A Mother’s Worry – part 02

She didn’t.

The living room in my house has a simple setup. There are floor-to-ceiling windows on the wall in line with the front door, with two sets of motorized, retractable curtains. The curtains closer to the window were white and transparent, while the second set were thick, blackout curtains for when Dad fires up his flat-screen TVs–yes, that’s plural. He thinks he lives in a sports bar. Facing the TVs are three white couches set in a horseshoe pattern with a glass coffee table and other living room stuff that most homes have. Jenna and I cuddled together on one of the side couches while Mom sat on the long couch directly facing the TV, meaning we couldn’t really see her unless we looked behind and to the side of us.

We didn’t look at her.

Instead, we watched the movie while Mom watched us. I don’t know if Jenna could feel it, but I could feel Mom’s green eyes cutting into me with the surgical precision of one of those laser swords on TV. (I know it’s not called a laser sword. I don’t care.) I cared about Mom’s eyes, watching, and judging–perving on us like some almost forty-year-old nun eager to unsheathe her yardstick and slap the devil out of us. That thought conjured the image of an Italian nun–because all of the sexy nun pornos I’ve seen were Italian–bending Jenna over a table and spanking my girlfriend’s butt until her cheeks turned red. That was a good thought. It was such a good thought that my cock sprung to life beneath my jeans, pushing into Jenna’s ass. Jenna didn’t hesitate to push back against my prick with my mother right there!

Did Mom think her eyes were going to keep us from having our fun? At some point, people who believe that other people were watching them eventually go nuts. So, what would happen to someone who knew that someone was watching them? I didn’t know, but I did know that I wouldn’t let Mom embarrass or intimidate me into a life of abstinence. If she was going to invite herself into my world with Jenna, then I was going to let her watch.

I had my arms around Jenna, but as these thoughts went through my head, and she pushed her butt against the growing concern in my pants, I raised my right hand–my top hand–and I placed it on my girlfriend’s side and squeezed.

Jenna shifted, uttering a laugh that she had tried to contain, and my cock swelled to its full hardness. As I thought, Let Mom watch, my heart sped up, and a chill raced across my shoulders, riding my arms down to my wrists and leaving my insides buzzing with an energy that wanted to escape my body. I curled my fingertips over Jenna’s side, caressing her, and without thinking, I pushed my cock into her butt while knowing that Mom was watching us.

Could Mom see my minuscule movements?

I pushed harder into Jenna, and she pushed harder against me. With Jenna cradled in my arms, I could see the profile of her face, and when I urged my prick into her ass, which was only covered by those cute cotton sweatpants that women like to wear, the corner of her lips pulled into a wide smile. I could see pink in her cheeks. As her smile widened, she pushed her butt harder against me, giving my member a soft grind, which sent an electric pulse through my pole from the tip of my dick down into my balls. I had to fight off a moan, but I tightened my ass cheeks and pushed my tented pants deeper into Jenna’s crack, my skin warming and the pace of my heart’s thumping increasing. What was Mom going to do about this?

“I’m cold,” Jenna said, turning her head to look over her shoulder at me. “Can you get a blanket?”

“Yeah,” I said.

On the living room’s couches, a blanket lay draped over each of the backrests. I grabbed the one from our couch and slid it over our bodies. I thought I heard Mom make a noise, but Jenna’s giggle as she wiggled her butt against the ache in my pants kept me from being sure.

Now what, Mom?

“Jenna,” Mom said in a quiet tone that shot from her to us in a straight line. “It’s time for you to go home.”

Holy fuck, had I asked that question aloud?

Jenna looked at my mother.

I looked at my mother, but this wasn’t my house. I could argue about some things, but I couldn’t tell my mother what to do in her own home.

“Okay, Mrs. Hornsby.” Jenna swung her left arm upward, pushing the blanket from her body and over mine, baring my front and the sideways pyramid my cock had turned my pants into. I covered myself as Jenna stood, turned, and bent at the waist as she pressed her lips to mine for a quick, barely-there kiss. “I’ll see you later.”

“Now,” Mom snapped.

Jenna’s eyes widened, and she straightened her back and ducked her head as she quick-stepped it through the living room and out of my mother’s house.

“Mom,” I said, sitting up. “What the hell?”

There was so much I could have said, but that’s what came out of my mouth. Mom, what the hell?

