Mom's Errant Panties

Author's Notes:

Everyone in this story is eighteen years or older.

Trigger Warning: In addition to the obvious incest, there are brief mentions of things that some might find uncomfortable, like

suicide

and

sex trafficking

. While those topics are only briefly mentioned, and not explored in any meaningful way, I didn't want anyone sensitive to such things to be surprised when they happened upon the words.

Tumescence Warning: I really don't want to waste the time of anyone kind enough to read my story, so I need to apologize and redirect you elsewhere if you're looking for a quick fix as this probably isn't it. This started out as my initial attempt at erotica and turned into a story with characters I cared about. I know that's not really what most people come here looking for, so I hope you'll forgive the brief journey required to get to the naughty bits.

If you're motivated to offer constructive criticism, I would welcome it.

Mom's Errant Panties

(How A Wardrobe Malfunction Saved My Family)

** 1 /**

My unorthodox story began about two and a half decades ago when a high school cheerleader noticed a guy in the astronomy club.

That guy was my father, and he was a nerd.

Mom, the afore mentioned cheerleader, was rejected twice by my nerdy father, forcing her to take drastic steps in order to spend time with him. They eventually fell in love, got pregnant (probably not in that order, but I like to pretend it was), and got married.

My twin sisters were born a few months after my parent's wedding, and I came on the scene three years later.

I am a nerd, like my father before me. Dad had been a nerd before it was cool, though.

...cool, might not be the right word, I suppose, as being labeled a nerd nowadays doesn't exactly punch your ticket to Pound Town, but the world's dependency on nerds to keep their Tweets and Grams TikToking, has noticeably improved the general perception.

Dad was in the astronomy club, computer club, and played a major role in making their school one of the earliest STEM adopters.

Mom became aware of Dad's existence when she was paired with him for a lab in their chemistry class. The assignment was to build a lead storage battery.

While my mother was doing her best to show my dad how uninterested she was in him and the project, he built the battery and then used it to power a rudimentary heart monitor he assembled from parts he found in the classroom.

Mom says it was his authenticity that surprised her, daring to be unapologetically passionate about something as uncool as electronics. When he held the sensor to her wrist and they watched her heartrate double in response to his touch, that's when she says she knew he was the one.

Whether she'd actually had that romantic intuition at the moment or decided she did after the fact, I don't know, but it was the moment that prompted her to ask Dad if he wanted to hang out after school, but he turned her down, stating he had to attend astronomy club.

A week or so later, she went to his house to extend him an invitation to the upcoming Sadie Hawkins dance, which is when she was turned down by Dad's dad before she even got to present him with the candy-themed invitation she'd prepared.

Fred Savage (Dad's dad) was a Baptist minister, and Pastor Savage forbade dating outside the faith. While he'd refused to let his son go to the dance and listen to worldly music with my mother, he did quiz her about the state of her salvation.

Mom and Dad disagree about how gracefully she declined a subsequent invitation from Pastor Savage to attend church, but there's little discrepancy in their recollection of what Mom did after that.

She joined the astronomy club, something she had zero interest in, just so she could spend time with my dad, the nerd who'd captured her heart when he'd taken her pulse.

Dad resisted Mom's flirting for all of ten minutes before she was able to lure him away from the club activities to study the stars in private.

I don't think they found many constellations, but they seemed to locate the Big Dipper okay, because my older sisters were born about five months after our parents graduated high school, much to the chagrin of Pastor Fred Savage.

I've never actually met him and don't plan to. The miserable old zealot couldn't even swallow his pride long enough to attend his son's funeral.

Dad believed he married up and he used to tell us kids as much all the time. Mom would always act like she didn't know what he was talking about, and they'd invariably end up all kissy-feely.

I acted Like I hated their PDA, but I didn't. I loved how much they loved each other, and I knew it was something I wanted for myself even before I understood what "it" was.

