All Characters In This Story Are 18+ Years Old
Saturday, December 22, 1962
Eighteen-year-old Barney Barnes slipped his six-foot-two, hundred-and-ninety pound, athletic frame through the back door into the kitchen in his house in Westport, Connecticut. Even on the very short walk from his hot thirty-seven-year-old neighbor's home, the cold night air chilled his fingers and he had fumbled the lock. As he eased the door shut behind him, its hinges squeaked. Fearful that his late return would wake his mother, he exclaimed silently, "Darn, Darn, Darn it!"
The house seemed to pick up and amplify every little sound. He heard his heart beating as loud as the school marching band's big bass drum. The ceramic owl wall clock, with its big gold-and-black plastic eyes that shifted left, right, left, right, with every ticking second, clicked implacably. Mrs. Maxon's words, hours ago, following her phone call to his mom, echoed, like a referee's whistle in an ice arena:
"Your mother says to tell you to be sure not to make a lot of noise when you come home, because she's going to bed."
Then Barney's stomach gurgled worse than if he had started up the Westinghouse roll-about dishwasher. Looking up to the ceiling, he held his breath as he listened for tell-tale footfalls immediately above him in his mother's bedroom. As he worried that she might demand an explanation, he thought wildly, "I can't just say 'Sure, Mom. I fixed Mrs. M.'s damper, then we danced a little, then she sucked my dick, then we fucked, then we fucked again, and then we had a nap and so, now I'm home at 12:15 in the morning. What's wrong?' "
When he heard nothing to indicate Judith Barnes had wakened, Barney exhaled a long quiet sigh. Suddenly, the house was still; even Owl's tick-tock seemed muted. He mused to himself, "Don't be stupid. Everything's okay. It's all normal noise that wouldn't wake a cat." No longer tired or tipsy from his Cuba Libre fuck party with Roberta Maxon, he pulled off his rubber boots and heavy parka, then put them away in the hall closet.
Upstairs in his own room, at the far end of the hallway from the master bedroom, Barney stripped down. Heaping his jeans, flannel shirt, underwear and socks haphazardly onto the carpeted floor while he walked around, he mulled the amazing life-changing event he had just experienced with Mrs. Maxon. His sweat, her Chanel No. 5 perfume, his cum-smell and her sex-scent clung to his sticky body. He wondered whether he should risk a shower, then decided to set his alarm and get up earlier than usual to wash away the evidence.
Turning down his bed, Barney retrieved his Boston Bruins flannel pajamas from under his pillow. As he pulled on the bottoms, he thought how his favorite team had just skated to a big victory over the Red Wings, but it was only their fourth win against eighteen losses and eight ties. Buttoning up his top, he sighed regretfully. They were having a lousy season, but he loved them.
In bed, Barney dismissed the Bruins and returned to the MILF-next-door. She had invited him for cocoa. His hockey practice, if it wasn't cancelled due to the weather, was not until ten. Maybe he could see Mrs. M. later, after all. The thought made his cock wiggle and begin to thicken.
Barney tried to ignore his stiffening prick, but his balls added their complaint and made it impossible. Still, he was concerned that his squeaky bed in the early morning quiet would carry its noise to his mom, wake her up, and maybe get him caught in an embarrassing predicament. Climbing out of bed, he padded barefoot down the hall toward her room to check on her. If she seemed very asleep, maybe he could risk jacking off standing up in the bathroom.
Startled to find her door wide open, Barney crept cautiously to his mom's Colonial-style maple four-poster double bed, where he got another surprise. Judith was certainly asleep, however she had, during the night, thrown off her blankets so that only her feet and ankles remained covered. Semi-curled on her right side, with that arm bent beneath her pillow, her left arm lay extended atop and along her ribs, with her relaxed fingers' first knuckles tucked under her nightgown's hem. Like the bedding, this was skewed, leaving her higher leg bared to her hip, while with her lower leg indecorously flashed flesh well up its inner thigh.
Over the years, Barney had frequently seen his mom wearing this long white flannel nightdress, so prettily patterned with little green-stemmed violet and purple flowers. Never, though, had he seen her under these conditions and circumstances. Not only did the nightie diagonally slant precariously up across her pelvis, all four of its shirt-front buttons were undone and the plackets were spread immodestly. Her right breast, squashed by her weight into the bottom sheet on the mattress, was exposed to its partially buried areola, while her left tit, still technically hidden, bulged threateningly downward.
