MOM'S TOUCH BUT DON'T LOOK POLICY

All in succession, my perfectly crafted life collapsed.

First, the coronavirus hit and closed my college. Then they instituted shelter-at-home. I found myself trapped in the house, with no one else around except my mom.

The last straw came a few days after that. I was finally getting settled back into my boyhood bedroom when I got a call from Cassie, my college girlfriend. She wanted to FaceTime, and I assumed it was time for our inaugural session of hot and heavy virtual sex. I took off my pants, then turned on the screen.

Cassie was there, but she was fully dressed and looking glum.

"I just can't do it," she said, "If we're apart like this, I don't know how we can stay together." The pretty brunette did look upset, at least. Even if her logic made little sense. Everyone was stuck inside. It's not like we were in a long-distance relationship where I could be out dating, and she would never know. I was home with my mom, for fuck's sake.

"I can't," Cassie repeated, "I'm sorry. When it's over, when we're back in school, we can try again."

She clicked off the screen. I pulled my jeans back on, sheepish and sad. Cassie and I had been dating for nearly six months. I didn't think I was going to marry the girl, but I didn't see us breaking up anytime soon, either. Having her dump me out of nowhere like that left me feeling low.

That night at dinner, I barely had any appetite. I pushed my food around my plate like a lazy cat chasing after a mouse. Never quite getting to the kill.

"What's wrong?" Mom asked. I turned her way, and, for a moment, I got caught in her huge, blue eyes.

I could admit my mom was very pretty. She had honey blonde hair and a warm, sunny face. Her tomboy-esque outfits -- she always wore flannel shirts with white, ribbed tank tops and high-waisted Mom jeans -- only made her look cuter.

My high school friends had all foundered after her. I knew that at least two of the guys in our group had only hung out with me because it meant they got glances of my mom. Even some of the dates I'd brought home had faltered when they saw my mother.

"I'm fine," I said, the standard evasive answer.

"Come on, talk to me," Mom said, "You used to confide in me all the time, you know."

That was true. Mom and I had been quite close when I was younger. We both loved reading books and seeing plays. She would take me to do errands and taught me to sew and cook. Mom had been my constant companion.

Everything changed when I turned 13. Mom became distant and removed. When I tried to hug her or show her affection, she would flinch like I was about to fight her. We stopped spending time together. Gave up going out as Mom and son. I ended up hanging out with my dad through most of high school, which came with its own unique set of issues.

Not that Mom was mean or cruel. Just detached. It's why I had wanted to leave for college so quickly after high school, and one of the reasons I had been dreading my corona-caused return home.

"Seriously, Jay, what's wrong?" Mom asked me again.

Instinctively, I looked over to where Dad would usually be sitting with us at our small, round kitchen table. I was used to him interceding on my behalf. Unfortunately, Dad had been travelling overseas when the virus hit and wasn't coming home anytime soon. I was on my own.

Mom put her hand on mine, pulling me back to the moment. The truth was, I wanted to tell someone. Needed to. And, with no one else around, I guess it was easier for Mom to pry things out of me.

"Cassie and I broke up," I said, barely even a mumble.

"What happened?" Mom asked.

Again, the words caught in my throat before spilling over. "She said she didn't think we could be together through quarantine," I said.

"Well, that's fucking stupid," Mom said.

I startled. I wasn't used to Mom taking my side, and I really wasn't used to hearing her curse.

Mom saw the look on my face, realized what she'd said, and blushed. "Sorry, your old mother still has a little fire left in her, I guess."

"You're not old, Mom," I said, reflexive. A smile snuck onto Mom's lips. She quickly turned away.

I wasn't just being polite. Mom was only 38 and she could have easily passed for late twenties. She and Dad had me when they were both twenty. I was a college mishap (during the final performance of the university's spring play, Mom would say wistfully, like that was a detail I needed to know). While I'm sure it was hard for them at the time to have a child, it seemed like there were also a lot of benefits to being a decade younger than anyone else with a kid my age.

"Anyway," Mom continued, "I'm sorry about what happened with you and Kelly."

"Cassie," I said.

"Right," Mom said, "But if she's that superficial, she's doing you a favor. You deserve someone way better."

Now it was my turn to blush. Like I said, I wasn't used to getting compliments from Mom.

After dinner, I helped Mom clear the table and do the dishes. We stood in front of the sink, her arms elbow-deep in soapy water, while I held the tiny dish towel to dry. At one point, our hips bumped, and I glanced over at Mom's body.

Like I said, I was her son. I didn't have a 'thing' for my mom. But that didn't mean I couldn't see her for what she was: a thoroughly gorgeous woman with a sweet face and a hot, tight body. I guess, in that way, it's like appreciating a painting at the MFA. I can admit that something is beautiful without needing to break in and take it home with me.

Mom saw me looking and, pointedly, stepped away. She gave my shoulder a playful shove.

"Eyes on your own paper, mister," Mom said with a grin.

"Moooom," I said, the stereotypical small boy whine, "I wasn't."

"I'm just teasing," Mom said, "Besides, I know you're a single man now, but that's no reason to start lowering your standards."

"Mom, I would be lucky to be with you. I mean, a woman who looked like you. I mean..."

Mom put her hand on my shoulder to stop me. She was smiling so wide, it looked like the corners of her mouth could reach her earlobes. Her white, straight teeth were practically shining in the thin light of the kitchen.

"It's OK," she said, "I understand and appreciate the compliment. It's sweet. Especially coming from such a ladykiller like yourself."

For a moment, I thought Mom was saying something about how I treated women and I got defensive. "I'm not like that," I snapped.

"No, no," Mom said, "I'm sorry. That wasn't what I meant at all. Girls like you. I see them checking you out. The way your high school girlfriends would fall all over you."

"Oh," I said.

I tried to picture what Mom meant but I couldn't see it. I'd had a few girlfriends in high school, nothing serious. Had they been swooning? I didn't think so. And Cassie?

Suddenly it all came crashing back to me and this stopped being fun. I finished putting away the dishes and turned away from the sink.

"I know you're down, Jay," Mom said, "But, trust me, you'll find someone who's worth your time."

"Thanks," I said, still feeling dejected.

"How about we watch a movie tonight to cheer you up," she said, "Something silly."

Given the choice between watching something dumb on TV with Mom or sitting in my room by myself and moping, it was an easy decision.

*

Mom made a big bowl of popcorn and we sat on the living room couch. She clicked on the TV and scrolled through the options. With Dad, watching TV was easy: we just chose hockey. And if hockey wasn't on, we watched recordings of hockey. Easy peasy. Mom was way pickier.

But when she found Bridesmaids in the menu, she stopped. My mother was not a very 'outward' woman. She was not one of those people going to wild parties, even when she was younger. She'd been a drama geek in college and, as she explained it, was probably the last person you'd think would end up accidentally pregnant.

Mom didn't wear revealing clothes. She liked safe music that I would describe as 'Mom Rock.' She rarely ever cursed. Her one secret was that she loved, loved, raunchy comedies. It was like finding out your pastor was a huge metalhead or that grandma was a grand champion at League of Legends. It was completely out of character, but that didn't make it any less Mom.

"What do you say?" Mom asked. Honestly, it seemed perfect for the mood I was in. I agreed, and Mom clicked play.

I'd seen the movie a few times, but I still found myself getting into it. When we got to the classic bathroom scene, Mom and I laughed so hard that tears rolled down our cheeks. We watched the rest of the movie, both lying back like we were in physical pain from our hysterics.

"See, don't you feel better?" Mom asked as she clicked off the TV. I had to concede that I did.

*

The next morning, however, the blues slipped back into my brain. I spent most of my day in bed, unsure of what Mom was up to. To her credit, she left me be. I think she understood that I needed some mourning time.

At the end of the day, she knocked on my door. I'd been lying around in boxers all day, so I scrambled to pull my shirt on. Mom came in while I was still getting dressed. She started to speak, then stuttered.

"Hi, I was..." Mom froze, staring at my chest.

I'd been playing hockey since freshman year of high school. It was Dad's thing, so I practically had to join up. The fact that Mom hated me playing was just an added benefit at the time.

I wasn't a world beater at hockey, but I was good enough to get a scholarship. I knew I wasn't going to be a star -- I was on the third line at a two-star program -- but whatever. It was D1 and a free education and I was going to make the most of that. Plus, I figured I'd end up with lots of cool stories about getting checked into the boards by some future NHL stars.

In any case, hockey is a full body sport. It's not like baseball where you can have a big gut and still hit 98 on the radar gun. Skating gets your legs in incredible shape, but you need upper body strength, too. And playing in college had taken me to a whole new level. I hadn't even had a full year of training, but I was already in the best shape of my life.

I guess I was pretty cut, is what I'm saying. And Mom noticed. She stayed stuck in place, staring at me half-shirtless. I knew that Mom didn't want to see her son naked, but I didn't realize she'd be that upset.

"Sorry," I said, sheepish, and finished pulling down my shirt.

"It's fine," Mom said, "Just warn me next time."

Again, I apologized. "So, what's up?"

"I wanted to see how you're doing," Mom said.

"Oh. I'm OK," I said. I flopped back down on the bed.

"Sure you are," Mom said, a smirk sneaking across her face. "I was thinking I could make dinner and we could watch another movie."

I looked back at my bed. All I wanted to do was crawl under the covers. But I heard my stomach growl, and I knew I needed to eat.

I went downstairs and helped Mom make dinner. It had been a long time since we worked on a project together like that and it was fun. Like having an old friend back.

After we ate, again, we stood over the sink and washed the dishes. At one point, I dropped a big serving dish in the soapy water, and it splashed up, soaking Mom's chest. I looked over and saw a bit of her tit through her wet, white tank top. Mom wasn't huge chested. She had nice-sized breasts. Honestly, I hadn't thought about them until that moment. Now, they were all I could see.

