Arjun's Adventures 02

I stood in front of my closet, a pair of khakis in one hand, a darker pair of jeans in the other.

Khakis? Too much like I'm going to a family wedding. Jeans? Too casual for a date.

The word hung in the air. Date. I was going on a date. With my mom. I dropped both pairs of pants onto my bed and ran a hand through my hair, which I'd spent an embarrassing amount of time trying to get to look effortlessly perfect.

The last two days had been a dream. We hadn't repeated what happened on the couch, but every touch was different. The way she'd look at me from across the living room wasn't just maternal pride anymore.

It was in the small things. The way she'd linger when she kissed me goodnight, her lips soft. The way she'd rest her head on my shoulder while we watched TV. We were learning a new language.

A soft knock on my door frame made me turn.

She was leaning against it, arms crossed. She'd already changed. She was wearing a simple, black wrap dress that hugged her waist and flowed to her knees. Her hair was down, soft waves cascading over her shoulders.

"Can't decide?" she asked, her voice a low purr.

"Yeah," I admitted, gesturing to the two pairs of pants on my bed. "What do you think?"

She pushed off the door frame and walked into my room. She picked up the dark jeans, running her fingers over the denim. "These," she said decisively. "Wear these with that grey v-neck. The one that makes your arms look good."

I felt a blush creep up my neck. "You think my arms look good?"

She set the jeans down and stepped closer, her hands coming to rest on my biceps. She squeezed gently. "Very good," she said, her eyes fixed on mine. "And I want other women to know it."

Her hands slid from my arms down my chest, her fingers tracing the muscles there. "Hurry up and get dressed," she whispered. "I'm starving."

She gave me one last lingering look before turning and walking out of the room. I let out a breath I didn't realise I'd been holding.

I got dressed faster than I ever had for anything in my life, pulling on the dark wash jeans and the soft grey v-neck she'd picked out. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, flexing my shoulders. I splashed on some of my Noir, grabbed my keys, and jogged down the stairs.

She was waiting by the door, her black coat over her arm, a small clutch in her hand. She looked me up and down. A satisfied smile spread across her face. "Much better," she approved. "Ready?"

"Born ready."

"Let's hope so. You're driving."

The drive started out easy enough. I guided the Firebird out of our quiet street and onto the nearby highway, the V8 rumbling. The city lights blurred past, the world outside the car feeling a million miles away.

"Take the next exit," she said, her voice calm.

I flicked on my indicator. "Okay. Where are we heading? The Keg?"

"No," she said. "Not tonight. Just... keep driving."

I merged onto the off-ramp, the familiar streets becoming less familiar.

"Left at the next light, Arjun."

I followed her instructions as I navigated the downtown core. The buildings here were taller, the lights brighter.

"Pull into the parkade here," she said, pointing to a gleaming building with a circular entrance.

I followed the attendant's directions, pulling into a visitor spot and cutting the engine.

I turned to look at her. She was already watching me. She reached across the console, her fingers cool against the back of my neck. "Don't look so nervous," she whispered, her thumb stroking my skin. "I just want to have a drink with my son. In a place where no one knows us."

Her touch sent a shiver down my spine.

We got out of the car. She looped her arm through mine as we walked towards the elevator, her heels clicking a confident rhythm on the pavement. My heart was hammering against my ribs.

The elevator doors opened into a lobby of polished marble and gleaming brass. People in expensive clothes drifted past. I felt a hundred feet tall and about twelve years old.

She, on the other hand, looked like she owned the place. She led me towards a quieter lounge tucked away in a corner.

"Mizz Dhami," the maître d' said, a smile breaking out on his face. He was a sharp-looking guy in a tailored suit. "It is a pleasure to see you again."

"Good to see you too, Richard," she replied. "I was hoping for one of the booths in the back. A little privacy, if you have it."

"Of course, of course," he said, gesturing for us to follow. "Right this way."

He led us to a curved, velvet booth, secluded from the main room by a large potted fern.

"Your usual server will be with you momentarily," he said, placing two leather-bound menus on the table.

"Thank you, Richard."

I slid into the booth, the plush velvet wrapping around me. She slid in beside me, her leg pressing against mine.

"You know that guy?" I asked, my voice low.

She leaned close, her lips brushing against my ear. "He's the maître d' at one of the city's best hotels," she whispered. "I know a lot of people."

