had tried to avoid thinking that last part—thinking about asking her mom, but it had come along anyhow.

She shook her head and brought herself back to focus on her mother. Back to work. Mom isn't safe yet. Like an egg, Morgan reached out to cradle her mother's foot in both hands. As she rose to stand, she brought her mother's errant leg back into line with the one still on the cushion tower. Morgan stepped backwards a bit and took another assessment of her mother's condition.

She bit her finger lightly, thinking. Yikes—what if her bra is constricting her breathing, too? No way. I mean maybe. How could it not be, though? It's essentially a tightened strap, right? I should take it off. I couldn't do that to her. Should I? My mom's position is already embarrassing enough; I wouldn't want to make it worse. But, really, maybe it is a problem.

Morgan's feet took her closer to her mom's head. Bending inward at the waist, she slowly eased out her right hand towards her Mom's ample chest. Turning her index finger into a hook, she tugged at the center of the strap where the two cups came together. It gave a little, but did feel tight. It sure seems as if it could be restrictive. Without losing her tenuous grip on the bra, Morgan scooted her feet in until they were flush with the bottom edge of the couch. She bent her knees a touch.

She let the finger slip away, and flattened her hand. She placed it against her mother's chest, shifting slowly until she felt her mother's heart beneath her palm, and stopped. Her fingers resting against bare skin, Morgan enjoyed the feel of warmth and smoothness. Her palm sat atop the satin material, with the edge of the bra crossing underneath. The stiff wire was an unwanted interruption between her hand and her mother's bounteous flesh. Morgan wanted to wish it away.

Karen's heart was beating a steady rhythm. Morgan brought her left wrist to her mouth, and with her teeth, tugged her long sleeve away to look at her watch. She watched as 60 seconds ticked by while she counted her mother's heartbeats. It seemed a little slow, but she thought that was probably normal for someone who had fainted. Not having had any kind of real training, she didn't know what the correct rate should have been.

Still, what about the bra? Morgan thought she was close to a decision when she saw her Mom's face, and the thought drifted away. Oval-shaped with high cheekbones and a straight nose, her mother's face was quite lovely. Her gray eyes were her best feature, but the lids hid them away. At 38, a few lines creased the edges of her eyes and corners of her mouth, but she knew her mother could attract attention often enough while they were out at the grocery store, or shopping at the mall to know that many other people found her attractive. Karen's lips were full and still coated in lipstick from work. A firm, strong chin finished her mother's face.

Morgan marveled at her mother's lips. They were full and silent. She imagined them kissing someone. The daughter thought it was romantic, and cute to think of her mom kissing a new boyfriend. I hope you find someone to kiss again soon.

Morgan smiled and shook her head. Focus. She pulled the hair away from the left side of her face, bent her ear to her mom's lips—held her breath in anticipation. The girl listened intently for half a minute, but there wasn't one falter the whole time. I hope she's okay.

Morgan checked her watch. It had been a little over ten minutes since her mom had... fainted. Fainted, right? She fainted before, and it was the same as this. That doesn't mean anything, though. This could be different. Morgan was uneasy about her lack of knowledge in this situation. She wished her health class had given a more comprehensive presentation. Morgan was surprised by the short amount of time that had passed. It seemed like half an hour had rushed by—I was so... distracted by what I did. It was hard to believe that Aunt Leslie wasn't even home yet.

Morgan pulled her head back to take in the bra, again. Better safe than sorry, right? And even if it doesn't make it easier, who wants to sleep with a bra on? When she fell asleep with hers on, Morgan always woke up with soreness underneath her breasts, bra lines imprinted on her back and under her armpits.

Her first thought was discouragement at the idea that she would have to pull her mother's body upright to access the hooks in the back. She knew it wouldn't be easy—probably difficult even. But, after examining the bra again more closely, she understood it wouldn't be necessary. The hooks are in front. Finally, an easy problem to solve. Although Morgan didn't own any front-clasp style bras, and she put her own bra on every day, how hard would it be to take off her mother's—even if it was a slightly different design?

Bringing together thumb and forefinger, Morgan found the bra came easily undone. Unrestrained, the large orbs sagged just a little. Her hand began to retreat and stopped suddenly. The other hand joined the first and both seemed to draw themselves involuntarily back to her mother's chest. Each hand hovered over a breast, half an inch above the shiny material. She lowered them softly, letting her hands come to rest on the satin-covered flesh.

She found the touch created another thrilling connection from resting her hands atop her mother's nurturance. The bond didn't make her swell inside the same as smelling her mother—Oh, to be back there again, she wished—but this was still a very pleasant feeling. The older woman's breasts rose and fell with each inhalation and exhalation. Again, Morgan felt reluctant to break the bond by removing her hands, but she knew it was necessary. Not just yet, though. Morgan's eyes closed and she took twelve deep yoga breaths, letting her hands rest in that position for a full minute.