Mom looked over at me staring, then down at her chest. She frowned.

"Sorry," I said.

Mom's mouth twisted. "I'll go change," she said, "Next time be more careful, OK?"

Mom came back in a long, lime green sleep shirt that went down to her knees. For a moment, the thought that she might not be wearing underwear under that outfit slipped into my mind, unbidden. What was wrong with me? Back home for less than a month and I was already going full pervert? Mom wasn't a sexual being, she was my mother. But something about that shapeless, long shirt was totally arousing. I can't explain exactly why.

When we finished the dishes, we went back to the couch and Mom picked out another over-the- top comedy. This time, she went for an old one called Airplane.

"Your grandmother used to love this one," Mom said.

Almost immediately, I realized that Grandma was a very different woman than I'd realized. Airplane was filthy. Full of dirty, inappropriate humor. I'd thought the world was getting more liberal, but that movie had bits in it that no one would dare perform in 2020.

Then there were the sex jokes. At one point, a topless woman showed up on screen for no reason, breasts flying around. I looked over at Mom and she shrugged like it was nothing. Another scene was an extended blowjob gag where Julie Hagerty had to give oral to the autopilot balloon to keep it inflated. Mom giggled like crazy through the whole scene.

Again, I had to recalibrate my thinking. I knew Mom had sex. Duh, she had me. But the idea that Mom could find oral sex funny implied that she performed oral sex and that kind of blew my brain. Rationally, of course, these revelations were stupid. But some part of me hadn't ever processed the idea, quite the opposite, and the reshuffle left me rustled.

When the movie was over, again, Mom and I were lying back on the couch all laughed out. Once again, I went to bed feeling way better.

The next few days, we found ourselves falling into a routine. Most of the day, we kept to ourselves. I stayed in my room playing videogames and attending virtual classes. Mom did Mom stuff. Mostly gardening or cleaning the house. It's not like she could even go out shopping (we had the groceries delivered to our door). Around 4pm, we'd come out of our respective corners, make ourselves a nice meal, and finish off with a racy comedy.

After Airplane, we stayed old school for a while and watched Mel Brooks movies: Young Frankenstein, Blazing Saddles, History of World Part I, and Spaceballs. Then we moved back into the Abrams Zucker Abrams oeuvre and watched all three Naked Guns.

With the classics out of the way, we shifted to more modern stuff, starting with 40-Year-Old Virgin. This time, when Steve Carrell was walking back and forth with an unflagging erection, it was Mom's turn to give me a funny look. But I didn't say anything. For a movie about having sex, the film wasn't super sexual overall.

The next film we chose, however, was the one that got us in trouble. Actually, it was the whole damn day.

I was settling in for another session of hardcore gaming when Mom knocked on my door. I was in my underwear, and this time, I knew to warn Mom that I wasn't decent. I pulled on some clothes and opened the door. Despite the fact that I was fully dressed, Mom ran her eyes from my feet to my face. She seemed let down, almost like she'd been hoping to catch me half-clothed. Or maybe it was just my outfit. Yes, that made way more sense.

"What are you up to?" Mom asked.

I gestured at my PS4 like it was obvious.

"I'm thinking about painting my nails," Mom said.

"OK." I looked at her fingers and they seemed fine. Honestly, I wasn't sure why she was telling me this.

"I can do my hands OK, but then I can't touch anything for a while till they dry."

"You want me to make lunch?" I asked.

"Sure," Mom said, "But I was also hoping to paint my toenails and it's way easier to have someone else do that for me."

"You want me to paint your toenails," I repeated back to her.

"It's not that girlie," Mom said, "Think of is as practice. Your girlfriends will love it if you can do that for them."

I thought that was a bit of stretch, but whatever. It was early spring, but the day was remarkably warm, so we went out to the backyard. Mom set up on a lounge chair and proceeded to paint her fingernails a deep purple. I sat back and chatted with her while she worked.

We talked about school and hockey. For someone who hated sports, Mom sure knew a lot about the game.

"I took you to almost every practice and game, hon," Mom said. I guess she had.

Dad loved me playing hockey and was happy to watch games with me. In most other ways though, he was pretty damn distant. Some of it was work, he was always travelling for some thing or another. Really, we shouldn't have been so surprised that he was caught on another continent when corona hit.

Even when he was home though, Dad wasn't the most supportive person in my life. His idea of a rousing pep talk was a slight grunt and then pointing to the TV to remind me that I was interrupting. He'd never been mean to Mom, exactly. But I'd never seen him be all that affectionate, either. Dad was just... Dad. A weird silent creature that, somehow, had been my safe harbor when my relationship with Mom went rocky for whatever reason.

So, now that I thought about it, of course it had been Mom who was taking me to practices and showing up at games. Because we'd been so cold with each other, I guess it never registered in the moment.

When she was done with her nails, Mom held them up so I could see.

"Very nice," I said, not knowing what else to say.

"Thank you," Mom said, looking gratified. She wiggled her toes at me.

"Same color?" I asked.

"Sure," Mom said.

I took the bottle of purple nail polish, then held Mom's bare, petite foot in my lap. I'm not a foot guy, but Mom's tootsies were quite cute. Worse, she rested them right in my crotch. My dick didn't know it was my mother. Instead, it just felt the bare foot of a beautiful woman hovering above it and decided to activate in full.

I did my best to ignore my aching dick, hoping it would go down. But as I began to paint my mother's cute, tiny toes, I felt myself grow even harder.

Mom took back her first foot. She gave me her second. And that's when her heel clearly, unequivocally, grazed my shaft.

"Oh," Mom said, and for a moment I feared she was about to pitch a fit. But then she settled in her seat, ignoring that the contact had ever happened. I set about doing her nails like it was nothing.

"Do you want me to do yours?" Mom asked when I was finished. I couldn't tell if she was kidding or not.

"Uh, that's OK," I said, waving her off.

I got up to go make lunch. We stayed outside in the fresh air and ate our sandwiches. By then, Mom's hands were dry, and she was able to get back to her day. But when I went upstairs to my bedroom, the idea of staying in there seemed boring.

"I think I'm going to take a walk," I told my mom, "We can do that, right? The cops aren't going to hunt me down for leaving the house?"

"I think you'll be fine, honey," Mom said, "Do you want me to come with you?"

"Up to you," I said.

Mom nodded and went back to folding laundry. As I went around the block, I could feel how out of shape I was. Coach would kill me if came back to school like this. I couldn't go to a gym, and we didn't have weights in the house, but I knew I needed to at least be running. It was early enough in the year that I thought there might be a hockey season when we got back. I know, I was a bit naive.

When I came home, I showered and helped Mom make dinner. As we ate, I told her my plan to wake up early and start running.

"That sounds nice," she said, "Would you mind if I joined you? Your old Mom needs to lose all this fat." She pinched her side for emphasis.

"Mom, you're not... You're perfect, OK?" I said, "Truly."

"Tell your father," Mom muttered.

After we cleaned up, Mom went to set up the TV. She pushed the remote, but nothing happened.

"Hmph," she said, frustrated. I did the mansplaining thing and took the remote but, to my embarrassment, I wasn't able to get the damn thing working, either. We spent the next half hour messing around with the electronics, looking on the Internet for solutions, the whole thing. As far as we could tell, the relatively new television had just up and died.

"We can't even go to the store to get a new one," Mom said, pouting. It was the first time I'd seen her treat our quarantine as anything but a fun adventure.

"We can order a TV off Amazon," I said. "And I think the Wal-Mart in Danbury is open. We could go tomorrow."

"No, I know," Mom said. "Honesty this isn't so bad it's just frustrating. I want to be able to see my friends, go to a play, eat at a restaurant, any of it."

I noticed she hadn't mentioned having Dad back on her list of things she was missing.

"Being stuck in the house is hard," Mom said.

"You mean with me," I said.

Mom reached over and tousled my light brown hair. It was slightly curly, and I hated it. "Honey, you're the only good thing that's come out of this stupid virus."

I smiled, despite myself.

"Darn, I was really looking forward to watching our movie tonight," Mom said.

"There's always Dad's 'man cave,'" I said, giving those last words the disdain they deserved.

Mom sucked in her breath like I'd kicked her in the shins. "Your father doesn't like me going in there," she said.

"So what?" I said, "He's not here and we want to watch our movie. What's he going to do about it, exactly?"

Mom looked at me with new eyes, like I'd said something that surprised her.

"You're right," Mom said, "Let's do this thing."

She made popcorn while I went down to the basement. Dad had set up his little sanctum really well. It was probably the nicest room in the house. Most of our furniture was old and tired, but Dad had filled his space with a fancy leather love seat, a massive 75" television, and thumping surround sound. It was a small area, not much room, but he'd turned it into his cozy hideaway.

I sat on the couch and set up the entertainment center. It was this whole complicated thing, which was probably one of the reasons that Mom treated it like a landmine. But I knew how to work it from my high school days of watching the Bruins with Dad.

I got everything going, then leaned back on the couch. Mom came down with the popcorn and sat next to me. By the nature of the furniture here, we had to sit closer. Hip to hip.

This time, we'd chosen to watch Forgetting Sarah Marshall. It was one of Mom's favorites.

"I used to watch a lot of these movies when you were young," Mom said, "It was my way of giving myself a break."

"Come on, I wasn't that bad," I said.

"You were an easy baby," Mom said, patting my leg, "But that's like saying it was an easy hike across the Sahara. Even the effortless ones feel impossible. Especially for a young girl. I was still in college when I had you. My friends were back in school, doing wild stuff. I was at home being a mom. Sure, I was twenty, but it was still hard."

