AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story is a reupload, with some mild editing to fix grammatical errors and make it flow better. Part 2 will be up soon/is already up, I sincerely hope you all enjoy.
*****
Nostalgia flowed through me as I drove down the bumpy suburban road to my childhood home, finding familiarity in the trees lining the road like towering street lamps. I was fresh off the high of finishing my final year of university, and was looking forward to some much needed unwinding time now that exams were over.
As they passed me by, I recognized all the streets I played games on as a kid, everything from road hockey to capture the flag, and I got chills realizing how long ago that was.
"Home at last, Sean." I sighed to myself, fondly reminiscing in the memories I had of this place.
My Mom had promised to pamper me to my heart's content if I came to see her the very day I finished; she hadn't seen me in months and I knew she missed me. Donald, my Father, probably missed me too, but I'll be damned if he ever said anything about it to my face.
It's not that we weren't a loving family, my sister Lucy and I got along as well as most siblings would with their immature 18 year old sisters.
Sadly, it was my Dad's distant nature that caused him to be a transparent part of my life. All my life he had been a workhorse, even missed a few birthdays when we were kids, but our Mom was always there, nothing could keep Sophie from loving her children!
A woman as inexplicably selfless as my Mother could only ever do what was best for others. I'd met compassionate women before, but not many of them would ditch makeup for weeks at a time just so she could use the extra few minutes to make us eggs instead of cereal. But then again, none of
them
gave birth to me. Displaying her natural beauty never fazed Sophie, as long as her kids were happy she felt more love than she could handle.
Mom didn't need the makeup, truthfully. She looked smashing in a tight dress, my particular favourite being a knee-length little red number she'd worn to my graduation. It perfectly offset the shimmery, dirty blonde head of hair she kept neatly framed around her face in a typical "mom-style" swoop.
Just as I pulled up the driveway, my Dad was getting into his Mercedes without a care in the world. So much so that I almost went completely unnoticed as he reversed his vehicle.
"Brakes, Dad, brakes!" I called to him, stepping into the path of his rear-view window hoping I'd be noticed before he backed over me. Red lights flooded my eyes and the car came to an abrupt halt.
My Dad stepped out of the car and greeted me with a quick hug. "It's so good to see you, Son!" He was already shuffling back to his car before I had a chance to reciprocate the greeting. "Listen, I've got an important client to close this afternoon so I've gotta jet. You're gonna be around all night, right?"
"I mean, I guess so?" I exclaimed, hurt that he was leaving in such a hurry. "I didn't think you were still busy like this? All the time, that is, Mom said-."
"I know, I know, your Mother had similar complaints the other week." He scratched his head in frustration. "And the week before that, and the month before
that
, you know how she is."
"Uh, yeah I guess I do?" I replied mindlessly, questioning whether or not I really did know 'how my Mother was'.
He apologized and promised to make it up to me, but knowing Dad it was never gonna happen. I let him run off and grab an armful of my stuff to bring inside; mostly dirty laundry I'd been too neglectful to finish.
Unfortunately, that meant I'd whittled my way down to my last pair of clean pants, and was left with the tightest pair I owned. With all the subtlety of a forest fire, I fumbled around my crotch hoping to realign my dick so it didn't have such an obvious outline through my pants.
Inside, the house smelled just as sweet as I'd always remembered it; vanilla wafting through the halls and greeting me like an old friend at the front door, carrying over a distinct maple scent as well, leading me to believe someone was making waffles.
I shut the door and didn't even have to call out for someone to greet me; Mom's adorable bare feet patted on the hardwood as she raced around the corner, eyes lighting up when she saw I'd made it home safe.
"My baby is finally home!" She squealed like she'd just won the lottery, extending her arms for a hug from across the room. "Lucy, your brother is home!"
Seconds later Mom barrelled into me like a linebacker, hugging me in a ferociously loving grip. "I missed you too, Mom." I laughed some she breathed out a sigh of relief she felt like she had held in since I left.
"How was school? Was the drive home okay? I'm so happy you're home, do you want me to make you something to eat?" She barraged me with questions like a concerned mother naturally would.
A fairly petite woman, my Mother stood just above 5 feet, but her giant-sized attitude gave the impression she'd been a military commander in a past life. Her blonde hair flowed like waves down to her shoulders, tucked behind her ears to keep it away from her eyes when she didn't have it up in a red bow: her trademark.
