The new semester started like a marathon, with the crowded runners all trying to get a step ahead, and bumping and jostling. I said before that it was like putting your mouth on a firehose, and it was. We had hundreds of pages of reading a night, writing to do, and there was not a spare minute. Literally. Not a spare minute. I would fall asleep at night with a book in my hand or my fingers on the keyboard, and wake up in the morning to finish whatever it was I fell asleep with. I didn't have time for anything extra-curricular. I had called Carol, Bridget, Aunt Ellie, and Mary, dear Mary, to explain, and each of them was completely understanding.
But Mom. I didn't even try to explain to her. I wanted to be with her every minute and, whenever my mind wandered, it was to her.
We established a pattern. Mom and I would text throughout the day and, when I could get a minute, I would call her, just to chat. She knew the pressure I was under. But Saturdays were for us. I made sure of that. Where before I would have buried myself in a cocoon and tried to avoid her and Dad at all costs, now I hungered for our time together. And that was Saturdays, and sometimes Sundays.
The first Saturday after classes resumed, I was too swamped to do anything but text her to say I would not be able to visit that weekend.
"Oh, Honey. I was looking forward to seeing you. Are you okay? You do whatever you have to do. I'll be here waiting for you when you can come."
Hmmm. I liked that. She didn't say, "We'll be here waiting for you..." She said, "I'll be here waiting for you." I liked that. I texted back.
"There's an incentive. Let me try to get caught up this week, and I hope I can come next weekend. Will that be okay?"
"Of course, Silly Billy. Just let me know."
So I did. I worked my ass off to get ahead of the curve. I was inspired. I may have been an average student before, but now I was inspired. I had to get enough ahead so I could have time with Mom. Sometimes I laughed at it. I'd look around the lecture hall when we were all together, over a hundred of us, and I'd wonder: How many guys in here are busting their asses so they can get time to try and fuck their Mothers?
Because that was my goal. I wanted to fuck her. She wanted my love. I knew what I wanted. She knew what she wanted. At some point, maybe the two would come together.
So, the next Saturday I made a point of texting her early in the morning to ask if I could come for supper. She replied enthusiastically, and I studied hard so I could have the time. When it came time to get ready, I was as nervous as when I was dressing to go to Mary's house for dinner. I finally settled on the khaki pants and oxford shirt, again - my wardrobe was limited - and with a text to Mom that I was on the way, headed out.
When I got there, she was waiting for me at the back door, just as the previous time. I don't know how long she had been standing there, but the door opened as I walked up the sidewalk from the driveway.
"Get in here, Mister! Where have you been?" She grabbed my hand and pulled me through the doorway, then put my hand around her back and leaned in to hug me. This time there was no preliminary hug. We went straight for the kiss and, I have to say, it was passionate. You might wonder how a kiss without tongue or anything can be so passionate but, for me, it was. As we ended the kiss, she leaned back, took my hands to hold them, and said, "Let me look at you."
Well, I wanted to look at her, too. She had on black yoga pants (yeah, remember those from Mary?) and a light blue vee-neck sweater. The sweater set off her hair perfectly, and her eyeliner, I noted, was the same color. Had she dressed especially for me? We usually were pretty casual around the house in the evening, but she was anything but dressed casually. She was hot. I looked at her, up and down, and she could tell its effect by the look on my face.
I pulled her in for another kiss, and this time I let my tongue flick against her lower lip and tentatively explore her slightly open mouth. She was hesitant, but her tongue joined the play, very tentatively, but it was there, nonetheless.
My God! I was passionately kissing my Mother, and she was responding. I don't know if you have ever gotten a first kiss from your Mother like that, but I hope you have or that you do in the future. It was mind-shattering. I cannot adequately describe it. The first kiss from your Mom like that is the one kiss that you will remember the rest of your life. It's like your first kiss ever, but on steroids.
Our hands were clasped between us. I released mine, and reached up to hold her face as I kissed her. My tongue getting more bold, and being met with some boldness of hers, was enough to make me almost explode. I moved my right hand from her cheek and cupped the back of her head. She put her arms around my neck, and pulled tightly me into her. If she couldn't feel my dick, then I don't know. She had to feel it, pulsing between us.
Long before I wanted it to end, she pulled away, suddenly seeming shy or, maybe, even a little upset with me.
"Go and say hello to your Father. He's in the den." Then she turned and went into the kitchen. That was it. Just "Go and say hello to your Father..." Was she angry? Was she disappointed? My heart sank at the thought that I might have screwed this up. But she responded to me, didn't she? Didn't that mean something? I didn't know.