"I'm sorry," I said.

"Oh, don't apologize, sweetie," Mom said, "You didn't do anything wrong. But sometimes, after I'd put you to bed and your father was already passed out, I'd rent a bunch of these movies and marathon them. I don't know, I guess it made me feel like I could be young. At least for a little bit."

"That makes sense," I said, "But I still feel bad. Like I stole your life."

"Mom leaned over and kissed me on the cheek, "Oh honey, you made my life."

We pushed play. Ten minutes later, Jason Segel was walking around with his dick flopping out. Again, Mom gave me a pointed look. Seeing those kinds of scenes with her still made me uncomfortable.

But as the movie moved on, I started to experience a different kind of discomfort. It was cold in that basement. I wrapped my arms around my chest.

"Your father always complains about the cold," Mom said, "But I can't let him bring a space heater down here because of all the other electronics. I'm worried he'll blow something out and burn the house down."

"It's fine," I said, "My fault for wearing short sleeves."

"You could get changed," Mom said.

"Nah," I said. Getting off the couch seemed like a lot of effort in that moment.

"I think there's a blanket here," Mom said. She reached over and pulled a heavy blanket from behind the couch. She put it over both our laps, then restarted the movie.

There were a few more dirty scenes. The tantric sex one, for example. Once again, my body responded. Especially under the blanket where it was comfy and warm. I felt myself stiffen at some point and it never went away.

Then we got to the scene where Sarah decides she wants Peter back and they're in the bed together. It's supposed to be an uncomfortable scene, but something about it set me off.

"Do you want my mouth?" Kristin Bell asked, and my cock tried to skyrocket through my shorts.

"I forgot about this scene," Mom mumbled to herself.

Then, for some reason, she glanced down and clearly, obviously, saw that I was pitching a tent. She made a little squeak, then quickly turned away. There was a moment of protracted silence. The sounds of the movie weirdly muted by the pounding in my chest. My head.

"It must be hard," Mom said. I nearly fell out of my seat. "That is, I mean, it must be difficult for you to be all alone with just your mom in the house. You know, no outlet for the feelings and desires that come with being a boy your age."

"Oh," I said, "Yes. Sometimes."

"It's perfectly natural," Mom said, "To have, um, urges."

I stared over at her, my eyes widening so fast I feared they'd explode. I tried to answer, but the words wouldn't come.

"I have them too," Mom said, "It's biological. And with your father not in the house. I mean, you can't see it, but sometimes I react, too."

Instinctively, I looked down at Mom's chest. Her nipples really were poking out from her white, ribbed tank top. Mom saw me looking and pulled her flannel tighter, clearing her throat.

"In any case, it's nothing to be ashamed of," Mom said.

"Thanks," I said. At some point we'd paused the movie, so I reached for the remote to turn it back on. Anything to change the subject.

"Do you need to, you know, take a break?" Mom asked.

"Mooooom!"

"I understand if you do," Mom said. She rested her hand on my leg, over the blanket. "You shouldn't feel bad about it at all."

"I'm fine," I said, my voice quavering. Mom nodded. But she kept her hand on my leg.

I pushed play on the remote and we finished the movie. When it was over, I stayed on the couch. My erection was still obvious. I knew Mom was aware of it, but I didn't want to stand up and have her see me for sure.

"Want to watch something else?" I asked.

"Sure," Mom said, "Pick something."

"I think I'm kind of movied out," I said, switching over to cable. I flipped the channels to something banal and meaningless -- some show where they redid houses -- and willed my dick to go down.

Mom sat back and sighed. She took her hand off my leg and I thought that was the end of it. Then I felt a touch on my thigh.

On my bare thigh.

Mom had slipped her hand under the blanket. I was only wearing mesh shorts, and Mom's hand was touching my skin. Lightly stroking my leg hair. I looked over at her, but she was staring forward, as if entranced by the TV show.

She slid her hand upward. On top of my shorts. Slowly tracing. Until, finally, her palm rested on my cloth-covered cock.

I froze. I didn't want to say anything, afraid it might break the spell. Mom was still watching television. If she had any idea what she was doing, touching, she didn't show it.

My breath was shallow. I couldn't focus on anything. Just Mom's warm hand on my dick. Finally, I knew I had to say something. If she'd grabbed me by accident -- it had to be an accident -- I needed to tell her.

"Mom, you're touching me," I said, "You know. Down there."

"Am I?" Mom said. For the first time she turned to look at me. She was smiling coyly. I thought she was playing around. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," I said, as if the word was synonymous with 'duh.'

"How do you know?" Mom asked, still grinning, "Can you see?"

Instinctively, I reached to lift up the blanket, but Mom forcefully held it down with her other hand.

"Nuh-uh-uh, no peeking," she said. I felt her hand move, and for a moment I was overcome with both relief and regret. All Mom did, though, was move up slightly, find the waistband of my mesh shorts, and pull them down till my dick popped free.

My mother -- the woman who'd given birth to me, raised me, cared for me my entire life -- grabbed my bare cock and squeezed.

I groaned.

"Are you OK, dear?" Mom asked, casual.

"Um, yes," I said, "Yup."

Mom loosened her grip a little, then began to stroke my dick up and down.

"You're um..."

"I'm what?" Mom asked. She didn't slow her movement one bit. If anything, she picked up speed. Playing me to perfection.

"Well, I mean." The faster Mom stroked, the less I could speak. "It feels really good."

"What does?" Mom asked.

"What you're doing," I said.

"What am I doing, exactly?" Mom asked.

Even through the increasing pleasure, I gave my mother an incredulous look.

"Tell me what you think is going on," Mom said.

"You're um, well, you're stroking me off," I said.

"Perhaps," Mom said, "But unless we look, we truly can't know for sure. Can we?"

"Oh God," I said. Mom was milking my dick like a master. With Cassie, a hand job took a long time, and I'd have to stop her a few times and correct her motion. My Mom had me near completion in moments.

"Oh. Oh. Oh." I wasn't used to making noises during sex, but Mom was dragging them out of me. "Mom, I'm getting..."

My mother shushed me. She met my eyes. And in that moment, with my mother looking right at me, I came in her hand.

"Ohhhhhhh fuck," I said, my semen spilling out of me. The ecstasy sharper than I'd ever experienced. Finally, I softened, sticky in Mom's palm.

"Thanks," I said, stupidly, sinking back into the couch.

"For what?" Mom asked, again looking at me like I was the odd one.

A moment later, she got up to go to bed.

*

The next morning, I woke up on Dad's couch. I didn't remember falling asleep there. But I definitely recalled what had happened the night before.

I made my way upstairs, feeling like I was on a strange walk of shame. I told myself that what I remembered couldn't have happened. After I got changed, I went out for my first morning run of quarantine. Mom was already in the driveway, stretching.

I froze, anticipating an awkward conversation. Instead, Mom said nothing. She just nodded her chin at me. Maybe I really did dream the day before.

We went for a short, one-mile loop around the neighborhood. I knew I needed to do more, but even after that little distance I was already breathing hard. Amazing how quickly the body can let go if you let it. Besides, I was still bamboozled by what had happened and Mom's seemingly unfazed attitude about it.

We got home and I showered in the hall bathroom, lost in myself. When I went downstairs, I found Mom humming to herself and making breakfast, like always. I sat down to a mug of steaming coffee and a small stack of pancakes. For half the meal, I waited for Mom to say something, but she acted like everything was normal. Finally, I had to speak up.

"Mom, about last night," I said.

"What happened last night?" Mom asked. She looked down at her phone, distracted.

"When we were watching the movie," I said, "When you were. When I..."

"I told you honey, it's perfectly natural to react that way," Mom said. She got up and started to clear the table.

I spent the rest of the day in a cloud of confusion. I considered every crazy option I could. Maybe Mom had been drunk. Though I knew she hadn't had any alcohol. Perhaps Mom had gone temporarily insane? Or maybe I had accidentally hypnotized her in some way. Could aliens have possessed her for one five-minute period? And made her give me a handjob? For some reason?

It was all ridiculous. But were any of my theories any stranger than the fact that my own mother had stroked me off while watching TV and then pretended that nothing had happened?

Once again, after we finished dinner, we went downstairs to watch a movie. I sat on the couch and discovered, to my dismay, that I was already hard. Apparently, my body was prepped. The handjob had only happened once, but already I was conditioned to expect it. Pavlov would have had me drooling in an afternoon.

My dick stuck up like it was a divining rod. And I knew exactly where it wanted me to head. I grabbed the blanket to cover myself as Mom made her way downstairs, hoping she wouldn't see.

Mom chose Knocked Up because, of course, then sat down next to me on the couch. My erection went from stiff to raging as Mom's hips pressed against mine. I noticed she had both her hands under the blanket.

"Ready to go, kiddo?" Mom asked.

I turned on the movie. Almost immediately, I felt Mom's warm palm touch my bare leg. There was no pretense this time. She went straight for my shorts and pulled them down. Then she grabbed my hard cock.

"Mom," I said.

"What dear?" Mom asked.

"You're doing it," I said, "Again."

"Are you sure?" Mom asked, a mirror of the night before.

"Pretty sure," I said.

"Really," Mom said. She pulled her hands out so I could see them. Her wedding ring glinted in the basement lights. "You're super sure about that? Because I want to make certain we understand each other. This thing you say is happening, does it feel good?"

I had to concede that it did. It felt amazing.

"Good," Mom said, "But here's the thing. If I was doing what you say, that would be wrong. Moms aren't supposed to do those kinds of things with their sons. So, I would have to stop.

"But if you don't know what I'm doing. If neither of us is certain, then who's to say what's going on? It might be nothing at all. And that amazing thing you like so much can keep happening."