I'll be the first to admit it, my Mother kept her body in great condition. Years and years of motherly duties had taken away from her gym time, but she still had the curves to knock a weak man to the floor, even with a body type that resembled a plump pixie more than a warrior. She was still determined to lose some more weight to hit her target, but I always insisted she didn't need to.
There was a subtle, yet undeniable chubby side to her, but then again twig thin mothers don't look like they can cook, and my Mom was a master chef. Her skin was smooth as glass, save for the tiny peach fuzz on her arms and, if I'm not mistaken, thousands of tiny goosebumps.
She reluctantly pulled away from our hug and looked up at me. "I'm really happy you're home, Sean." Her eyes were scouring my face trying to memorize every detail and see if something had changed, and I watched in awe as the dark blue circles gazed into mine. "Really, really happy."
My Mom kissed my cheek and called for Lucy one last time, ordering her to help me unpack my arsenal of clothes and what not. When she didn't get a reply back, we decided to just unpack the car ourselves rather than continue to bug my little sister.
Little is a relative term, I suppose, since she was technically an adult at 18, but she always felt little to me.
"Let me help you, sweetie." Mom urges in her sweet tome, reminding me why I used to love listening to her voice as a kid. It had a calmness about it I was drawn to, a comforting melody I loved to be serenaded by.
"Thanks, Mum." I handed her the lightest bag I had: my backpack. She insisted she carry more, but I declined since I didn't want her to get hurt carrying some of the heavier stuff.
"You know, stud, your Mother used to be quite the heavy lifter." She flexed her arms jokingly, pointing them outward from her chest like she was imitating Arnold Schwarzenegger. What she didn't know, and what I was abundantly aware of, was the mountain of cleavage she created when she pushed her boobs together.
With an adorable laugh that made the hairs on the back of my head stand up, Sophie took off for the house to bring my stuff inside.
Part of me was struck with instant regret. No boy should be staring at his mother so lustfully, but the rising erection in my pants was seeing her only as a vibrant, sexy woman whose tits I was longing to bury my face in.
My infatuation with my Mom started a few months ago when she'd gone with my Father and Lucy on a celebratory vacation. I don't remember where exactly, but it was described to me as "somewhere hot". The photos she sent me were designed to make me wish I'd been there (which I SO did), but were noticeably more revealing than the ones she'd uploaded to Facebook.
It was likely my mind playing tricks on me, but every snap she sent to me was tagged with a playfully flirty caption like, "wish you were here, stud" or "come be my captain", the latter of which she had posed beside a boat for. Nothing too unusual, Mom and I had always had playful banter like that between us. These sexier photos would be peppered in between snaps of her slurping down a bowl of noodles, unpacking her suitcase (likely upon arrival), or just posing innocently next to some tourist trap. I had a hard time separating the mature, scantily class vixen from my Mother, but seeing her in two different lights didn't bug me.
Interesting enough, the flirtier caption were hopelessly outshone by the low-cut, barely there bikini she was rocking. I still had a few of the photos saved on my phone, namely one where she was bent over knocking sand out of her flip flops. It likely wasn't intended for me, as Dad was also in the subject, like my e-mail had been added by accident.
Assuming it was a misfire, I almost deleted the picture before I fully examined it. She was in a shamefully revealing red bikini, with a classic red bow tying it behind her back. Her hair was falling all over her face as she bent over, but even the golden tangles weren't enough to block out her famously overjoyed smile, dimples and all.
What really took me by surprise was how tight fitting her bathing suit was. The red bottom was tucked like floss between her bulging pussy lips, leaving very little to the imagination. Her breasts hung down like two massive pendulums, itching to spring from her top and be set free on the world. I could see thin stretch marks on the sides of her boobs, and I knew they were being pulled down by an incredibly heavy weight.
I couldn't count the times I'd looked longingly at that photographic treasure, and now kept a crease-laden print of it in my wallet as a constant reminder. Yes, a print, a physical copy. I was really
that
infatuated with her.
Being in person, now, was sending my heart into overdrive and my pulse quickened whenever she came near me. It wasn't a nervous sort of feeling, more like a giddy excitement brought on by the incessant picturing of her naked body I couldn't seem to shake.
All the fantasizing about seeing Mom in person made me want to see her picture again. I didn't care if I was inside her house, desire is desire, folks.
I put down the hamper full of clothes and stretched my back, popping a thousand joints up my spine like champagne bubbles up a flute. My wallet was in my hand in a flash, and my eyes greedily absorbed every detail of the photograph like I had so many times.
