"Alex. Wake up sleepy head," I said as I drew the shades open and tried to nudge my son to consciousness, "or you're going to be late."
His rubbed his eyes as he sat up stretching. "Ok, ok, " he barked in and annoyed fashion.
"Don't take that tone with me mister," I replied. "What if I were on the road today? You'd be late for school."
He stopped rubbing his eyes and shot me a look, "I'm never late mom. Whether you're here or not I'm always on time."
"I know. That's why I love you," I chided. "Now get in the shower."
I collected some loose laundry from his room and headed downstairs. I thought about what he'd said as I walked. He was right; he was never late. For a high school senior that has just turned eighteen, he was more responsible than most boys his age -- and for that, I was very thankful. I'd taken a territory sales job shortly after he had turned sixteen and I was on the road three to six days a week. He was an independent, responsible boy who had never given me a reason to loose trust in him. For an un-wed mother barely into her thirties, he was a blessing and I was thankful beyond imagination for that.
I dumped his cloths in the laundry room and headed to the kitchen. The coffee pot was spitting the last few drops of caffeine goodness through the filter. I grabbed my large mug and did the tip-and-switch pour without spilling a drop on the burner. I reached into the fridge and grabbed the creamer. I fixed my coffee and slowly sipped it as I paced in the kitchen. After yelling for him multiple times while he was in the shower, he finally got ready and was rushing through the kitchen with wet spikey hair and a backpack over his shoulder. He tried to hurry past me and I double clutched my mug to protect it.
"Ugh, sorry mom," he said as he twisted around me, "I'm gonna be late."
I stood there in my terrycloth robe and balanced my coffee as I teased him with a smirk, "Told you."
He rolled his eyes with a smile as he headed out the door, "See you after school mom."
"I have errands to run and have to leave town on Sunday," I blurted, "I'd like to go to dinner if you want."
"Sorry mom. Got plans tonight," he yelled over his shoulder as the door closed. I sat down in the chair to finish my coffee and the brief chaos in the house was replaced by absolute silence. It wouldn't be long before he was off to college. I looked around the empty quiet house and decided I was not looking forward to those days.
After my lonely cup of coffee and a quick email check, I retrieved my hamper from the upstairs bathroom and went to the laundry room to sort my cloths. I tossed my dry cleaning from the suitcase to the floor then I piled my lights and next to them. A few handfuls into my hamper I grabbed a pair of panties and tossed them onto the pile of darks. I had done it so quickly my brain barely registered that they felt slightly odd. I paused and looked back at the pile and realized I hadn't worn that particular pair in a while -- a long while. The panties we part of a black, lace corset set I had purchased a few years back and, sadly, never had the opportunity to wear for anyone other than myself.
I reached down and picked them up again and the fabric unfolded into my hand. My eyes widened in shock as the sticky wetness revealed itself in the folds of the satin fabric. As I leaned in to inspect them the fresh aroma of cum filled my nostrils.
"Oh shit!" I muttered in disbelief as I dropped them and gasped. The panties fell to the floor and unfolded -- exposing the gobs of cum inside them. I covered my mouth with one hand as my brain spiraled out of control with a flood of emotions. I was shocked. No, angry. How could he? Did he? When did he? Just now? When was he in my drawer? "Ohhh ssshit. Shit."
I crouched to see them as my brain processed a thousand scenarios all at once. Amidst all the clutter in my brain at that moment one vision kept surfacing above them all -- my son standing there with a fist full of my panties, pumping them up and down on his cock.
I felt the heat on my face as I blushed. His cock? My boy doesn't have a cock. He's a boy. My boy. Men have cocks -- other men. The word "cock" danced around my brain like a twisted mantra. No matter where I looked in the room I only saw him -- his hand filled with the panties I'd purchased to fulfill some distant desire, sliding up and down on his cock. I held my breath as I envisioned his hand moving in long slow strokes -- precum spilling from his velvety tip onto the slick fabric as it slid up and down. His hand moving faster and faster until the long white ropes of cum spilled into them -- pooling into the folds until he wiped his cock clean.
My heart was pounding in my throat and my hands trembled as I knelt over my soiled panties. I stared them with lust in my eyes and the tingle of five sexless years between my legs. Without so much as a second thought, I loosened my robe as I stood up. I hooked my thumbs in the sides of my less-sexier underwear, pushed them over my hips and stepped out of them.