My mother smiled at me, a little twinkle in her bright blue eyes. Did I tell you my mom was beautiful? She was fricking gorgeous.

"If it's under the blanket," I said, "Then it's OK."

Mom tilted her head slightly, like she hoped it would help me think harder.

"Because this thing that I'm feeling could be anything," I said, "I'd have to look to be sure."

"You would," Mom said.

"And I just don't have the energy to do that right now," I said.

Mom grinned at me. "Good call," she said. She slid her hands back under the blanket. As soon as I pushed play on the movie, Mom grabbed my cock once again.

"Oh, Mom," I groaned.

"Now, if nothing is happening, we shouldn't be making noises," Mom said. "Right?"

I nodded, already completely under control of the hand that was tightly gripping my cock.

Mom worked me up and down, languid. Unlike the previous day's urgency, my mother took her time, gradually teasing and building as we watched TV together.

"You're not doing me like a dog," Kathryn Heigl said.

"Doggy actually feels really good," Mom muttered to herself, idly.

A few moments later, she increased the speed of her strokes. I choked out a little groan, doing my best to keep it under control as Mom had told me. I reached my peak a moment later, gritting my teeth to keep my moans from slipping out. My seed seeped warm over Mom's fingers.

"Can you pause the movie for a moment?" Mom asked. "I seem to have gotten something on my hand."

"Probably moisturizer," I said. Mom smiled at me. She seemed so happy now that I was playing along.

"Probably," she said, then got up to go to the bathroom.

*

I woke up early the next morning, in my own bed this time, and got dressed for a run. Again, my mother was waiting for me. We went outside and started to jog through the neighborhood. Spring was in full force, plants budding, the ground wet with morning dew. The streets, though, were strangely empty. Everyone was inside. It was weird. Like we'd stepped into some post-apocalyptic place.

Mom caught up to me. She was wearing tight, black leggings and a blue tank top. Her golden hair was up in a ponytail.

"You're giving me quite the workout," Mom said between pants.

"Coach will kill me if I'm not in shape when we go back," I said.

"Well, do what you need. Your old Mom will just have to do her best."

"Mom, you need to stop saying you're old, OK? You're young, your body is in fantastic shape, you're super beautiful, and..."

"Super beautiful, huh?" Mom said. Both of us started to blush. Rather than respond, I picked up the pace.

When we got home, I showered in the hall bathroom while Mom cleaned up in the master. Then we both met up for breakfast. Mom had poured out granola for both of us, and we crunched in silence.

"You know I didn't think it was possible, but I think I'm done with raunchy comedies," Mom said, "At least for now."

"Oh," I said. I looked down at my bowl. Of course this was going to happen. Mom wasn't going to jerk me off every night till the end of the quarantine. It was silly of me to expect it. Especially after I'd slipped up and told her I found her attractive.

"We should start watching other stuff," Mom said.

"Oh!" I said, "That sounds good."

"Good," Mom said. And I swore she shot me a little wink as she went back to eating.

After dinner that night, I came downstairs to find Mom was already waiting for me, sitting under the blanket on the couch.

"Boogie Nights?" I asked, looking up at the screen.

"Trust me," Mom said.

I pushed play. It wasn't long until both of us were clearly worked up by what was going on. Sure enough, Mom reached over and put her hand on my bare leg. A moment later, it was my bare cock that she was holding, instead.

"Jay?" Mom asked, pausing the movie and looking over at me.

"What's up?" I asked, trying to sound normal while the woman who gave me life was giving me the handjob of my life.

"Well, hmmm, I don't know exactly how to say this," Mom said, "It just, well, it seems to me that if something could be happening to you under the blanket..."

"Which it might," I said.

"Or might not," Mom said.

"Right," I said.

"But if it were," Mom said, "Then it's also possible, though not for sure, that something might also be happening to me. Under the blanket. Not that I would know for sure, of course."

My eyes widened as I realized what Mom was getting at.

"Theoretically of course," Mom said, "Well, anyway. Something for the philosophers I suppose."

Mom reached for the remote and clicked play. I waited a moment, mostly trying to overcome the shock that was currently overwhelming me. Mom was still holding my dick, but she wasn't moving.

Then, when I saw she was intent on the movie, I slid my hand under the covers. I gasped as I touched her warm, bare thigh.

"You OK, honey?" Mom asked.

"Just fine," I said. I'd expected Mom's usual jeans, but she clearly wasn't wearing them. I moved my hand up further, feeling her creamy skin under my fingertips. I expected to hit the hem of shorts, but those weren't there either. This time, I managed to repress my surprise.

Was Mom completely naked below the waist?! I moved my hand up further and found that, no, she was wearing panties. But that was all. Only one thin layer of sheer cloth was between me and the very canal that had once birthed me.

I touched the gusset of her underwear. They were dripping wet and warm. The movie was completely gone for me. In fact, I was so focused on feeling my mother's most private place, I nearly lost track of her hand on my cock.

Gently, I began to probe at Mom's center with my fingers.

"Hm," Mom said.

"Movie's good," I said.

"Oh yes," Mom said. I have to admit, I was enjoying turning the tables on her. Feeling Mom's pussy through her panties was nice, but I knew I had to risk going further. I'd never forgive myself if I let the chance go.

I pulled Mom's panties aside and felt her bare vulva for the first time. Her nether lips were full and open. Her pussy practically had a welcome mat setup outside for how open and exposed she was. Mom wasn't kidding about being aroused.

I had fingered lots of girls -- it was the hit game that all the cool kids were playing -- so I felt pretty good about my skills to get Mom off. I gently traced around her pussy till I found the little nub that was certain to bring her pleasure. Then I started stroking it back and forth.

I was touching my mom's clit. I was playing with her pussy. I could feel how hot and wet she was. Oh God.

As I worked Mom over, she redoubled her efforts on my dick. We mirrored each other's movements. As if steering each other with our respective sexes. Whenever Mom slowed, I did the same. If she sped up, I matched that too.

I managed to get Mom off first. Is it weird that it was one of the proudest moments of my life? I saw Mom stiffen, her face flushed, and then she let out a long, drawn out sigh.

A moment later, she brought me my own pleasure. I came hard, coating her hand and the blanket with my spend.

Both of us sank into the cushions, looking at each other playfully.

"Stuff on your hand?" I asked.

"Weirdly, yes," Mom said, "You?"

"Little bit," I said, "I don't mind it though, really."

"Oh, me neither," Mom said, "But we should still probably take care of it."

We both got up and went over to the basement bathroom. Mom went first and I followed. As I dried myself off, Mom called to me from the couch.

"You know, I think this blanket is stained?" she said.

"Oh," I said, "Well that's too bad."

"I guess we should throw it in the wash," Mom said, "But don't worry. I'm sure I can have it ready for tomorrow night's movie."

"Yes, I wouldn't want to get cold," I said, taking the comforter from Mom and stuffing it into the washing machine.

*

We established a whole new routine. In the mornings we'd wake up and go for a run. Then we'd clean up and have breakfast. We spent the middle of the day doing our own thing. I had class and Mom had Mom-stuff.

At night, we made dinner and cleaned up together. But we stopped watching movies. There didn't seem to be any point. Since we weren't really paying attention, we could have any old show on.

Every evening, we sat under the blanket on Dad's couch, and brought each other off with our hands. Each of us pretending as best we could that nothing was going on.

Now that she knew she could trust me, Mom started changing up her habits. Sometimes, I would discover she'd put lubricant on her palm beforehand. Holy crap did I cum ropes the first time she did that. Other times, she'd use her other hand on my balls, lightly cupping them while she drained them dry. She'd also change up her movements, straight up and down, or kind of a corkscrew, or running her thumb up the underside of my dick. One time, she did all those things together, and I nearly died.

I had to keep up with her inventiveness. I brought out all the tricks I knew. I played with her clit again, yes, but I'd also slip a finger inside her (the first time I did that, I actually came without Mom needing to touch me). I found that Mom usually liked a combination of two fingers in her twat while my thumb rubbed her clitoris. Her butthole, on the other hand, was a flat no-go. Still, I found lots of other ways to make things interesting. Like me, it seemed that Mom mostly liked variety.

We never discussed our evening activities with each other. Once we were both satisfied, we'd turn off the TV and go to bed. The next morning, we'd do it all again. Nothing changed. I honestly believed that nothing ever would.

*

"Have you gone all the way?" Mom asked, as if this was a totally normal mother-son conversation.

We were sitting outside in the backyard. Mom's feet were up on my lap, and I was slowly painting her toes. She'd already finished with her fingers -- going from dark purple to a cute, canary yellow.

The problem was, Mom's question actually felt perfectly normal. This weird existence we had where we were both fooling around regularly while also pretending that we weren't, meant that we could have these incongruous conversations that seemed like they should have been weird but were actually ordinary.

"No, I'm not a virgin," I said.

"Cassie?" Mom asked.

It said a lot that enough time and handjobs had passed that I didn't even flinch when Mom mentioned my ex. Honestly, the only girl I ever thought about those days was the sexy, sultry woman whose toenails I was painting.

"I had sex with Cassie, yes," I said.

"Was she any good?" Mom asked.

I eyed her. I wasn't sure if this was a trap question. You don't tell the person you're fooling around with that you had amazing sex with your ex. But then, Mom and I weren't doing that. Supposedly.

I decided to answer honestly. "It was OK," I said, "Cassie had a lot of hangups."

"Like what?" Mom asked, leaning forward as best she could with her foot in my hands.

"She was, well. She was sort of afraid of my stuff. You know what I mean?"

"Honestly, can you blame her?" Mom asked.

"She was on the pill, and we always used condoms," I said. I was surprising myself with how candid I could be. "Even with oral. I couldn't ever really enjoy my... Well, when I... You know."

