**Disclaimer: This story is entirely fiction, a work of taboo fantasy. If you find something too realistic, good, if not, well, it's fantasy and part of that is that it isn't realistic. For all the rest of you, enjoy. Everyone in the story is over 18.**
*****
"Let's go," I heard my mother say as I finished packing my duffel. I zipped it up and ran through the house, telling my kid brothers bye and yelling bye to my dad as I hopped in mom's suburban.
It was 2004; I had just turned 18 a few months before summer, and then graduated, and the world was my oyster. I had talked to Army recruiters, college recruiters, and submitted scholarship applications. The summer was young though, and my mom had suggested that since I didn't have a job yet, I should spend the weekend with her in Los Angeles at a trade convention. She sold books to libraries and schools on behalf of a large publisher, and although it wasn't really in line with her dream of being a nature writer and photographer, it gave her opportunity to network while she wrote columns part time for local papers and magazines on a contract basis.
My mom and I had a great relationship. I was 18, and liked to have a good time with my friends, but I wasn't irresponsible or a party animal. My dad was pretty much absent with work, even when he was home, and so mom and I had a very "friend" like relationship that had been fostered by his absenteeism my last few years of high school. On the way to LA, about a two hour drive, we talked about everything under the sun from a beach day, to a some of the saltier or crazier people we'd meet at the trade con, to her marriage to my dad and some of the benefits and disappointments. Over the years, I had noticed the "cons" list get longer and the "benefits" get shorter. Worked into the conversation were a lot of jokes and wise cracks, one of our mutually exchanged stress relievers, or go-tos when the conversation got too heavy.
We stopped to get drinks at our favorite drive in, and then went to a friend's house to spend the weekend. She was a successful author that went to college with my mom, and we were staying with her rather than get an expensive hotel on a tradeshow weekend.
It was an impressive house in a great suburb of LA. Mom's friend was fairly eccentric, as authors can be, and proceeded to give us guest codes for the front gate for the weekend, show us our rooms, and then left for a fundraiser for a local politician.
The house was split into two, one wing being Linda's house and the other being the guest portion with three bedrooms and a bathroom, a kitchenette, and a living room. The two joined in the middle by what can only be described as a small but impressive ballroom. It seemed rather gaudy, even for a successful author.
"She wrote a really successful book while we were in college, and bought this before the neighborhood really took off. This house is her retirement plan, she's expanded it like six times on the equity of her property." My mom sighed after she told me. I could tell there was some disappointment in her tone.
That night there was a dinner party for my mom's publishing company and some of their customers, and she dressed to the nines. I was really taken back by her when she walked out of her room. She had on a blue lace dress that was ankle length and sleeveless. It was modest, very seemly for a woman of 42, but it hugged her form in all the right places. I had never seen her dressed up like she was, and I knew she was pretty but I was having a hard time swallowing just how gorgeous my own mother was.
The dinner party was a mostly boring affair for me. Some skanky cougars were there, with their husbands of course, so I stuck pretty close to mom for the duration of it. She had a few glasses of wine and she was chatting up a guy who was in charge of purchasing for a large University Library in Burbank.
At one point, the visiting VP of Marketing for my mom's company wanted to show a video highlighting one of the new textbook lines they were publishing. It was pretty boring, and my mom had had a few glasses of wine and was pretty goofy about the whole thing. She'd lean over and make jokes or puns quietly, putting her hand on my thigh when she wanted my attention. She'd whisper it in my ear and then giggle, but after a while her fingers started getting fairly high up my thigh.
I mentioned before that I'd known my mom was pretty- green eyes, nut brown hair, and a curvy 5'-4" tall with some "baby fat" in her stomach and a little extra padding in her posterior. That hadn't prepared me for "Mom dressed for a night out," or her soft, pretty fingers running up my thigh.
The video lasted about fifteen minutes, and ended not a moment too soon. I was rather confused and irritated with myself... I had had to fight off, then hide, an erection caused by my own mom! She got up and mingled a little more, and I sat down for a few minutes acting disinterested, but really trying to wait out my traitorous dick.