Dad wasn't a bad looking guy by any means. His yearbook picture always reminds me of Edward Norton in Fight Club, before the actual fighting when he's still all corporate and wearing white shirts and ties.

Mom, on the other hand, was absolutely stunning, and she still is.

Seriously! You'd notice her in passing, and you might even do that raised eyebrows,

Oh My God-

expression thing guys do when they spot creatures like her in the wild. I've seen it happen and it used to bother me.

Every kid wants their mother to be the pretty mom, even if they don't know why it matters to them. Similarly, they want to believe that their dad can beat up everyone else's dad.

My dad was cool in his own right... not really sure how he'd fair in a dad brawl, but I can say definitively that I grew up with the prettiest mom around, and it was a fine thing, up to the point my peers started hitting puberty and then I saw how it could also be a liability--even painful.

I've always had a difficult time making friends, so when the popular boys in my seventh-grade class began inviting me to hang out with them, I was elated. I was more than happy to host a sleepover when they suggested that a few weeks later.

We played video games, and I showed them some of the projects I was working on. When we all got hungry, Mom went out to get us pizza, which is when they took turns distracting me while they snuck into her room and stole her underwear.

I didn't understand why they wanted them. I guess I was a late bloomer, but I thought that if a few pairs of panties were the price of having friends, Mom could get more. How expensive could they be?

Even if I didn't understand what the appeal was, I definitely knew it was fucked up when those "friends" started showing the panties to other kids at school, carrying them in their pockets like trophies and claiming they were gifts from my mother.

Realizing they weren't actually my friends was a kick in the nuts, but I eventually got used to being friendless. Not standing up for Mom, however... I'd give anything for a redo on that one.

My childhood memories of my father are often framed in a surreal, laboratory-like setting with arcing bolts of cobalt-blue electricity snapping between experimental energy components that powered the supercomputers he worked on.

It wasn't like that at all, of course, it was really just an unfinished basement with a cement floor and exposed two-by-fours that Dad never got around to covering with drywall.

He had a desk down there, which was just a foldable card table holding his computer and tall piles of random electrical components that likely exceeded the flimsy table's weight allowance many times over.

He eventually set up a computer for me too, right next to his on a little desk made of 2x8 boards and cinder blocks. He even installed all sorts of games for me, which was exciting until I realized that none of them worked very well.

He always answered questions with questions. If I asked why a game stopped working or wouldn't load in the first place, he'd ask me questions related to the cause of the problem

(At what point does it stop working? Have I checked error messages and event logs? Are there enough available system resources? etc.).

It was irritating, but I eventually caught on to the fact that he was intentionally breaking the games to teach me how to think analytically, showing me how to reduce the seemingly impossible problems into bite-sized variables.

Eventually, when I started fixing them on my own, I realized that the functional games were just a consolation prize; his praise was the real reward.

I was ten when he was killed in Afghanistan.

He wasn't in the military; he was just assisting the restoration efforts as a civilian contractor when an IED...

You know how that narrative goes. Suffice it to say, it was a closed casket.

I found out on a Tuesday.

I was pulled out of school to receive the news and wanted to be taken to see my mother, but that wasn't possible because she'd had a complete psychotic break in the wake of hearing the news, which rendered her catatonic for nearly two weeks.

I didn't take it much better, nor did I react well to Mom being unavailable in the immediate aftermath.

It wasn't her fault, of course, but I was so mad at her for not being available that I treated her like it was, even suggesting at one point that Dad would be alive if she hadn't let him go.

Believe me, I know that I was a complete ass! It was a horrible thing to say, but I was ten and I loved my dad. That he could simply stop being there was a proposition I just found unacceptable.

I'm as tall now as he was then, but in my memories he's

a giant with one eye enlarged to a comical size by the magnification headgear he wore when he tinkered on small things.

Following in Dad's nerdy footsteps, his hobbies became my hobbies, and I continued to tinker with electronics and work with computers after he died. Doing so kind of made it feel like he was still around, and eventually had the added benefit of putting cash in my pocket.