How was it that I was sharing an orgasm with my mom every night, but couldn't say the word during the day?

"I understand," Mom said, "You felt like you did everything to get her off, but when she did it for you it wasn't the same."

"Yes," I said, "Exactly. One time, though, we got drunk and did it and it was like being with a different person. She totally abandoned all of her issues and it was amazing. The next morning, she was mad, though. Said it was all my fault."

"Honey, you of all people can understand," Mom said, "Considering our family history. Honestly, we all probably would have been much happier if I had a little more of your girlfriend's healthy fear of ejaculate."

"And then you wouldn't have me," I said.

"Oh, honey, that's not what I mean."

"Do you regret having me?" I asked, "Did I ruin your life?"

"No," Mom said, "You're amazing. Having a child was the best thing that ever happened to me. I just wish it could have happened when I was 28 instead of 20."

I understood. Of course I did. I nodded and went back to painting Mom's pinkie toe.

"The truth is," Mom said, "If I ever got the chance to trade -- if I could go back and be a regular mom? I would still choose you. Every time."

"Why didn't you have more kids?" I asked. I knew it was an impertinent question, but I couldn't help myself. "You said you loved having me. You're still young. Why not more?"

"Well, at the time taking care of one was enough," Mom said, "And then your father got busy with work. One day, I looked up and you were going off to college. But..."

Mom looked away, blushing.

"What?" I asked.

"Well," she said, her voice thin, "Your father and I... After you moved out, I missed having a baby around. So, we've been, you know. Trying." Mom eyed me anxiously.

"Cool," I said, "I'd love a little brother or sister."

Mom let out a large sigh of relief. Like she'd really been anxious about how I would react. Admittedly, it would be weird if I was out of college with a sibling that was barely out of diapers. But Mom was so young, it made sense that she would want to start a second chapter of the family story.

"I guess when Dad gets back, you'll be able to try again," I said. For some reason, that thought bothered me.

"I guess so," Mom said, and she gave me an empty smile.

*

The next morning, we woke up for our morning run. The days were getting hotter, and more people were out on the streets with us. The world was slowly reawakening.

We'd gotten up to five miles a day and I was starting to feel really good. It was warm enough, too, where I was able to run without a shirt. I tried to convince Mom to go with just a sports bra, but she told me she didn't feel appropriate being exposed like that.

We were at our usual pace as we turned the corner down a quiet, tree-lined street. We were doing so well, I was starting to think about pushing it, maybe up to 7 miles. Mom usually trailed me when we ran, but as we turned, she caught up to my side.

She looked down at my bare chest. For a moment, I saw her eyes go wide. Then she fell back.

"Mom?" I turned around, thinking she'd just lost her pace. Instead, I found her sprawled in the middle of the street. "Mom!"

I raced back and knelt next to her. Mom was lying on the ground. She had a light scratch on her cheek. She looked at me, her blue eyes small and scared.

"I tripped," Mom said, "I'm OK." But her body belied her calm demeanor -- lying in the fetal position on the ground.

"Can you stand?" I asked.

"Definitely," Mom said. She started to get up, but when she put weight on her left leg, she tumbled back over again.

I rushed to be next to her.

"Knee?" I asked, worried. If her knee was out, we were calling an ambulance.

"Ankle," Mom said. Ok, maybe that wasn't so bad.

Gingerly, I helped my Mom stand. She was OK on her right leg, but she held her left lamely.

"I can walk home," Mom said. She took a step, grimaced, then took another.

"I'm calling someone," I said.

"No," Mom said, "I'm fine."

I watched, grimly, as she limped down the street. We were three miles from home. There was no way she would make it.

Before she could argue, I raced up and scooped my mom into my arms. I held her up, like a baby, and started to walk us back home. Mom wasn't tiny, but she was light. I hadn't done all that upper body work planning to one day carry a woman three miles, but it seemed like a worthy reward in the moment.

We walked down the street; my mother clutched to my chest.

"Sorry," Mom said. She was clearly embarrassed by what had happened. "I guess I tripped on something."

"It's OK," I said, "I'm just glad I can be here for you."

"My little knight," Mom said, remembering her old nickname for me. "Come to save me once again."

"I wouldn't have it any other way," I said.

Three miles running is very different than three miles walking. Especially while carrying someone. We had to break a couple of times so I could rest. It had taken us less than an hour to get out but coming back to the house took more than three.

When we finally got home, both of us collapsed on the front lawn. We lay on the grass, staring up at the blue sky. The day was warm. The air smelled like honeysuckle. The world was comfortingly quiet.

"This is nice," Mom said.

"No, it's not," I said.

She reached over and grabbed my hand, squeezing it tight. "Yes, but it kinda is."

I pulled her hand to my lips and kissed it. Chivalrous to the end. For a moment, I thought Mom would yell at me for doing something affectionate where she could see it. Where everyone could. But instead, she beamed at me.

Eventually, we were able to get up and I carried Mom inside the house, up to her bedroom. Even as an adult, it felt strange being in Mom's space. Like I'd crossed an invisible barrier into my parents' private world. The room was well appointed with dark woods and a crimson comforter. It felt very mature. Quite demure.

I laid Mom down carefully on her Queen-sized bed. Then I went downstairs to the fridge and threw together a bag of ice. When I came back, Mom was lying back, head propped up by the pillows. She was still in her running outfit: tight black yoga pants and a green tank top. Her ponytail was askew, and her blonde hair stuck out in little, golden streaks.

With everything going on in the world, I really didn't want to take Mom to the hospital. Instead, I looked up what Dr. Google thought and put together a little plan. Rest and ice, mostly, while checking for swelling. I knew that if Mom couldn't put weight on the ankle, she'd be going to the doctor, but I was hoping it was just a sprain and she'd be fine.

Once I was sure my patient was OK, I went and took a shower. Then I made some breakfast and brought it up for Mom.

"Do you want to take a shower, too?" I asked, hoping for the chance to help her.

"I'm OK for now," Mom said, and I knew that I'd gone too far. Again, that was the problem with hiding our relationship under a blanket, it was impossible to truly understand the shape of it. Instead, I had to guess and, occasionally, break the boundaries by accident.

I knew I'd overstepped, so I got up off the bed.

"Let me know when you're done," I said, "I'll change out your ice bag."

"It's good to have my little knight back," Mom said.

"He never left," I replied, standing over her. Mom gave me a dubious look.

"You're the one who pulled away, Mom," I said, the bitterness creeping into my voice.

"Me? You're the one who started spending all that time with your father," Mom said, "I thought maybe you'd just, I don't know, grown out of me."

"I thought I'd done something to make you mad," I said. I sat back down on the edge of the bed.

"So, we both separated for no reason," Mom said, drawing the conclusion for both of us.

"I guess so," I said, "I'm sorry. I feel like we lost so much time together."

"I love you so much," Mom said, "I don't want to miss anything more."

I climbed over and carefully hugged Mom. She kissed my cheek, then we broke apart.

Mom slept for a while. I heard the sound of water turning on and realized she'd gotten herself into the shower, somehow. Much as I was sad to miss out on shower time with Mom, I was glad she got in there. She was starting to smell a little ripe.

Around dinner time, I put together a quick, easy meal. I brought it up to Mom in her bed. I took the other side and we sat and ate.

"This is really good," Mom said.

"It's just pasta," I said, "I guess I learned from the best."

"Clearly," Mom said.

When we were done, I cleared the plates then came back. Mom's ankle was a little swollen but there wasn't any bruising. Based on my hardcore, Internet-derived medical education, I felt pretty sure she hadn't broken or torn anything.

Once again, I decided to take a chance. "Do you want me to help you into pajamas?" I asked.

Mom shook her head at me. "I'll be fine like this." Post shower, she'd changed into a surprisingly racy outfit (for her): a pair of long shorts and a yellow tank top.

"OK," I said, "I'll see you in the morning."

"Hey Jay?" Mom called to me as I got to the door.

"What's up?"

"I'm, um, sorry that we aren't able to do our movie night," Mom said, "I know you've come to enjoy it."

"I think you're getting pleasure from it as well," I said.

"Oh, for sure," Mom said, "I love watching shows with my handsome son. But since there's no TV in here, I guess we'll have to wait until I can move around better."

"We can set up in here," I said, "I'll grab my iPad and we can watch in your bed."

"That would be lovely," Mom said, the excitement leaking into her voice, "I'd hate to break our tradition."

I went to my bedroom and grabbed my tablet. Then I climbed into bed next to my mother. We propped the screen up between us and settled in. I found another nonsense reality show about people gardening and turned it on.

Mom got under the comforter, so the covers were up to about her waist, and I did the same on the other side. On my father's side. Suddenly I became very aware of what I was doing and where I was doing it. The guilt that should have overcome me never appeared.

As the show got started, Mom snuggled against my side. She rested her head on my shoulder. Flowing, gilded locks ran down my chest.

At this point, I was usually the one to make the first move, matching the stereotype of the overeager son. But that night I wanted Mom to initiate. I know it seems obvious in retrospect, but in the moment, I wanted to be sure that Mom, in her injured state, wasn't actually interested in just watching TV. Then I felt her small hand wrap around my dick and all my questions were answered.

"Oh M... I mean, oh man. This show is really good," I said, as her lithe fingers contracted on my cock.

"Mmhm," Mom said, absently.

"I really like how it, um, feels," I said, "What it must feel like, I mean, to get all that work done."

With nothing to hold me back, I shot my hand between Mom's legs. She let out a little gasp as I brushed her panty-clad pussy.

"They should, ah, wait a bit," Mom said, "That is, um, prep everything for the garden before they get started."

"Oh," I said, moving my hand back so it was lightly stroking the material of Mom's underwear. "Yes, I can see what that would result in a better, um, project."