My mom was discussing something with her boss when I went back to the main banquet room, and it was getting heated. Her boss was a little shit of a man, a napoleon complex little man who had made some bad calls that my mom fixed and made him look bad. He was the nephew of a guy who was on the board of directors, so firing him was problematic, but he had taken to passive aggressively taking swipes at my mom. It sounded like they'd moved past that, and he was just berating her... quietly of course, knowing that she was too polite in mixed company to retort. The only way I knew was her face; I had seen it when she tried to keep her cool all too many times before.
He stopped (of course) when I walked up, and said "Just some things to think about, have a great night. Get back to me before the convention opens up tomorrow."
"Sure," my mom said through a forced grin, and raised her wine glass slightly in a gesture of faux politeness as he turned away. "What a windbag asshole," she whispered to me as he engaged with another client, and she threw back the last bit of wine in her glass. "Let's go, I have to get out of here now." She was on the verge of tears, and I could see it. I grabbed her purse and escorted her out.
When we got to the truck I opened her door, and by the time I got to my door she was on the phone trying to talk to my dad. Before we were on the freeway, she had hung up.
"He's too busy, he said to call him back at 11. He knows I have to be up early, but apparently Jack is over for a few drinks tonight because his wife is out too."
Mom stewed the rest of the way to Linda's house, and when I asked what exactly had happened she told me not to worry about it that it was too much to stress me out with. I simply said "OK," and when we got to Linda's house I walked with mom over to our side of the house.
"Just so you know," I started, trying to make her feel better, "You looked really ravishing tonight."
"Ravishing, huh?" she replied with a smile, "I'm your mother!"
"I meant simply, stunning. Beautiful. Is ravishing bad?"
"It's something you tend to say to a lover. But thank you, son. I love you. I'm going to call your father. I need to vent."
I said goodnight, and went to my room and turned the TV on.
A few minutes later, I could hear her crying. She wasn't on the phone anymore, and all I could hear were her sobs through the wall. I went and knocked on her door before letting myself in.
She was sitting at the end of the bed crying.
"He doesn't listen, he doesn't care, he makes it obvious. I can't believe how absent he is, just when I think he can't be any more he goes and surprises me."
I leaned up on the footboard and rubbed her back and listened. As she began to vent, she reached over and grabbed my free hand. She talked about everything she had refrained from discussing on the way home and then some. How her boss was setting her up to get fired by putting impossible sales quotas in place, how my dad just thought she should be a mom and wife and treated her career like it was a joke or convenient escape for her, etc.
She leaned her head on my shoulder as I rubbed her back and shoulders, and unloaded her sorrows on me. I would occasionally stop and give her a hug. She kept talking, and I kept listening. I gave her as much feedback as an 18 year old with no real world experience could, and she had finally quit crying. As she calmed down and we talked, I couldn't help but be distracted by how gorgeous she really looked that night. She was leaning on me, and so her heels stuck out from her ankle-length dress and I could see she was wearing stockings. Her arms and back were soft and smooth under my fingers as I hugged her or rubbed her shoulders and back. I snapped back to reality, angry at myself for letting my brain be out-thought by my dick.
"You hit a knot in my back, would you mind rubbing it a little harder?" she asked. All too quickly I jumped at it, and before I could stop myself I was kneading her smooth back with my thumbs trying to find the knot. She directed me to it, and after a few minutes of massage said "That feels really good, son."
The discussion turned from the weekend's specific issues to her marriage, and how disinterested my dad had been in her and how she couldn't even get his attention. I wanted to scream, I was 18 and fighting to hide a raging hard on from touching my mother.
At some point, there was nothing left to say. I stopped rubbing her back and said all I could say. "I'm sorry, mamma."
"It's ok. Thank you for listening. I love you." She leaned in and cuddled her head under my chin. I put my arm around her and couldn't help but feel- really feel- her smooth, soft arm under my fingers.
"Dad is an idiot," I blurted out, "for ignoring someone as caring and pretty as you are."
"You really think so, baby?" she asked back. My heart was racing. I told mom she was pretty, but I had never done it with an erection.
