This is the story of the summer my life turned weird, 1977. Mom and I had never seemed to get along, but that changed after some perverted things happened. Perverted, but I loved every second.
Living outside Omaha, my family was already turning to shit. My parents had separated, but not divorced since it was forbidden in the Catholic Church. My twin little sisters, juniors in parochial high school, moved in with my dad, an Air Force officer, since he was usually over at his girlfriend's apartment. With little supervision, the twins knew they could get away with anything. My 'perfect' basketball scholarship older brother went to college in Florida and rarely came home, even in the summer. Sometimes I could see him play when FSU was on TV.
Then there was me. The slow learner, the spastic kid, the 'special ed' son. I stayed with Mom in our base housing. Eighteen already but behind my sisters and only finishing tenth grade, I was the quintessential problem child. Now it's called ADHD, but back then it was called "Settle down or I'll pop you on the mouth again". As a military 'brat', I didn't make many close friends, since we got transferred every few years. I definitely made bad choices there in Nebraska, as I got caught driving around in a Volkswagen my 'buddy' had stolen. We were drinking beer also, all of us underage at the time. Since it wasn't me who had actually hotwired the car and put stolen license plates on it, I got a suspended 6 month sentence and maximum three years' probation. The worst part was that I also lost my license until I turned nineteen.
Needless to say my parents had a violent reaction and I was grounded until my probation was over. So, I hung around the house after school, built plastic model kits and watched a lot of TV in my room. I cut grass in summer and shoveled the neighborhood snow in winter. I liked being a loner better anyway.
My mom worked in a medical office that had four or five doctors. She was a nurse's assistant, but typed insurance letters and forms also. She typed really fast and to help pay my fines and court costs, she put an ad in the classifieds and I tacked flyers to bulletin boards around the dorms and classrooms offering her typing services. Back then there were no PCs. Most of her business was from the University. Students with term papers mostly, but sometimes long thesis or dissertation papers. With the doctors' permission, she used the big electric typewriter in a corner of the office almost every weekend. On long days we'd eat lunch there in the breakroom, the only people in the modern three-story medical building. On the way to the office or on the way home, we were constantly going to dorms or apartments near campus to pick up or deliver papers.
Since 'this was all my fault' and so I wouldn't get into mischief, I had to go with her to the office on the weekends, sometimes both days. I took my homework but finished it early, then read a library book of my own or all the magazines in the waiting room. I wandered around the examination rooms, reading the diplomas on the wall and posters telling me not to do drugs or get VD. I was really shy around girls back then and had never even befriended or touched one, so there was no danger of Gonorrhea.
"Why don't you read these to me? It would be faster," Mom said about the papers on the second weekend. "It will help with your comprehension and vocabulary. Sit here." She pulled over an office chair. So, I read aloud while the typewriter hummed and rapidly clicked.
2
On the third weekend for the first job I grabbed a spiral notebook with a sloppy essay scribbled inside. After two pages, I noticed Mom's plaid sleeveless blouse was unbuttoned at a spot halfway down the front. She must have missed it when she got dressed this morning. The gap had a wonderful view of her cleavage where the cups of the white bra met the band across her chest. At the angle of how I was sitting, the resulting spandex 'V' left a nice view of part of her right titty. Her skin was pale, usually covered by her clothes or even her bare-shouldered bathing suit when she laid out in the back yard. I could see small blue veins under her smooth skin, which jiggled slightly as she typed. Every time she hit the carriage return lever on the right for a new line, her titty shook even more. Sure, I had seen her at the pool and beach, but my dick began to grow at the forbidden, closeup view of what had been lurking under my mom's clothes.
I kept reading the student's paper on Shakespeare, and tried not to be too obvious that I was looking into the gap. Eventually she caught me as the angle changed when she leaned in to help me pronounce a long word.
"What are you..? Benji!" she scowled, looking down at the opening, reached in to close her shirt and ruined my view. "How long has that been open?" Her beautiful blue eyes drilled into me.
Mom looked like the blonde niece Marilyn on the
Munsters
. Just over forty-two, she looked ten years younger and turned plenty of heads wherever she went. She was the homecoming queen of her smalltown high school back in Connecticut. I'm sure the mundane life she now lived didn't help her sour moods. She refused to go on any dates, stubbornly holding out hope that my dad would return to her. I hated that I had gotten in trouble and disappointed her. She was very uptight, proper and never very affectionate and that got worse after I had gone to juvenile court.
