"Hey, baby," my mother greeted me as she always did as she brushed by me in the hallway that morning, "Get your shower and come-on to breakfast, we're running a little late."
Our morning routine had become a well-choreographed dance. We never needed alarm clocks since our bedrooms in the small apartment were we lived were next to each other. I had developed into a light enough sleeper that I would awaken to sound of her moving about in the morning. She always took here shower first and we'd exchanged our ritual morning kiss and hello. Like rumba dancers, we'd instinctively swing past each other in the cramped hallway with a kind of sixth sense we’d developed.
I adored my mother. She had taken care of me by herself ever since my dad had left one day to 'find himself' eight years ago and apparently had lost his way home. Without missing a beat, she went out and found work as a loan processor for a bank downtown and had since worked way up to underwriter, whatever that was. She rarely talked about him after that. All I know is I never went hungry or barefoot a day since 'dear old dad' left thanks to her. She worked hard and did a great job of raising me without a man around making sure I made it off to school before she'd race for her own bus and somehow managing to get home in the afternoon in time put together a meal for two. Nothing fancy, often just burgers on toast and fries, but it was important to her to be there for me at the beginning and the end of the day and I loved her for it. She was something else.
Maybe it was how are bodies made contact in the hallway that morning. Normally, we breezed through the apartment instinctively knowing each others moves voiding collisions. But this day was different. All fresh smelling from her shower as she made her way her way to the kitchen the heat from her just washed skin seemed to create an invisible, atmosphere that suspended the fragrance of her bath oils where only the deliberate rubbing of our bodies would unleash.
"Wow, you smell really nice today, Mama," I said out of reaction to the wonderful scent.
She paused and cocked her head a bit. A sheepish smile spread across her still moist lips. "Well aren't you sweet," she replied. The towel wrapped around her still damp head pulled her hair completely off her face. She glowed with genuine appreciation to my compliment.
I always loved to make her smile and wanted to see it again. Placing my hands squarely on her shoulders, I bent forward to take a long whiff of her neck.
"Mmmm, niice." I breathed. "What's it called?"
"Uh, 'Black Orchid', honey," she said slowly. At seventeen, I had sprouted up to 5' 10'' over the summer and I stood nearly a half-foot over her. I pulled back in amazement to see that her face had the look of a child opening a Christmas present. Her eyes had slit into a dreamy look and she took a long sucking breath through her teeth. Briefly, confused, I dropped my hands quickly to my sides but I remained transfixed by the effect of my actions upon her.
After a long pause, her eyes popped open and she seemed to spring back to life. Spinning her bare toes in the direction of the kitchen, she whisked off, "Enough flirting now. Get your shower and come eat, baby," she tossed over her shoulder.
As the smell of her dewy skin trailed away, I noticed something else that was out of the ordinary. Instead her usual terry robe Mama had chosen, perhaps in haste, to put one of my tee shirts after her bath. It was just a plain white tee with a Nike ‘Just Do It’ logo stitched over the heart. I usually bought them extra-large for a loose fit for basketball, but her body filled it out in ways that my wiry frame never could. She would be thirty-six in August, exactly twice my age, but it was apparent that all those years of running for busses and climbing the four flights of stairs to our flat allowed her to maintain admirably fit body.
Mama was a fairly modest lady. She would wrap the bathrobe around her body so that she would be mostly covered. However, when she would reach across the kitchen table at breakfast and I would sometimes be treated to a brief view of her ample 34D cleavage. Thanks to pull of gravity, the tops of her breasts would spill forward held in place only by the 'V' in the neckline. Now dressed in my tee shirt, though no skin was visible, her breasts strained against the thin white fabric as if she were smuggling a pair of succulent ripe melons. Her smooth tapered legs and well formed calves thrust from the hem, alternately flashing a warm cocoa-brown as the natural light in the hallway bounced off them. My eyes fixed upon a nicely shaped upturned booty, now uncamouflaged by the bulk of terry cloth, swaying as she disappeared into the kitchen. I was almost embarrassed to find myself looking upon my mother as a woman but my dick didn’t seem to share my feelings of guilt. The reactionary swelling of my still teen-age rod began to bulge my briefs out into a noticeable tent.
I quickly made my way to the bathroom and closed the door behind me. The reaction of seeing such a luscious ass and legs so soon after getting out bed was just too much. After straining to free my swollen rod from it from its 50-50 cotton-poly shroud, the chubby flesh sprung out and plopped against my flat stomach. The mushroom head was aimed at me like a cocked pistol and the edges of slit forming the pee-hole turned up in a sardonic smile.
"Damn," I thought, "Did Mama notice my dick was hard?" My adolescent mind then began to ring up thoughts like a cash register, "Did I fuck up grabbing her like that?" "Did she feel me staring at her ass?" "What could she be thinking now?"