"Exactly," Mom said.

Usually, I wasn't this hyped up. Something about being in my parents' bed, touching Mom in her private place, had me particularly excited.

"See, now I think they should start working," Mom said, after I'd spent some time teasing at her.

I nodded. I found her clit with my fingers. She was particularly slippery that night and I wondered if some of the same thoughts that had me going were getting to her as well.

I glanced over at Mom. Her pretty face was even more beautiful in her pleasure. If anything, the fact that she was trying to keep from showing anything at all only increased how alluring she appeared. The muscles of Mom's neck were taut. Her lips thin. Her breath came in short, sharp gasps.

"Oh!" Mom exclaimed as I filled her pussy with my finger. "Oh, that's a nice... flower arrangement. Very nice." Her embarrassment at her exclamation was almost as sexy as the sound itself.

I think she wanted to get me the same way, so Mom redoubled her efforts on my dick. She used all her secret tricks, stroking and twisting to get me to react. I decided to mess with her a little more. What can I say? I'm still a boy.

I got Mom right on the precipice. I'd reached this wonderful, intimate point where I knew Mom's orgasm so well, that I recognized all the signs. I could tell that she was about to peak at any moment.

"Well, I think I'm going to turn in," I said.

"What?!"

"It's been a long day and I'm tired," I said.

Mom looked directly at where my hand was, under the covers. She'd never acknowledged what we were doing more than this.

"Are you sure?" she asked, her voice weak and thready.

"Not much else going on, right?" I said. I made a show of looking in the exact same place she was. I didn't think she was going to admit what was going on. In fact, I knew that if she ever did, it would probably be the end of things. But like any good son, I liked to see my mother squirm a little.

"Don't you want to see the finish?" Mom asked. "Of the show, I mean. I hear the climax is, um, really super good."

I pretended to think about it. "I guess you're right," I said, "Let's get this one done before we call it a night."

A moment later, Mom arched her bottom slightly, letting out a quick, sharp squeak.

"Ah!" she said, then quickly raised her free arm in the air and stretched, "I mean, ahhhhhh. So tired."

"That was a big yawn," I said.

Mom nodded. "Biggest one I've had in a while," she said, "I must be super tired."

She continued to stroke me under the sheet. A moment later, my eyes slammed shut as my orgasm overcame me. My body shook as I tried to hold it in. I was only partially successful.

"That was a pretty big yawn, too," Mom said, quickly covering for me.

"Must be contagious," I said. We shared a smile. Our foreheads rested against each other. For a moment, it seemed like Mom was about to lean forward and...

"Oh! Wouldn't you know it," Mom said, "I got that damn moisturizer on my hand again."

"What is it with you?" I asked, playful.

"You know, I honestly don't know," Mom said.

"I can get you a tissue," I said, starting to get up.

"Don't bother," Mom said, holding me back with her dry hand. "You know, my chest has been feeling sort of itchy lately, I think I'll dispose of it there."

I watched, gobsmacked, as Mom let go of my cock and slipped her hand up under her own shirt. She grabbed her breast and started rubbing it, slowly. Sensually.I didn't have a good sense of the size of Mom's breasts. I assumed, based on previous evidence, that they were about the size of an apple. I hadn't focused on them before because they were never the part that was under the covers. And Mom was always wearing layers that kept them well hidden.

Now though, the whole universe could have exploded, and I would have stayed watching my mom rub my seed into her boobs, spreading it circular over her nipples. First one breast than the other. Moaning lightly as she did so.

"That feels much better," Mom said. She sat back and sighed. "How about another episode?"

*

I woke up in Mom and Dad's bed, Mom's head resting on my chest. There was no inappropriate contact -- we were just cuddling. In some ways, that was even worse. We'd slept together like lovers. Woken up as a married couple might.

Mom's hand lightly played on my shirt-covered chest.

"How'd you sleep, baby boy?" she asked, using another one of my childhood nicknames that I hadn't heard in years.

"Really good," I said. It was true. Something about being in that big bed had felt like resting in a warm cloud. Cossetted and comfy.

Mom's hand moved down my chest. It slipped under the covers. My eyes went wide as I realized we were about to expand our nighttime tradition. But right before she reached the waistband of my boxers, something started to ring, loudly.

"That must be your father," Mom said, popping up. She grabbed her cell off the nightstand and picked it up, motioning for me to move over so that I wouldn't be seen on screen.

"Hi David!" Mom said. I saw Dad's face appear on the phone. He looked tired. Worn down. The guilt of what I'd been doing with Mom flooded in.

All Dad had ever done was work his ass off for me and Mom. Sure, I had a scholarship, but that didn't mean he wasn't taking care of me in a million other ways. And because of that work, he was alone, in another country, completely separate from his family. And all the while I was rewarding him by fingering his wife in his own bed.

"I had a little accident," Mom said, "I'm OK, but I wanted you to know."

"What happened?" Dad said. I could see the worry in his eyes.

"Jay and I went out running and I tripped and twisted my ankle," Mom said, "Your son was such a hero, carrying me home and taking care of me."

"Jesus Julie are you stupid?" Dad replied. His rage was neutered by how tinny it sounded through the speaker phone. "What were you doing out running with Jay in the first place?"

"We've been working out," Mom said, "I want to be in good shape for you."

"Julie, you're too old to be pulling crap like that," Dad said, shaking his head like she'd spent their life savings on magic apricots. "You can't be chasing after Jay like some teenager."

"I'm not chasing after him," Mom said, her pride clearly wounded.

"Fucking hell," Dad said, "I leave for one second and you completely fall apart. Are you going to climb Mount Everest this afternoon?"

"It's not that big a deal," Mom said, "It barely even hurts anymore."

"Well, you can't say you didn't have it coming, Julie," Dad said, "You acted like an idiot and got injured. So, congrats on that."

"I'm sorry," Mom said. Her voice quiet.

"Yeah, I'll bet," Dad said, "Maybe this time you'll actually learn your lesson."

"I'll be fine," Mom said, and it sounded more like a decision than a promise. "Do you want to say hi to Jay? He's right, um, in the other room."

"No, I honestly, truly don't," Dad said, clearly still upset about what had happened to Mom.

"Well, is there anything you want me to tell him? When I see him? Later?"

"Tell him to stop dragging you along on his dumb escapades," Dad said, "He's a big boy. He doesn't need his Mommy to watch everything he does anymore."

"Yes," Mom said, her response automatic. "OK, I will. We both really miss you, David."

"Look, I'd better get going," Dad said, "I'll talk to you tomorrow. Try not to get a lacerated kidney in the meantime, OK?"

Mom blew him a kiss and hung up. She put the phone down on the bed carefully, like she was afraid she might accidentally throw it across the room. I tried to meet Mom's eye, but she wouldn't look at me.

Suddenly, I didn't feel so bad for sleeping in Dad's bed.

*

Mom spent the whole day on her feet, like she'd never hurt herself. A few times, I tried to check on her, but she wouldn't let me. She seemed cold, distant, and it reminded me of the way Mom had acted when I was in high school. I doubted that was coincidental.

The good news was, she did seem to be moving OK on the ankle. I caught her wincing a few times, but she was able to put weight on it most of the time. Still, a part of me worried Mom was overdoing it just to prove a point to a person that wasn't even there. So, I kept an eye on her throughout the day.

Watching Mom doing her chores shouldn't have been anything exciting, but it was. Doing laundry, washing dishes, vacuuming -- these mundane things became interesting because it was Mom doing it. The way her perfect body moved around the house. It was kind of entrancing, actually.

Eventually, Mom caught on to what I was up to. She stood over me on the couch, hands on her hips.

"I'm sure you can find better things to do with your day, Jay," Mom said.

"Nope," I said, "I'd much rather spend time with you."

Mom started to snap back, but then she faltered. "Thanks," she said, the word so quiet I almost missed it. Then she left the room. But I noticed she stopped acting so frantic and angry.

That night, I made dinner while Mom sat on the couch. She finally allowed me to ice her ankle, which didn't look swollen or bruised. I was now convinced that we'd dodged the danger and Mom was going to be alright.

We ate at the table together, in silence. We were doing OK, I could tell, but the remnants of the earlier tension were still there. It kept our conversation awkward and stilted. Both of us stared at our phones, mostly.

"Do you mind if I ask you to do the dishes?" Mom said, "It's been a long day and I'm really tired."

"No TV show tonight?" I asked. My disappointment must have been obvious because Mom gave me a guilty look.

"I'm sorry," Mom said, "I don't want to break our tradition."

"No, I understand," I said, "We can try again tomorrow?"

"Maybe," Mom said. She got up and went upstairs.

I cleared the table and took the dirty dishes into the kitchen. Washing them by myself only increased the sadness I felt. I know I should have let it go. Bad enough that I was getting milked by my mom, regularly. I couldn't then throw a tantrum when she, rightfully, wanted to stop.

Still, washing up all by myself was what hit it home. Weird that, with all the sexy stuff we were doing, the thing that really hurt my feelings was doing a chore without Mom's company.

After I was done, I watched some crap on my tablet in my own bed and then turned out the light. I closed my eyes to sleep, but it wouldn't come. I kept thinking about the day and how I could have done it differently.

Then, as I was finally about to fall into a troubled slumber, my bedroom door creaked open.

"Mom?" I asked, instinctive. She didn't respond. But it was clear that my mother had come into my room. It was dark, but I could make out the shape of her. I was so confused by what she was doing, I didn't know what to say.

The room went quiet. The next thing I felt was someone climbing onto the end of the bed. The covers lifted. Again, I asked Mom what she was up to. Again, I got no response.

