Hockey Mom In Boston

An incredibly "interesting" long weekend spent in Boston recently, chaperoning my son and his friend to a hockey tournament. Things didn't quite work out as planned, especially when my husband canceled on me.

[Originally written by the author in 2011, "refreshed" slightly in 2018]

I was a forty-something hockey mom and when I wrote this down, I had just returned from an extremely interesting long weekend in Boston. I had taken my younger son up there for a tournament, along with one of his just-turned eighteen team-mates...

Being employed full-time AND with a teenage son who's a reasonably talented hockey player can be a bit of a drag at times. This time of year is one of the worst, as work is busy, the local hockey schedule is busy and there is often a weekend tournament to consider as well - and not all of them are close to home.

This past weekend we had a tournament in Boston (I live near Philly) and we (my husband and I) had offered to take one of the other boys who also played on the same local team as Greg (my son) up to Boston with us, as Grant's father had two other kids at home to look after and in order to be up there in Boston in time for the 7am game on Thursday morning, we would need to drive up on the Wednesday evening.

So after Tuesday practice (you following all this?), I brought Grant home with Greg to spend the night at our house, so it would be easier to just leave whenever I wanted on the Wednesday and head up straight to Boston, where Jim (my husband) would meet us on the Friday evening after he completed his work-week wherever he was that week (he travels a lot). I was taking the Thursday and Friday as vacation days.

It had been a while since we'd had Grant over our house, but I made up the bed in the guest room and he pretty much crashed as soon as he stumbled into it. It had been a long day for all of us, especially for the poor kids who had a double practice that evening.

Wednesday morning, I was up around my usual time and went about my daily routine when I work from home. On those days, I don't even shower until some point in the afternoon, unless I have to go out earlier for some reason. So I spent much of the day sitting in shorts and t-shirt in front of the computers in my home office. The boys woke up mid-morning and I fixed them some food, returning to my desk to try to complete my work for the week before we had to leave.

Around 2pm or so, I decided I may as well take my shower, dress and pack for the weekend. Our shower is in the master bathroom, which is only accessible via the master bedroom. Just as I turned off the water, I swear I heard the bedroom door click. "Weird", I thought to myself. "Maybe it's just the dog?"

I toweled myself dry and noticed one of the dogs on my bed - that must have been it, I decided. Then I went to pick up the shorts, t-shirt, sports bra and panties I'd been wearing, to put them in the laundry hamper (I know, I'm a slob - I really should have put them right in when I took them off, instead of leaving them on the bedroom floor) and stopped dead in puzzlement - my pale yellow panties were NOT on top of the pile, yet I knew I'd taken them off last.

I called the dog over and he sniffed the pile of discarded clothing "Did you take my panties, boy?" Obviously the dog just grinned at me with that goofy "I'll do anything for you, if only I understood you" expression on his face. I checked over the other side of the bed, wondering if perhaps he'd dragged them around the room a bit - no sign of them.

It wouldn't have been the first time I'd caught him with a wad of worn panties in his mouth, but there were only so many places he'd ever take them. Not a sign. Oh well, on with the dressing and packing - they'd show up sooner or later. In my relative naivety, I never imagined one of the kids might have taken them...

By the way, I say "kids" - my Greg is seventeen and Grant just turned eighteen last weekend, so maybe "young men" is a better term.

Our drive up to Boston was uneventful - only one spot of inclement weather and we made it in about five and a half hours. For the first two nights, the three of us would be sharing one room (two beds, of course), then Grant and his father (and two other kids) would have a separate room when Jim arrived to share ours on the Friday evening. Greg and Grant shared one bed while I had the other. The kids crashed almost right away and I watched some TV for a while (hard to go to sleep straight away after a long drive) before I turned it off and turned in, too.

I thought I slept pretty well on Wednesday night, but I did have the strangest dream. At least, I thought it was a dream at the time, but in retrospect it was likely at least partly for real. I imagined someone lifting the covers from behind me (I tend to sleep on whatever side faces the bathroom and in this case it was my right side) and snuggling against me. This was not at all unpleasant and didn't seem to bother me in the least. I felt breath in my hair (I have long, chestnut-auburn hair, down to just past my shoulders), gently stirring the back of my neck. As I said, not an unpleasant dream at all.