I used to fix cellphones and computers, mostly for relatives and a few people they referred to me. Lately, I've been buying a lot of broken electronics in bulk, fixing them up, and then reselling them online.

It's amazing what people will pay for functional nostalgia, and you never have to meet them when you're conducting business through the mail.

I'm uncomfortable around strangers. I never did get the hang of socializing with peers and making friends. And, when the opportunity presented itself, I opted into a 100% remote learning program that was offered after my seventh-grade year.

For a while, I thought these no-contact situations I'd set up for myself were good things, even victories, but being almost completely isolated from people these last few years has turned me into a bit of a recluse.

I can fake my way through virtual classroom interactions and the exchange of pleasantries at a cash register without much problem, but one-on-one conversations with people I don't know, feel weird and I try to avoid them whenever possible.

While I won't get my diploma for a couple months, I already have enough credits to graduate high school, but I promised Mom I'd walk at the graduation ceremony; something she thinks would be a healthy milestone for a

basement hermit.

Mom's a little too proud of that moniker, she created, and uses it way too often.

So, that's the only reason I'm still technically in school, but I couldn't tell you which classes I'm taking this semester.

We all moved out of my childhood home with the unfinished basement about six months after Dad passed. The life insurance money afforded us the opportunity to upgrade to a better neighborhood, but I think I understood, even then, that it was more about moving away from the constant, painful reminders of the old house.

That was a little over eight years ago. It's just Mom and me, now.

We live in a house that's way too big for two people. She hasn't remarried, nor has she dated anyone. For the first couple years after Dad passed, she barely came out of her room.

She's in a better place nowadays, but things went pretty far south there for a while, and she may not be out of the woods yet.

Mom's love life has not been an open topic for conversation, but she's never felt that way about mine. All theories, questions, and inferences were fair game when it came to me in that regard.

Apparently, I was even gay for a minute.

I was oblivious to my homosexuality, but Mom knew.

It took me way longer than it should have to understand why she was asking me what I thought of guys in the shows we occasionally watched together.

I think she wanted me to like Aaron Paul from Breaking Bad, for example. While I was trying to figure out if Jesse was going to kill Walt, she was talking about his lips and asking me what I thought of his jawline.

I couldn't tell you when or why Mom decided I prefer cock, but she seemed to believe it up to the point she discovered Kikko.

That discovery probably created a few new concerns for her, but she hasn't actually acknowledged that she knows about my synthetic girlfriend.

Kikko is a life-sized, anatomically correct, fuck doll that lives in my closet. She has realistic-feeling skin, an internal heater to make her feel like a person, and three functional orifices that can be removed for cleaning.

Kikko was very expensive, came with official relationship documents, and I'm no longer able to fuck her.

It was weird getting in the right headspace to fuck her when I could, but now that someone knows I'm fucking her... yeah, that party's over.

I haven't tossed her out yet, but that's only because the lost investment is a pill too bitter to swallow. I suppose there are probably second-hand markets for such things, but the idea of someone else banging my plastic ex invokes a peculiar jealousy I can't explain or dismiss.

Anyway, even though I'm not allowed to ask Mom about her love life, I'd been suspicious that she was having one-night stands, and honestly, I'd hoped I was right. She deserved to have some fun, and if it led to a long-term relationship, that would be a bonus.

On occasion, she goes to the club with a couple of single ladies from the neighborhood. She says she's just going dancing with friends, but she dresses like she wants someone to notice her.

There have been two such weekends where she didn't come home until around noon the following day. The last time she did this, I made sure I was sipping coffee in the kitchen when she walked in, giving her a knowing look and asking if she'd had fun.

I'd intended the encounter to be a light-hearted way of broaching the subject of her dating again, but it backfired on me big time. She seemed to take what I was implying as a personal accusation, angrily explaining that she'd simply fallen asleep at her friend's house after the club.

I told her it didn't matter what she was doing, and that I really did hope she had fun.