I was still processing that when a young woman approached the table. "Priya, it's wonderful to see you," she said, her smile warm. "The usual?"

"You know me so well, Sarah," my mom said with a laugh. "But I think tonight calls for champagne."

Sarah's smile widened. "Of course."

"Two glasses," my mom said, not even glancing at me. "Bring us a bottle of the Perrier-Jouët."

"An excellent choice," Sarah said, before disappearing.

"Mom," I said, my throat suddenly dry. "This is... this is a bit much, isn't it?"

She turned to me, her dark eyes serious. "No," she said simply. "It's not."

She reached out and placed her hand on my thigh, high up, where my jeans were stretched tight. Her palm was warm. "This is a celebration," she said, her fingers giving a gentle squeeze. "And we're going to celebrate properly."

Sarah returned with a silver ice bucket and two flutes. She expertly uncorked the bottle, the cork popping with a soft sigh. She poured the bubbly, liquid gold, into the glasses.

"Enjoy," she said before leaving us alone again.

My mom picked up a flute and handed the other to me. She clinked her glass against mine. "To us," she said, her eyes sparkling.

"To us," I echoed, my voice hoarse. I took a sip.

We didn't talk for a while. We just drank. I could feel the alcohol warming me from the inside out, loosening the knot of tension in my stomach.

She finished her glass and set it down with a soft click. She turned to face me, her arm sliding along the back of the booth, her fingers brushing against the nape of my neck.

"You know," she said, her voice a low murmur, "when I was your age, I used to come to places like this."

"Yeah?" I asked, my gaze fixed on her lips.

"Mmm," she hummed. "I'd sit at the bar, and the men would approach me, seeing a sweet eighteen year old all alone. They'd buy me drinks. They'd tell me I was beautiful. They'd promise me the world."

Her fingers stroked my neck, her touch sending shivers down my spine. "They'd think they had me," she continued. "They'd think I was some innocent little thing they could take advantage of."

She leaned in closer, her breath warm against my cheek. "I know their games, Arjun. I've been playing them for longer than you've been alive."

"I'd never play a game with you, Mom," I said, the words rushing out.

A slow smile spread across her face. "I know, putter," she whispered. She leaned back slightly, taking a slow sip of her champagne, her gaze never leaving mine over the rim of the glass. She set it down with a soft click. "But some games," she said, her voice dropping lower, "are much more fun to play when you're not hiding."

She reached into her clutch and pulled out a plastic card. She didn't look at it, just slid it across the polished tabletop towards me. It was a key card, the kind for a hotel room.

"What... what is this?" My own voice sounded like it belonged to someone else.

"The company I work for," she began, her tone casual, "owns a permanent suite here. For visiting executives, for closing important deals." She paused, letting the words hang in the air. "And I booked it for the night."

The air left my lungs in a whoosh. My pulse hammered in my throat. "Aren't you... aren't you worried?" I managed. "Someone could see you. Someone from work."

She let out a laugh. "Oh, putter," she said, her fingers tightening almost imperceptibly on my neck. "I'm a senior executive. A single mother. A pillar of the community." Her eyes danced. "If anyone saw me checking into a hotel with a handsome young man, they'd assume two things. One, that I was having a sordid affair. And two, that the young man wasn't my son."

She held out a hand.

I stared at her outstretched fingers, the dark red of her manicure. I took a breath and took her hand.

She pulled me to my feet. We walked through the lounge, past tables of people who were suddenly just blurry background noise. I felt her thumb stroke the back of my hand.

The elevator ride was silent. We stood side by side, watching the numbers light up. P. P for Penthouse. My whole body was humming with a nervous energy.

The elevator doors opened onto a foyer. A door stood before us. She released my hand and took the key card from my fingers. She slid it into the lock. A green light flashed. A soft click.

She pushed the door open.

The room was dark, except for the breathtaking panorama of the glittering skyline laid out before us. The floor-to-ceiling windows made the city feel like it was inside the room with us.

She didn't turn on the lights. She walked towards the windows, her silhouette outlined against the glittering city.

Finally, she turned and walked towards a credenza tucked against the wall. With practised ease, she found a small light, illuminating a bar cart stocked with gleaming bottles and crystal glassware.

Her back was still to me. "Before the other day," she began, "how many girls had you... been with?"

