Most guys wouldn't admit this, but I'm a slob, I'm lazy, and I don't care.
But, hey, that doesn't mean I'm a bad guy. Yeah, I feel guilty that my mom works so hard and takes care of me. I have a heart after all, but that doesn't stop me from being who I am. And it's not like I asked her to clean after me or any of that other stuff. I figure she just does it because she has to be who she is.
Mom and I have always been opposite in some ways, especially about cleaning. Mom is super neat and clean. I think she spends some portion of every waking hour cleaning and putting things in their proper places. I am not exaggerating that I have never seen her sit still through a whole feature length movie. At some point she seems compelled to get up and clean.
Me, on the other hand, well, that's a totally different story. I have always felt like it is way too much effort to walk all the way over to the garbage just to throw a stupid little wrapper away. As you can imagine, I end up being surrounded by crap. It actually isn't so bad after you get used to it.
Mom never gets mad at me like you'd think. She just cleans up after me when she can't tolerate it anymore. And I've found she can't tolerate messes very long at all.
She also spends a lot of time on her own appearance. She is 41 but looks a lot younger. She has long blond wavy hair that she is very proud of. She is tall and slender but has enough curves to express her womanhood without a doubt. She exercises once a day on her treadmill. She eats low-carb and takes a shit-load of supplements for God-knows-what. My friends all talked about how hot she was if that tells you anything.
Me? I shower every few days and change my clothes as often. I eat what I like. That's usually hotdogs and pop. Exercise? Nah, you have to be kidding.
We have our common points too. She is my mom after all. We are both very private people. We both like cats. We share a love of dumb romantic comedy movies (I'd never admit that to my friends though). We both love each other a lot.
Dad is out of the picture. He lives about 1200 miles away. I hear from him every couple of months, and that's just fine with me.
I had a small group of friends in high school, but after graduation, they all seemed to go off in other directions. Now I barely have contact with any of them.
I tried going to college. That lasted about four months. I didn't go to my classes, and just hung out and got drunk every day at the house I was living at. When I didn't pass my classes, the financial aid came to a crashing halt, and I moved right back in with mom.
I actually think she was happy when I first moved back in with her. She must have been lonely without me.
But then, the depression started. It was just a slow and natural development. All my friends were gone making lives for themselves. I spent more and more time in bed. I stopped shaving. I stopped bathing regularly. Then I noticed that I felt pain when I did get up and move around.
Mom never bugged me about it too much. She was never a nagger, not my mom.
When I wasn't in bed, I was at my computer playing video games or jerking off to porn. I also stared collecting vintage porn magazines from the '80's and '90's. I guess I'm weird, but I like to jerk off to so some hot young chick while thinking she's now someone's mother.
Mom started cleaning my room for me. She never complained. She never asked my permission. She'd just come in my room in the morning when I was still in bed. She'd do my laundry too, and take the dirty linens right off the bed when I was trying to sleep. She'd pick up all the wrappers and pop cans. She'd pick up my pornography and stack it nicely on the shelf.
The really embarrassing part is I started to think about Mom in a way that I wasn't supposed to. I don't know what it was exactly. Maybe it was the way my friends used to talk about how they wanted to bang her. Maybe it was because she was the only living breathing woman I saw anymore. Maybe it was because I had sex on the brain from all that porn. Maybe it was because she didn't always wear a bra around the house. I don't know, but I started noticing my mom's charms more and more.
One day I realized I was actually trying to look down her blouse when she was picking crap up off my floor. My mom's blouse. What was happening to me?
And when I caught a glimpse of my mom's puffy pink nipple, do you think I looked away? No, not this sick bastard. I got a good look and I committed it to memory. Why? I have no idea. It wasn't like I was jerking off while thinking about my mom (not yet anyway). I'm just saying I was definitely starting to notice her in a sexual way. Everyone said she was hot, and I now I was seeing for myself—and I liked it.
I started noticing her nipples poking through certain tops and the way her breasts moved and bounced when she wore her pajamas. I noticed the sway of her hips when she walked. Even the sound of her voice began to feel sexy to me. But, most of all I learned a new appreciation of her hands. I'd watch her hands as she picked up my magazines and closed them and stacked them. I'd watch her hands as she picked up my cum-soaked t-shirt from the floor. I noticed the feel of her delicate fingers as she brushed hair from my eyes or stroked my arm. I started to think thoughts, incorrect thoughts, about how nice it would feel if she did even more to me with her hands.
I don't know if Mom had any idea what I was thinking. She might have caught me looking. I'm not really sure. She knew I wasn't doing very well though because I wasn't taking care of myself at all. And, the more I started fantasizing about her hands touching me and going over and over the image of her nipples, the more I withdrew from normal conversation with her.
It finally reached a point she felt like she had to do something about my depression. In the end, she talked me into seeing a doctor. I was diagnosed with depression and fibromyalgia. He prescribed anti-depressants. He explained that fibromyalgia was a condition that caused extreme pain with any kind of movement. He suggested personal care services until I was able to build my strength up again.
