06 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.

Mom spent some time preparing her breakfast at the kitchen island, cutting various fruits as her robe opened a little more, baring more of her breasts, but never as much as I hoped or feared. My heartbeat sped up with every flutter of her clothing, its thin silk sliding over her body, clinging here, gripping there, and rolling like waves with dips and rises as she continued with her task.

She never looked at me, only at Dad, and the one time his paper crinkled as he lowered it, Mom reached up with her left hand and pinched her robe shut. Dad didn't look at her, he was sipping his coffee and had happened to tilt his paper forward, but when it had come down, Mom had covered up. It was at this time my cock, already warm and relaxed, decided to have its first stretch of the morning.

As Dad's paper rose, Mom's robe came open. She finished cutting her fruit for her breakfast and came to the table, sitting across from Dad with an assortment of bite-sized bananas, berries, citruses to nibble on with a side of yogurt for dipping.

She ate. Dad ate. I ate, only I had a view of the inside of Mom's left breast, almost to her nipple. The soft swell of her chest mound made my mouth water for more than her French toast.

As I watched my mother, my cock tingled, and the head swelled, pushing the fabric of my boxer briefs and basketball shorts outward and upward. After teasing me, how did my mother think that I wasn't going to run off to the one girl who had already guaranteed me some pussy? How could Mom hope to keep me at home when what I really wanted was--

The shock of an electric spark zapping my brain put a stop to my thoughts, and when they came back, a new question had entered my mind. How far was my mother willing to go to keep me from being sexual with Jenna for the next four years?

Did I want to know?

My mind stuttered, like an old film reel that had lost its tracking, and everything blurred. I didn't know if I wanted to know, but my dick, the nasty mother fucker, who wanted to spread open the little lips between my girlfriend's thighs, had no problem growing thick and hard and hell-bent on finding out.

I needed to get out of the kitchen, but I had a hard-on, so I sat there, eating with a slow, deliberate gait as I willed my fucking chubby friend down to half-mast. It wasn't easy since I was sneaking glances at my mother's tit while wishing her robe would move a hair more to the left. I wanted to see the shade of her areola and maybe the size of her nub.

The size of her nub--her fucking nipple!

I had been aware of her nipple--nipples--since the start of this, but it was her flesh that had stolen the attention of my eyes and other, darker thoughts had also kept my mind occupied, but I had been aware of my mother's nipples. What had started as smooth silk against the jutting swell of her breasts had developed small rises in their surface--rises that had pushed the fabric outward in a pair of points. Growing and growing, they thickened and hardened, my imagination witnessing the tight swirling and contracting of her flesh, seeming to swell while stretching outward as the little cracks in her nipple flesh constricted.

Shit--my balls hurt.

As soon as the last bite of French toast entered my mouth, I pushed my chair back and turned in my father's direction. He still had his newspaper raised. Who the fuck reads an entire newspaper? I'm glad he did because the left side of the paper kept his eyes away from my tented shorts. I should have slid from my chair in a half-crouch and slunk away with my back turned to my mother before standing, but I didn't do that. I don't know why, but instead, I pushed my chair back, and as I turned to my right, I stood, leaving no doubt about the effect my mother had on me. Even if she were looking forward, her peripherals wouldn't have failed to notice the hard-on that she had raised.

I should have rushed upstairs to jerk off, but instead, I jumped onto the couch facing the TV, grabbed the remote, and looked for something to watch. I flipped through the channels, not paying attention, as I looked at the clock and waited for my father to leave the house. By the time he had left, my hard-on had gone down, but my leg had started to fidget.

Dad left just before eight in the morning, and I waited in the living room, unaware of what I expected or what Mom had planned. Jenna was always available after her half-day summer classes, and a little bit of teasing wasn't going to keep me away from her. But would a whole lot keep me away from her? No. Mom's teasing wouldn't keep me away from Jenna, that's for damn sure, so the question came to me again: How far was my mother willing to go to keep me away from Jenna for the next four years?

Get your shit together, I thought. Did Mom really want to do this? Had I driven her insane? No way, she was a rational woman--educated, composed, experienced, and.... Mom walked into the living, just beyond my couch, stopping in front of me, but off to the side.