"A few," I managed to croak out, the words feeling like a lie the second they left my lips.

She turned, a bottle of what looked like whiskey in one hand and two heavy crystal tumblers in the other. "Define 'a few,' putter."

She set the glasses down on the polished surface of the credenza with a clink.

I felt a hot flush creep up my neck, spreading across my face. I shoved my hands into my pockets, my fingers closing around my keys. "Just... you know. Around."

She unscrewed the cap from the whiskey bottle, the glint of gold catching the light. She poured a generous amount into each glass.

"Arjun," she said, her voice dropping even lower. "Look at me."

I dragged my eyes up from the floor.

"There are two kinds of men who lie to me," she said, her tone conversational. "There are men who lie to me because they think I'm stupid. And then there are men who lie to me because they're ashamed of something."

She picked up one of the glasses and walked towards me, stopping only when she was so close I could feel the warmth. She held the glass out to me.

"Which one are you?"

My fingers trembled as I took the glass from her. "The second one," I admitted, the words barely a whisper.

She nodded slowly. Her free hand came up, her fingers cool as they brushed a stray lock of hair back from my forehead. "There's nothing to be ashamed of," she said, her thumb stroking my temple. "You should never be ashamed with me. Never." She paused, her eyes searching mine. "So. I'll ask again. How many?"

I took a shaky breath. I looked down into the amber in my glass. "One," I said, the word tasting like rust. "Sort of."

She didn't say anything.

"Angela," I mumbled. "Last year. In the back of my car."

"Tell me about it," she prompted softly.

"Not much to tell," I said, my cheeks burning with the memory. "We were making out. And she put her hand down my pants. For like, a minute. Then she got freaked out and wanted to go home."

"And that was it?" she asked. "That was all the experience you had?"

I just nodded.

"So, when I..." she began. "That was your first blowjob?"

I looked up at her. Her face was a mask of tenderness.

I gave a single nod.

A sad smile touched her lips. "Oh, my sweet boy," she whispered. She leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to my lips. "Don't worry," she murmured against my mouth.

She pulled back and took a sip of her whiskey, her eyes never leaving mine. She then walked over to the main console. She fiddled with a small stereo system for a moment, and then the opening chords of a Billie Holiday record filled the room.

She turned back to me. "Dance with me."

I just stood there paralysed.

She took the glass from me and set it down on a nearby table, then took my hand. "Don't think," she commanded softly.

She led me to the open space in front of the windows, the city lights our disco ball. She put one of my hands on the small of her back and took the other in hers.

We started to move.

"Loosen up," she chided gently. "Your shoulders are so tight."

I tried to relax, to let the music and the whiskey wash over me.

Her hand moved from mine, sliding up my arm, over my shoulder, to the back of my neck. Her fingers tangled in my hair.

My other hand, the one on her back, began to move of its own accord. I traced the line of her spine, feeling the delicate bones beneath the fabric of her dress. My fingers found the zipper.

She leaned back, her body still moving against mine. She looked up at me, her eyes dark and questioning.

"Mom," I started, my voice cracking. "I don't know what I'm doing."

"Yes, you do," she whispered.

My fingers closed around the zipper. I tugged.

The sound was deafening in the quiet room. The dress loosened around her. With a soft shrug of her shoulders, she let it fall.

It pooled in a heap of fabric at her feet, leaving her standing in front of me in just a black lace bra and matching panties. Her body was perfect. I felt like I was going to swallow my own tongue.

I reached out, my hands shaking, and rested them on her waist. Her skin was soft.

"Touch me," she breathed.

I let my hands slide up, over her ribcage, until my thumbs were brushing against the underside of her breasts.

I leaned down and pressed my lips to the hollow of her throat. I could feel her pulse, fast and frantic, against my lips. I kissed my way along her collarbone, nipping gently at the delicate skin.

Her hands slid up my chest, her fingers finding the hem of my v-neck. She pulled it over my head, and tossed it aside.

Her eyes roamed over me. She reached out and traced the line of hair that led from my navel downwards. "You've grown up so well," she murmured.

She reached behind her back and unhooked her bra. It joined her dress on the floor.

I stared. I had to touch them. I cupped them in my hands, feeling their weight. I brushed my thumbs over her nipples, and she let out a soft gasp.