Mom didn't waste any time. She had a personal care worker hired within a week, a young woman by the name of Megan. She had long dark hair and bronze skin. She always had a kind of slack look on her face like this was the first job in her life and she didn't know what she was supposed to be doing.
Megan brought some happiness to my life. She was young and had nice full tits and hips in an hourglass shape. She had a soft pretty face. And, best of all, she wasn't my mother.
I felt no shame at all watching her work. She was my personal care worker, so she helped me to the toilet and back. She even helped me get into the bath.
Mom and Megan would be on both sides of me, one under each of my arms, helping me to the bathroom. Mom would leave me with Megan and Megan would help me take my clothes off while the bath was running. Megan would get this smirk on her face when Mom wasn't in the room. The first time she saw my dick, she was wide-eyed, but tried to hide it when she saw me looking at her. She did her best to help me into the tub without touching my dick—at least that first time she didn't touch it.
I was in heaven. Here I was at 20-years-old, and this young ripe woman, my mother had hired, was undressing me. It made me nervous. That was really the only thing that kept me from getting a hard-on that first time she helped me pull my pants down. But, it turned me on. Megan was on my mind constantly. You could say, she was really the only thing that kept Mom off my mind.
It didn't take long for Mom to start getting familiar with my nudity too. She would occasionally peek in at Megan and me. I remember the first time I was getting in the tub, butt naked, and Mom peeked around the corner. My mouth dropped as I saw my mom look down at my dick before going back to whatever it was she was doing. Later she would peek in more often, or even come talk to me while I was laying naked in the tub. She'd occasionally look down at my dick, but she never showed any kind of reaction. I hadn't forgotten my dirty thoughts about mom, and every time she did this, I would start thinking about her in that way again.
The usual routine would be to leave me in the tub alone to clean myself, then Megan or Mom would check on me to see when I was done. Megan would help me out of the tub, she'd dry me off and then help me get dressed.
One time I had the good fortune of grabbing Megan's left tit when she was helping me out the tub. It was an accident but I made the most of it. Megan didn't seem to mind at all. By that point, she seemed to think it was just part of the job.
It didn't take long for me to look forward to Megan's visits. She soon became the central focus of my masturbation fantasies. After awhile, my anxiety went away, and I would get aroused every time Megan showed up.
It happened one day, Megan helped undress me and get in the tub, as usual, but this time I was feeling familiar enough with her that my arousal could happen naturally. Once she disrobed me and helped me into the tub, my dick rose up out of the bath water. I tried to will the hard-on away, but it just wouldn't go.
I watched Megan's mouth form an "O." She covered her mouth. Then, she backed up, giggles escaping between her fingers. She didn't say a word to me. She just left the room to find my mom.
I heard their voices but I couldn't hear what they were saying. My mom was giving directions of some kind.
Megan came back in the room, leaving the door open. She had a huge smile on her face. "Um, Chris, your mom told me to . . . you know . . ." She made a jerking off motion with her hand. "Is that okay?" she asked, looking uncertain.
I must have looked shocked, but I somehow managed to nod my head at her.
"Okay," Megan shrugged. She knelt down in front of the tub and grabbed my hard-on in her bare palm.
"Like that?" she looked at me as she stroked my dick in a painfully tight grip.
"Lighten up a little. Maybe, use some soap or lotion?"
"Alright." She grabbed the closest bottle and squirted a liberal amount of goop on my dick. Then she wrapped her hand around me and stared stroking again, but lighter this time.
"Maybe a little faster, if you don't mind."
"Like that?" Megan sped up, splashing the water loudly with every stroke.
"Oh yeah."
I don't know if I mentioned, I was a virgin. This was the first time in my life a female person had touched me there, and here Megan was going at my dick like her job depended on it. I was in ecstasy. I just watched, amazed and turned on that this girl was jerking me off because my mom told her to. Her boobs bounced to her strokes. She laughed when bath water splashed up and hit her in the face. Was my mother hearing this, I wondered?
"Tell me before you cum," Megan turned toward me as she continued wanking me.
It was the least I could do, I suppose. "Keep going. Just a little more," I told her.
Her hand slipped up and down on my dick even faster. She grinned at me like she was enjoying it or maybe she just thought it was funny.
I felt myself build in her slippery grip. "Oh no, watch out," is all I could manage as I came, spurting in her hand. She closed her eyes and mouth tightly turning to the side while I spurt over and over. I watched my cum fly into her hair and onto her shirt where it tightly wrapped her full tits.
I could hardly believe what had just happened. She actually jerked me off. Just like that.
She kept stroking as my spurts died down to nothing. She didn't open her eyes again until she knew it was safe.
She looked down at my dick. "God, that was a lot of cum. You must have been full of it." She rinsed excess cum from her hand in the bath water.
"Yeah, and there's more where that came from," I retorted, suddenly feeling brave. I just came in this girl's hand and I had the feeling my bad sexual luck was about to change.
"Right, whatever." She laughed and called for my mom, "He's done! Do you want to help me get him back to bed?"