A light brushing of my upper arm made me shiver a tiny bit, then I felt the weight of somebody else's forearm on my bicep. Ahhh, Jim wants to snuggle, that's so unlike him these days, but so nice... it's been way too long...

The sensation of fingers very slowly and gently caressing my left boob through the t-shirt I wore to sleep. So tired, but yet my nipple didn't seem to hesitate to stand to attention. Fingers stroking along the top and bottom of my nipple, almost rolling it between them. Not at all an unpleasant sensation, but I was soooo tired "Jim, honey", I murmured in my sleep "I'm sooo tired - can we wait a while?"

The fingers withdrew and I slumbered deeper.

Thursday morning came around way too early. We had to be up and out by 5:30am for the 7am game. None of us showered, as the boys could shower after the game and I really didn't need one. As I stood in the bathroom brushing my hair, I remembered the previous night's dream and when I took off my panties to change them, was mortified to feel how wet they still were from that dream! I balled them up and tucked them into the bottom of the laundry bag before rousing the boys and calling them to action. Both boys seemed to take forever in the bathroom (individually) - I had no clue until much later what at least one of them had been up to in there.

We went to the game, had a good time (and a great game, with a 12-0 thrashing of the other team) then had lunch and decided to go to a movie to pass some time before the evening game. The day passed quite uneventfully and we played ok in the evening, but not quite as well as the morning game.

We had a late dinner with several of the other players and parents, then the kids went up to their rooms while some of the parents (myself included) had a few drinks in the hotel bar. I make a point of never drinking very much in these situations - there is always at least one sleazebag who will try to take advantage of a woman there without her husband. By midnight, I'd only had three beers and called it a night.

As I opened my room door, I heard a frantic, fumbling noise from inside the bathroom. Sounded like someone was rustling through a plastic bag. I heard the bathroom door click shut as I pushed the main door fully open. Greg was in bed, fast asleep. So it must be Grant in the bathroom. Sure enough, he emerged after a couple minutes, mumbled goodnight and slipped into bed. I had to pee, so it was my turn for the bathroom and I was going to change into my sleep clothes in there anyway.

As I was sitting on the toliet, I noticed my laundry bag was most definitely NOT where I'd left it earlier in the day. I finished, blotted, flushed and bent over to investigate - someone had obviously been going through the contents (I used to travel a lot, so had gotten into the habit of a very specific routine for stashing worn clothing). I dug a little and my fingers came in contact with something wet.

I cringed as I slowly withdraw the panties I'd worn the previous day. They were no longer balled-up, but were randomly crumpled, with a sticky mess on one side. I didn't want to believe what that mess was, but suddenly my head spun as everything clicked.

Grant, my son's team-mate, had a thing about my panties. He'd been jerking off into them and probably doing goodness knows what else with them. Ugh! I rinsed them in the sink, again and again, both disgusted and humiliated at the same time.

The little perv - and he was barely eighteen! On the other hand, I could hardly approach him and tell him to refrain from masturbating into my panties, could I? I'd die of embarrassment! Same for asking his father - he'd probably interpret it as a come-on line! Oh what to do, other than ignore it and know this night would be his last chance to mess with my underwear! He must have taken the yellow pair while I was showering, too! He may even have watched me shower! This was terrible.

I decided to take a quick shower if only for the feeling of being cleansed from this, this, THIS. No adequate words came to mind to describe the vile creature with the innocent overtones who had been perpetrating all this over the last couple days.

Then it struck me WORSE - was that Grant who had snuck into my bed last night, too? No, surely it couldn't have been. That WAW a dream, right? Now I didn't know fact from fiction - I was a mess. I suddenly realized I'd been standing under the hot water for ages, got out and put on my sleep clothes. Sleep didn't come easy that night, believe me. I laid on my other side and watched the boys' bed through slitted eyes for a long, long time.

Our first Friday game wasn't until 10am - much more civilized. So we got up (I had no recollection of weird dreams or anything untoward happening in the night), got dressed, had breakfast downstairs and headed off to the rink. I didn't gave Grant any chance at all to mess with my clothes - I had the laundry bag under my eye the whole time he was in the bedroom or bathroom.