I leaned down and took one in my mouth, swirling my tongue around the peak. I sucked gently, my other hand continuing to tease the other one.

Her fingers tightened in my hair, holding me to her. "Yes," she moaned. "Just like that."

I lavished attention on her breasts, my hands and mouth working in tandem. I was lost in the feel of her, the taste of her skin, the sounds she was making.

Finally, I pulled back. I wanted her. I wanted her more than I had ever wanted anything in my life.

I hooked my fingers into the waistband of her panties. I slowly dragged them down her legs.

She stepped out of them, kicking them aside.

She was completely naked. In front of me. My mom.

She reached out and started to unbutton my jeans. I watched as she popped the button, then slowly pulled down the zipper.

She pulled my jeans and my boxers down in one smooth motion.

My erection sprang free.

Her gaze dropped.

"You're so hard," she whispered. She reached out and wrapped her fingers around my shaft. "And so big."

Her touch was electric.

"Not yet," she said, her tone firm.

She let go of me and took my hand. "Come with me."

She led me towards the bed. It was huge, a king-sized bed with a white duvet.

She sat down on the edge of the bed and then lay back, her legs slightly apart. She held out a hand to me.

I knelt on the bed beside her. I took her hand, bringing it to my lips and kissing her palm.

I looked at her, at the woman who had raised me, who had kissed my scrapes and tucked me in at night. And now she was here, in this bed, with me.

I leaned down and kissed her. My tongue delved into her mouth, tasting her, claiming her.

I broke the kiss, my breathing ragged. My gaze travelled down the length of her body, over the soft curve of her stomach, past the trimmed patch of dark hair between her legs.

I didn't know what to do.

She must have seen the hesitation on my face, the panic of a teenager out of his depth.

She shifted on the bed, propping herself up on her elbows. "Oh, putter," she murmured, her voice a caress. "Come here."

I scooted closer.

"It's okay," she said. "This is something you learn."

A choked laugh escaped me.

"First," she whispered, her hand coming up to cup the back of my neck, her fingers tangling in my hair. "You're going to learn what makes me feel good. And then you're going to learn how to make me feel even better."

She lay back, her arms coming to rest above her head. "Now," she said, her voice dropping to a near-whisper. "Start with a kiss. Not on my lips. Lower."

I leaned down, my body trembling. I pressed my lips to the warm skin just below her navel. I felt the muscles in her stomach flutter. I kissed her again, a little lower.

Her fingers in my hair tightened. "That's it," she breathed. "Slow."

I continued my path, my lips and tongue tracing a line down her body. Finally, I was there. I was looking at her, at the pink folds of her sex, glistening in the dim light.

I was frozen, mesmerised.

"Taste me," she commanded.

I leaned in and ran the flat of my tongue up her slit.

A sharp gasp escaped her lips.

It was salty, a little sweet.

"Again," she moaned. "Explore."

I obeyed. I used my tongue to part her folds, to trace the skin. I found the nub of her clit and circled it with the tip of my tongue.

Her whole body went rigid. A soft cry tore from her throat.

"There," she panted. "Right there. That's the spot."

I focused my attention there, my tongue moving in deliberate circles. I alternated between gentle licks and firm pressure, learning what made her gasp, what made her moan.

Her hips began to move, a rocking against my face. Her fingers were tangled so tightly in my hair now it was almost painful, but I didn't care. I was lost in the taste of her, in the sounds she was making.

"Put your fingers inside me," she gasped out.

I hesitated for a second, then slipped one finger into her wet heat. I began to move it in and out, mirroring the rhythm of my tongue.

"Another one," she commanded.

I added a second finger. I curled them upwards, and was rewarded with a loud moan.

"Right there," she cried out. "Don't stop."

I could feel her tightening around my fingers, her thighs starting to tremble. I increased the pressure of my tongue, sucking her clit into my mouth.

"Arjun," she cried, her back arching off the bed. "Oh, god, Arjun, yes!"

Her body convulsed, her inner muscles clamping down on my fingers. A wave of her wetness washed over my hand. I kept my tongue and fingers moving, drawing out her pleasure, until she collapsed back against the bed, her body limp and trembling.

I kept my tongue pressed hard against her clit, sucking in a steady rhythm even as she thrashed. Her fingers in my hair were no longer guiding me; they were trying to push me away, to pull me closer, she didn't seem to know which.

