The Mother Tracie Deserves

THE UNTOLD STORY OF THE FIRST VIDEO

We sat side by side on my stepdaughter's bed, and I felt my hand growing cold in hers.

Part of me wanted to run from the room, from the house, from the world - anything besides hearing about that night. But I wouldn't run from my daughter, no matter how painful it might be. It wasn't her fault I had sunk so low back then. The least I could do was listen. It would hurt me terribly, but I deserved it.

Tracie took a deep breath and exhaled. She said, "For a long time, I never knew for sure whether you were just pretending to have no memory of that night. But now I believe you really were black-out drunk."

All these months, Tracie knew things I didn't know about that night - not that I wanted to know. I regretted giving her that burden, but I was shaking with fear to find out what she knew. As her one hand held mine, her other kindly stroked my wrist.

She said, "I remember it was really hot on my birthday. It was some kind of record, I think. Things had gotten so bad by then, you were drinking so much, that I had already been thinking about making videos of you when you were drunk. I figured that would be so embarrassing, I could blackmail you to stop drinking. And sure enough, when I got home from school, there you were, passed out on the couch again."

My head dropped in shame. How bad I had made things; how I had neglected and hurt my stepdaughter. Yet now, after all that, she was still here with me. Did I deserve such love?

She said, "I was so hurt and mad at you for forgetting my birthday, and even madder after we fought about it. I went to my room and I felt so alone. I didn't talk to any of my friends about it, because I didn't want them knowing what was going on."

"I'm so sorry, Tracie..."

"I know you are, Mom. I know. I would have gone for a long walk or something, but it was so hot out. So I just took a cool shower and spent the rest of the day here in my room with the fan on. To keep myself from crying, I just scrolled through videos and social media on my phone for a long time. After a while, the phone battery was getting low, and I remembered my phone charger was out by you."

I listened, my eyes closed. I couldn't bear to look at her.

She continued the story. "So I came out, wearing just my panties and that really small t-shirt I wear to bed when it's hot, the one cropped up really high. You were sitting at the table with your glass and a half-empty bottle of vodka. I walked straight to my charger, grabbed it, and as I passed you, I gave you a dirty look. You were as drunk as I'd ever seen you."

I cringed in embarrassment. My hands grew clammy. I tried to control my breathing to calm myself.

"Mom, it's okay." My daughter wiped a tear from my face. Her voice was gentle. "So, I started walking back to my room, and you said, 'It doesn't last, Tracie.' I didn't know what you meant. I just ignored you and kept walking. Then, you started saying stuff I couldn't believe."

"Oh, god," I mumbled, growing colder.

"Do you remember at all what you said to me, Mom?"

I shook my head no, squeezing my eyes closed tight.

She went on, "I was walking away from you, and you said, 'That perfect, juicy little ass.'"

"What? No, I didn't!" I said, in disbelief. "Who talks like that?"

"You did," she said, laughing. "I remember exactly what you said. 'That perfect, juicy little ass.'"

I shook my head, tingling in fear of what was coming next.

Tracie sounded less amused as she went on. "So I stopped in my tracks. I was like, 'Excuse me?' and you started going on this rant. You said, 'You don't know how hard it is when you're older, missy. You're just a teenage schoolgirl. Of course you have a perfect body. Any man would kill to get a hold of it. They'll marry you. They'll say,

You don't need to work; stay at home; you'll be such a good mother; raise my children.

And you'll do it, because you think they love you.'"

I started to cry. I had no memory of saying these things, but they rang true, like they had come straight from my broken heart. I said, "Tracie..."

"No, Mom, don't cry. Please, just listen." She reached for a tissue on her nightstand and handed it to me. As I wiped my face, she moved to sit closer, twining her arm around mine. She went on, "So I said, 'Is that the only reason you stayed at home with me, Mom? Because Dad asked you to? You didn't even love me?' And you got really loud and you said, 'Of course I love you! No one will ever love you like I do! I'm your mother!'"

I looked apologetically at my daughter and said, "That much is true."

She rested her head on my shoulder, hugging my arm tight. "I know, Mom. I'm sorry about what I said next. I told you, 'Well you don't act like you love me anymore.' And you got even angrier. You said, 'You don't even know how much I love you, Tracie. You couldn't even understand.' You were looking at me in a weird way. And you said, 'You don't know how hard it is keeping things straight, with you walking around here in your little panties and your sexy little shirt, like...' and then you put your fist over your mouth and just stared at me, looking me up and down. So I said, 'Like what, Mom? What were you going to call me? A slut?' And you yelled, 'I never called you that! I would never call you that!' You were really upset."

