“What?” I asked, confusion mixing with irritation.
“Your penis,” my mother clarified. “The appendage between your legs. What condition is it in? Rather soft, or standing at attention?”
“Soft”, I confessed.
“Count to fifteen,” my mother instructed. She bent over at the waist and placed her palms on the outside of my hips, right where my thighs ended. Her robe hung open invitingly, giving me the clear and startling view that the only thing she was wearing under the robe was a pair of blue bikini underwear. Her breasts hung down in gravitational splendor. She slowly moved her head toward mine and made as if to whisper something in my ear. Instead, I felt the warm moistness of her tongue massaging my inner ear, and combined with the immediate sound of gentle slurping, I sighed audibly and deeply.
“….fourteen, fifteen,” I uttered. As I reached fifteen, my mom moved her palms moved inward until her fingers were resting on my now fully erect penis.
“I’d now describe this more like a flashlight than soft”, she concluded.
The electric feel of her fingers on my privates diverted another pint of blood to that region.
“Whoa,” she said, with mock admiration. “Maybe more like a rolling pin than a flashlight.”
She stood up and returned to her chair. “That is what I meant,” she said. “What you are feeling right now is not intimacy.”
I started to stand up to protest her conclusion, but I knew my obvious woody would just be a not-so-funny underscore of her assertion. I remained seated, gathered my thoughts, and paused a bit before speaking.
“That proves nothing. Females respond to sexual stimulus, too; what does that biological fact have to do with intimacy?”
“Females get a hard-on?” my mother asked.
“Females get wet,” I countered.
“But we can control it,” my mom said with emphasis. “Women don’t automatically get wet at the sight of a naked man. Men immediately get erect at the sight of a naked woman.”
“What you did to me was a whole lot more than sight,” I countered.
“True, but we both know if I would have just undone my robe and stood in front of you the results would have ultimately been the same. I just sped things up a bit”
“I can make you wet.” I bluffed.
“No, you can’t. That’s the point I’m failing spectacularly at making with you. Now, if you physically rub me down there, yes, I will get wet. But if the question is left solely to my human emotional state, you will find me as dry as the Sahara Desert.”
“Is that a challenge?” I asked.
She shrugged. “No. It’s a fact of life. If you want to treat it like a challenge, feel free. But in return, when you fail, I expect you to have the character to tell me that I have convinced you instead of continuing to argue against anything that you don’t like to hear. ”
“How long do I have?” I asked, always seeking a competitive edge.
“Until the taco shells are warm?” my mother suggested. “I’m getting hungry.”
“Okay,” I agreed. “But what’s the proof? If I feel you, you’ll say it’s a mechanical response.”
“You’ll just have to trust me. I’ll tell you if I feel wet.” my mother promised. I didn’t believe this for a minute. She would drown before she would admit she was wet, and I was right.
“How about this,” I suggested. “Put your feet up on your chair, right next to your butt.”
She complied with some uncertainty, but it had the effect of pointing her pussy directly at my face and stretching her bikini underwear tightly over top of it. I wasn’t certain women got wet enough to make their panties wet, but it was a better hedge than “trust me”.
“I’m going to put the shells in for nine minutes,” I warned, announcing both dinner time, and the length of my opportunity. I have to admit, she looked pretty damned good in that position. Her thighs were wider than a model would want, but her ankles and calves were thin, and the thin bikini underwear showed the outlines of her pussy in sky blue detail.
I stuck the cookie sheet with the shells into the oven and set the timer for nine minutes. Frankly, at this point, I didn’t really care if the taco shells spontaneously combusted; I needed all the time I could get.
I sat down next to my mom and stared at the two thirds of her tits that were hanging out of her still loose robe. I shifted my gaze down to the area between her thighs, where the thin blue nylon stretched across two inches of forbidden zone for the length of her crotch. Several stray red pubic hairs volunteered from the edges of her panties. I could make out the shadow of her bush above.
“I don’t know a lot of things about you that I wish I did,” I started. “I don’t know if you realize how attractive you are. I don’t know if you realize how much I’d like to reach out right now and touch the smoothness of your thighs. I don’t know what excites you, and I’m not likely to stumble on it in the next eight – seven minutes.”
I looked at her eyes. She was interested, but that was all.
