With it being a Sunday, she’s wearing a light, black, cloth robe with slippers on her feet. It’s still surprisingly warm for this time of year, but we’re not mad about it. I set the pot down on the side table and join her on the swing, letting the late morning sun wash over us.
“How’d you sleep?” she asks after a moment of silence.
“Like a log. And you?”
“Like a wet log.” She replies, not hiding the sass at all. She sips her coffee while side-eying me.
“I’m sorry, mom. Last night was…”
She waved her hand dismissively.
“You don’t have to apologize, sweety. But you did scare me. It’s not every night you come home in a full-blown panic attack. After feeling how hot you were, I didn’t know what else to do but take you to the pond.”
“Well, it calmed me down. And quick! So, thank you.” I turn my head, giving her a sincere and loving smile.
“No need to thank me, either. It’s what moms do.” She replies, returning my smile and caressing my cheek.
We go back to looking out at the land, just taking in the serene morning. But, after a few moments of us just sipping our coffees, mom breaks the silence.
“So…”
“So.” I reply.
“Do you…want to tell me what happened last night?” She inquires, turning to face me, her leg bent on the seat of the swing, her arm now propping up her head.
I sigh in dread, looking for answers in my half full coffee mug. Finding none.
“I don’t know.”
“I don’t buy it. Try again.” She responds sharply.
“We…we were having a great time. She looked gorgeous in the dress you helped pick out for her, she loved the flowers, we had a nice talk on the way to the dance. We danced a lot, talked a lot, the next thing we knew, the lights came up and everyone was heading out. As we got back to the car, she invited me back to her place, saying that her parents are out of town for the weekend.”
“I knew she was lying about them being home! But sorry, go on.” mom interrupts.
“Anyways…umm…we get to her house, she tells me to wait outside for a sec, she goes in for a few minutes, and then she opens the door and tells me to come in. When I walked in, she had a whole bunch of candles lit up, all over the living room. She had on some RnB music, it smelled like she freshened up her perfume or something. It was a lot, but I was feeling ok.”
“We sat on the couch and started making out. We were getting handsy, I helped her out of her dress, but when she started helping me out of my suit…that’s…that’s…”
“When you started panicking.” Mom finishes.
“…Yeah.” I groggily respond.
“It’s ok if it that’s the reason, but were you really that freaked out about possibly losing your virginity?”
“Mom!” I snapped up, my eyes locked with hers in both shock and anger. How did she know?
“Easy, honey! Easy! Look…when Sandra came over to look for a dress, we…had a little girl-to-girl talk, annnd….it just came up. It’s not a big deal.” She so boldly claims.
I toss my head and my hands back in pure embarrassment.
“Oh relax! It’s not that big a deal, honey! Why do you think I let you take the car or prepped you with a few condoms. I was your age too, once. I know what’s up with the ‘post-dance activities.” She states nonchalantly.
“Besides, I know you. Probably even better than you know yourself. You were on cloud nine all day, every day when you two were fooling around a couple years ago. You haven’t been the same since. And, since she has been your only close, and intimate relationship, plus her confession, well… two and two make four, baby.” She shrugs and takes a long sip of her coffee.
I sit there, now staring back into my cup, knowing full well that she doesn’t know me better than I do. If she did, she’d be repulsed at the fact that I’m head over heels in love with her. Mind, body, and soul.
She speaks up again, while I stew. “Look, honey, it’s not the end of the world that you’re a virgin. Any girl who you tell that to is going to feel incredibly special, like you were waiting for them. And it’s ok to get nervous about losing it, too, whether you really like a girl or not.”
She set her cup down and sandwiched my free hand between hers. “But, since it sounds like you left Sandra in such a hurry, I doubt you even told her the reason you were leaving. I think you should call her, and soon, and tell her what happened. I think she may be thinking that it was something she did, sweety.” She says with her sweet, motherly tone, complete with a slight tilt of the head.
I close my eyes and sigh, dumbfoundedly. I had never considered that. “Yeah.” I respond quietly, “I’ll do that, mom. Thanks.” I rise from the swing and head inside before she has the chance to say or ask anything else. I feel guilty enough as it is. I don’t need to drop the bombshell and admit that I didn’t sleep with Sandra because I was nervous about losing my V-card. I left because it felt like I was cheating…on mom.
…
Late at night. Lying in my bed. Nude but for the light sheet covering me up to my waist.
