A Bit on the Side

We came into money.

Since I was sixteen, Mom and I had shared the expense of a weekly lotto ticket; and when we had the fortune of winning, it wasn't "the big one," but it was enough to ensure our comfort, (if well managed) for the remainder of our lives.

I wasn't idle however. Finishing school, I studied economics and computer science and with my financial backing, invested in a then little-known and emerging form of currency. Namely Bitcoin.

I admit, I did well.

My mom and stepfather... well, you'll see.

*

I was still on the phone to a client as I pulled into the drive of my mom and stepdad's house. I should say, mansion. Whereas I'd invested in secure bonds and tech I understood, my stepfather had decided to buy an overpriced eyesore in the Hills. The very definition of a Beverly Hillbilly, he'd parked his Mercedes behind the partially opened gate and was battering at the sliding mechanism with a hammer.

"...okay, when I've arranged a new assistant, I'll have them schedule a meeting," I said as I left my car, attempting to get off the line as soon as possible. Gerry acknowledged my arrival with a nod and I grimaced at the voice in my ear before they finally ended the call.

"Work?" Gerry asked.

"Uh-huh, I'm flying solo. Misty and I broke up," I admitted, breaking the news of the end of my relationship with my partner and receptionist.

"Ooh," Gerry offered. "Yeah, working with her would've been difficult. Pity though, she was a looker."

I nodded whilst watching him attempt to solve his dispute with the gate, eager to move on with the conversation but he lingered.

"A real Georgia peach," he added, alluding to her heritage and I guessed, knowing Gerry, her ass. "That ass! But I suppose work and play don't mix."

"Oh-kay!" I shuddered, though I agreed with one part (well many) of his assertions, working with her would've been difficult under the circumstances; but it left me with a pressing need for her replacement. It was my stepfather I had to thank for his suggestion.

"What about your mother?" He posited, slamming the hammer against the steel.

"What?"

"You need a new receptionist, right?"

"Yes. Urgently."

"Well Lydia does nothing all day. And she's your mother so there won't be any temptation if you know what I mean?" He stopped his hammering to give me a wink.

It actually wasn't the stupidest idea he'd had. That would have been the house, and I focused on that as I finally questioned what indeed he was doing, letting the line about my mother slide.

"Ah, the fucking gate's jammed again," he bemoaned as he gave a concerted, clearly frustrated swing which seemed to do the trick, the large steel gate beginning, unhappily, to open before us. I looked at the cracked concrete of the driveway, fissures in the retaining wall, all that had appeared not long after settlement. If he'd taken my suggestion and had the house inspected before committing, I'm sure he wouldn't have purchased. "There. Good as new," he delighted in his handiwork, before looking back at me. "Is that why you're here? Your mother. To offer her the job?"

It wasn't, and I told him. I'd merely been in the area and stopped for a social visit, but now that the idea of Mom working for me had been implanted, I was surprisingly coming onboard.

"Well, she's inside," he informed me. "Was taking a shower when I left, but she'd be done by now. Go on up."

"What are you doing?" I asked, Gerry depositing his tool in the trunk and getting back in his car.

"There's a fairway with my name on it," he gestured to the golf clubs in the rear seat and I found myself waving him goodbye.

The path now clear, I drove up the curved driveway to their palatial residence, (it would never be 'just a house.') The large front doors unlocked, I made my way into the entranceway proper and immediately heard my mother's voice. Her call was muffled and from some distance, figuring it to be from upstairs, I made my way to the grand staircase when she called again.

"Gerry!" She yelled and I headed up the stairs to the first floor, noticing the railing on the staircase was wobbly in the process.

"He's gone out Mom," I shouted back. "It's only me here."

Her response was muted.

"Oh."

I paused at the top of the stairs waiting for further or her eventual appearance and began to head up the hallway when neither came, stopping outside her open bedroom door when I found it empty. "Where are you?" I called.

"Um," came her still muffled response. "Where's Gerry?"

This time I narrowed down her location to the en suite and recalled Gerry having told me she was having a shower.

"Out. He said golf," I explained to the empty room.

"Oh," she repeated.

The whole thing was confusing, and frustrated, I walked closer to her bathroom door. "What's going on?"

Once more there was a pause before she finally spoke.