To her question about how long her shirt had been open, I just grunted an 'I don't know' and shrugged, which seemed to make her angrier.
"You should have told me and looked away until I fixed it! Not gawking at me for so long. It's rude and very...improper." She raised the completed page the rest of the way out of the typewriter, then sighed and moaned in exasperation, because I'm pretty sure she saw the boner bulging against a thigh in my pants. "Jeezum, Benji, I'm your mother!"
"You're still beautiful," I mumbled.
"Thank you but you mustn't do that again," she said, rolling a new sandwich of paper and carbon sheets into the typewriter.
3
Nothing was said in the car on the way home. I guess she just wrote the boner off as a random event. I jerked off three times late that night. I was old enough to buy 'nudie' magazines and before my probation had even snuck into XXX movies near the base, but this new obsession was different, depraved, thrilling. I asked myself 'why not think about Mom?', recalling the forbidden view I received that day and memories of her at the pool or making quick dashes around the house in her open robe or slip. I had filed those mental images away, but now there was no going back. It was like a flood gate opened. I couldn't believe I was so excited as I yanked on my cock and squirted big, gooey loads into already crusty socks.
The following Saturday at the office, she wore a red lightweight sweater and jeans. No buttons, but the material clung to her body and outlined the bra beneath nicely. It was strange to suddenly be interested in what clothes my mom was wearing, and noticing how tight they were.
As I walked behind her chair to go grab the next term paper, a sloppy mess in a spiral notebook, she mentioned the risk-free outfit. "No buttons for me to miss today," she joked. I surveyed the elastic band, gracefully arched across her back. The clasp just laid there, unaware of the treasures it held.
"But there's hooks!" I said, sounding like kid while I pulled the band away from her torso then let go. It was just an impulse. The response was swift.
"Benjamin Michael!" she shouted, using my middle name and slamming a ream of paper on the table. "How old are you?"
"Eighteen," I shrugged.
"Well, you're acting
five
again! I don't understand this regression! Do we have to go talk to Dr. Morris?"
No," I said with a smirk. The shrink was okay I guessed. He always said I 'acted out' for attention.
"Do I have to go back to spanking you like a child?"
Bent over, pants down, in front of my beautiful blonde mom, ass stinging red. For some reason, my dick jolted at the thought. "Yes," I answered, but she just groaned in frustration, not believing I was actually serious.
An hour later and after a horribly written paper on some guy named Whitman, I snapped her strap again.
"Benjamin! I swear!" she muttered, but gave up on any further protest.
Near the end of the last term paper, my throat was dry and I got up for water while she changed the typewriter's ink ribbon. I was enjoying my time with her. We shared a few laughs about the poor grammar of the student that wrote it. This office must have been Mom's safe haven; there were no reminders of unfaithful Dad, my nearly estranged brother, the bratty twins that never listened to her, or even stolen cars.
On my return, she was standing at the table stacking finished pages. Facing away, her bra closure was protected only by the red top. For whatever reason, even more attention from her I guess, I reached over and slid the two tongues of the bra apart beneath the thin sweater. They pulled away from each other as a wailing scream escaped my mom's lips.
"Damn it Benji!" She yelled, then exhaled loudly. It was pretty bad to make her use the actual 'D' word. To my surprise, she took a deep breath and calmed down suddenly. "Something must really be bothering you. We'll talk about this later." She stomped out of the room, I assumed to fix the bra. I wished I could have watched her re-hook it, another fantasy I never had before that moment. Just thinking about her titties moving around inside the loosened bra made blood flow to my dick.
4
"You're going to have to talk to me, Benji," Mom said in the car on the way to campus to deliver our work and pick up more. She sighed loudly "Look, I know you hate me and you're pissed the judge made you live with me. But you don't need to antagonize me..."
"Who told you all that?" I asked, but I already knew the answer.
"Your father."
"He's lying to piss you off."
"I don't like that word."
"Okay, he's lying to be mean and upset you," I corrected. There were lots of words my religious Mom didn't like.
"They let me pick who I wanted to live with. I thought you knew that. I didn't want you to be alone. I love you Mom, I never hated you. Ever. I don't blame you for my punishment. I know it was stupid to go driving with those guys," I continued, referring to the stolen Volkswagen. Then I talked about better days when I was little and some other mushy stuff. Mom was quiet the rest of the day.
