He's very young. Sixteen, maybe seventeen. A student in one of my classes.
We lie together, skin on skin. I can smell the oil of his scalp as he sucks my breasts, flicking my nipples with his nimble tongue. He thinks he brings me pleasure this way, but he does not realize that this is what children do with their mothers.
In a sense, I wish to mother him. Fold myself around him, comfort him, make him feel special. Chosen. All in exchange for his young heat and clumsy fingers that slip in and out of me far too quickly.
He does not know that he's left something behind. Something he forgot to keep inside himself and take with him when he left. He does not know that I carry him inside me all the time now. And I'm not going to tell him.
I will not keep the child. I cannot. I say "child" because I am under no illusions whatsoever. There is no point in sugar-coating, pretending this is not a life. I know what I'm doing. I know what I'm doing it to. Call me cruel, and maybe I am, but I must. The clock must be turned back, the mistake erased. Terminated. As if nothing ever happened.
Now I watch him sleep. He knows so little, my boy-man. He is not the first of his age to wet my bed. Truthfully, I could not use one hand to count from my first up to him. I made them each feel special, but him... he really is. He will forever stand out in my memory as the one with whom I forgot myself. The one with whom I made such an unfortunate mistake. Perhaps, because of this, he will be my last.... Perhaps not.
I watch as his smooth chest slowly rises and falls. The rhythm is steady, hypnotic. So different from his spasmodic love-making. Although, if I'm honest, even this has its charm. What he lacks in practice, he more than makes up for in boundless energy and desire. Perhaps that is why I chose him, and the others. No man of my own age can even hope to compete. I could never go back. I'm far too spoiled now.
And so I must take steps to ensure my future appeal. I cannot allow a child to hold me back. Rule my life. Limit my choices. Suck my remaining years away. Forever is such a long time. Too long.
I lean down slowly and gently kiss those slightly parted lips. "Sleep on," I say. "Let nothing wake you." He cannot hear me. This is good. If he could, he might awaken to see the pillow coming down over his face. Feeling him struggle, I cannot help but be saddened. Every boy I choose is unique, and every end feels like a great loss. This one more than most, things being as they are.
When at last he falls silent and still, I breathe a sigh of relief. Breathe. That's rather funny under the circumstances. In a sad sort of way.
I will dispose of him in due time, but for now, I rest. The child has been successfully terminated. And now, I can live a life of relative peace without fear of having to share my precious baby.