The rest of the day was mostly uneventful. I did call Sandra and explain myself. She was relieved, and glad that I was ok. She thanked me for explaining myself, even though I knew what I told her wasn’t the truth. To my surprise, she asked if we could go out sometime. I told her that I’d think about it, but that it’d be nice.
Mom left me alone for most of the day. Only interrupting my melancholy for meals and iced tea refills. She just had on a thin, light pink tunic dress that barely made it to mid-thigh. I wondered if at some point, when she figured I was going to be in my room for the day, if she shucked it off and cleaned the house naked. A wicked part of my dark brain thought that I should discreetly buy and place a camera or two around the house to find out for myself.
I shook the thought away. Even just imagining her cleaning the house nude had me tenting the sheet. I didn’t need to feed the intrusive thought train.
She made ravioli for dinner tonight. With hand made pasta. Ohhh. Just thinking of her doing that nude…
—-
I see her. Nude. In the kitchen. Her hair is up in a green bandana with a white, fern leaf pattern. A Chili Pepper song playing. Maybe, “Tell Me Baby,” one that really get her tits bouncing to the rhythm. Especially during the fast part of the second verse. I always love watching her dance.
She leans onto the island as she kneads the pasta dough. As she pushes down, it causes her to come up on her tip toes, using all the strength she has, to press down on the dough, causing her big, wide, pear-shaped ass to flex and jiggle.
After dusting the dough with flour, she simply claps her hands together, leaving a layer of flour dust on her tits. She slaps her hands against her stomach and thighs to get the rest off, leaving flour smudges on her flat tummy and thick legs.
I see her at the counter by the sink, dipping her delicate hands into a bowl of meat, herbs, and breadcrumbs. She pulls out a hunk and softly presses it together, massaging it into a ball shape. She takes her time rolling the balls in her hands before placing them, one by one, in the cut-out ravioli.
Back at the island, she’s grating fresh parmesan and romano cheeses. Her arms moving up and down, aggressively shaking her tits. Enough to make her nipples hard as rocks. Afterwards, she licks her luscious lips, as she sprinkles the cheese over top the open ravioli. Now, closing up the pasta with a fork, I watch as she goes into hyperfocus. Ensuring that every piece of ravioli is perfectly sealed. Her tongue slightly sticking out in concentration. Her nipples are still quite hard.
At the stove, she tends the sauce that has been simmering all day. She raises the spoon to her lips, but a few drops fall on her chest. She gasps. The sauce droplets start dripping down her breast and one threatens to fall from her hardened nip. She quickly swipes a finger to catch it, and immediately brings it to her mouth. Sucking on her saucy finger, she moans in delight. It must be delicious.
“Oh!” She gasps in surprise, her body becoming upright and stiff, her tits and ass jiggling from the immediacy of the motion. She almost forgot to set the table. Reaching up to the top of the cupboard, she reaches up on her tip toes. The slight dimples above her ass come to view. Her lean, sexy back tightening as she stretches for the plates.
Dancing her way to the table, plates in hand, she sings along to the song. Her tits bobbing along with the beat. Making her way back to get the silverware, her body keeps wiggling and jiggling in all the right places as she keeps dancing away. Her bare feet skipping along the kitchen tile. Toes painted green to match her bandana.
Knock. Knock.
—
I snap out of my now very rare daydream (Yet, at night? Language is weird). I look to my door as my mom, still in her tunic dress (and not much else if the light shining through it isn’t tricking my eyes), comes strolling in. I calmly, but quickly, raise my knees up to hide the fact that I’m tenting the sheet. “Oh, hey, mom.” I reply like I wasn’t just thinking about her making the sexiest plate of ravioli ever made.
“Hey kiddo. You doing alright after today?” she asks sweetly, sitting down at the edge of the bed. Her hand resting on my knee, lightly rubbing it through the sheet.
“Yeah, I think so. Sandra even asked if I wanted to go out again.”
“Oh wonderful!” She beams, “Hey, four more of those, and you might just have to treat your mom to a nice dinner. Maybe even a movie. With popcorn. Extra butter.”
“Wha? Why? Because we potentially may go out in the future, I for some reason have to take you out to dinner as a thank you for that?
“I mean, I’m not saying it’s not the suit’s fault…” She looks away, implying that it was definitely the suit that made Sandra ask me out again, and potentially four more times after that. “Buhht…” She finishes with a goofy shrug.
“…You’re relentless, mother o’ mine.” I reply snarkily.
“Oh, you love me!” She lovingly scolds, swatting the side of my thigh.
“I suppose I do, even though you are a butt sometimes.” I say back, sticking my tongue out at her.
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