“Once he comes of age, the son may seek his mother’s relief from arousal and she must do her full duty,”

she said out loud, ‘remembering’ that particular summary of the teachings. She gasped then covered her mouth again as if she hadn’t expect the words to come out. She knew the passages all along. But somehow had forgotten about them… for almost her entire life it felt like. Even on her son’s 18th birthday she hadn’t thought about such things… In fact it didn’t feel right for some reason. But at the same time she knew it was the truth and that she must do her duty. “Astaghfirullah…” she said, asking Allah for forgiveness. “Forgive me, Ahyan, my head is… I don’t know why I had forgotten... “ she trailed off, still confused but less upset.

You shrugged as your way to accept her apology.

“That’s okay, Umi, just come inside,” you told her. “I need you to take care of this.” The woman took two steps forward into your room almost on autopilot from your command but then caught herself when she saw the bulge in the front of your pants. Those eyes were so adorably huge in this moment.

“Right now?” she said, trying to come up with a stalling tactic. “I was making breakfast… can it wait until-”

“But I’m so hard, Umi,” you interrupted, voice just hinting at cloying. “I really need relief.” You had your Quran right next to you on the bed, your hand placed on top of it purposefully. She looked from your lump to the book, the motion close to a headshake. Then she locked eyes with you, and she wasn’t quite sure what she saw in them. They were still her baby boy’s eyes of course… and his familiar calls for her would have warmed her heart usually… but this? This whole situation was so foreign and new. But how could she have not mentally prepared herself for this time? It was inevitable. The teachings were very clear. How could she have forgotten? There was no way out of this. Not if she was to be a devout Muslim that she always had been.

“O-okay…” your mother said, then slowly walked up to you. She closed the distance up to about two feet in front of you now and you looked the woman up and down, standing there stiffly. Despite steeling her resolve a moment ago she was again unsure and uncertain about almost everything in her life up to this point. With you looking up at her expectantly she swallowed her nerves. “Wha… what do you want me to do?”

Now it was your turn to be a bit shaken. This had been what you wanted… you’d been thinking about this for a long time, dreaming it, even before obtaining The Book. Now, your mother was right here and waiting for you to… tell her how to take care of you. Remaining as calm as possible you gave her a placid smile.

“Just get on your knees first… then take it out,” you suggested, for starters. There were a series of rapid blinks from your mother as she took this in… as her mind contended with the fact that her own son had just told her to get on her knees. A beat, then she slowly got sank to plush carpet, her hand on the bed next to your knee for support. She was looking everywhere but at you now, seemed particularly interested in the immediate area around the bed.

“Don’t leave your socks all over the floor,” she chided you while getting herself comfortable, folding her hands into her lap. You allowed her that final shred of motherly authority before taking back control. You spread your knees apart just a bit, to indicate that you were ready. Your movement started her and she was stiff as a board again, sitting there between your knees, that bulge straining to get in her face.

“I’ll take care of the socks after you take care of this, Mama,” you said, smirking. She glanced up at you under a frown, lips pursed. Obviously she didn’t like this apparent imbalance, but she had to soldier through it and huffed, then reached forward. Her hand stalled a little, then she grabbed the top of your pajama pants. A shiver ran up your spine simply feeling the tips of her fingers slip into the front of your waistband, the slight cool feel of her fingernails adding to the sensation. Her thumbs found the top button, snapped it open, she paused. You were staring at her hands. Her thin wrists were unadorned, those slender fingers worked very deliberately to undo the last two buttons. Snap. Snap. Somehow your mother had managed to not open your pants completely as she unbuttoned them, and they were loose-fitting enough to not spring open on their own… but with her task literally at hand she had ****. She opened the flaps, like she was unwrapping a package, and out flopped your package.

There was an intake of breath and your mother shrunk back, but sitting here on her knees there wasn’t much space for her to retreat to. And there was your circumcised penis, all seven inches of it standing to attention. You both stared at it, gently swaying between you, turgid and hot. Your mother seemed mesmerised by the thing. When was the last time she had seen you naked, seen what her boy was packing? Not since you were a child, once you knew how to dress yourself properly. She seemed to be swearing softly in Arabic under her breath, her face slightly turned away from you but her eyes glued. Your mother was unable to tear her gaze away and you could see the flush in her cheeks. You felt your skin all over, tingling, heating with excitement. Realising that if you didn’t speak up now she might just continue staring, you said “Umi” to get her attention and her eyes finally turned to looked up at you, like glistening saucers.