When I heard my mother's high-pitched shriek I nearly shot straight up from the living room couch. It was a Saturday afternoon and Mom (whose name is Tara) had spent the afternoon in her flower garden. After coming in and gulping down a glass of water she said that she was going to have a long, hot bath. She lamented that she was grimy and her back ached and her legs were sore. That had been almost an hour ago. When I heard the shriek coming from her bedroom I ran up the stairs. Mom's bedroom door was ajar a few inches.
"Mom, what's wrong?" I called out, standing outside her bedroom.
"Come in... there's a spider in here, Luke," she said in a shaky voice.
I pushed my mother's bedroom door open and stepped inside. Mom was standing beside the bed. She had a mauve terry cloth bath sheet wrapped around her and was clutching the top part of it to her chest with her right hand. The soft towel hugged Mom's slender frame and hung down to her mid-thigh. Her damp black hair shimmered as it brushed over her bare shoulders. Her trembling left hand was extended and she was pointing to the floor, about a yard in front of me.
"I saw it run out from under the bed and go over there," she said, pointing.
Mom has arachnophobia. If there were a stronger word for it than just a phobia, that would have applied to her too. Occasionally she would encounter a spider in the garage or basement or while gardening. Her resulting scream of terror could practically be heard throughout the neighbourhood. That was a cue to come to her rescue and kill the creepy crawly.
Lying on the floor about a foot from my feet were a pair of green shorts and a t-shirt that Mom had worn gardening. I kicked them aside, searching for the spider. Beneath her t-shirt I discovered a pair of panties and bra. I tried to seem indifferent as I surveyed my mother's red panties and pink bra, taking note of the size of the cups which had held her firm breasts barely an hour earlier. From the corner of my eye I saw the spider scurry across the floor, running out from under a small wicker table beside the closet. It was black, perhaps two inches in size. I stepped on it and heard a faint crunch from under my sneaker. I lifted my foot and saw a small gooey wet spot on the hardwood floor.
"I got him," I said, turning towards my mother.
Mom gave a relieved sigh, still holding a fistful of the towel and pressing it to her damp chest. I looked at her bare skin, just above her unsteady hand. Beads of water were running down her shoulders and upper chest. Below that, I noticed the swell of her breasts pushing out at her tight towel and a few inches of deep, tanned cleavage above the towel. Mom's not built like some of the women I often see on websites, but she's got a nice figure. Her breasts are plenty big for my tastes -- definitely more than my hands could hold. Although that was just my assumption and unfortunately not something I knew from experience, or firsthand, so-to-speak. What really makes Mom stand out from other women are her sparkling green eyes and alluring smile. She has a natural beauty that she doesn't have to work at. She's slender, slightly over a hundred pounds, and a few inches above five feet. There's a lot of sex appeal packed into her petite body.
"Oh, thank god you killed the thing..." Mom sighed, then smiled. "Thanks, Honey."
Mom stepped over to me and draped her left arm around my shoulders. I felt her fist press against my chest as she hugged me, still clutching her towel with her right hand. I put my right arm around her bare shoulders and embraced her. Her damp skin was soft and I glided my hand down over her arm. Touching her made my cock even harder than it already was. I lowered my eyes to her chest, looking at her cleavage again and how her breasts were now pushed up slightly as she leaned on my chest. I could see almost half of them rising from the top edge of her towel. They were smooth, tanned and looked very firm. Girls half her age would have wished that theirs looked as nice as hers did. My eyes locked on them as I felt her left hip rub across my erection briefly -- probably just long enough for her to realize I was hard, I feared.
"I could have never slept tonight if you hadn't have killed that damn spider. I would have worried that he'd crawled into my bed." Mom let out a soft titter, seeming embarrassed by her anxiety.
As Mom laughed I felt her rub against my erection again. She froze for a moment, then slid her arm from around me and turned. She sat down on her bed and crossed her left leg over her right. I watched as her towel parted and slid off of her left knee, exposing most of her silky thigh. She looked up at me and for an moment I was sure I noticed a change in her expression as her eyes locked on the bulge in my jeans. I pushed my hands deep in the pockets, hoping to conceal my erection.
"Yeah, but you know, now his family and friends will come looking for him," I said. "When they find out that he's dead, they're going to be pissed at you. I'd sleep with one eye open if I were you." I let out a devilish chuckle as I waited for my mother's reaction.
Mom had taken a bottle of moisturizer from her night stand and was rubbing some over her bare leg. She looked up, giving me a worried look, then laughed. "Don't put things like that in my head, Luke. You know how terrified I am of spiders."
I smiled, watching Mom's hand glide up and down her smooth leg, spreading the milky lotion over her soft, smooth skin. It reminded me of semen and filled my mind with a myriad of lewd thoughts, all concerning her.
"Okay, now let me get dressed so I can go down and get something to eat," Mom said, looking up at me. She was smiling, but her expression changed slightly when she noticed me giving her leg a blatant stare.
I went back down to the kitchen and made myself a sandwich and some fries. I was eating when Mom joined me a while later. She had put on another pair of shorts and a t-shirt. I pretended not to notice her as she made herself a salad and a sandwich. The sight and sensations of her with only that towel around her sexy body as she hugged me earlier were still vivid in my mind though.
