I kicked my shoes off the minute I got in the house. They flew across the room, and I didn't give a damn where they landed. I pulled a bottle of Beefeater out of the liquor cabinet, poured a double shot into a glass, and added some tonic. Then, for good measure, I splashed in some more gin until it was full to the rim. Shit! There wasn't a lime in the fridge, so I did without.
I downed half the glass in one gulp, plopped down on the couch, and put my feet up on the coffee table. My pantyhose were binding me, so I raised up my butt and wriggled out of the cursed things. I wonder if anyone has ever died from crotch asphyxia? I was wearing a sexy black cocktail dress; the skirt came down to mid-thigh, and it showed a modest amount of cleavage.
Just as I threw them on the floor, my son, Jason, came in from play rehearsal at his high school.
"You're home early, Mom, another lousy date?"
"That's the understatement of the year, honey."
"Want to tell me about it?"
"Not really."
"That bad, huh?"
"That bad."
"Come on, spit it out."
"All right, all right." I downed the rest of my drink and tucked my feet under myself.
"I went out to dinner with John Forrester, a lawyer from our legal department, and we were supposed to go a play afterwards. It's a new show that got really great reviews, and I was really anxious to see it."
"You obviously didn't make it to the theater."
"It seems he had other ideas. I met him in the Oak Room in the Hilton hotel for dinner. He was half crocked when I got there, which didn't start the evening off too well. The conversation was totally one-sided; he spent half the meal telling me what a bitch his ex-wife is, and the other half bragging about his sexual conquests since his divorce." "He sounds like a real creep."
"That's not the half of it. He ordered an after-dinner drink and, after looking at my watch, I told him if we didn't hurry up, we'd miss the opening curtain. He leered at me and said, 'the hell with the play, I've got a better idea.' He took my hand in his, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a hotel key. 'I'll bet you're really hot in the sack,' he said. He'd never even bought tickets for the play. I excused myself to go to the ladies room, went straight out the back door and took a cab home."
"Jesus, Mom, I'd like to knock him on his ass."
Jason could do it, too. He stands 6'2, weighs about 190, and that's mostly lean, hard muscle. He's got blond hair, bleached by the sun, blue eyes, and a chiseled face with a deep cleft in his chin. He looks, at eighteen, so much like his father did at that age, it's uncanny.
He inherited his build and his looks from his father's side of the family, and his musical talent from mine. He's an accomplished pianist, providing all the music for his school's annual play, a resurrection of "The Boyfriend," a Broadway classic.
He's considered kind of geeky; he studies hard and maintains a 4.0 grade point average, and is heavy into computers, which doesn't endear him to the "popular" crowd. He's basically very shy, and although he's had a couple dates, he has very little experience with girls.
"Let me freshen your drink, Mom, and I'll give you a foot rub."
Now there was an offer I couldn't refuse. He put my drink on the coffee table, sat on the end of the couch, and put my feet in his lap. He's got wonderful hands, with long piano player's fingers. He started to massage my feet, and I began to relax, all the tension I felt slowly melted away.
My skirt had ridden up on my thighs, and when Jason lifted my leg, his eyes roamed up between my legs. I was wearing a pair of black lace bikini panties, and I could feel that they had drawn up between my lips, most likely giving him a view of a perfect camel toe.
I didn't want Jason to know this, but my feet are a total erogenous zone. I had read an article in "Cosmo" some time ago that illustrated the pressure points on the feet that stimulate a woman's genitals. There's one on the ankle, on the balls of the feet, and on the toes, especially the big one. Sometimes, it can produce a climax. I merely suggested where I liked him to massage, and he did what I asked.
I don't know whether I was just particularly horny that night, if I'd been a little extra tipsy, or maybe it was a combination of both, but after a few minutes into my foot rub, my panties were soaked. Jason must have been able to smell the odor coming out from under my skirt, but I don't think he knew what it was.
My arousal continued to build, I felt that familiar warmth growing in my belly, and a tingling between my legs. My breath was coming in gasps, the sensation started in my toes, and the wave overtook me. I put my fist in my mouth and bit my knuckles, to keep from screaming out loud. My legs shook, my back arched, and my hips rose up from the cushions.
"Are you okay, Mom?"
"Yeah, Jase, I'm fine.... you just hit a real sensitive spot."
"Did anyone ever tell you you've got great legs?"
"Your father did, all the time."
"You really miss him, don't you?"
Oh God, did I miss him. Brett was not only my husband, he was the love of my life, my best friend, my soul mate. It's been four years since he's been gone, and he is in my mind and my heart every day. He was killed in Afghanistan when an IED was detonated under the truck he was riding in.