"No, no, putter," she panted. "It's too much. I can't.... I can't..."

I crooked my fingers inside her, finding that same spot that had made her cry out before. I pressed.

"Ah!" Her response was a surprised cry.

I did it again.

"Oh, god," she sobbed. "Again... oh, you're making me... you're making me do it again."

Slowly, I eased off. I carefully withdrew my fingers, feeling the last few weak flutters of her muscles around them.

I sat back on my heels, my face slick, my chest heaving. My own erection was painful.

She lay limp, her chest rising and falling with ragged breaths. Her hair was a mess on the white duvet. A fine sheen of sweat glistened on her skin.

After a long moment, she stirred. She propped herself up on her elbows, her movements languid. Her eyes were dazed, cloudy with a sated exhaustion.

A smile spread across her lips. "You," she whispered, her voice hoarse. "You're a very fast learner."

She pushed herself up, her arms trembling with the effort. She reached for me, her hands coming to rest on my face, her thumbs stroking my damp cheeks.

"My turn," she breathed.

She guided me, her touch firm but gentle, until I was lying back against the sheets.

I propped myself up on my elbows, my gaze fixed on her as she moved. There was no hesitation in her, no awkwardness. She crawled towards me like a cat stalking its prey.

She settled between my legs, her hands resting on my thighs. Her touch was cool. Her dark eyes held mine.

She leaned down, and I expected her to take me into her mouth immediately, but she didn't. Instead, she pressed a soft kiss to my hipbone. Then another, a little further in, on the sensitive skin of my inner thigh.

She nibbled at the sensitive skin where my thigh met my hip, her teeth scraping gently.

Finally, her attention shifted. I felt the warm puff of her breath against my balls.

Her tongue darted out, tracing the sensitive skin behind my sac.

She took her time, her touch exploratory. She felt the soft skin of my scrotum with her tongue, then gently took one of my balls into her mouth, sucking softly.

By the time she was done, I was breathing hard.

She lifted her head, her eyes meeting mine. A smile spread across her face. She could see what she was doing to me. She could see how completely she had me at her mercy.

Her fingers wrapped around the base, her grip firm. She leaned in and dragged the flat of her tongue from my base all the way to my tip, lapping up the bead of moisture.

She swirled her tongue around the head, tracing the sensitive ridge. Each flick of her tongue was a jolt of pure electricity.

She started slow, taking just the head, her lips a tight seal, her tongue working against the sensitive underside. She bobbed her head, shallowly at first, her hands resting on my hips, holding me down.

She took a breath, then went down again, this time taking me deeper. She hollowed her cheeks, creating a suction that made my head spin. She took more and more of me, her throat relaxing, until I felt the head of my cock press against the back of her throat. She didn't flinch. She just held it for a moment, before pulling back.

"God, Mom," I breathed out.

She didn't respond. She used her hands, one stroking the shaft in counterpoint to her mouth, the other gently cupping and rolling my balls.

She pulled back, a string of saliva connecting her lips to my tip. "I love how you taste," she murmured. "I love the way you feel in my mouth."

She took me in again, her movements more urgent this time. Her saliva was slick, dripping down my shaft, pooling on my skin. The sounds she made were wet, hungry slurping noises that only served to drive me crazier.

I could feel the pressure building at the base of my spine, a familiar tightening that told me I was close.

"Mom," I gasped. "I'm gonna...."

Her lips left me with a wet pop. I let out a strangled groan, a sound of pure frustration.

She just chuckled. She placed a single, chaste kiss on my hip. "Not yet," she whispered.

She pushed herself up.

Her legs settled on either side of my hips, straddling me. She was so close. The heat of her, the wetness of her, was right there, hovering over my aching cock. I could feel the ghost of her against my tip, a teasing promise of what was to come.

I reached for her, my hands finding her waist. My fingers dug into the soft skin. I wanted to pull her down, to impale her on me.

She lowered her body onto mine, careful to keep her sex just out of reach, and captured my face in her hands. Her thumbs stroked my jaw, my cheeks, the line of my stubble. Her gaze was intense.

She kissed me.

I kissed her back with everything I had. My hands slid up her back, feeling the her spine, before tangling in the thick waves of her hair, holding her to me.

Our tongues tangled, a sensual dance. She ground her hips against me. I could feel her slickness coating my stomach.