Morgan opened her eyes. She thought the next step would be to pull back the bra cups to loosen the tension under her arms. She trembled with excitement. She was about to behold her mother's beautiful mounds. She lightly grabbed the inner edges of the bra and thought, I haven't seen them since... Morgan couldn't remember if she had ever seen her mother's bounteous flesh as a teenager. I guess the last time I touched them, saw them... would have been when I was nursing. That seemed too long a time for Morgan now—much too long. Gosh, if I feel like this with just touching my mom's bra, what will it be like when I actually see them? Touch them—my fingers caressing her ni—?

Morgan stopped. Her breathing had shallowed, but she had ignored it. Other changes had taken their effect, and now, they consumed her presence of mind. Blood pounded in her ears, her palms had become sweaty with anticipation and her nipples had grown sharp. Although she couldn't tell, her pupils were dilated, her legs had even spread apart, and her underwear had grown moist. What? Just because I am about to see my mom's tits, I am all of a sudden—

Morgan's mind shattered. She jerked backwards, stumbling away from the couch, turning away to collapse against the opposite wall. Anything, just to be away from her mother. Everything that she had done in the past fifteen minutes came rushing back to her, but from an entirely different perspective.

What she had been engaged in was nothing short of horrific. Her behavior was beyond anything anyone, anywhere would find acceptable.

Well, except the perverted—they would love this, wouldn't they? But, that isn't me! I've never done anything like this. And I'll never do anything like it, again. I'm a regular girl. I like boys. I like dicks. A lot. No, I've never even touched one, let alone seen one, but that doesn't matter. None of what happened here tonight is who I am, or has anything to do with what I want. Keegan is super cute—I've thought so for a while. I'll make a move on him this week—tomorrow, even. I don't like girls—at all. I am totally not interested in breasts, or, or anything `down there'! Ugh—I am especially NOT INTERESTED IN MY OWN MOTHER!

Morgan seemed to shout the last sentence in her own mind. She had to make it true. Had to.

Morgan gritted her teeth, thinking about what she had done. She wrapped her arms around herself, rubbing her hands up and down. She spoke aloud, "Nobody has to know what happened here today."

As she spoke aloud, she involuntarily turned back to regard her mother on the couch, and her face fell. Of course someone is going to know what happened—Mom! When she wakes up, you don't think she is going to notice that her shirt has been ripped open, her skirt torn off, and that her bra is undone? How long will it be before she figures out who did it? Gosh, what a mess you've created! This is awful! Morgan was exasperated.

The daughter began pacing, wondering what she could do to solve her problem. The sensations and images of exploring her mother's body came back in a whirl that she couldn't fight off. The penetrating heat from her mother's thighs shining on her cheeks, the exotic wondrous scent her mother kept, the feeling of absolute balance she had experienced while nosing her mother—wanting nothing more than to stay, curled-up between her legs, her head resting just above her sex, while her mother stroked her hair. Images of herself as a nearly grown woman suckling at her mother's large teats.

"Ahh!" Morgan screamed at the ceiling, feeling outraged and confused that a seemingly simple situation could have turned so complicated in just a quarter hour. That last one didn't happen. The breast thing—I didn't do that. Ha, what willpower you have, she mocked herself.

Quickly, her eyes darted to her mother, afraid she may have awakened her. No—at least I've got that going for me. Karen slept soundly on the couch, her body still exposed.

The young woman oscillated between hating herself for what she did, and hating herself even more for having enjoyed it. No matter how hard she tried to ignore it, how deep she tried to bury her feelings, she knew she would always remember how outrageously wonderful those fifteen minutes had been. She disgusted herself.

Morgan began crying. Deep shame welled-up inside of her and came out as tears.

The girl, standing with her hands still wrapped around her upper arms, cried quietly. Self-humiliation, anger, frustration, embarrassment—these feelings and more whipped through her mind, forcing her farther and deeper into a sense of helplessness.

A startling sound jerked Morgan out of her self-loathing. Her eyes frantically searched around the room. Her mom was still sleeping and she let out a sigh of relief. She noticed that goosebumps had broken out across her legs, stomach, arms, and chest. She's cold. I should do something about that.

Morgan couldn't tell what had made the sound—nothing in the living room had changed, and the back door was locked. A quick scan of the breakfast bar gave a wide angle of the kitchen; nothing in the other room. She went to the large window, and used a finger to nudge the frame-side of a curtain inward to get a glimpse of the sidewalk, and street. Nothing caught her attention, and the sound wasn't of anyone on the porch. No, it was my imagination.

As Morgan moved to cover her mother, she could only think:

I have degraded my mother, and demeaned myself.

And I enjoyed it.