"Hey," I said, staring at her back and butt--mostly her butt--which her robe rested upon, with the cloth covering her center groove and dipping between her cheeks.

"Hey," Mom said, not turning around. "I'm going to work for a little bit, but then I'm coming downstairs to do some housework."

"Okay," I said.

"It's going to be hot today." A tremor underscored Mom's voice. "Don't go anywhere."

"Jenna doesn't get out of school until noon," I said. "And her dad insists on picking her up now instead of me."

"Good," Mom said. "I'll be back in a couple of hours to clean, okay."

"Okay."

Mom turned, and when she did, her robe lay open from her neck to below her breasts, her inside swells and cleavage visible. Her perky handfuls left some open space between her breasts that made my mouth water and tongue dance. Mom paused for a moment, standing still long enough not to make things obvious before she left the living room, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

Fuck me, but this was unexpected and strange, and yet it filled me with a kind of nervous yet excited energy that I needed to release. I waited until I was sure that Mom was in her room before I raced upstairs to my room to relieve myself of this adrenaline-like burden with hard pumps of my cock.

Porno, stories, camgirls--I didn't spend money on them--and other kinds of options presented themselves to me. I was ready to take them, but instead, I found myself searching Reddit for real-life stories about moms coming onto their sons, or vice versa. I was sure that every one of them was bullshit, but even if just one were true, then maybe I'd have an idea of how to handle this new side of Mom.

I mostly skimmed links to sex stories (many by Mr. Here/MrHereWriting) and actual website entries. Each one that captured my attention said the same thing: Be assertive. Don't let your golden opportunity go to waste. If your mother was coming onto you, then go after her. Don't let your mother run away from you, and don't let the guilt that was bound to set in once she offered herself to you take hold of her soul. Take hold of her soul! That was a bit dramatic--a little over the top--but it also made sense.

Yet, why would I want to test this out?

My cock knew why, but what did a dickhead know?

My fingers danced on my keyboard, not clicking any of the keys, just dancing over them with enough pressure to make the plastic caps rattle and shake. I should have got busy jerking off, but that's when I heard a knock on my bedroom door.

"Yeah," I called out as I minimized my porn windows, and my heart jumped to a jogging pace.

"I'm going to go downstairs to clean now," Mom said, speaking through my door. "Just to let you know."

"Okay."

How often had I watched my mother clean? How often did she? Up until today, I had never noticed when Mom cleaned the house. I spent most of my time in my room, sleeping until eleven in the morning because this was my summer to relax.

I looked at my clock.

It was ten in the morning.

Holy shit, I had spent about two hours reading incest threads involving moms showing themselves off to their sons. Much of it sounded like bullshit, and I had decided that all of it was bullshit, but still, some of it had sounded like it could be true.

Be assertive.

Maybe I didn't know how far I was willing to push this, let alone Mom, but a soft voice in my head sang to me with words spun from honey and silk, crooning, Just have one more look at your mother. Why not? She's a head-turner.

"Why not," I said to my empty room, and I stood from my desk, having to place my palms on the arms of my chair to push myself up. My body weighed a ton, but up it went, and on legs heavier than I could remember them weighing, I walked downstairs as the tempo of my heart shifted into a higher gear, and then another.

Mom was in the living room, wearing an outfit that I'd never seen her in. Her clothes looked new, and they could have been. She could have bought them yesterday. It's not like we spent twenty-four hours a day together. She had gathered her long, flaxen hair into a bun, one of those where the hair swirls about itself with neither a beginning nor an ending. She had donned a gray cotton house shirt that hugged her body and molded to her breasts, emphasizing their softness and shape while detailing her small waist and long, graceful arms. While the shirt had caught my attention, it was her shorts that had made my heart shift into a higher gear yet again.

These were dance shorts, and I knew my mother had danced once upon a time, mainly from grade school through college, and then just for fun. They were black and small and high-tied along her sides so that they angled downward from her hips to her crotch and her ass. They had loose leg holes, and because of their smallness, I could see the hint of my mother's ass cheeks, their very bottoms. Just a line of them, but that was enough to get my pecker going.