“You’ve always inspired me, Mom. You’ve inspired me to be a good student and get good grades. You’ve inspired me to get along with people and develop social skills. You’ve inspired me to be responsible, and to think about people other than myself. You probably know all of that.”
I continued, “What you probably don’t know is that because you inspire me in all those other ways, you inspire me to lay awake at night with my cock in my hand, wishing you were lying beside. And when I’m by myself in the middle of the night, there is no chemistry; there’s only imagination in the darkness.”
My mom shifted a little, but I couldn’t tell if it was in response to what I said, or just to get more comfortable.
“It’s gotten worse as I’ve gotten older, Mom. Sometimes, if I saw you in a bathing suit in the summertime, or you were sitting suggestively in a nightgown, I would go somewhere right then and jack off. But now, I cum with you in my mind almost every night.”
Her thighs definitely flexed, and I can see a tiny shadow on the blue panties.
“Do you know that sometimes I take your underwear out of the laundry hamper, and hold them close to my face at night? Your scent is pungent and intoxicating!”
I looked at her eyes and did not know how to interpret the fact that they were closed. I didn’t know how much time was left, but it felt like it was running out. The shadow I thought I had seen on her panties was more distinct now.
“All of the rest of the women in the world are at a terrible disadvantage, Mom, because they’re not you and never will be and I will probably hold that fact against whoever I end up marrying. When I came in the bathroom tonight, it was just a sort of stupid, impulsive thing to do. And I can’t undo it. But tonight, when you’re alone in your bed, know that I am alone in mine, and thinking about you. Thinking about how you look and imagining that I might have washed you all over, then toweled you dry, and touched you in ways that I have never touched you before.”
Her panties showed a dark wet blotch.
I looked at her expectantly. Her breathing was noticeably shallow.
“Okay, I’m wet.” She admitted. “Let’s eat.”
I pulled the taco shells out of the oven and put three on a plate for her. After putting her plate in front of her, I impulsively gave her a quick kiss on the lips. It was just a peck, but even so, I felt my mom kiss back, ever so slightly. That made me kiss her again, pressing my lips firmly against hers, and she tilted her head slightly and pushed back again.
I was more than a little bit pleasantly surprised when, after I broke contact, she put her hand behind my neck, pulled me close, and opened her mouth. Her tongue on my lips was delicious; her tongue on my tongue was erotic, my tongue on her lips made me hard as a rock!
That may be the best kiss I’ve ever had in my life. Mom’s phone rang. It was my dad.
“Hey, Honey,” my mom said into the phone, unconsciously pulling her robe tighter across her body. “How did your day go?” I listened to her side of a general exchange of chit chat as I finished putting things on the table. “No,” she said, “I’m having a wonderful evening. I got to take a long bath while your son made dinner, and we’re just sitting down to eat.”
She listened and then smiled. “You’ll be back tomorrow, right?” She nodded. “Okay. Well, if you need anything, give us a call. We’re just planning another boring evening here.” She nodded again. “Okay. Bye. Love you, too.”
My mom looked at the confusion and desire and affection on my face and sensed that I was about to ask her an awkward question that she didn’t feel like answering. She smiled sweetly at me and asked, “Can you please pass me the cheese and salsa?”
We ate our tacos mostly in silence. It wasn’t the awkward silence of two strangers, or the strained silence of two people who have been arguing, but rather, the silence of two people processing an enormous amount of new information and thinking deeply about it. To be honest, I wasn’t reaching any conclusions, and after rinsing my plate in the sink and putting it in the dishwasher, I sat back down at the table.
“I really like those freckles on your chest,” I said randomly. She was liberally speckled in the area of her permanent tan, and I wondered why I had never noticed it before.
She looked down and shrugged. “I never liked them. I always thought they were unlady like. ”
“Do you want to go into the living room?” I asked.
“I think I feel better right here with a table between us,” my mom replied. At least she had given me an indication of where her head was, and that she was a little uncomfortable.
“Do you want me to leave?” I asked.
She shook her head without thinking about it. “No, I want you to stay, and try to inch along cautiously to whatever conclusion I’m going to draw about what happened tonight.”
“Did Dad calling in the middle of-”
“This really has nothing to do with Dad,” Mom interrupted softly. “This is about me trying to deal with the problem that my simple feelings about you are actually quite complicated. It’s about how a rigid wall of right and wrong can suddenly become a tissue thin curtain, and I’m not certain what side I want to be on.”
Leave a Reply