I winced and struggled to keep myself from sobbing there on my child's bed.

"It's alright, Mom."

"No." I shook my head. "My mom used to call me that, when she was drunk."

"Well, you didn't call me that," Tracie said, stroking my satin sleeve. "You didn't. But still, I was so mad. You kept looking at my body, so I decided to mess with you and see what I might get on video. I said, 'Maybe you

want

me to be a little slut, huh, Mom?' And you said, 'That's disgusting. You're my daughter. Girls shouldn't talk like that.' And I said, 'I'm your stepdaughter, and I'm nineteen now.' And this surprised look popped on your face, and I said, 'You told me what a man would do for my body, Mom. But what would a woman do? What would

you

do?' And I stroked my belly, like in a sexy way, to see how you'd react. I thought it would make you even more angry, and I wanted to make you angry, and I had my phone ready to record you freaking out. But you didn't say anything. I realized you looked like you were actually thinking about it - like you were getting turned-on a little as I touched myself."

I could only tremble deeply at this story, in my core. I knew Tracie wasn't lying. Who wouldn't be attracted to my girl's amazing body, if she wanted to arouse you? No one could deny how beautiful she is. And I had been so lonely, for so long, and I was so drunk that night.

My daughter's arm was still twined around mine, but I felt too ashamed for her touch. I started to pull away, but Tracie said, "No, Mom." She held onto me more firmly.

Her hand caressed lightly up and down my arm as she continued. "So I could tell I was getting a reaction, even though it wasn't the one I expected. You looked nervous. You poured yourself some more vodka and took a drink, but the whole time, you kept looking at me, and I kept showing my body off for you. I could just tell something was going to happen, and I knew my phone probably had enough battery to get something on video. Then, finally, you said, 'You know the best part of all those long, long, long-ass volleyball tournaments, Tracie? It's seeing you girls in those skin-tight little booty-shorts.'"

I gasped, "I did not say that!"

"Oh, you totally did, Mom. You

totally

did. I wish I had got that part on video! So I turned my butt to you and, like, stroked it and said, 'So this is probably even better, huh, Mom?' and I pulled up on my panties to give myself a little wedgie for you. You really don't remember any of this?"

I shook my head. I didn't want to hear anymore, but of course, I had to know.

My stepdaughter giggled and went on, "Then you were like, 'What are you doing, Tracie?' and I said, 'What do you want me to do, Mom?' But you just stared at my body. And I let you. You were breathing heavy through your nose, and you took another drink. I tried to act all sexy, and I said, 'So you like looking at all of us in our volleyball shorts. Who on the team has the nicest butt, Mom?' and you said I did."

I was nauseous hearing this, especially because, somewhere deep down, I knew it was true. I had thought things like that, even sober. Any person with eyes would. But of course, as a mother, I kept such thoughts buried deep down, filed away as just being glad my child had good fortune in the looks department. I couldn't believe I got drunk enough to say such things out loud.

Tracie said, "To be honest, it was kind of cool to know my stepmom thought I was hot. Part of me was excited. But I was still so mad at you, and I wanted to get you saying or doing something on video - something you'd never, ever want anyone to see. You were so drunk, you might do anything. So, my phone was ready and I walked up to you. You were sitting there so wasted, you were, like, swaying in your chair. And I stood next to you and you were staring right at my boobs. So I started touching them all sexy, to see what you'd do. And I said, 'And who has the nicest boobs, Mom?' I lifted my shirt just a little, so you could see the bottoms of mine. And you looked up at me and blinked your eyes real slow, and then you looked right back down at my chest. You didn't say anything. You tried to raise your glass for another sip, but you couldn't even lift it. You just kept watching me touch myself through my shirt. I said, 'Do I have the nicest boobs?' And you said, 'Yes,' like you hated to admit it. So I said, 'You want to see them, Mom?' You kept staring, and finally you said, 'Yes.'"

My stomach clenched and I covered my eyes with my free hand. I had to restrain myself from jumping up off Tracie's bed and running away.

She said, "So, I pulled my top completely off, and that's when I started recording video."