"It's...it's embarrassing," she delayed explaining and my mind began to imagine scenarios. "I've been calling out for ages. I'm stuck in here," she added.

"What?"

"The door. It jams," she detailed, and I assumed she meant the en suite door.

"Oh, is that it? I can open this," I took hold of the handle in preparation of shouldering the door open.

"No, the door in here," she elaborated and I paused.

"What?"

"Oh," once more the delay I was becoming used to. "Oh, just come in."

I turned the knob not knowing what I was expecting to find once I entered, and as the large marble tiled room opened up before me, it was admittedly one of the scenarios I'd imagined seconds before. Well sort of. There was still steam hovering at the ceiling and condensation on the walls, the room remaining warm. The moment I saw her, I directed my eyes away but the damage had been done. Mom had indeed been having a shower. She remained in there. And yes. She was naked.

As I shielded my eyes with my hand, the image of her through the glass remained. Wet hair, one hand tucked between her upper thighs to cover her pussy, the other arm and hand used to protect her breasts from view. I could feel the blush creeping to my face and tried to remain composed, aware the vision of her nude would be with me now forever.

"What's happened?" I laughed.

"It's this freaking glass door," she began. "It's broken again. Like everything else in this house."

I risked a look at the large plate of glass she alluded to and could see it was slightly askew, moving closer to the problem. The wall-to-wall shower screen was ceiling height, the ability to pass a towel removed, and as I dropped to my haunches to examine the lower hinge, Mom backed slightly away on the other side.

"I'm gonna have to..." I referred to my hand covering my eyes and protecting her modesty and she quickly permitted.

"Oh, of course Darling. Go ahead," she condoned and I lowered my shield. Once more I was witness to her nudity. I couldn't even remember the last time I'd seen Mom in a swimsuit, so the impact of her exposure wasn't lost on me but I remained mature, attempting to take it in my stride. Looking at the door, I couldn't see anywhere I could gain leverage, my fingers unable to fit under the pane and I risked a look up at Mom for guidance.

"You say this has happened before," I remarked. "How'd you fix it?"

"Well, Gerry did it," she began. "You have to put your hands on the glass and push and lift or something."

I tried as she described and nothing seemed to be happening, before she once more spoke up, moving forward.

"No, it was higher," she explained and took her hand from between her legs to press up on the glass. With one thigh crossed over the other, her pubis itself was obscured but the shadow of dark hair came to eye through my indirect gaze. I rose to stand before her and as I did, her inhibitions seemed to dissolve, her other hand rising to the glass to show me exactly where to press.

I admit it caught my breath. Her unfettered breasts presented to me the other side of the glass. I could feel my face burning as I raised my hands to match hers, looking directly at her naked body, boobs that I only now comprehended the impressive size and then, as she seemingly relaxed and uncrossed her feet, a clearly manicured thatch of brown pubic hair.

"Sorry Honey," she managed to chuckle. "I'm embarrassing you."

"No!" I refuted but my face gave it away. "So, what, I just push and lift?"

"Uh-huh," you can't do it from this side you see," she once more backed away as I followed her instruction and with an effort, the heavy glass panel seemed to slip back into its hinge, aligning once more with the screen. "That's it," Mom applauded and reached out to open the door, now seemingly more than comfortable to be naked in my presence.

I stood aside as she slipped from the shower and headed toward the towel rail and a hanging robe, catching more than a glimpse of her exposed rear and cursing myself for not immediately offering them to begin with. As her ass was taken from my view, I looked back inside the stall. A collection of soap and shampoo bottles gathered upon the wall-long bench seat attempted to obscure another item that stood out from the pack. Immediately recognizable, the flesh-colored dildo was long enough to have its attached balls showing behind the conditioner and the bulbous head stuck out behind a shower puff. My mother had been masturbating!

Lightheaded with the revelation and with face aglow, I turned immediately from the discovery and gazed once more upon Mom. She hadn't dried completely in her time trapped and as the thin white satin robe covered her body, her wet flesh showed through. Nipples hard and pink protruded through the silky material. The shadow of her pussy for an instant before she wrapped and tied the belt. Her face devoid of makeup, hair still dripping wet, she was beautiful. The sudden appreciation of her as a woman was shocking and even more so was the stirring in my pants.