The kiss deepened, becoming more frantic. Our teeth clicked, our breath mingling in ragged gasps. I was drowning in her.

She broke the kiss, pulling back just enough to rest her forehead against mine. We were both breathing hard, our chests heaving against each other.

"I've wanted this for so long," she whispered, her voice raw with honesty.

I couldn't speak. Words were useless.

I answered her by rolling us over.

She let out a soft gasp of surprise as I used my strength to shift our positions. Suddenly, I was on top of her, my body blanketing hers. I was looking down at her, at my mom, her lips swollen and parted, her eyes wide and dark with a want that mirrored my own.

I settled between her legs. My cock nudged against her entrance, and we both gasped at the contact. The head of my dick was slick, sliding against the swollen folds of her.

This was it. The point of no return.

I braced myself on one arm, my other hand guiding my cock to her entrance. I pushed forward, just a little.

The head of my dick slipped inside.

"Easy," she breathed, trembling. "Slowly."

I forced myself to be still.

"It's okay," she whispered. "Let me be on top, you're way too big, and I need to take it slow." She gave me a soft kiss on the chin and gently rolled us over.

Now she was above me, my shaft was still just barely inside her, the city lights glittering behind her.

"Are you ready?" she asked.

"Are you?" I shot back.

She laughed. "I've been ready for eighteen years."

My head popped through her tight entrance, and the sensation was so intense that my vision went white for a second.

She stopped, her body trembling, giving us both a moment to adjust. Then, with a slow, agonising roll of her hips, she took more of me. Inch by inch.

I watched her face as she took me. Her eyes were closed, her lips parted, her brow furrowed in concentration. Beads of sweat dotted her upper lip.

I bucked my hips up, trying to drive myself deeper inside her.

"Ah!" she cried out, her eyes flying open. A flash of annoyance, or maybe it was pain, crossed her face before it was replaced by something feral.

She planted her hands on my chest, her nails digging into my skin. "Don't move," she commanded, her voice a low growl.

I went still.

She started to move again. She rose up, then sank down, taking a little more of me with each downward glide.

Finally, she was fully seated on me. My entire length was buried inside her. I could feel the head of my dick pressing against her.

She let out a shuddering breath.

"Look at us," she whispered, her gaze falling to where we were joined. "You're all the way inside me."

I followed her gaze. The sight of my cock disappearing into her body was almost enough to make me lose it right there.

That was it.

Those words were the lit match dropped into gasoline.

My entire body went rigid. My hips bucked up in an involuntary thrust. A sound tore from my throat.

I came.

I was spilling deep inside her, pulse after pulse, my body shuddering with the force of it.

My body went limp, collapsing back against the mattress, my limbs heavy and useless.

The room slowly came back into focus. My ragged breathing filled the silence. She was still on top of me, my softening cock still inside her.

I finally managed to drag my eyes up to her face.

A smile was spreading across her lips. Her deep, intoxicating dimples appeared. She let out a chuckle.

I felt a hot wave of humiliation wash over me. I had been so ready, so desperate to make this last, to be good for her, and I'd lasted all of ten seconds.

Her hands rested on my chest, her touch gentle but firm, keeping me in place. "Don't you dare be embarrassed."

She leaned down and kissed my forehead, then my nose, then the corner of my mouth. Her lips were soft.

I couldn't look at her. I just stared at the hotel ceiling, my jaw clenched tight.

"It's okay," she murmured against my skin. "More than okay, actually."

I let out a groan. "It's not okay. I barely... I mean, that was pathetic."

She forced me to meet her gaze. "You're eighteen years old. You've been holding back for years. You just had your beautiful, inexperienced dick inside a woman for the very first time. What did you expect was going to happen?"

The corner of her mouth twitched. "Honestly?" she added, her voice dropping to a whisper. "I think it's incredibly hot."

My head snapped up. "What?"

"The second you were finally inside, it was so much you couldn't handle it."

She saw the flicker of disbelief in my eyes. Her smile widened. "Besides," she said, her fingers tracing the line of my jaw. "Who says we're done?"

She shifted her hips, a teasing grind. I let out a hiss at the overstimulation.

"We have all night," she continued. "And tomorrow. And all the days after that." She leaned in, her lips brushing against my ear. "Don't worry, my sweet boy. We're going to get a lot of practice."