She started crying, called me an insensitive jerk, and spent the rest of the day in her room.

Things with Mom are very complicated, and you should know about her two near death experiences, but I mentioned my twin sisters before, and while I used to tell people they died during botched lobotomies, the truth is they're still around and eventually play a role in all of this.

Amy and Ashely were conceived during Astronomy Club, as I mentioned earlier. I'd like to think I would have come along anyway, but the way Mom tells it, Dad might have gone into the ministry if they'd not been expecting. So, I might owe my existence to that positive pregnancy test.

The twins got Mom's looks and while I'd never found either one to be particularly brilliant, they did get the better of me more times than I can count, so I'd be saying something about myself if I claimed they were stupid. They were definitely smart enough to know how to use their looks to their advantage.

On more than one occasion, when one or both of my sisters were supposed to be watching me, I was left in the care of some friend-zoned, sycophantic boy that probably believed his surrogate babysitting duties would net him a blowjob or at least some titty time.

I was resentful at being left with a stranger and was largely unkind to them, but in hindsight, I feel kind of bad for the naïve bastards, watching their obsequious little faces all twitterpated as my sisters flirted their way out the door in route to give the blowjob and titty time to someone with more social currency.

Amy and Ashley went off to college about the time I started high school. I don't know exactly how they managed to graduate, let alone gain admittance to the state University, as I never saw them doing homework or studying. I assumed some sort of slurpy, fucky, quid pro quo was involved, but what do I know? However they managed it, it got them out of the house and gave me room to spread out so win/win, I guess.

They came home for the holidays once, the first year after they moved out, but appearances became increasingly rare after that, which I was fine with, but I hated seeing how it affected our mother. I think she might have actually liked them.

With my only siblings gone, the entire basement has been pretty much mine. Unlike my childhood home, the new house's basement is fully finished with wall-to-wall carpeting and paint, and I've spread out over the last couple years to occupy most of it.

Picking up where Dad left off, the accoutrements of my various hobbies and interests are scattered around in a fashion that might appear chaotic to the untrained eye, but is, in fact, a calculated system that helps me keep my side hustles organized and separate from the things I tinker with for fun.

Because school is no longer a concern, I have a lot of free time. I fill a lot of that time with my hobby/side-hustle: restoring and upgrading obsolete technology to like-new conditions.

I make a little money from the videos I post on YouTube about the restoration process, but the bulk of my income is from buying broken electronics, fixing/upgrading them and then reselling them online. I keep some things for myself.

I've got some banger, now mint condition, early 80's arcade cabinets that I'm pretty proud of. I had to dip my toe into carpentry to get those looking perfect, but they're worth a good chunk of change. I'd have a hard time selling them, though, because they were Dad's favorites.

He used to take me to an arcade where all the games were a nickel after you paid an entrance fee. I always went for the newer stuff that dispensed tickets so I could trade them in for prizes or candy, but I knew where to go to find Dad when I ran out of nickels. Having his go to classic arcade games along my basement wall, silently looping their demos, feels like having a piece of him around.

For reasons that will soon become clear, I don't think Dad would like me much if he were still around, but I sure miss him.

When I'm not gaming or tinkering, I indulge my pornography addiction. I have a couple terabytes of categorized smut on my redundant storage array, but most of it is high-resolution video I paid for.

I won't apologize. I love the female form and I'm a complete sucker for a shapely

booty. I part ways with Sir Mix-a-Lot on size requirements, but I love well-manicured backsides, and I cannot lie.

But enough about me. I'd rather tell you about my mother.

My sisters and I were allowed to go live with Mom again about two months after Dad passed. She remained catatonic for twelve days while under observation at Lincoln Behavioral and Mental Health, and she had to be retold about her husband's passing when she came out of it. Imagine that hell!

The poor woman didn't regress to a catatonic state upon hearing the news for the first time, again... but she remained under psychological evaluation for another two weeks on heavy medication.