“Mark–”

“It’s going to happen,” I said, my heart pumping hard as a white-hot fire raced through my veins, reddening my cheeks.

I stood, not caring that I still had a hard-on as the blanket fell away from me. Mom’s eyes darted to my crotch, widening, then she looked back at me with a strange defiance in her eyes.

“We’re going to have sex soon.” I licked my lips. “There’s nothing that you, Mr. Mason, or Dad can do about it. I mean it. And everyone is going to have to live with it.”

I walked out of the living room as Mom called, “Mark! Mark, get back here! Mark!”

My expression went from stern to glaring as I jogged upstairs, increasing my speed to get away from Mom’s voice. I slammed my door once I was in my room. After a minute, I rubbed my hands over my face, and through my hair, then I looked at my door and then the doorknob, tempted to go back downstairs. My mother hadn’t deserved that. All that she was doing was caring about me. But I didn’t go, not until later in the night after my father had come into my room to tell me to make nice with my mother because between Mom and me, there was no question as to whose side he was going to take.

As he left my room, he said, “Hey, I’m not going without sex, too, because of you.”

I shook my head and laughed at the casualness of his voice. Taking a deep breath, I smiled and went downstairs to make nice with my mother.

5

Tipping Point

I came downstairs to see Dad lying on the couch that made up the right side of the horseshoe while Mom sat on the back couch. Dad had a blanket pulled over his body, his head on a pillow, and his remote in his hands. It looked like they were binge-watching an original series, foreign but not dubbed. The show had subtitles.

I walked around the left side of the couch that made up the back of the horseshoe and sat down on the other side of my mother. Mom looked at me and smiled. I smiled back. Mom had changed into a pajama dress, which looked like an overgrown baby blue T-shirt with a cloud print. She sat staring at the TV and leaning against the couch’s armrest. Her long legs were visible from the mid-thigh down thanks to the light from the TV, not that there was much light. Not that I was looking. Not really. I was looking at Mom so that I could mouth the words, I’m sorry, but my mother was my mother, and a person couldn’t help but notice the smoothness of her swan-like limbs.

Since Mom wasn’t turning her head toward me, I concentrated on the movie, turning in her direction every couple of minutes to see if I could get her attention. I couldn’t. Which kind of sucked since I didn’t want to sit through a subtitle-laden TV show just so I could make nice, but since those damn subtitles held her focus, I sat, and I sat, waiting and hoping that the episode would come to an end.

Coming downstairs to apologize for something was not new to me. I was still in my jeans and shirt, and in my pocket, I had slipped my phone. I reached down into it, pulling it out and lighting up the screen as I nestled into the corner of the couch across from Mom. I swiped and swiped, and Dad said, “That phone better be on mute,” so I killed the volume as I looked up at him, but he wasn’t looking back at me.

I looked at Mom, who was looking at me, and I mouthed the words, “I’m sorry.” She smiled, but her eyes dropped to my phone, and her smile tightened.

I shrugged.

What had she expected?

Mom swung her gaze back to the TV, and I looked back at my phone. I texted Jenna, who returned my text, but we didn’t have much of anything interesting to say. We fed each other live updates of our situations, and after sighing in silence, I decided to go back upstairs for some phone sex, and that’s when I noticed something different about Mom.

Mom’s left hand lay on her thigh, just beyond the hem of her sleeping dress. The hem no longer lay in the middle of her thigh. Her fingers, which were curling and uncurling in near slow motion, had pulled her dress up along her leg so that it now rested between the middle of her thigh and her hip. She kept scratching at her leg, and the hem continued to rise, but only on her left side, the side furthest from Dad. Not that he’d noticed, lying on the side couch as he was, on his back with his eyes glued to the subtitles flashing across the screen.

I looked at the profile of Mom’s face, watching as she stared straight ahead, and then I looked down, where her fingers continued to pull the hem of her pajama dress upward. She slid her hand to the side of her thigh, her long fingers inching beneath the hem while her fingertips slid across her skin, and the TV’s whitish-blue, sometimes silver-gray light, flashed over her body.

My cheeks flushed.

Mom took a deep breath, and my eyes moved upward, traveling up her body and taking in her flaxen hair, so golden and bright that even in the near darkness, it shined like a beacon of light. My eyes shifted across her body, making the short, sideways journey to her breasts, where they rose and fell with her deep breaths. I saw, for the first time, the way her sleep-dress molded to her form. My cheeks grew hotter, almost burning, and my heartbeat rose as goosebumps sprouted across the surface of my arms. Below my waist, things warmed, causing my cock to stretch and my scrotum to tighten in a pre-hardening ritual that I quickly recognized.