The rest of the day passed uneventfully with ONE exception - my wonderful (that's sarcasm, btw) husband called me to say he had to work the weekend and so couldn't make it up to Boston - just let him know how the games went and he'd see us at home on Sunday. This was not the first time Jim had pulled something like this - I know I should have come to expect it by now - I don't know why he keeps doing this. Part of me thinks he must be having an affair, as he puts me in these 'single hockey mom' situations all the time. He says he trusts me and knows I can take care of myself. He's likely spending some extra-curricular time with his secretary or something. He's hardly touched me in years.

Maybe Jim does trust me, but I don't trust OTHERS. In fact, I could almost swear he wants me to get up to some mischief but that is so not me. I just avoid getting myself in situations that could even have a chance of leading to anything like that.

Grant's father showed up toward the end of the evening game, with his two daughters. Turned out the hotel only had rooms with a single king bed and did I mind if Grant continued to sleep with Greg? Wow. That put me in a VERY awkward situation. If Jim had still been coming, it would have been an easy push-back, but I'd already set the precedent for Greg and Grant sharing the second bed in my room.

Stuck between a rock and a hard place, am I, as one of my dearest friends keeps telling me, too darned trusting for my own good. What choice did I have without explaining why that might be ill-advised? It was only two more nights. I could handle it.

After a very late dinner that night, I hit the bar harder than I'm usually comfortable doing. Dave was there to make sure I didn't get into any trouble and I felt perfectly safe with him - it was his son who perturbed me! The beers went down easily, then the cocktails, then the shots. Oh my! It must have been around 1am when Dave delivered me safely to my room as he retired to his.

I just threw my clothes off in the dark, not caring where they ended up and slipped into my bed in my bra and panties. It vaguely registered in my blurry mind that Grant probably had a great time with my old panties that evening once Greg went to sleep. Oh well - after tonight, just one more night here.

I must have fallen asleep (or passed out!) pretty quickly, for I woke muzzily as I felt the bed behind me dip, as if with the weight of a body. The clock read 1:55am - I couldn't have been asleep for long. Again, the warmth of a body against my back. This was clearly no dream this time. For better or worse, the amount of alcohol I had consumed dampened my reactions and I didn't noticeably tense at the touch of the stranger's hand on my arm.

In my slightly inebriated state, I wondered how far he would risk going, how much of my body he would explore without my consent? As his hand slid across my bicep and down onto my chest, he hesitated as he found my bra. How did he intend to deal with that, I wondered? Turned out the little brat was way more expert than I had expected. He simply withdrew a little from my back and deftly undid the clasp, in the dark, with one hand! If I'd truly been asleep, I'd likely have slept right through it, he was that good!

He then proceeded to slip the left strap over and off my shoulder, smoothly and silently, onto my upper arm. The whole time, he breathed his warm exhalations onto my neck, through my hair. I have to admit, the sensation was quite enjoyable and I did find myself wondering about the feelings building between my thighs. Gulp. I felt his crotch push against my ample butt cheeks. He definitely had something to offer.

His left hand made its way inside the cup of my partially-removed bra, fingertips stroking and lightly squeezing the flesh of my left boob. My nipples were already quite excited as I tried to keep my breathing steady and sleep-like. I tried so hard to feign a continued, drunken sleep as this eighteen year old friend of my son caressed my boob, my nipple and then progressed down to my belly.

How far should I let him go? I knew I was letting my inhibitions down because I was partly-drunk, but I was also by now thoroughly enjoying his gentle, covert ministrations. Nobody (other than a co-worker one time) had touched me like this in many years. Was I so wrong to find it enjoyable?

His hand slipped lower, edging inside the waistband of my panties. No! This had already gone too far. I rolled away from him and whispered, ferociously but so as not to wake Greg "No! Stop what you're doing! This isn't right! I didn't invite you into my bed and you are NOT going to take advantage of me having had a few drinks tonight!" I was quite pleased with myself for getting all that out without slurring much or waking Greg!