Wow.

From that line, her long legs, with a hint of muscle curving her thighs and hamstrings, descended into her calves and down into her tennis shoes, where I could see the white rims of her ankle socks. Her legs looked longer than normal--and they were already long--but that was because her shorts rode upward toward her hips. Fuck me, but my mother's swan-like body looked yummy.

How far was I willing to push this?

I took a deep breath and said, "Hey," before I left the stairway and walked into the living room.

"Hey," Mom said, smiling at me from where she stood by the living room windows, opening up the heavier curtains, but leaving the transparent curtains closed. "I'm going to clean now, but you can just relax and watch TV. I won't bother you."

"Sure," I said, my cheeks reddening the moment I saw a light shade of pink blossom across my mother's face. It was like watching the sunrise, and I had to control the sound of my next breath as I filled my lungs with air. "I'll just sit."

"Okay," Mom said and turned away from me to run one of those handheld, static dusters over the shelf on the left side of the TV.

I crawled over the back of the couch, grabbed the remote that lay on the center cushion, and turned the TV on, flipping through channels right away. Mom kept her back to me. I took in the smoothness of her legs and the cusps of her cheek bottoms, where they joined the backs of her thighs. Could I see her cheeks, or was I just imagining it? When Mom pushed herself up to her toes, her shorts lifted just enough to give me that small glimpse of ass flesh my cock was tingling to see.

I say my cock because my cock stiffened when I was positive that Mom was giving me glimpses of her cheeks. I moved on the couch, pushing myself into the corner between the armrest and the backrest, lifting my feet onto the cushions, and pulling my knees up to hide my bulging shorts.

Let her see.

I shook my head, and yet I had let her see me in the kitchen, but I had done that without much thought. Still, that let her see whisper gave me goosebumps, and Reddit had said to be aggressive.

Stop your fucking thinking, I thought.

Mom dusted the top shelves next to the TV and then the middle, then she backed up and started dusting the shelves and picture frames that were level with her thighs. She was dusting, but not really. Her arm moved, and so did her wrist and the duster, but the fibrous, Q-tip-like end only glided over the picture frames and various pieces of art that Mom had collected during her lifetime.

My heart sped up as she started to bend over--at the waist. Her legs stayed straight and parted, forming a triangle between her thighs that pointed straight to her muff. Mom had backed away from the shelves so far that she could now get her head below her waist while keeping her legs straight. What balance! Mom did enjoy her yoga. Her legs tightened, their firmness creating barely-there curves, but what made my heart speed up the most was action at the apex of Mom's thighs.

Her small, black cotton shorts had pulled tight between her inner thighs, forming a thick but thin thong while the back leg holes had ridden upward, baring about a quarter of her firm butt. I could see this new arrangement of her shorts, but she had to have felt it, and even though I knew what she was doing, chills of adrenaline rolled through my shoulders and down my arms. I shivered, feeling the light prickling of excitement bouncing across my skin like water sizzling over a hot surface.

What was Mom thinking?

Was this turning her on too, or was this something that she was only doing out of necessity? How the fuck could a mother desire her son, no matter what the scumbags on Reddit claimed? (Was I one of those scumbags now?) Did she have any idea what her desperate attempt to keep me out of Jenna's pussy was doing to my mind? My thoughts? My desires? My cock?

Fucking hell, but there was no way my mother had thought this through.

No fucking way.

Be aggressive.

The patch of cloth between her legs pulled inward as she widened her stance, baring her inner thighs to her outer labia and whatever kind of panties she was wearing beneath her shorts. A thong? She had to have been wearing a thong. I couldn't see her labia, but my sight caught the edges of her tender, outer folds.

Just the fucking edges!

Just give me half an inch more, I begged her shorts, but then she straightened her back, stepped to the side, and dusted around the TV. I found solace in her small butt, which wasn't flat, and not too round. Mom had a good butt. A wholesome butt that made my ball sack tingle. A mom's butt that made my knob throb--a throb from a mom who could surprise a son and his friends with her sexiness.