I was now looking at my mother’s breasts and the way her cotton nightdress slid down the upper slopes of her tits and curved around, covering her nipples, which had grown stiff and hard sometime before I had laid my eyes on them. And they were stiff and hard, pointing outward like two solid eraser nubs that I couldn’t remember sucking on as a newborn, but Mom had claimed that I had. What a weird thought. The dress continued downward, clinging to the round underside of her tits where they connected to her sternum and sides, the fabric shooting straight down her stomach and over her thighs.

Had Mom always worn pajamas that outlined her body as though drawn to her skin? I didn’t know, but I couldn’t believe that I wouldn’t have noticed this kind of sleepwear in the past. Mom’s head twitched. I lowered my eyes to my phone, though that guilty look that crossed my face whenever I felt bad punched me right in the nose. I knew it was there, that caught-in-the-headlights look that screamed, I’m GUILTY of something.

Fuck.

Mom made a noise that sounded like a sigh with a shiver running through it. After a second, I looked at my mother again. The skirt of her nightdress lay beneath her butt, leaving her dress draped across her thigh at an angle. Mom shifted, first her shoulders, and the motion swung into her ribs and sides, then her hips. As she scratched at her thigh, still moving the hem of her dress, Mom looked at Dad, who had his eyes fastened to the TV, and then she lifted her butt and made a quick scratch of her cheek that pulled her hem behind her small, round, and pear-shaped butt.

What the fuck was going on?

Mom’s head twitched again while I was still thinking about my question. Mom saw me, and I saw her. My heart thumped hard against the underside of my chest, like a man bracing his weight against a door with one hand while delivering hammer blows against its face with the other. Mom smiled. It was a quick action before she looked back at the TV. My mouth went dry because when she had smiled, her eyes had flickered downward, and so had her chin, in such a way that she could only be saying, Have a look, without having to say it aloud.

I’m not stupid.

I’m not slow.

But was I imagining this?

Why would my mom do this?

How beautiful?

As beautiful as you.

That was a question she had asked, followed by the answer I had given. I stared at her naked thigh, with the hem of her dress pulled up to her waist as it curved in a sideways U around her butt. The silver-white light from the TV highlighted the side of her cheek, and my cock hardened so fast I released a groan from my lips.

Mom’s lips kind of puckered, then parted, then closed. For a second, her profile had that caught-in-the-headlights look that I had worn minutes earlier, but then it was gone. I had to get out of there. I said nothing as I turned forward on the couch, then rose while tilting to my left and away from my mother and father, hiding my bulging jeans as I quickly walked out of the living room and into the connecting foyer and headed up the stairs.

“Goodnight,” I called.

Dad mumbled something.

Mom said nothing.

Once in my room, my pants came off, but my boxer briefs stayed on. I had my phone in my hand, the lights were off, and I was sitting in my bed, texting Jenna and asking her to call me so I could hear her sexy voice.

Before she could text back or call, I didn’t know what she was going to do, my door opened. I jumped, and I grabbed the pillow to my right and slammed it over my rock-hard cock, which made me grunt. Mom had stuck her head into my room, but she didn’t bother turning on the light. I set my phone face down on the bed.

“Mark,” Mom said, “I’m not mad about earlier.”

“I know,” I said.

“I want you to think about what could happen to you if you do anything with Jenna.” Mom paused, and I heard her take a deep breath. “Try, for me, for one week, to abstain from becoming romantic with her. Just try for one week, and maybe some good karma will come your way.”

“Good karma?” I asked, unable to keep the laughter from my question.

“Yes,” Mom whispered. “Maybe you won’t be fooling around with Jenna, but there has to be something in this house that can keep you distracted until you understand the responsibility that comes with having sex.”

A buzzing lightness rushed through my body, and I licked my lips, thankful for the darkness.

“Okay?” Mom asked.

I had to take a deep breath before saying, “Okay, Mom,” but I couldn’t hide the tremor in my voice.

“Goodnight,” Mom said. “Love you.”

“I love you too,” I said as she closed the door.

I looked at my phone, and it only took me a second to decide that phone sex and face time didn’t fall under the category of romance.

