A Mom's Reluctance
All Characters are over 18 years of age.
Chapter 1
I stirred my tea slowly, letting the steam rise and the smell of the black tea help wake me up. I had slept fitfully, and had been awake since four in the morning. It was now eight o'clock, and the house was quiet except for the ticking of our kitchen clock. My fatigue made it hard to focus, although I was also distracted by a million thoughts racing through my head like panicked bees. I was so engrossed in them that I did not hear my mom come into the kitchen until she was right next to me. I started when I saw her.
"Good morning, Stephen!" she said a little too brightly. My mom's voice was higher pitched than normal, borderline manic in tone. Her eyes were a little too wide and her smile a little too big. She was like a cartoon of her normal self, dripping with a nervous energy. I dropped the spoon I was holding on the counter, its clanging punctuating the still morning.
"Mom. Hi! Good morning, um, hello!" I said, words spurting out like staccato pulses, my voice equally shrill. We sounded like stereotypical tourists speaking their native language louder, thinking that volume somehow meant people would understand. I stood rigid, my back to the counter and the dropped spoon, my muscles tense.
"Did you sleep well?" she said, her voice still edgy, her eyes wide, searching for anything in the kitchen to look at other than me. I too avoided eye contact as she fidgeted. Of all the rooms in the house, I thought, we had to meet up here for the first time. The kitchen brought back too many memories.
"I did!" Why was I talking so loud, I wondered. Why didn't I tell her the truth? I shifted from one foot to the other, wishing I had something to do with my hands, which just hung to my sides, useless.
"That's great, really great," she said, barely letting me finish. I turned to pick up an apple when she reached for one as well, our hands briefly touching.
"Ah!" she said, laughing a little too hard. "I'm sorry!" She pulled her hand back like the apple was electrified.
"No, I'm sorry!" I said, forcing out a laugh I didn't feel.
"No, it's me," she said, "I'm such an idiot."
"No, it's me," I said, and we both took a sharp breath inward, leaving the kitchen suddenly silent. Mom was standing close to me--too close. I looked down at her, and she looked up at me with her searching green eyes. Her black hair was short, growing out of a pixie cut she had experimented with over the summer. Her bangs hung over her eyes and her hair was messy as always. Intentionally messy, she would always say.
Mom cleared her throat and took a step back, sitting on the edge of the kitchen table. She wore a bulky sweatshirt and baggy jeans, a mug of steaming tea in her left hand. In the silence we looked around, and then at each other, and then around the kitchen again. It seemed to go on forever until she finally spoke.
"Well, I've got to go to work, you've got class later today?"
"Yeah," I said, relieved that she was leaving the house. She smiled, opened her mouth to say something, and decided against it. I made a lame excuse to head back to my room and left, waiting until I heard her car start downstairs before I could exhale in relief.
"Shit," I said to myself, sitting in the awkward silence.
Things were not so strange twenty-four hours beforehand. I has been making lunch in the very same kitchen. It was a Sunday, and the autumn day was overcast as a cold front blew in. The recent time change away from daylight savings time had thrown me off, and I found myself fixing an early lunch out of habit more than hunger.
"Hello, Stephen," Mom had said as she entered the kitchen. She slid slightly on wool socks as she opened the refrigerator. Mom was small. Petite, she would say. In truth she seemed even smaller because I was six-three and she was just under five feet tall. She used to joke that she didn't know how she had a giant for a son. Mom was ninety pounds, and was built like an elf. Dainty, you might say. As such, she was always cold. She had a long-sleeve shirt on and jeans, but I could tell it was only a matter of time before she found a blanket and hid under it.
"Hey mom," I said, reaching over and opening the refrigerator door for her. She smiled, grateful, and took a carton of orange juice out of the refrigerator. She poured a glass and hopped onto the counter, her favorite place to perch.
"What's the plan for today?" she asked. She was, as usual, brimming with energy, like she had too many cups of coffee.
"Not much, the usual."
"I see," she said, edging closer to me. "Video games, avoiding sunlight, scrolling on your phone?"
"Hey," I said, feigning offense. She laughed and hopped off the counter. She turned to leave but looked over her shoulder and added, "or are you going to surprise me by inviting a girl over."
She laughed, and started to walk away. She had struck a nerve, but I knew she hadn't meant it. I had been on yearlong bad luck streak, but she didn't know that. Nevertheless, her words stung a little, and I wanted to come up with something witty to quip back but nothing came to mind.
I don't know why I did what I did next, but it was the moment that changed everything. I reached forward and hooked two of my fingers in her jeans waistband and gently pulled her back. She slid backward, a look of surprise on her face as she slid on her socks toward me.
"Hey!" she said, laughing. She tried to walk away and I pulled her back again. She giggled, turning to face me. I let go over her jeans as she spun around and she put her hands on my chest to push me away. "Knock it off," she said, stepping back a step.