He wasn't even in the military, he was a contractor, working in computer security. The company he worked for sent him over for a "limited" time; he was supposed to there for just a month. I was terrified when he told me he was going over there, but he assured me it was safe. The blackest day of my life was when two military officers knocked on my door and gave me the news.
Brett was my first love, my ONLY love, until the day he died. I had never been with another man. We were high school sweethearts, and besides a lot of heavy making-out, we were able to hold our hormones in check until our senior year, when we had both turned eighteen.
Because he loved me, and he "respected" me, he had refrained from "feeling me up" or any other kind of petting that a lot of kids in school were engaged in. I knew he was interested, because I could see the "rise in his Levi's" when we were making out. I was interested, too, so I finally made the first move. During a particularly heavy make-out session, I took his hand a placed in on my breast.
"Touch me," I whispered.
Our experimentation progressed from there. We were both totally inexperienced, so we experimented, and learned from each other. I'll never forget the first time I bared my breasts for him, or how good his hands, and later his lips, felt on my bare skin.
I had never seen a penis before, and was totally fascinated when I unzipped his pants and revealed his. I gasped, because it was so big, I couldn't conceive of it ever fitting inside me. It was long and thick, with big blue veins around the root, and a bulbous purple head on the top. He slid his jeans down over his hips, revealing his large testicles, nestling in their sack.
Brett took my hand, put it on his erection, and showed me how to stroke him until he ejaculated, spewing his semen all over both of us. I was really proud of myself for doing that!
I'll never forget the first time he brought me to orgasm. He was clumsy at first, not knowing how to touch me. I was so hot, and so wet, and when I guided his fingers to my clitoris, I thought my bones were going to melt when I climaxed.
We taught ourselves how to perform oral sex, fumbling at first, but later getting really good at it. We went "all the way" the first time the night of our prom. In all of our married life, we never lost the thrill of making love with each other.
There is a huge hole in my life, and in my heart.
I was a widow at thirty-three, left with a fourteen year-old son, who now had no father. Thank God for Jason; if it weren't for him, I never would have been able to hold it together.
"You're going to be the man of the house while I'm gone, Jase, take care of your mother," were the last words he spoke to his son. To our son.
Jason did step up to the plate. Without being asked, he took over his father's chores around the house and yard. He mowed the lawn, raked the leaves, washed the car, and everything else Brett had done. He had a part-time job after school, at a pizza parlor, and had saved up enough to buy his own car, a used Toyota that was in remarkably good shape for its vintage.
That's not to say he's been perfect these past four years. He and his buddy, Kenny, share a six-pack of beer every now and then, and there was the distinct odor of pot is room one day, but I'd rather have them experiment at home where they won't get in trouble. He told me one day that I was his best friend, which really touched my heart.
Then one day, something happened that I wasn't expecting. I had just done the laundry, and was carrying an armload of folded clothes up to his room. He and Kenny had gone to the mall, or so I thought. His door was slightly ajar and, because my arms were full, I pushed it open with my foot.
He was lying on his bed, naked from the waist down, furiously masturbating. His head was thrown back and his eyes were closed, so he didn't see me enter the room. It wasn't the act itself that threw me; my God, I've been washing his sheets for the past four years; I knew what he was doing, and I know it's perfectly natural. I masturbate myself; since Brett died, the only relief I've had are my own fingers, and a few vibrating sex toys that I bought on-line.
No, what threw me was the size of his cock! I felt an overwhelming sense of deja vu. He was hung just like his father, who was extremely well endowed.
I could tell by the sounds he was making that he had reached the point of no return. "AHHHHH," he shouted, and shot of huge load of cum straight up into the air. I must have gasped, because he opened his eyes and looked right at me.
"MOM!" He scrambled to cover himself up with the bedspread.
"I'm sorry, Jason; I should have knocked."
I shut his door and made a hasty retreat. I was sorry that I had embarrassed him, and feeling a bit guilty because I couldn't get the image of his cock out of my mind. My pussy tingled when I thought about it. I'm his mother, for God's sake. When he came into the kitchen the next morning, his face was red and he stared at the floor.
"I'm so sorry about last night, Mom. I promise I won't do it again."
"Sure you will, honey. It's perfectly natural. Everyone does it, it's nothing to be ashamed of."
"That's what Dad told me. He even gave me some pointers on how to do it better, like with lube and stuff. That was about the last conversation we ever had. I'm glad you're not mad at me."
"I'd be more disappointed if you didn't do it. I masturbate myself sometimes."