Less than five minutes later, one of the strongest orgasms of my life tore through my body, leaving me feeling weightless and boneless, my muscles made of jelly. I slept well that night.

6

It wasn’t My Imagination

I awoke the next morning earlier than I usually did that summer. I had worked my ass off during my first three years of high school, and I was going to coast through my senior year, which meant that this would be my first summer off in a long time. Thoughts of returning to my slumber came to me, but in the end, I rolled out of bed, put on my basketball shorts and a T-shirt, and headed to my hallway bathroom to finish waking up before I headed downstairs.

The downstairs has a wraparound floor plan, with the living room to the left, followed by the dining room, then the kitchen, then a hallway that leads to a laundry room, the garage, a great room, and then back to the foyer, staircase, and front door. The great room has a piano, a pool table, a bar, but I don’t spend much time in there….

I entered the kitchen at seven in the morning, with the sunlight shining onto the breakfast table through the white curtains hanging over the bay windows. Dad was still home. He wouldn’t be leaving until about eight in the morning. Mom worked from home, using her advanced degrees in education to create specialized curriculums for private schools while also selling lesson plans that covered kindergarten through high school graduation to teachers over the internet. She did well enough that Dad often joked about retiring early, by about twenty years.

In the kitchen, I found Dad sitting at the table, reading his newspaper with his back to the window and the sunlight shining onto his paper. Mom was wearing a lavender robe made of silk with the belt looped once, and the two halves met at the center of her body. I noticed it dropped down to the middle of her thighs–something I wouldn’t have noticed before last night. I would have seen it, but I wouldn’t have noticed it.

“Good morning,” Mom said, giving me a smile and even without makeup on her cheeks, and lipstick on her… lips… she still looked beautiful.

Dad’s paper fluttered with that crunchy, flappy sound as he snapped it low enough to look at me. “You’re up early.”

“Good morning.” I shrugged and looked about the kitchen and breakfast nook as Dad lifted his paper. “I’m just up.”

“Sit,” Mom said. “I’ll make you breakfast.”

“Cereal is fine,” I said, taking a seat.

“I said I’ll make you breakfast,” Mom said.

I sat at the end of the table, to Dad’s left. To the left of me was the kitchen island and Mom, who was cooking what smelled like French toast with her back to me and her lower body hidden by the kitchen island.

I looked away from her, thinking, Last night was weird.

When Mom turned around from the stove, she set my plate on the kitchen island and picked up the maple syrup. I looked at her, but she looked at Dad, and as she did, she seemed to become lost in thought. Her eyes never drifted in my direction. She held the syrup in her right hand while her left arm came up, and her fingers slid between her robe’s lapels. Rubbing motions followed, almost caresses, and as she pulled her fingers out of her robe, she caught her lapel, pulling her robe open to the left. I had to work saliva back into my mouth as the golden-hued upper swell of my mother’s left breast came into view.

Holy shit.

Mom still hadn’t looked at me. She stared at Dad’s paper, and then she looked down long enough to pour the syrup onto my breakfast before raising her head and looking at Dad once more. She set the syrup down, then reached up with her right hand and slid her fingers beneath her left lapel and rubbed the top of her left breast, with her palm on the outer edge.

Holy shit again.

I watched in silence as her breast moved, not a lot, not even a jiggle, just back and forth with the motions of her fingers. Her hand came away, and her fingers curled around her right lapel, and she pulled that side open, creating a narrow V down the center of her cleavage. Mom shook her head as if ridding herself of whatever thoughts had been running through her mind, then she picked up my plate, walked around the far end of the island and toward me with a new gap in her robe that I had to struggle not to stare at–but wasn’t staring the point?

This wasn’t my imagination.

Mom was showing herself off to me.

Holy, motherfucking-shit.

Dad read his paper, and I ate, glancing at Mom as much as I could without turning my head to stare at her. Maybe I was supposed to look, but she was still my mother, and I still had a girlfriend. Despite the warmth flowing through my heart and into my skin, turning it red due to my mother’s good intentions, a little corner of my mind wanted to curl into a ball and close its eyes. I could hear it chanting, This is weird. This is wrong. This is weird. This is wrong. Lucky for me, the chanting’s volume faded with time, as though someone was lowering the volume of a stereo with the unnaturally slow but continuous rotation of its dial.