How long before Jenna returned home from school?

Too long.

I went back to watching Mom while doing my best to shut down my mind.

Mom finished with the TV, turning sideways to me as she walked to the next set of shelves, and my vision zoomed in on her breasts as they pushed against her gray cotton shirt. The under swells had a softness to them, while the upper portions sloped like a ski jump, ending with her thick nipples that had hardened to points half an inch long.

Jesus, they're just cutting right through her shirt, I thought.

My balls pulsed and through my cock shot a bead of precum that widened my shaft. My hips rolled on their own and out spat my wad of cream, wetting my boxer briefs enough that I could feel the wet stickiness against my crown.

Mom's head twitched as though she wanted to turn to look at me, but she never turned her head that far. Instead, she passed the TV and went to work on the shelves, standing straight and bending over, squatting, and pushing her butt outward. Sometimes she stood with her legs closed, and sometimes she opened them. She stretched upward, baring the bottom curves of her butt, and once she reached back with her left hand to scratch the top of her hamstring. Her elegant fingers pulled her shorts upward, exposing a solid quarter of her cheek, tanned to match the rest of her body, without a divot or blemish marring her smooth, angelic skin.

Another wad of cum left my balls, and I closed my thighs, pressing my knees together as a rolling cloud of sensitivity bundled itself around my knobs and tickled the tip of my cock. Fuck me, but I was going to come hard after this.

After dusting, Mom grabbed the vacuum and gave the carpet in the living room a good twice over, maybe thrice, as she ran the machine over the same spot in back-and-forth motions that made her little-ish titties bounce. She didn't look at me as she cleaned, even as she faced me most of the time. I watched, never once looking at the TV as her beaded nipples drew my gaze with the strength of a tractor beam.

Eventually, Mom's cleaning had to come to an end, and when it did, she looked up at me, smiling, then said, "One room a day. I hope I wasn't in your way."

I shook my head, and my mother never dropped her eyes below my face. Not that I was flaunting my hard-on, but with my knees up and a pillow now in my lap, she had to have known what was going on below my waist.

"Well, I need to get back to work," Mom said. "But, I'll see you here later, okay?"

I nodded my head, but I was already thinking of Jenna's juicy pussy in my hands. Mom went upstairs, and I went to my room, noticing the time. I had about an hour before Jenna would be home, so I spent the next forty-five minutes punishing my cock for its dirty thoughts about my mother. Twice I nutted, and twice it was to the kind of porn that I had never watched before. I had watched my share of daddy-daughter scenes and brother-sister scenes, but I was neither a father nor a brother, so the ickiness of those scenes had never entered my mind during those episodes of sensual fulfillment.

As noon approached, I jumped in the shower, cleaned the sweat from my body, freshened up, and as I exited the bathroom, my eyes widened at the sight of my mother in the hallway. I couldn't tell if she had been waiting for me or if she had been on the way to my room, but there she was, paused in mid-step. And there I was, with a towel around my waist with the rest of my upper body bare: shoulders, chest, arms, and abs. Mom's eyes looked down, then sprung back up to meet mine. The green in her irises had an inner glow that I had never noticed before.

"I'm going to go get some sun," Mom said. "Would you like to join me?"

She smiled.

Yes.

But what I said was, "I'm going to go see Jenna."

Mom's smile straightened, and she gave me one of those looks before she said, "I bought a new bikini that I could use an opinion on." She smiled again. "Give me ten minutes of your time."

A whisper of breath left my lungs, whistling through my lips as a bead of water dripped from a hair hanging over my forehead and fell downward through my vision. I could almost hear that tear-shaped bead of H2O burst apart as it landed on the carpet below me.

"Okay," I said.

Mom's smile widened, and she hopped forward so fast that I couldn't react before she pushed up to her tiptoes and pecked me on my cheek.

"Thanks," Mom said. "I'll see you down there soon. Wear your suit."

She had bought a new bikini as though she hadn't owned bikinis that were small enough as it was. Fuck me, but I decided that Jenna could wait a few minutes, but only a few.