I felt her now, crouched over my legs. The heat of her breath under the comforter. I realized: she was under the covers. Mom's touch but don't look policy was taking on a whole new dimension. I couldn't imagine what was about to happen, but I understood I was supposed to pretend like nothing was happening.

Mom lifted the waistband of my boxers and pulled them down. My dick popped free, quickly stiffening. Mom wrapped her hand around my shaft. The feeling was familiar and wonderful. I settled back, only wondering why Mom had chosen a position where I couldn't return the favor.

I felt a new sensation. Warm and wet. Oh my God. Those were the only words I could say. The only thoughts I could conjure.

"Oh my God," I said as Mom's mouth wrapped around my cock. Her tongue pressed under my dick.

I felt a hard pinch on my leg and realized that I'd spoken aloud. Mom's rules still applied. I was experiencing Schrodinger's blowjob in my bed. Or was it Heisenberg's Uncertainly Oral? Oh fuck, why did it matter? My Mom was sucking my cock!

She slurped up and down, sucking me off with the enthusiasm of an amateur and the skills of a pro. Like with the handjob before, I realized how bad all my previous girlfriends were at oral sex. The sounds of wet slurping filled the room.

My only thought, damn me, was how much I wanted to look under that blanket. To see Mom's mouth wide around my dick. Her sapphire eyes. Her golden hair. I wanted to experience it all. Yet I had to hold it in my head, only.

Mom worked me with abandon and soon I didn't care about anything except that place under the sheets where my cock connected with her mouth. I tried to stay silent, but with the way Mom was working me there was no way.

I wanted it to last forever. I doubted it took more than five minutes. Then I had a new problem. I knew Mom was fine with me cumming -- clearly by the way she was sucking me off it was currently her only goal in life. But I knew from previous experience I was supposed to warn a girl before I got off so she could prepare, as appropriate. Except, that would be breaking Mom's rule about pretending nothing was going on. This truly was a ground shaking dilemma.

Finally, I let my chivalry get in the way of my obedience.

"I'm getting close," I said, doing my best to keep my voice calm and even.

Mom didn't say or do anything, but I felt her redouble her efforts, now stroking my shaft at the same time she sucked at my head. A moment later, I was gone.

"oooOOOH FUCK!"

I couldn't help it; the pleasure was all too much. Through the white haze of ecstasy, I heard my mother gulping down my cum. I'd never exploded in a girl's mouth before. Even Cassie had always finished me with her fist.

Mom swallowed my spend like it was the world's tastiest treat. The sounds of her swallowing amplified my orgasm from brain blowing to mind shattering.

When I regained a sense of myself, Mom was gone. I lay back, panting from what had happened. Then my door popped open again. This time, the hallway light was on, and I could see Mom, standing there in her green, shapeless sleep shirt.

"Are you OK, honey?" Mom asked, coming into the room and standing over my bed. "I heard noises. Were you having a nightmare?"

"Oh, I'm sorry I woke you," I said, "No I actually had the most incredible dream."

"Well, that's OK then," Mom said, "You know I'll do anything to take care of you. The same way you take care of me. You did an amazing job the last few days of making me feel protected and safe. I just wanted to make sure I said, 'thank you' in a way that would mean something to you."

"I'm fine, Mom," I said. Actually, I was way better than fine. I was floating like a feather coming down from heaven.

"OK sweetie. Have a good night," Mom said. She bent over and kissed my forehead. Her breath smelled like my sperm.

*

I woke up early the next morning, before the sun was even up. I tiptoed out of my room, careful to avoid all the creaky spots in the hallway. When I got to my parents' bedroom door, I twisted the knob before pushing it forward. I hadn't even gotten to the naughty part of my plan, but already my stomach was twisting with the excitement of what I was about to do.

Mom was lying back in the bed, clearly out. I could see she still had the green sleep shirt on. Like she'd done the previous evening, I lifted up her comforter at the end of the bad and slipped under it. Mom stirred but stayed asleep.

I crawled up the bed, feeling my way up Mom's legs. For all her complaining about being out of shape, her calves and thighs felt as firm as a college girl's. Goddamn. I'd never been a leg man, but maybe it was time to try.

When I got to the bottom of Mom's shirt, I started to slowly push it up to her waist. I noticed the difference immediately: she wasn't wearing panties under there!

For a moment, I cursed the dark of the room. This was my chance, finally, to see Mom's bare pussy. Instead, I only got the vague sense of full labia and thick pubic hair. I could smell her slight musk, though, and that almost made up for everything else.

Then, for another moment, I had a far more wicked thought. I was under the covers with Mom, she was asleep, and my cock was hard as hell. Was I breaking the rules if I broke into her most sacred spot with my bare battering ram? After all, it was still under the sheets.

But I stopped myself from thinking further. I was already taking liberties no son should ever try for; going for more was asking far too much. At least, this time.

Instead, I leaned forward and tentatively licked at my mother's vagina. Her taste, still subtle, was even better than the smell of her. I'd gone down on previous girlfriends a couple of times, but it felt like the minor leagues compared to what I was doing now. I did what I thought would feel good, based on my mother's previous responses, and hoped for the best.

On my second lick of her clit, Mom groaned, low and stretched. Her head shot up from the pillow.

"Oh my!" She froze in place. "Well, that is just the oddest sensation," she said, regaining her composure as she sank back down into the bed.

Now that I had Mom's attention, I began to gradually build her up. First with my tongue, then supporting with my fingers. I heard her heavy breathing in the distance. I felt her legs tighten around my back.

I couldn't wait to make Mom cum. I didn't want it to ever end. But my selfless side won out. When I felt Mom's body begin to break, I gave her one last shove, sinking my tongue into her slot.

"HrrrrAH!" Mom cried out. Her legs closed over my head like a bear trap snapping shut. To my shock, a burst of warm liquid spattered on my tongue. Mom shook like she was having a seizure. Then she dropped back. Stilled. She didn't loosen her legs, though. She kept me there. Both of us panting heavily.

Finally, I had to tap out. I don't think Mom even realized she was holding me with her hips. But she opened them as soon as she felt me lightly slap her thigh. Careful to keep the illusion, I slipped silently out of the bottom of the bed, then crawled out of Mom's room.

Just like she had the night before, I came back a moment later, standing in the doorway like I didn't know what was going on.

"You OK?" I asked, "I was about to go out for my run when I heard something."

"Fine," Mom said, absently. I was gratified to see her post-orgasm face. Hair everywhere. Jaw slack. Cheeks a rude shade of red. Even her azure eyes were distant and unfocused. "I'm just, y'know, waking up."

"I'll make something when I get back," I said.

Mom nodded. I was about to step away when she said my name.

"Jay, honey?

"Yeah Mom?"

"So you know, you have some, um, stuff on your chin. And your cheeks. And a bit on your nose, too."

"Oh, weird," I said. I slowly dragged my finger on my face, then popped it into my mouth. Licking hard.

I swear Mom had another little cum as she watched me suck her juices off my finger.

*

"You should get some sun," Mom said, "Be tan for all the college hotties."

We were out in the backyard. Birds chirping happily over the low hush of leaves rustling in the wind. Someone's dog barked in the distance. Mom leaned back in her lounger while I carefully painted her toenails a playful shade of green.

Mom's eyes were half shut, to the point that I thought she might have fallen asleep before she spoke. Her hair, longer than usual from the lack of open salons, spilled out over the seat like a golden waterfall. Even though I knew Mom's ankle was fine, I still held it carefully, in case.

"There are no college hotties, Mom," I said.

She gave me a dubious look. "I understand that right now -- under quarantine and all -- that it's easy to forget that there is a whole world out there. But once you go back to school, I'm sure you'll meet some other girl. Lots of them, I imagine."

Her implication was clear. I nodded in agreement. "Of course," I said.

"So, you should do a bit of bronzing," Mom said. She looked at me, the challenge clear in her eyes. I gave it right back to her. Finally, I spoke.

"I will if you will," I said.

Mom's face pinked. "Honey, it's a little different for girls."

"So what?" I said, "There's no one in the backyard with us. The fence is plenty high to keep out random lookers."

"You're here," Mom said.

"So?"

Mom withered under the weight of my indisputable dialectic.

"Just my shirt," Mom said.

"You'll have tan lines," I said.

"Better than getting sunburned boobs," Mom said. We both giggled. I don't think either of us was expecting her to use that word.

"You first," I said.

Mom tipped her head at me and tsked her tongue.

"Both at the same time," I said.

"Fine," Mom said. She unbuttoned her flannel shirt and tossed it to the side. Then she took off her white, ribbed tank top.

I stared at the glory that was revealed. Mom was wearing a deep red lacy bra, nothing fancy, with a bit of a swooping cut that kept her breasts well covered. She had a cute little tummy with only the slightest hint of fat to it.

I'd imagined Mom's breasts more than a few times by now. They were better -- bigger, fuller -- than I'd ever conceived. And that was with the bra still on! My dick tried to shoot right out of my pants as my eyes traced every inch of my mother's newly bared body.

"Ahem," Mom said.

I'd been so entranced by her unveiling, I'd forgotten to do my own.

"Sorry," I said.

I reached down for the hem of my shirt and pulled it over my head. Mom stared straight at my chest, like a hungry cat. Then, and I swear this happened, I saw her little pink tongue slip out and lick her lips.

"That's, um, very nice," Mom said.

"You look good too," I said. I waited for Mom's usual self-hating argument, but instead she nodded, like she'd been hypnotized by my pecs. A little smirk snuck across her face.

"Eyes on your own paper, miss," I said, playfully. Again, I waited for her to snap back, but she said nothing.

"Can I touch it?" Mom asked. Her voice shaky like a teenager's.

"My chest?" I asked.

"Yeah." She licked her lips again, like her mouth was covered in cotton.