"Knock what off?" I said innocently, and again slipped my fingers past her jeans waist and pulled her by her jeans back to me. Again she slid on the tile floor, laughing as she half-heartedly tried to push back from me."
"Don't pick on me for being small," she said, still laughing. She still had her hands on me and pushed weakly to get away. My fingers were hooked into the front her jeans, my fingers touching the smooth skin below her waist. It only occurred to me at that moment that I was touch my mother inside of her jeans, below the waist. Her skin felt warm against my fingers, and the proximity, the intimacy was suddenly hitting me like a brick in the face.
"Don't pick on me for being unlucky with girls," I said, also laughing. I pulled her closer and she slid toward me. Mom was laughing hard now, mock struggling against me. We had wrestled and played around many times, although not in many years. She gently grabbed my wrist and tried to unhook my hand from her jeans, but in the struggle my fingers slid deeper into her waistband, further south. My fingers touched the edge of her underwear and something shot through me like electricity. My hand was not supposed to be there.
"You can't grab me if they're unzipped," she said, laughing. She reached down and in one switch movement she unbutton and unzipped her jeans. The fabric parted into a V shape that drew my attention to the purple underwear she was wearing. Mom was breathing hard, her chest heaving, her eyes wild with an energy I could not place. She was grinning, her face flush. I was laughing, too, my ears burning, I must have been blushing. I should have left things there, they had already gotten strange enough. But I didn't.
"I never give up," I said, and reached down and grabbed her jeans. As I did my hand slid over her skin, grabbing her underwear. My fingers poked under the elastic and slid downward as I pulled her to me. Her body collided with mine as she slid closer, my fingers resting agains--to my complete shock--the soft tuft of hair down below.
In that moment we were still, quiet. I could hear her breathing, hear my own heart hammering in my ears. I was touching my mom's bush, her labia warm against the tips of my fingers. Dully, I registered the heat coming from her, the slick wetness of her desire. At the same time I was painfully aware of my own desires, manifested in the stiff member throbbing in my jeans.
"Stephen, don't you dare," she said. Her voice was full of surprise, but not anger. Her eyes were wide, her grin faltered. I felt frozen in time, my fingers touching my mom's wet pussy. I couldn't fathom what I was supposed to do. Instead, something in my brain shifted and a part of me I had never met took the wheel. My hand slid further down her underwear, brushing along her wet labia.
Mom gasped and gently gripped my arms. Before she could say anything my hand was suddenly moving up and down along her slick labia, parting them slightly. Two fingers ran north and south, her clit gently held between them. She was so wet, her curly hair damp against my fingers the hand stuffed down her jeans explored her intimately.
"Stephen," she said, this time a whisper. She rocked against me, resting her head against my chest as I rubbed her quietly. Her hands found my jeans and unbuttoned them. My rhythm was interrupted for a moment as she slid her small hands down my jeans and started stroking my swollen member. I was rigid with desire. As I looked down, my dick looked massive in her small hands.
I resumed rubbing her pussy, her hands moving expertly up and down my dick. Like her I was slick with desire, and her hands moved softly, paying special attention to the head before sliding slowly back down. Her grip intensified suddenly and she stopped stroking. She shuddered and I realized, in completely shock, that my mom was coming.
She ground her body against me, writing and breathing in a shallow rattle. I kept rubbing and she resumed stroking me. She intensified her efforts now, and I felt her coming a second time, this time she let out a small moan as her body shuddered. She kept stroking, and I felt myself lose control. I came, my throbbing, swollen dick exploding in her hands. I sent pulsing jets of cum shooting upward, landing on her shirt in thick ropes. She kept a firm grip near the base of my shaft and kept stroking, causing me to continue to come hard in thick spurts. I had never come so much in my life.
And then it was over. Mom stepped back, casually wiping her cum-covered hands on her already splattered shirt and jeans. She looked down and my swollen dick, now softening slightly, as if seeing it for the first time.
"I'm going to shower," she said awkwardly, and quickly left the kitchen. I stood there, dumbstruck, the last drips of cum splattering onto the kitchen floor.
Chapter 2
It was strange enough rubbing your mom off while getting a handjob. I still couldn't wrap my head around it. But the awkwardness between us was the foremost concern on my mind. When we did interact it was in high-pitched, frenzied voices as we eagerly avoided the subject, and each other. Four days later I found myself reading a book in my room when I heard mom come home from work. It was Friday night, and normally we watched a movie and unwound from her long workweek and my week of college classes. I had been lucky to live at home during college and save some money. Now I was wishing that I had someplace else to go to avoid mom. Once you touch your mom's pussy, things change, it seemed.
I waited a while to go downstairs and found my mom in the kitchen. She was digging through the refrigerator for leftovers, our Friday usual dinner. She was wearing baggy pajama pants and a t-shirt, again a Friday usual.
"Hey mom," I said, startling her.