Confused, mortified, I tried to focus on something else. "You really need to get that fixed," I stated the bleeding obvious and Mom scoffed.

"I'll add it to the list," she chuckled as she headed out into her bedroom and I followed. I didn't know what was wrong with me but I looked at her ass once more as she walked, buttocks swaying with each step. That I was aware she was naked beneath just adding to the wonder. It was then my erection really came on.

Black jeans, I was comfortable I'd get away with it as we headed through the house, as long as she didn't look down there directly. To be honest, I was happy to get away from her bedroom, the bed far too suggestive. It was then I metaphorically slapped my face. The bed suggestive? Look down at my fly? Why would she? She was my mother. Nothing would ever, could ever happen. She had no interest in the contents of my pants, be they hard or soft! I was being an immature idiot and I felt like a creep for even getting a hard-on in the first place. Two days without a girlfriend and I was thirsting for my mother! What the fuck was wrong with me?

"Careful of the banister," Mom warned as we descended the staircase. "It's loose."

"This place is a deathtrap," I managed to dismiss my incestuous thought process, coming back to the real world. "I told you not to buy it."

"Oh, and you've tried talking Gerry out of something when he has his mind set?" Mom laughed as we entered the kitchen. "Coffee?" She offered. "I have to do something for my hero."

"Hero?" I laughed. "Yeah right. Actually, there might be something you can do for me," I suggested and strangely her neck reddened almost instantly, the hue spreading to her cheeks. Was she herself having similar thought patterns to me? Nonsense, I told myself. Her eyebrows raised, I continued. "Come work for me."

"What?" She nervously giggled.

"I'm serious. Gerry thought of it. Come be my receptionist."

"But what about Misty?"

"We broke up," I rebutted and didn't need to explain to Mom that working with my ex wouldn't have been smooth sailing.

"Oh. When?"

"About two days ago."

"No, I mean when do you want me to start?" She surprised me with how quickly she agreed, not that she wasn't asking about Misty. I always had the distinct impression Mom hated her!

"You'll do it?"

"Of course," she beamed. "I'll do anything for my hero."

As I drove home, I thought of the words Gerry had spoken. 'She's your mother so there won't be a temptation.' I thought of her naked in the bathroom. The vision came to me of her masturbating, my imagination picturing her fucking the dildo suction-cupped against the glass screen.

The hard-on returned.

*

The office space I leased being below my apartment building, Mom was already waiting outside when I came down twenty minutes early. Much of the night I'd thought of her. Not intentionally. It was just every time I closed my eyes, I could see her standing in the shower, naked. Protecting her pussy and boobs with her hands, before the reveal. Her eyes on me, studying my reaction as I took in her nudity. Her rounded pale breasts, waxed and shaped pubic hair. And when I allowed my imagination to take over, I pictured more. Legs spread as she sat on the tiled bench, a hand on her breast teasing a nipple, dildo between her legs.

I'd chased the visions away countless times. Thought of other women, attempted a novel. But laying wide awake and nearing one a.m. I relented and masturbated. Using my own mother as inspiration, (unhealthy as it was) to clear my head and my balls and finally get some sleep.

The morning, and I'd assumed I'd be over it, but, as I readied for work, I found myself contemplating what she'd wear? Would we lunch together? Even in the elevator downstairs I pictured an after-work drink in my apartment, alcohol, alone together, what could happen? Yes, I was delusional and when I laid eyes upon her outside my office, most thoughts of incest slipped from my mind.

"You're keen," I joked as I approached, noting her appearance. "Why so early?" The idiot in me had imagined her wearing something revealing, a slutty secretary outfit perhaps. What she presented in however was far from slutty; diametrically polar. Brown, I supposed it was a woman's suit. Ill-fitting and formless it did nothing to highlight her natural beauty and she looked every one if not more than her fifty-four years. Was I being picky? Overcritical? Yes. I mean she was my mother. As any woman she could wear what she chose. But right then, knowing how attractive she could look even without clothing, I wanted her to project her beauty. Was that so wrong?

"The bus timetable gets me here half an hour early," she explained.

"You got the bus?"

"It's the same route that goes past our house. Seems silly not to use it," Mom reasoned.

"Hmm, suppose," I frowned. "You could still drive."