I pulled a towel from the rack over the tub and began soaking it under a stream of warm water in the sink. "This ain't good", I thought. I had been getting involuntary hard-ons since I was nine but, until now, I could manage to conceal my peanut sized erections from her. But now that my dick had stretched out to an 9 inch ebony baton thanks to almost nightly beat-offs and almost as regular 'fuck and runs' with Tamia Hill, a juicy assed, if butt-ugly, girl I'd known since grade school in the back stairwell, it was becoming a challenge. As I lathered up my lower torso and ran a soapy hand towel over my erection, the thought of what Mama must look like under that tee shirt caused my stiffy to throb painfully. As continued to scrub my chub, the fully engorged purplish bulb swelled as I squeezed and stroked the shaft. Thankfully, it seemed too be enough to bring the swelling down enough to fold it over double and stuff back into my shorts.
As I prepared to hang my towel behind the door, I saw that Mama had left her familiar robe on the same hook. I draped the towel over it and smoothed them both down to allow the door to open fully. Peeking from one of the robe's pockets was a dainty, pink-colored brassiere and, stuffed deeper inside, a matching pair of silken panties. I gently rolled the satiny material between my fingers enjoying their smooth, slippery feel. My mouth began to water as I mischievously contemplated taking a quick sniff. “What the fuck?” I thought and I pressed the silken cloth to my nostrils and inhaled. The spicy, sweet aroma of residual womanhood imbedded in the fabric made me delightfully light-headed. Coupled with the image of what I had just seen in the hall, I felt myself experiencing another sensory overload. I felt my dick stir again but this time I reached down with my free hand and pulled the waist band of my underwear down past my hips and set it free.
I resigned myself to going to hell for lusting after my own mother and began to flick the pimply flesh on the crown of my dick. I imagined that I could probably stroke my self to orgasm just on the mental image of her ass alone.
As I pumped away, hoping to squeeze off a quick one before breakfast I wondered, “Why no bra this morning?", and, “Why did she choose wear one of my tee shirts instead of her favorite and familiar robe?” “Naw, that can't be it”, I thought. “Did she want me to see her like that? Naaww! She couldn't have been cock-teasing her own son, could she?”
I caught a glance of myself in the mirror over the sink and began to assess myself. I was only eighteen, but I had matured noticeably over the past year. I had lost a lot of my 'baby fat' and, thanks to marathon b-balling sessions at the neighborhood court, my torso was lean and cut. Even my face had lost its childish look and become more angular. Perhaps that's what Mama saw in the hallway. Her little boy was becoming a man and the thought of her approval was enough to bring my swollen balls to a full boil. With a few more tight fisted pumps my hips bucked as I launched a creamy load of juice into the bathroom sink. I lurched forward as I lunged into my mother’s phantom pussy plopping globs of pearly sperm into the sink. Staring into the now steamed over mirror I watched my orgasm-contorted face return to normal. With a sigh, I turned on the sink’s hot water spigot and watched, mournfully, as the expulsion swirled down the drain.
"Raaayymoooond!" I heard Mama's voice sing from the outer side of the closed door. "Hurry up, baby! Breakfast is getting cold!"
Jolted from my sexual stupor, it was now back-to-reality time. Stuffing the bra and panties back into the robe pocket, I quickly hiked up my drawers and snatched a pair of baggy jeans I had laid out on bathtub drying rack the night before.
"Be right out, Mama!" I responded, clumsily hopping on one leg in the confines of the tiny room. Without thinking I asked, “Have you seen the white shirt I had hung up in here?"
There was an awkward silence and then, "Oh!" came the muffled reply. “I just threw it on. I didn't realize you were going to wear it today."
"That's OK," I called back.
"Just hand out my robe, will you?" she responded. "And get a move on. It’s almost 8 o' clock."
Sensing her urgency, I quickly pulled the robe from the hook on the door and threw the door open to hand it out to her.
I wasn't ready for what I saw on the other side.
My mother totally was naked from the neck down doing what could only be described as a frantic hoochie-coochie dance in the hallway. While I was handing out her robe, she in-turn must have decided at the same time to give back my tee shirt. Assuming I would crack open the door just enough to hand it out to her, she decided to take the shirt off for the swap. As the door swung open, she had managed to roll the shirt above her breasts and was struggling to stretch the collar over her head. She apparently hadn't compensated for the towel she still had wrapped around her wet hair. In her apparent struggle to free herself, she definitely wasn't aware that her son was now standing in front of her in half amusement...and half amazement at the vision before him.
Mama's hips were wide in portion to upper body but well balanced by a pair of full, round titties that bounced softly in the light now flooding the hall. She had marble-size nipples nestled atop chocolate cookie sized areolas. Her lower belly was smooth with just a hint of 'pooch'. A triangle of black curls covered a place that I'd visited only once before in my life.
With a final tug she finally managed to pop the neck of the tee-shirt over her head and with it the towel wrap. Her damp curly hair, the exact same texture as the curly bush between her legs, burst forth and cascaded around her shoulders and into her face.
"Whew...shit!" she yelped, having almost suffocated herself. "Ray," she called, still not realizing the bathroom door stood wide open, "Here's your shirt. My robe, please."
She gasped and froze as bundled shirt and towel she thrust forwarded didn't hit the hardwood door, but instead, smacked squarely into the softer flesh of my chest. With her free hand she pulled and hair from her eyes blinking and squinting from the light from the bath. As her eyes began to focus, I could see by the slow nodding motion of her head that she was taking my practically naked silhouette in. I could make out her lips mouthing the words, "Daaaaaamn."
"I'm sorry, Mom", I said.