"I will if you..."

"No," Mom said. Her abrupt response made it clear that there was no way I could argue around it. "I just want to, you know, appreciate all the hard work you've done. On your body."

She said this like it made any sense at all. Like her explanation, in any way, added up to why she could fondle my bare chest. The weirdest part about her argument though, was that it worked.

"OK," I said, and leaned closer so Mom could touch me.

She reached over and slowly traced my pecs. Then she dragged lower, feeling the ridges of my six pack. I had a little tuft of dark hair down the middle of my chest, and she let her fingers tangle in it, the lime green nails shining through. Her wedding ring golden in the dark of my chest hair.

Mom moved her hand lower now. Down to the waistband of my shorts. I think both of us, for a second, thought she was about to do something more. Then she ripped her hand away; like she couldn't trust it.

"That's, um, very nice," Mom said, "You should be proud of all the exercise you're doing." She lay back and let her eyes drift shut.

"You sure you won't let me have a turn?" I asked."Huh?" Mom said, "Sorry, hon. I must have fallen asleep. I was having the most wonderful dream, though..."

*

I wanted more.

I know how insane that sounds. I think it's intrinsic to the male psyche. Every pleasure merely a step on the path to the ultimate goal. And no, it's not a coincidence that the word 'ultimate' contains the word 'mate.'

It wasn't so long ago that the thought of a handjob from my mom (from any woman, what with the quarantine and all) felt like an impossible dream. Now, getting rubbed off wasn't nearly enough. We'd even moved on to oral, and it was incredible, but I couldn't settle there.

I wanted to have sex with my mother. I needed to. I just didn't know how I could make it happen.

Mom's ground rules, especially since she'd expanded them, offered some possible openings. But I knew Mom would call a stop to it if I simply rolled over her the next time we were in bed. For a moment, I considered the morning before, when I'd had the opportunity because Mom was sleeping. But I knew that wasn't the right way to do things. We both had to be conscious. Willing. Otherwise, it wouldn't work (no matter what my libido said).

But that led to all kinds of other problems. In truth, I didn't think I was actually ever going to be able to sleep with Mom. Some part of me knew I was doomed to fail. But I couldn't stop thinking about it. Obsessing. And, so, eventually, I gave in to my urges and decided to make it happen, despite the slim chances of success and the massive likelihood that I'd lose whatever privileges I'd already earned.

It didn't matter. The cock wants what the cock wants. To get to my goal, I knew I would need to be bold. It was clear that I would have to be clever. And I was sure I would require some condoms.

Sex without protection was something I didn't do. Cassie was on the pill, but we still used rubbers. It was part of the process for me, like putting on your seatbelt when you get in the car. Automatic.

Fortunately, I had a few condoms lying around my bedroom, left behind from when I'd left for college. I dug through all my drawers and secret hide-y spots and was able to find a total of five condoms of various styles and provenance. And, I told myself, I could always go out and buy more if I needed. That was awfully optimistic of me, thinking I would be running out for extra protection when it was extremely unlikely that I'd ever get to use what I already had.

So, with everything in place, I began to enact my plan.

I got my supplies and put them somewhere I could easily reach when I needed them. I staged the area, so that everything was properly organized. And then I watched, and waited, for my moment.

After dinner that night, as Mom and I did the dishes, I took the first step.

"I've enjoyed our TV time," I said, "There's a lot about this whole quarantine thing that's been awful, but the fact that it's made us so close? I can't tell you how much that means to me."

"Me too," Mom said, "Thank you for saying that. I hope you know how much I value what we have right now."

"Same," I said, "I want you to know that I would never do anything to risk the closeness we've rediscovered. Whatever happens, I hope you understand that I'm always thinking of you, of us, first."

Mom tilted her head at me, and for a moment I thought she'd figured it all out. I didn't know whether to be terrified or thrilled. Then she said, "I know honey. Soon the shelter-at-home order will end, we'll get a vaccine, you'll go back to school and I'll... Well, I guess I'll go back to whatever the hell it is I'm doing with my life."

I didn't hear it, but I swear I felt her choke back a sob.

"I know that you love me, and I don't blame you for leaving," Mom continued, "You should go and have your own life. But this, our relationship right now, just know that it will always be very special to me."

"Me too," I said.

When we were done with the dishes, I took Mom's hand and led her down to the basement. "If you're ankle is better, I think we can go back to watching down here," I said.

"Oh. OK," Mom said. She eyed me warily, like she knew I was up to something but couldn't exactly figure out what.

We went down to Dad's room. Mom noticed my handiwork immediately.

"Jay, all your hockey stuff is piled on my side of the couch."

"Oh damn," I said, "I was getting it all together for when I go back to school, and I guess I forgot it was there." I walked over and started to fiddle with the TV. I found a movie channel that was showing something quiet and forgettable. I sat down in the one open spot on the couch, pulling the strategically set blanket over my lap.

"Well, where am I supposed to sit?" Mom asked, hands on her hips. Her patience was already running thin.

"I can move all my stuff but it's really super heavy and I don't feel like dealing with it right now," I said, "I promise to move it all in the morning." I paused, savoring the moment. "Why don't you come sit on my lap, instead?"

Mom let my request hang in the air. I could see the gears turning behind her beautiful blue eyes. For a moment, I thought for sure she was about to shut it all down, and my game would be over before it started.

"Sure," Mom said. She shrugged, then walked around the couch. When she turned to sit, I moved the blanket out of the way. When she placed her butt on my leg, I covered us both.

"What are we watching?" Mom asked.

"Don't care," I said. I put my hands on her waist and pulled her back.

"Oh!" Mom said, surprised by my grip. Then my aching, hard cock made contact with her denim-covered backside. "Ohh."

"You OK?" I asked.

"Uh huh," Mom said.

"Cause I'm a little uncomfortable," I said.

"You're the one who left all his stuff on the couch," Mom said.

"No, I know," I said, "It's actually your jeans that are the problem. They're itchy on my leg."

Mom turned back to look at me, knowingly. Again, I thought the jig was up. She reached under the covers, unsnapped her jeans, then rose up to slide them over her wide hips.

Mom sat back down. Her warm, naked thighs landed on mine. Her panty-covered backside slid up against my completely uncovered dick.

Mom realized it immediately. I could tell by how she reacted. The little gasp she made as our bodies made contact. How she, unconsciously I'm sure, shimmied her butt against my bare cock. But she didn't turn around. Didn't say a word.

Mom's pants lay in a pile in front of the couch. She couldn't see it, but my own shorts and underwear were lying next to hers. I'd slipped them off as soon as I was under the blanket.

I was more than halfway to home. Already over the fence. Up the walkway. At the door. My erection pressed forward into Mom's thin panties, about to ring her doorbell. The only question was if she'd let me in.

I put my hands on Mom's hips again. Slowly, we began to slide against each other. I could feel how slippery Mom was through her underwear. Her body moved in rhythm over mine.

"This is nice, right?" I said, "The show I mean."

"Very," Mom agreed. She shifted, settling her cunt over my cock.

We sat that way for a little while, just savoring each other. I let Mom get comfortable. Her perfect posterior planted on my shaft. Legs spread lewdly under the blanket. We started to move faster. Our movements becoming more urgent.

This was the moment. While we ground into each other, I reached down and carefully pulled Mom's panties to the side. A moment later, my bare cock slid through her lips.

Both of us groaned.

"Jay, I'm not sure we..."

"You want me to change the channel?" I asked.

"I don't mean the TV," Mom said, disapproving. But her backside was telling a different story. The warmth of her pussy pressed against my dick. GodDAMN I could already feel myself responding far more than I wanted.

"What's up?" I asked, still maintaining my sense of calm. At least, in the part of me that wasn't under the covers. I have to admit, it was fun turning Mom's game against her.

"I don't think this is a good idea," Mom said.

"Watching TV?" I asked. "Cuddling?"

"You're a bastard you know that?" Mom said.

"I'm your bastard," I said.

"No," Mom said firmly, "You're my little knight. My baby boy."

I noticed she hadn't stopped sliding. In fact, her movements were becoming more defined. Driven.

"It's OK, Mom. We're under the covers."

"Honey, I don't think that's the kind of protection we need right now," Mom said.

"I've got that, too," I said.

Mom froze in place. She snapped her thighs shut. I thought she was ending the action, maybe that was her intention. But then her whole body stiffened. She arched her back. A strangled whine escaped her lips.

Mom's orgasm caused me to go over the top as well.

"UrrrrrrAH!" the growl escaped me as I burst forth. I squeezed my mother's stomach, holding her tight as I erupted. The simple knowledge that I was pressed against her pussy made my orgasm feel richer, deeper, than before. I came all over the blanket, certainly, but I know I also got a good amount on Mom's legs. Her stomach.

We sat on the couch, holding tight, like squeezing out each other's ecstasy. Then finally the pleasure subsided, and we both fell back, weak.

Mom leapt to her feet. The blanket flew off. I was staring at my mother in just her panties and a tank top. The gusset was still pulled to the side, and I could see shoots of curly, blonde pubic hair sticking out over dark, full labia. One bubbly butt cheek was completely bare. A long glob of my cum ran down Mom's shapely leg.

"I have to go," Mom said, then scampered out of the room.

I lay back, totally satisfied and completely unnerved. What had I done? And, worse, how could I get her to do it again?

*

"I'm not like your ex," Mom said, "That Kathy girl."

"Cassie," I said.

"Whatever. I'm different," Mom said.

We were sitting out in the backyard. Spring was slowly giving way to Summer. The heat was already becoming oppressive. I had my shirt off. Mom was in a tank top and shorts. Her foot rested in my crotch. I alternated between covertly rubbing against it and painting her toes a bright, fire engine red.