"We sold my car," Mom countered and it took me by surprise, clearly showing in my face and Mom explained. "Well, I hardly ever drove it and... well we needed the money."

I was learning so many things about her, about my parents' life, and this particular news was troubling. Had she so quickly taken the job offer for that reason? Was it why Gerry had suggested her to begin with?

"Serious?" I was distracted by the phone ringing in the office as we entered. "Well, we'll talk about that later, and I'll give you a fob so you can unlock the office," I scooted the front desk to answer the phone, looking back at Mom. "I'm really not cool with you taking the bus," I admitted as I raised the receiver to my ear.

*

Not a novice on the computer, and having been only out of the workforce about ten years, Mom found the work familiar and seemed to be enjoying the day. I had back-to-back meetings with clients all morning and much of the afternoon and through the glass walls of my office I occasionally glanced in her direction. The brown suit didn't grow on me. It was also not lost on my clients.

'I thought I'd walked into a retirement home,' one mentioned. 'Is she your grandmother?' A female investor surprisingly asked me and angrily I'd dismissed their opinions. She was my mother. She could wear whatever she wanted. The next day however, when she arrived wearing a dress that was somehow dowdier than the suit, I felt I needed to say something. She, like it or not, was the face of my business. The first thing clients saw when they arrived. Misty, though an airhead was amazingly good looking and sad as it may be, society is attracted to the attractive and her presence had encouraged repeat business. The stupid thing was, Mom wasn't ugly! I'd seen her wear perfectly suitable clothing. I'd seen her naked body. She could've looked good in a hessian sack. Why then this?

"What's with the dress?" I causally inquired over a coffee at her desk mid-morning. She looked down at the frumpy loose garment. High collared and formless, it was more muumuu than office attire.

"It is a bit dated, isn't it?" She freely admitted and it came as a relief she hadn't taken offense. "I thought it was, well... the most concealing."

"What?" I frowned, confused.

"I mean after the other day," she began to blush. "How much you saw of me. I thought I'd wear something a bit more... mom-like."

"Oh," it was now I that began to blush. "I don't care about that," quick to change the subject. "You don't have anything... I don't know, more businessy?"

"Not really," she played with the fringe on her opposite sleeve. "I would buy something new but money's a bit tight of late."

"Is that all?" I rose from my position, retrieving my wallet from my back pocket. "Here's the company credit card. Buy whatever you want. We'll claim it as a tax expense."

She looked surprised. "You can do that?"

"Why not? We'll say it's uniform."

She took the card apprehensively. "I won't spend too much," she assured and I scoffed.

"Buy whatever you like. I can afford it," I stated, and she looked coy.

"I'll go after work."

"Go now," I quickly rebutted. "It's a quiet morning," I followed, hoping I wasn't coming across too forceful.

*

It WAS a quiet morning. Drifting into a slow lunch period. I was hard at work on a Sudoku when she arrived back at the office, and casually looking up from the paper when she entered the front door, I was more than shocked at the transformation. Gone was the frumpy dress. A short, very tight black skirt sat over black stockings. A dark blue, what looked to be satin shirt stretched taut over her breasts. I managed to lift my jaw as I rose to greet her beside her desk, though my eyes couldn't disguise their admiration. "You look great," I admitted and I noticed her blush.

"I changed in the store," she stated the obvious.

"I can see," taking in her appearance form her strawberry blond hair to her black high heels. "You look like Brandi Love," I spontaneously admitted, immediately questioning the sanity of comparing my mother to a porn star.

"Who's that?" Mom looked curious and I could feel myself blush.

"Oh, no one. Just an actress." The phone rang on her desk and saved me further explanation; Mom proactive in getting back to work and hurrying around behind me. "You look great is all," I once more complimented her as she placed a hand on the receiver, pausing. "Did I mention that?" I asked.

"Yeah, you said something like that," she smiled, blushing, and I left her to it.

*

She wasn't far from my mind however. A post-lunch appointment with a client, my eyes wandered over their shoulder to where Mom sat. It was innocent. A woman just adjusting her stockings. With legs to the side, her skirt rode up revealing black lace stay-ups. Her fingers grabbing the hem and pulling them up higher on her thigh. Satisfied with one, she repeated the process on the other leg before she once more swung her chair around, removing the temptation to stare.