I spent part of the evening surfing the Internet in my room, then joined Mom in the living room to watch television for a while. She was sitting on a chair in the corner, legs crossed, flipping through a gardening magazine.
"What's on?" I asked as I sat down on the couch.
Mom looked up from the magazine on her lap and shrugged. "I haven't really been watching it. I've been looking at this." She held the magazine up for me to see the cover.
I sat on the couch and began flipping through channels until I found something interesting. Mom was engrossed in reading and looking at pictures of flowers as she sat silently across from me. It was pleasing to see her so contented. It had been a rough year for her. My father had run off with a younger woman he had met on the Internet close to ten months previous. Neither Mom nor I had any idea about his online activity until he announced his affair to Mom, then asked for a divorce. Mom was devastated. So was I. She blamed herself at first, rather than just accepting the fact that my father was a no-good, deceitful asshole. Eventually Mom came to realize that as much as it hurt, she was better off without a man whom she could not trust. My father moved to Michigan soon after that to be with his mistress and I seldom hear from him -- which is how I prefer it.
My father's absence was something that took a while to get used to. I had mixed feelings; I think that Mom did too. I love my father, but I hated him for betraying Mom. I felt torn in two. I'm sure it must have taken Mom a while to deal with her emotions too. For weeks she was despondent, then a promotion at the marketing firm she works for did a lot to boost her self-confidence and overall emotional well-being. She was busy settling-in to her new job and had little time to dwell on her divorce proceedings. Once spring came she could begin gardening (her favourite pass-time). It was as though she had emerged from a cocoon as a new person. I welcomed the metamorphosis.
Without my father around it meant that Mom and I spent a lot more time together and relied on one another more than ever for emotional support. As a result we became even closer than before. I began to consider it a blessing that my father had abandoned us. There were nights where Mom and I commiserated about what a prick my father was and others where she sobbed against my chest while I held her as we sat on the couch. Mom also began to rely on me in ways that she had not previously. Whether it was mundane tasks like changing light bulbs and taking the trash out, or asking my advice on household matters and car repairs, Mom began to depend on me more. This made me happy. I would be nineteen soon and gladly accepted any responsibility she saw fit to entrust me with.
Now that there was just me and Mom we became as much like friends as mother and son. This sea change resulted in me ultimately beginning to feel for her differently and notice her in ways I had not previously. After much inner turmoil and reflection I admitted to myself that my feelings for Mom had become sexual. I tried to assuage my guilt by convincing myself that anyone else in my shoes would feel exactly the same. Mom is a very lovely women and it's perfectly normal for any straight male to be sexually attracted to beautiful women like her. The twist of fate that made me her son did not exclude her from whatever part of my brain that decides who turns me on. I continued to ogle and fantasize about my mother without any guilt, telling myself that thoughts aren't illegal yet.
For the rest of that evening I watched television while Mom read her magazine. My eyes wandered over towards her occasionally, running up her shapely legs to her slightly conical breasts pushing out at her t-shirt. At one point she glanced up as I was looking at her. She smiled, then gave me a puzzled look.
"What?" she asked, probably wondering why I was looking her over.
"I was just thinking how good it is to see you happy for a change," I said.
"I lose all track of time when I'm gardening, or even reading about it," she said. "I want to get back out there tomorrow to plant some tulip bulbs and a few other things."
"Just watch out for spiders," I said, enjoying tormenting her. "They hide under warm rocks in the soil, you know."
Mom shuddered and gave me a worried look. "Oh, don't tell me that, Luke. My garden is the only place I don't worry about spiders."
I was still grinning, but I felt a pang of guilt for taunting Mom. I returned my attention to the television, although my thoughts remained on my mother. A few hours later she stretched and stood up.
"Time for bed," she announced. "I want to get up early tomorrow, before it's too hot out." Mom tossed her magazine on the coffee table and walked towards me.
"Have a good night," I said, looking up at her.
"You too, Honey," she replied.
Mom leaned down and placed her hand on my shoulder. Her silky hair grazed my neck and ear as she kissed my cheek. I smiled, enjoying the feeling of her soft lips pressed to me. I slid my left arm around her narrow waist, just above her shorts, and held her tight. She straightened her back, resting her hand on my shoulder, and smiled. Her eyes lingered on me and I kept my arm around her. After a few seconds I began to wonder what she was thinking as she looked into my eyes.
"What?" I asked.
"Oh, I was just thinking how lucky I am to have you around," she said.
"I'm sure you could find someone else to kill spiders for you if I wasn't," I joked.
Mom laughed, running her hand down between my shoulder blades. "No, I'm serious, Luke. I don't know how I would have gotten through this past year without you for support."
I shrugged. "It was mutual, Mom. We got through it together," I said.
Mom thought for a moment, then nodded. She sat down on the arm of the sofa and leaned on my shoulder, still resting her hand on my back. "I know I won't have you around forever -- you'll be starting college in the fall -- but when the time comes for you to move out, I'll be lost without you," she said.