Grant's reaction was to freeze. He withdraw his hand from the spot on the bed where I'd been and slowly made his way up and back to his own bed. I think he got the message, although my mind was in total and absolute turmoil by now. Was this the end of it? Would he try to take advantage of me again? Should I suggest Greg share my bed tomorrow night? I just didn't know the best course of action and it did not help one bit that I knew my crotch was soaking from the excitement and anticipation of just a few minutes ago!

"Uh - Mrs Davis?" Grant whispered from the other bed.

"What now?" I hissed back at him.

"Uh, I'm kinda sorry you're upset with me - didn't mean for that to happen."

Well, no kidding he didn't mean for me to get upset with him, but he wasn't exactly apologizing for his actions, was he? Grrr. I stayed quiet, giving him the silent treatment to reflect upon.

I must have fallen asleep again shortly after, as next thing I knew I was waking to the 8am alarm on Saturday morning. Greg was already up and dressed (wow!) and Grant was still in the bathroom. I lay in bed and stretched - and as my right hand passed my face on the way up, I caught a whiff of something. An aroma I don't generally care for, but instantly identifiable to me. Had I masturbated in my sleep without realizing it? I cautiously sniffed my fingers without Greg noticing what I was doing. Unmistakably cunt-juices. And unmistakably mine! I let my hand slip into the waistband of my panties - or I tried to, but found them just above my knees! What had I been doing? A quick exploration of my cunt revealed my clit was still engorged and quite sensitive and my

vagina was most thoroughly lubricated with my own juices, with some indications of dried crustiness on my inner thighs.

I had no memory of masturbating in my sleep, but all the indications did point in that direction. Wow! This was a first for me and I didn't know how to handle it. Had Grant listened to me? Had he perhaps watched me? OMG - what if Greg had heard me? My face felt hot and I'm sure I was blushing as Grant exited the bathroom with a cheery "Morning, Mrs Davis! How'd you sleep?". I hiked up slightly-crusted panties and made my way into the bathroom without acknowledging him or even making eye contact with either boy. I was weak and shaking.

Saturday morning. We go home tomorrow, we go home tomorrow. I told myself this over and over again as I showered (again) to rid myself of my womanly perfume. I sure didn't want all the boys and their dads sniffing at me like a bitch in heat - that was how obvious I believed I smelled. To make it worse, no matter how I scrubbed and scrubbed my right hand, I could still detect my personal aroma from at least two of my fingers there. It just wouldn't go away.

The only game that day was at noon, but we planned to take the boys to the evening Red Sox game, so it would still be a relatively full day. Dave was such a saint - he could tell there was something up with me, but other than asking me if I was ok on a couple occasions, didn't push the matter. What could I have told him anyway?

His teenaged son tried to seduce me last night, got in bed with me, took off my bra, fondled my boobs and tried to slip his hand inside my panties? And the whole thing had aroused me so much I got myself off in my sleep without realizing it??? I could just picture Dave's face at a revelation like that. Or, rather, I couldn't even picture his face - that was just so far outside our sphere of past conversations!

As bedtime neared, I got more and more nervous. I'd had a couple beers at the ballgame (well, four), but as I was driving back to the hotel, that was my limit. "Nightcap?" Dave asked me, as we walked through the lobby. I knew I shouldn't, but I didn't want to face the boys (especially Grant) in the room just yet. So I gave in and acquiesced. The two of us sat at a small table in the bar and another kid's parents joined us - just the four of us.

I bitched a bit more about how my husband, Jim, often put me in these situations where I was a single woman away from home on weekends, often in hotel bars, almost waiting to get hit upon. The husband of the other couple said he was surprised Jim encouraged it, too - he said I was very attractive for my age and if he were single he'd have a go at me. At that point, Cindy, his wife, hit him really hard and we all laughed. I also told the story of how we were pretty sure a coach from a previous year had the hots for me, then Jim pulled out one weekend and I had to drive the coach to Pittsburgh and back by myself (admittedly with Greg in the car, too).

Jim had told me he was sure I could "handle anything that arose". In retrospect, I should have declined - I was just too naive. Fortunately, not much could have happened anyway with Greg in the car. Now I thought back on it some more, the coach had steered the conversation toward sex on more than one occasion - even WITH Greg in the car! Eeeeek.