Sometimes things just happen...
Margy was a forty-nine year old divorced mom, still in good shape, attractive but far from flashy. She had been divorced eight years now. Online dating had been a complete bust. Being forty-nine meant that most of her "likes" came from guys in their fifties, sixties and even their seventies. She had no interest in a relationship with a man whose idea of "going out on the town" in three years would be a doctor's visit, a stop at the pharmacy, and an early bird special at the local Chinese buffet. Margy felt like there was no place for her.
Her son, Jack, felt similarly disconnected. He had just turned eighteen and was working in a local burger joint for the summer until he went away to the state college in the fall. He never really fit in. He was too dorky for the stoners, not smart enough for the dorks, not good-looking enough for the cool kids, and had no desire to be part of the gym rats with their tank tops and protein shaker cups.
It was a typical Friday night. Jack was working, so Margy picked up a salad on her way home from work and ate her dinner on the couch, looking enviously at her old married friends' posts on Facebook of couples' dinners and flashy vacations, while some boring series on Netflix supplied the background noise that helped keep the apartment from being so quiet. Dessert was her typical Friday treat, a scoop of ice cream, half an Ambien and a couple of glasses of convenience store Chardonnay.
Jack got home from work around eleven. He took off his fast food uniform, threw it in a ball in the corner of his room, and grabbed a semi-clean t-shirt from the hamper. He stuck his head into Margy's bedroom to make sure she was sleeping and then took his laptop, bong and baggy with the three grams of weed he had left out onto the patio behind their apartment. As was his Friday routine, Jack sat on the plastic patio furniture in his underwear, smoked his pot and surfed the porn sites. He found a couple of decent videos, good enough to get him hard, but he was too bored and lazy to jack off. By twelve-thirty, he finished his weed, packed up his computer and went inside. Jack turned on the bathroom light, took a piss, and then looked at himself in the mirror. He was decent-looking enough, carried his "dad bod" well, but too unmotivated to try to find a girlfriend.
As he turned to leave the bathroom, he saw that the light shone across the hallway and into Margy's bedroom. She was fast asleep, the covers were kicked off, and her grey nightgown had crept up around her waist. Margy's pale, white ass glowed in the light filtering in from the bathroom. Maybe it was the pot that lowered his inhibitions, but Jack thought to himself, "Hmmmm, this is worth checking out for myself."
Jack walked silently into his mother's bedroom. She was asleep on her side, naked from the waist down, with her ass facing out, close to the edge of the bed. She was snoring lightly. The light from the bathroom made it easy to see. Jack took his time, looking her up and down. He started at her feet, looking carefully at her pedicure and the curves of the arches of her feet. His eyes moved up the backs of her calves and thighs. "No cellulite, Mom's kinda tight for nearly fifty."
His gaze met her ass. Jack knelt for a closer look. Margy's knees were drawn up slightly, leaving her cheeks open slightly and exposing her pussy to view from the back. Jack looked closely at her puffy mound and thin, small pink lips. Margy was hairless. Jack looked closer, close enough now that he could see the faintest sign of razor bumps. "Fuck man, Mom shaves her pussy!" Jack was close enough to feel the heat of her skin. He inhaled deeply, taking his mother's scent, which was a distinct combination of her favorite body wash and her natural smell. "Mmmmmmm, she smells so fucking good."
Jack stood to continue his survey. His gaze traced up her crack to the small, hollow where Margy's back met her butt. His eyes traced the bumps of his mother's spine until they disappeared under her nightie. He looked at how the swell of her hips narrowed to her tummy. He moved up her back, admiring the fair skin of her shoulders exposed under the straps of her nightgown and admiring her thin arms. He was impressed. "Forty-nine and no bat wings. Pretty fucking nice!" Just the mere thought of bat wings reminded Jack of Mrs. Murphy, his old homeroom teacher, whose skin on the underside of her arms would flap as she wrote on the blackboard, sometimes so violently that Jack thought she might take flight. But Margy's skin was firm and taught.
Jack reached the head of the bed and looked down at Margy, still fast asleep. Sure, he had seen his mother millions of times, but he never really looked at her. She really was very beautiful. Her auburn hair, tousled from sleep, still framed her face. Her skin was smooth and soft, unblemished even without makeup. He studied her for maybe the first time ever, from the curl of her ear, down her smooth jawline, to her chin with the slightest hint of a cleft. Even without lipstick, her lips were full. Her nose was small, curving up slightly at the tip, and with her eyes closed, Jack could see how long her lashes were without mascara. Jack was stunned. "I never really thought of her that way, but Mom is really hot."
As he stepped in for a closer look, Jack tripped over Margy's slipper on the floor. He stumbled against the side of the bed and then froze. He was certain that he woke her. Jack's pot-addled brain struggled to come up with some plausible explanation for why he had spent the last twenty-five minutes staring at his own mother. Lucky for him, Margy didn't even move. "Holy fuck! She slept through that! What the fuck?"