As he looked on his mother with a completely new perspective, Barney forgot his dream image of Roberta Maxon, naked on her knees in her pink negligee and red bedroom slippers. Adjusting his viewpoint, he cocked his head sideways and peeked to see what he could see up under her nightgown. Her closed legs formed a triangular darkness and revealed nothing, so he moved closer to the wall, then craned his neck to peer upside down into the open valley between her hills. Though they swelled and settled provocatively with her regular breathing, he was again prevented from seeing more than he had already.
What was seen and what was guessed, however, was sufficient for Barney's thick cock to fully harden in his pajamas. Licking his lips unconsciously, he boldly pushed the Bruins below his butt and stroked his stick with his left hand while he cradled his recharged walnuts in his right. He wanted to reach down and lift Judith's nightdress the rest of the way up to her stomach, or pull its opened bodice fully away to free her left boob to fall where it may. More than that, though, he did not want to disturb her repose or let go of himself; not even for a second.
Pulling and squeezing. Pushing and pinching. Barney worked his hands faster in opposition and in concert. Groaning low in his throat, he recognized the welcome building tension rising from his gonads to his gut and then from there onward to his chest.
Almost at the same time that Barney tipped his head back with his eyes shut tight to better concentrate on his pending ejaculation, Judith opened her eyes and turned her head left on her pillow. The room lighting was mixed shadows from the mercury vapor street lamp outside, off-center from her dormer windows, and silver splinters from the sheers, sent through scudding clouds by the waning crescent moon. She blinked several times while she stared at what appeared to be her son standing by her bed. Her mind reeled as she asked herself, "What is he doing? Is he masturbating?"
Rolling her whole body to the bed's center, Judith lifted her torso from the mattress, propped herself on her elbows and asked, with as even and non-judgmental a tone as she could muster in her groggy state, "BeeBee? Honey? What are you doing in my bedroom? What time is it? Is something the matter?" She knew immediately the answer to the most critical question and she regretted her unintentional fusillade. She chastised herself silently, "Slow down, Judith. Don't interrogate the poor boy."
Barney's libidinal energy promptly dissipated when he heard his mother's sleepy voice. Dropping his dick, he did not know whether to shit or grin as he exclaimed, "Yikes! M-Mom! Gosh, I'm so sorry! I don't know what..." He broke off speaking, opted for 'flight' in reaction to his sudden fear, and turned about-face. Hobbled by his pajama bottoms, he lost valuable seconds and failed to flee the scene before he heard Judith clearly command him, "Wait, BeeBee! Don't go."
Sheepish, but obedient, Barney pivoted on his heels and finished tugging his pajama bottoms up under his untucked square-hemmed top. While he was doing that, but before he finished, Judith swung her legs out over the mattress edge, sat up properly and leaned toward her bedside table to snap on a lamp. During their pas de deux, mother and son each got brief, yet significant, eyefuls of the other's heretofore private parts. Blushing, he averted his gaze as quick as he could while she matter-of-factly pulled her nightgown hemline below her knees and calmly re-did the lower two buttons on her neckline to re-upholster her thirty-five-inch C-cup pillows.
Judith suddenly remembered reading in a women's magazine, years earlier, an article by Dr. Benjamin Spock about child sexuality and how a parent ought to address masturbation. She did not recall whether it was in 'Redbook', or 'Ladies' Home Journal', but the gist was not to punish, or add guilt. Of course, it said nothing about what to do if the 'child' was practically a grown man, with at least a seven-and-a-half-inch boner, ready to ejaculate on his mother while she slept unaware. She coached herself, silently, "You'll just have to wing it and hope for the best, Judith."
Patting the bed beside her, Judith encouraged, "Sit here, BeeBee." She smiled wistfully as his butt depressed the mattress, causing her left hip to slid and bump against his right. She thought, "How long has it been since...?" Cutting herself off, she said to him, "I haven't been as good a mom as I might have been since your dad left, BeeBee. I'm sorry for that. Becky had her troubles and took a lot of my energy, and I'm glad she's doing well now, but I think I kind of took it for granted that you were okay."
Barney started to deny Judith's self-recriminations, but she stopped him, "No, you're sweet, but I have to say this." She patted his right thigh at the knee and thought, "God! His muscles are so hard!" Quickly clearing the distraction from her mind, she continued, "But, I can be here for you now, if you will let me."
Barney was unclear on where his mother was going with her words, but his dick was happy with where she was going with her hand. Soft, yet firm at the same time, her brief pats sent galvanic thrills up his thigh to his aching unrequited nuts. Rather than shrinking away with proper shame, the recalcitrant pony in his pants reared up proudly. When she saw her son's flannel tent over his rising pole, her heart fluttered, her cunt clutched and her conscience disengaged.
