I'd put on a few pounds over the last month. The irony. Managed to lose almost two and a half pounds over Christmas, but here I sat in February, looking at my reflection in the wall mirror, and pulling and prodding at the roll of flesh that rippled the breadth of my belly.
My son stood near the doorway of the bedroom, snickering. With his genetic skin & bone body type.
Lucky little sod.
"Shut it," I said.
He did, but I could still see the glimmer in his eyes.
"Right, did you sort out the bathroom?"
"Yeah."
"And your washing?"
He nodded. Edging toward his escape.
"Did you get the pile of clothes I left out for you?"
"Yeah." He pulled the towel tighter around his waist. Wiped the fingers of one hand through the wet bristle of hair on his head.
"OK. You can-"
I reached out a hand and pointed to the landing beyond the bedroom door.
"Do me a favour, reach me in the other pile."
While he went to get them, I tugged at the straps of my bra, until the weight of my breasts didn't dig them into my shoulders quite so much, any more.
"Jesus."
He stood to the side of me with the pile of underwear held away from him like it was poisonous.
"What's wrong?"
"I don't want to be holding your knickers. That's what's wrong." His features scrunched up in revulsion. Making him look closer to fourteen, than his actual nineteen years of age.
"Would you rather I went out without them?" I jabbed the words at him. Maybe a little too harsh.
In an effort to lighten the mood, I pulled a pair of the underwear from him and threw it at his face.
And that's where the game changed.
His cheeks flushed. His face contorted into an awkward, somewhat manic smile.
That'll teach you.
I dropped my gaze for no more than a split second. But it was a second I could never get back.
I gulped. Blinked. Pulled away, prodded at the straps of my bra again. Toyed with the threading on the towel that covered my bottom half.
Jesus Christ.
I couldn't get the image out of her head.
Something washed over me. Or into me.
My teeth itched. My lungs ached. I fidgeted, ground my toes into the carpet. My heartbeat grew faster and thicker in the back of my throat. An overwhelming rush of blood roared through my ears.
And, somehow, somewhen, my nipples had hardened. Their sensitivity almost an irritant against the fabric of my bra.
I squeezed my thighs together.
"Is that it?" he croaked.
I glanced back at him.
His towel remained tent shaped. An impressive tent at that. And as the thought occurred to me, I felt sick to my stomach.
But enthralled.
It reminded me of my first experience with drugs as a teenager. That single moment of facing something so wrong and so dangerous in the eyes of everyone who'd ever mattered to me. And yet, awash with excitement.
I forced myself to breathe.
I needed to break the moment. With humour. It was the only way.
"Got somewhere to be?"
He nodded. And even with the slight movement of his head, the thing at his groin tugged at the towel. Threatening to pull it off his hips.
"Maybe you should take care of that before you do anything else." I chuckled.
He didn't.
His face turned almost purple, and as I watched him, it spread down into the once-pale flesh of his neck and chest.
He mumbled something. And yanked his hands across his front to cover it.
I sat up straight. A moment to be earnest with him.
"Sorry. I'm only teasing you." I sighed. "It's perfectly normal. You're a teenager. It happens."
"Yeah." Again, his voice was little more than a mumble.
"Right, can you at least give me my knickers?" I chuckled again.
And, again, he didn't.
He practically threw the clothing at me, some of it landing on the bed, other items on the floor.
As I stretched down to lift up the few strays, I caught him in my peripheral vision.
And I don't know what took over.
"Was it these?"
I didn't mean to say it. I didn't even mean to think it. But my mouth opened and the words were out before I could do anything about it.
"What?" He gawped. "I mean. No."
"Are you sure?" It was more than for fun now. I was genuinely interested. Intrigued. Was it the idea of women's underwear, the sexuality behind it? Or was he curious about wearing some himself?
Had he?
Jesus.
The last thought struck a cold chord through my body. The tips of my nipples turned to ice. Painful against the material of my bra that pressed against them.
He didn't answer.
"Malc," I said. I paused to consider it a little longer. "Malc, is that what did it?"
He shrugged. Followed it up with a, "No."
"I'm going to ask you one question, Malcolm. And I need you to tell me the truth." I eyed him until he lowered his gaze back to the floor.
"I won't judge you. There's no punishment. I just need the answer. And I need it to be the truth."
He twitched. His fingers scratched at the bulge he was trying to hide.
"Have you been wearing my knickers?"
His eyes shut tight. Just for a quarter of a second. And when they opened he shook his head.
He had.
Jesus.
I made an odd sound as if I was about to talk, then forgot the process.
He sensed it.
"I'm sorry." The words came out in a squeaky huddle.
"I'm more pissed off that you lied to me, Malcolm."
"I couldn't admit to it," he said. And I sort of saw his point. It almost made me laugh. The thought of it. Him standing there with a hardon, admitting to wearing his mother's knickers.
Almost.
"I'm sorry," he said. Again.
"How long?"
"I dunno. Not long."
The air in the room was heavy. Palpable.
"I don't care about what you get up to. In that respect." I paused, and considered my next words more carefully. "It's normal. You're still finding yourself."
"I-"
I cut him off. "But, you have to respect other people, too."
He nodded. Inhaled. Exhaled.
I was still holding my knickers. All the way through this. That made me chuckle a little bit inside, but I didn't dare express it.
"Here." I tossed him a pair of older purple ones. The material was soft, like a cheaper version of satin, with some lace at the front which served as a sort of window display.
They fell to the floor when he failed to reach out and catch them.
"You can have them. But you wash them yourself. And I don't want to see them again."
He gasped for air. Nudged his body as if going down for them, then stopped.
"They're yours. Take them."
He hunched down and picked them off the floor. And as he stood back up, the towel slipped.
I didn't get much of a view, but it was enough, before he covered himself again. I had to fight the urge to nod in approval. Or was it appreciation?
"Oh Christ."
"Don't worry about it," I said. I eased off into gentle laughter. "You've nothing to be ashamed about." The last words lilted a little too much. I hoped he hadn't noticed.
He stared at me. A wrinkle across his forehead. One eye cocked higher than the other.
Cocked. Lots of cocking going on today.
"So you don't mind?" He didn't give me time to interrupt. "I can wear them? Any time I like?"
"They're yours," I said.
"You can put them on now, if you want." Shit. Sometimes my mouth works faster than my brain.
"Really?"
I couldn't get out of it.
"Sure."
He dropped the towel in a heartbeat. But with his hands shaking, and his cock heavy and bobbing, or maybe jousting, he struggled to get the knickers up over his legs.
I got a right eyeful. And I wasn't complaining.
He pulled the flimsy material up over his thighs, covered his erection. But the fabric stretched out as if it had no resistance at all. Showed off the shape and curve of his cock to perfection. And between the gaps in the lace, I could see so much hard, excited flesh.
"Come here a minute," I said to him.
He had them on all wrong.
When he stepped forward, I pulled the knickers up higher on his hips. Straightened out the sides, and some of the back, until they fit snug on him. Making his balls hang in two well-defined globe shapes.
I managed a quick breath.
But it was still his cock that stole the show. Thick and meaty, unfurled across the top of the knickers, toward one hip. Some of the exposed crown stuck out of the underwear. Glistening.
I couldn't resist. I know I should have. And I know I should have done everything necessary to do so.
But I just couldn't.
I stroked my fingertips over the front of the knickers, until they brushed against his wet glans. And tried to poke it back inside. There wasn't enough material.
"Hmmm," I said.
He didn't make a sound.
