Disclaimer: All character engaging in sexual activity in this work of fiction are 18 years of age or older.
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"Oh! Honey, you scared me!" my mother exclaimed, nearly colliding with me on the way to the washing machine.
"Sorry Mom, my fault."
"Adam, Honey, what are you doing with all these?" she inquired, pointing at the stack of freshly laundered bath towels I was holding.
"Oh, um...I spilled some soda in my room the other day and grabbed a bunch of them to make sure none of it stained the carpet."
Pretty thin Adam.
Pretty
thin. Four full-sized bath towels to absorb a 12 ounce can of soda? Uh-huh...
Of course, I couldn't tell her that I was using them at night to soak up my emissions, washing them every few days to cut down on suspicion.
My dreams were always the same -- a parade of lewd scenes, rolling like some clip show of the choicest Pornhub vids all pasted together and masterfully edited. Only it wasn't some other guy's hairy ass I saw in the pussy-pounding close-up, it was mine (though now hairless, thank you!). I strongly suspected that my Fae was channeling the vivid imagery to me nightly as a kind of subliminal learning on the many forms of sensuality.
I'd tried condoms, but they were useless. Nowhere near voluminous enough to accommodate the quantities I was dealing with overnight, they inevitably popped off well before dawn. Unfortunately, my newfound mental control hadn't taken well enough yet to help as I slept, so night after night I issued pre-cum like a ruptured water main as the smorgasbord of sexy imagery played out in my mind. I had grown tired of washing my sheets every day, so this was the best solution I could come up with.
She raised a disbelieving eyebrow, looking like she was about to press on the subject, but became distracted, stepping up next to me.
"Honey, are you-? Stand up straight for a second."
I did, allowing her to compare our heights. My mom was tall for a woman, standing at exactly my height of five foot ten.
"You
are
, look! You're taller than me now." She traced our heights with the flat of her hand, moving it up an inch or two to the top of my head.
I shrugged, unsurprised. "Huh. Must have hit a late growth spurt or something."
She laid a hand on my shoulder, giving it a little squeeze. "My little guy has gotten so big." She said wistfully.
I started to panic, horrified that I might be affecting my own mother somehow.
She looked at me sadly. "I know I haven't been around as much lately with the new job, and your father seems to be away on business a lot more than usual. We haven't been the best parents to you, and here you've gone and grown up without us even noticing."
"Mom, c'mon. It's not a big deal." I soothed, relaxing that she was just feeling guilt over her mild neglect as a parent.
"Well, why don't we catch up tonight? Your father won't be back until this weekend, so it'll just be the two of us. A little mother/son bonding. I'll make your favorite -- my homemade chicken pot pie. How's that sound?"
"That sounds great Mom, I'd like that." I smiled warmly.
She turned to go, but caught herself, "Oh, and before I forget -- I'm having my new boss over to the house on Friday night. She recently transferred in from the Vancouver office, and could probably use a good meal. She's putting a lot of responsibility on me, and I want to show her I'm up to the task by going over my business plan.
"I think you'll be impressed with her; she's regarded as one of the most talented executive VPs at Forge Whiteman. She's been known to bring on young business students with lots of potential, like you. An internship like that would look great on your transcript for those college applications. I'm sure she'll be just as impressed with your achievements as I am."
"But Friday night? Really?" I whined, not wanting to lose a weekend night to some moldy middle-aged manager type who would poke at my business sense and accomplishments. I wasn't young enough to think that folks in the real world would necessarily echo a parent's pride.
"Oh, it's just one night. I'd really like it if you tried. You can never start too early in building connections when you're going into business, Sweetie. Someday you'll be thanking me for pushing you to do this."
"Ugh. Fine." I grumped. And I was planning on getting laid Friday night too. Hmm, maybe schedule a little quality time with Christine one evening this week.
The lines at the edges of her eyes crinkled in a smile, "Thank you, Sweetie.
"Now get going!" She made shooing motions, "You've got school in 20 minutes."
*******************
It was Tuesday afternoon, and I was headed to Ella's house to apologize and do whatever I could to patch things up. Forgoing the car, I figured the three-quarter mile walk would help me clear my head.
Brandon was right; I
was
being an idiot. I had a great girl right in front of me all this time and I never appreciated her friendship. I doubted that our middle school puppy love had ripened for her as it had for me, but she was still precious to me, lover
or
friend. I could make excuses all day about how intimidated I had been by her, but the fact was that I had been a little bitch by avoiding her, and she didn't deserve that.
If there was one sure positive that had come out of the past couple of weeks, it was that Adam Connor was no longer a pussy. Now he needed to sack up and own his shit.
I wasn't deluded enough to think that I could knock on the door and have her begging for my cock within the hour, but I owed it to her to be her friend again. Hell, even if it was only to commiserate with her over whatever latest thing the insensitive prick she was dating had done.
Then again, that was part of the problem, wasn't it? The part that made this so difficult. To resist taking the easy way out and use my gifts on her. Because the truth was that if I wanted to, I probably
could
have her naked on the floor, pleading for me to glaze those glorious tits. It just didn't feel right.