I shook my head, eyes closed tight.

Tracie continued, "You're closing your eyes now, but that night, your eyes got wide and they were locked on my chest. I said, 'You wanna touch 'em?' You were too drunk to raise your glass, but somehow you were able to get your hand up on my left boob. And you kinda laughed, like it was funny to feel it. It was a little shocking to feel your hand on me like that, but I had the camera going, and wanted to see how far I could get you to go before my battery died. So I said, 'Kiss them, Mom. I want you to.' And before I knew it, you were going crazy on my boobs."

There's no way I would ever have believed her story, if I hadn't seen the damn video myself. I felt sick. I muttered, "So wrong. So unacceptable..."

"No, don't say that, Mom." My daughter held my arm in hers, and rubbed my shoulder with her free hand, consoling me. She said, "I mean, yeah, I couldn't believe how weird it was to have my mom sucking on my tits. It was crazy, obviously. But I'm not going to lie, Mom. It turned me on, too. It felt really good. Your hands and lips were so soft. I know I showed you the part of the video where I did the little blackmail thing, where I looked up at the camera and said, 'Why does she make me do this?' But the truth is, I was kind of mind-blown how good it felt, how much I liked it even though I was so mad at you. And, after the battery died, that's when things got really... different."

"Oh god, what?" I said, aghast.

"I wish you could remember, Mom. It was... kind of beautiful. I know you were wasted, but it was like, as soon as I let you touch my skin, you acted different. You started off by going kind of crazy on my boobs, but after a minute, you got more gentle. More... loving. You even seemed less drunk. I could see it in your eyes, that it was something you needed so much."

I said, "I was so lonely and desperate, Tracie."

"I know that was part of it, but not all of it, Mom. I could tell. And, I liked how it felt. Not just physically, either. Yes, it was nuts because you're my mom, but... it was, like, the most romantic thing I'd ever felt. Your lips and tongue and hands felt so good on me - so soft and gentle, but hungry too. It was weird, but I wasn't scared. It wasn't disgusting, it was... loving. And frankly, as it went on, it was hot. You sucked my boobs a long time, and I swear, my nipples had never gotten that hard before! And when you kissed up my chest, and up my neck, I couldn't believe how horny it made me. I was a little blown away, to be honest. I could tell how much you wanted me. And you kissed my face, and I could just feel how much you loved me, how much you had always loved me. And I thought about how much I loved you too - and how much I missed you. And in that moment, it just felt right to, you know... we started kissing."

My head jerked in surprise. "W-What?"

"Like, before I even knew it, we were into some serious, deep, romantic kisses. I wish you remembered it. It was really beautiful. You're an awesome kisser, Mom. Your lips are seriously the best."

As she spoke, I started to remember other times since that night when Tracie had kissed me in ways that wasn't normal for a girl and her mother: the night we went to that fancy restaurant, and that crazy time after she was tied up in the chair and I had walked in on her masturbating. All this time, she was operating on the memory of us kissing that first night - and I had no idea.

She was saying, "I love kissing you, Mom. Your kisses that night were... amazing. I mean, your breath smelled of booze, but your lips were full of love. And your tongue."

I was feeling dizzy. I said, "So... how far...?"

"How far did we go? Well, out there in the dining room, I guess I got cold feet. Not because it was weird, but... because I liked it so much. So I started to back away. And you were like, 'No, please, I need this. Please, angel.' And I was so, like, confused. Part of me wanted to keep kissing you, but another part started to freak out about the whole thing, because you were my mom, and you were drunk, and I was supposed to be mad at you. And then you started undressing."

"Oh god..." I slowly shook my head as the story got crazier.

Tracie said, "I was like, 'Mom, what are you doing?' and you were like, 'Please, honey, look. Doesn't your mama have nice boobs? Don't you want to touch them?' And you started pulling your t-shirt off. But you were so drunk, you couldn't get your arms out of it. It was ridiculous. I actually laughed when you were stuck, tangled up in your shirt, but you finally got it off. And then you started trying to undo your bra, but you couldn't get the clasp undone."

I said, "I must have got it off at some point. I woke up topless the next morning."

"Well," my daughter said, stroking my sleeve, "I helped you."

I looked into her eyes. "You- What happened?"

"Like I said, it was confusing. But I knew you had been lonely a long time."

