I must have replayed the video a dozen times just in the first hour or so of taking it. I didn't think I could cum 3 times in a row, within a couple hours, but I managed it. The sight of my mom's perfect little tits on the screen, the memory of the way they felt in my mouth, the soft, almost purring sound of the occasional sleeping moan from her lips - it was like a full dose of maximum-strength Spanish Fly mainlined right into me. Video go on, cock go up, hand go down. Fuck.
And then, through an act of will, I put it away. Tucked it and the other stuff I had recorded of her away into a hidden folder on my hard drive. I didn't want to become obsessed; I have, in the past, become fixated on women that I fancied, and started to fold my entire world around them. There was no way that could happen this time, no way I could allow it to happen. It mean, it was my mom, for fuck's sake. I couldn't treat her like a potential mate or partner. Just...my mom. Right?
So I put it away and went about my regular life. I threw myself into work, picking up extra shifts to make more money while I had a chance to, since I wasn't paying any bills, really. In the evening, I slept, at night, I worked, during the day I tried to make myself industrious around the house - doing chores, making sure everything was ship-shape, running errands for her when I was asked - I was a model son.
She noticed, for sure. At first, it was little jokes and mild jabs and barbs. "Where was this son as a teenager?" and "You're finally applying what I tried to teach you". Little shit like that, but when you've lived with my mother, you learn to let things like that slide off without notice. I just continued working, both at work, and at home, without ever realizing just how much I was suppressing.
I was avoiding her, of course. Her, and the entire situation. I justified it with being *around* her, in her presence, but never actually *with* her. Never really engaging with her - no conversation, no interaction, just keeping myself occupied, so I could avoid thinking about what I'd invited into my head all too willingly. Suppression, for sure. I didn't watch any of her 'content' for a solid month - hell, I barely watched or read any porn for that entire time. I burned off the energy, that jittery sexual frustration with work, like a monk in a monastery, scrubbing floors and washing cars and mowing lawns.
In the process, I started to see her in a different way; more as a person, a woman, rather than just a mother. I started to realize how much of a layabout my father kind of was, and how much she had really put into the house and home when we were younger. I started to genuinely feel good that when she got home from work, she would find her kitchen floor swept and mopped, her front walk cleared, and her hedges trimmed. I kind of felt like I was giving back to her for what she had done for me - not only taking me in again, making sure I was all right, but also the intensely erotic few moments she'd unwittingly offered up in the past couple months. It wasn't guilt - I had nothing to feel guilty about. I hadn't done anything to harm her.
I also came to realize how much work she had to put in around the house to maintain it all by herself; not just basic cleanup after herself, like dishes and sweeping floors. I mean cleaning gutters and changing HVAC air filters and all the 'hidden' house-maintenance stuff that you don't usually think about before you buy a house. I kind of grew to respect her, and I kind of understood why she could get bitchy sometimes. I'd get bitchy too if I felt like people were expecting me to get everything done without much help.
I didn't really see her during that time - our schedules were completely at odds. When she slept, I was working. When she was working, I was at home. And when she was at home, I was asleep. The graveyard shift is a back-to-front way of living. Now, I could have arranged it so that I was asleep during the day, while she was at work, but I've never liked working and then coming home to go to bed. It makes the last hour or two of work endless. I'd rather get up, take my shower, and head to the job, and then have my whole day ahead of me when I got off. Plus, being awake during the daylight hours means that if I had to go to the bank or something, they would be open. And I was my manager's go-to guy - when someone was late, I'd stay over, or if somebody called off, or had to come in late, I was the one she called. So my mom and I were very seldom home at the same time. On the off day I was awake at home when she wasn't working, she was out running errands, or talking to her friends on the phone, or doing housework.