"Tracie, it's not your job-"

"Mom, I know. But if I'm totally honest, the main thing was... I just wanted to see you topless. Everyone knows how good your boobs look with clothes on. Like, other girls talk about your chest. The girls on the volleyball team even have a phrase, 'TMBs.'"

"What?"

"Yeah. 'Tracie's Mom's Boobs.' Girls talk about how they wish they had TMBs."

"You've got to be kidding."

"Mm, I'm not. So you can't blame me that I wanted to see those TMBs without clothes. When you were struggling with your bra, I undid it for you and helped you take it off. And seriously, your breasts look even better naked. I wanted to know what it felt like to touch them."

"Oh my goodness, Tracie..." I looked into her eyes again, seeing her soft smile.

My lovely stepdaughter chuckled and said, "It was my birthday, right? So, I figured, what the heck?

Happy Birthday to me!

I went for it. I touched them and kissed them, like you had done on me. It was actually incredible."

My eyes got so wide, my eyebrows almost went over the top of my head. "That night? The night you made the video?"

Tracie laughed. "I mean, why not? I couldn't resist. You had your turn on mine, and I figured I'd probably never have another chance. Yours were amazing." She looked down at my chest. "They are amazing."

I blushed under her stare.

She said, "You were so cute when I started kissing your boobs, Mom. It was like you suddenly weren't drunk at all anymore. I don't know how. But you looked down at me with such love in your eyes. You stroked my hair as I sucked your nipples. You told me I was pretty."

"You are," I said. "You're more than pretty, but..."

Tracie pulled in a breath, her eyes rolling up as she remembered it. "Oh my gosh, Mom, your tits felt unbelievably good in my mouth. I couldn't believe it was happening, but it also felt so right. And it was like, when I was licking and sucking your nipples, I looked up at you, and I could see my old mom again, the real you, the one who loved me and cared for me. You played with my hair and said such loving things to me. You called me your darling. I always loved when you called me that."

"Darling?" I asked.

She nodded with a shy smile. Hope lit up her face. She said, "I need you to know it wasn't dirty, Mom. It was so special. I had your amazing boobs in my hands, and I looked up at you, and you were so... happy. And I hadn't seen you happy in so long."

I swallowed with emotion.

Tracie's eyes were bright as she told the story. She said, "I mean, yeah, I knew it was weird feeling my mom's nipples get hard on my tongue, but it was exciting. The way you looked down at me, and how you kept saying such nice things to me, I wanted to keep pleasing you. It was really loving, Mom."

I was affected by Tracie's delight as she spoke. Part of me wished I could remember what she was telling me. Part of me thought I should be appalled. All of me was confused. As we sat against her headboard, I noticed my stepdaughter's nipples were visibly erect under her crop top. A normal, innocent thing, but in that moment, so charged.

Tracie absentmindedly fingered the satin of my sleeve. She said, "I know all this time, I hid from you how beautiful it was. I hid it from myself, too. Because when you lifted my face up to yours and we started kissing again, it was like my brain started to burn up. And when you stuck your tongue really deep in my mouth, it was too intense. I tasted the alcohol again. Suddenly, I couldn't believe what we were doing. And I couldn't believe how turned-on I had gotten. But you were my mom. And you were drunk. I was thinking, like,

I cannot handle this!"

"You're right, honey," I said. "It was so wrong."

"No, Mom, it wasn't wrong - that's my whole point. I just wasn't ready for how right it was. I mean, yes, I was disgusted with your drinking. And I was hurt about my birthday. And I was mad that you had to be drunk for us to connect like that. So I said, 'Mom, you have to go to bed. I have to go to bed. This is insane.' And you started crying. You didn't want to stop. I said, 'Come on,' and I pulled you up out of the chair and started walking you to your room, both of us topless like crazy people. The whole time we're going down the hall, you were trying to kiss me. And it was so hard to resist you - because I wanted it too. At one point, I gave in: I pushed you up against the hallway wall and we started making out some more. We were going at it hot and heavy, trying not to step on that framed picture of us that had fallen on the floor. God, I loved the feeling of you gripping my ass, Mom - and the way our boobs were touching together." Tracie's eyes rolled and she sucked in a lusty breath, remembering it. "But when you slipped your hand in the front of my panties, I was suddenly like,

Whoop! Okay, I better stop this.

"