I'm not sure where to start on this, after all who would believe me, I can scarcely believe it myself. As it is I'm writing this diary entry and putting a password on it to protect it. I really would hate to think anyone who knew me would read it, as there's someone I very much want to protect. Yet I also want to get this down as I remember it...
I guess I'd better start at the beginning as I try and sort out in my mind as to the how's and why's of the tale.
My name is Jason, I'm aged 15 and I'm doing OK at school, though my Dad keeps telling me he had it much harder and that the exams were tougher and that everything was better when he was growing up. I try to keep a straight face these days as when I was rooting around in our loft I found his exam results and frankly he didn't do all that well, harder exams or not. Still he holds down a decent job as a bus driver and keeps telling us that he's the breadwinner for the family, despite the fact that my Mum works as well. He's definitely what you'd call a man's man, likes his football and racing on the telly or live, likes to have a drink with his mates and expects his dinner on the table when he gets in from work, whether my Mum's in or not.
My Mum works for one of the local solicitor firms as a secretary, it's only part time but the money pays for treats as she calls them, holidays, presents and such. She's quiet and attentive and, although in her late thirties, is quite good looking, well I think so anyway, as do my mates, they call her a MILF. That's occasionally caused the odd fight, though most are now careful not to say it in front of me, I can tell they are thinking it. She has a nice figure and an absolute mane of auburn hair that frames a pretty face. Granted she has one or two wrinkles and no one's going to mistake her for a teenager, but as Mum's go, she's more than pretty cool.
She drops me off at school when she goes into town to work, not that she has to, it's just become a habit and we chat as we listen to the news on the local radio. That's how my friends and others know what she looks like.
I have no brothers or sisters, though I do have a lot of cousins and a lot of friends, though no girlfriend, well not yet, possibly not ever, every time I go to talk to a girl, or have to talk to one, I just go all red faced and stammer or get tongue tied. Mum says it will pass, but it's been a year now and not getting any better.
We live in a nice semi-detached home, owned by a local housing association. It has a garden, which is more or less looked after by my Mum and me, as my Dad usually claims he's too tired from work and needs his rest. It doesn't stop him going over to his mates and helping them when they call him up. Mum and I also did most of the decorating and I assisted her to lay down several laminate floors downstairs after Dad cried off with having a bad back.
I know my Mum and Dad fight occasionally, well, by fight I mean argue, but it seldom lasts long. Dad usually goes out and leaves Mum crying, although she tries to hide it when she comes downstairs (they never argue in front of me). But, compared to some of my mates, at least I still have a Mum and Dad, well, the same Mum and Dad, a lot of them have had several Dad's.
Because of my Dad's shifts, Mum and I are often in the house on our own. I help with the chores at night, after doing my homework which she insists comes first. After that we normally sit in the lounge with me on my laptop (one of Mum's treats) listening via headphones to music or videos and Mum watching her soaps on the telly. I guess you could call it a dull life, but it was comfortable, warm and safe, a good environment for a kid to grow up in, though I much preferred just the times with my Mum.
That's not to say I hate my Dad, he takes me to football matches and encourages me to play rugby, an abiding passion in my life since I grew and filled out to my current shape. He still reckons I might have some growing out to do yet. He may be right, my voice still betrays an adolescent squeak at times of stress and my Mum jokingly complains about having to keep replacing my clothes. As it is, I stand six foot tall and weigh about twelve and a half stones (180lbs) and I play as a winger for my school rugby side because if they can get the ball to me in the clear there's not many can catch me. It looks as if we'll be the county champions this year and the entire school is buzzing about it as no one can ever remember the school winning anything, ever. It's also why I can look after myself and deal with any of my friends being rude about my Mum.
Anyway this is all just background to prove I'm completely normal (for given values of normal) but my life was about to be turned upside down, hence this journal.
It was a normal Monday night, Mum and I had done the chores, my homework was up to date and we had settled down with a couple of cups of tea in the lounge to do what we always did. Mum had her soaps going and I had my headphones on to blot out the sound. Tonight though instead of sitting in her arm chair, Mum had decided to lie on the rug, she occasionally did this and I thought nothing of it. When I glanced up I did notice that Mum was lying on her stomach between me and the telly and that her legs came almost up to the sofa where I was sitting. She was wearing her usual casual jeans-coloured leggings (called jeggings) and a loose fleecy sweatshirt. What she was wearing underneath it I hadn't a clue.
As it was, without thinking I placed the soles of my feet, after taking them out of my slippers, on the back of her calves. Mum glanced back with a smile then went back to her preoccupation with the goings on in soapland. Her calves were soft and warm not tensed up and so I just started to gently wiggle my feet in and out and occasionally side to side watching her skin ripple slightly. Mum said nothing so I presumed it was OK, there was no sexual intent on my part. It was just a nice feeling in the doing and the watching. I did notice her bottom cheeks flexing slightly and her hips occasionally press down to the floor, but thought nothing of it. We carried on in silence until the soaps finished and Mum simply got up and asked me to make another cup of tea as she prepared to make Dad's dinner. When Dad came home it was back to normal, they sat watching a film and I just got on with chatting on Facebook and I thought nothing more of it.
The following night my Dad was home early and Mum watched her soaps in her armchair whilst Dad and I talked Rugby. The schools big match at the weekend would set us up to be champions in all but name. Technically, the second placed team could mathematically catch us. Dad announced, if we won it, that they'd sort out something special for me, though I said nothing; I'd heard Dad's promises before.
Next night Mum and I were on our own again and Mum lay on the floor in front of me again. At first I was in a world of my own until Mum's foot gently tapped mine, accidentally I thought. Still, glancing down, I placed my feet on her calves again and gently manipulated them, hearing Mum sigh gently. I kept the motion going and did notice that Mum's thighs had parted slightly and that her hips kept pressing down hard at each movement of her legs by me, it also dawned on me that she was enjoying what I was doing. I then realised that I was beginning to get an erection just watching her, which confused me greatly. Sons weren't supposed to do that, I knew, yet I couldn't stop, not now. I also noticed a small damp patch appearing at Mum's groin as she gave a delicate sigh when the soaps ended. She got up to make Dad's dinner, with a gentle smile in my direction.
That night when I wanked off, there was no fantasy woman in my mind, it was my Mum. God knows I tried to stop the image appearing, but in the end it was my only real sexual experience involving someone else. I blew a massive frustrated load into some tissues I had in my bedside drawer for exactly that purpose.
The following night Dad was off to the pub with his mates and I realised that I was delighted that he was. Mum and I did our chores seemingly quicker than usual, though our conversation remained completely mundane in nature until we both went into the living room to settle.
Again Mum chose to lie in front of me; quite deliberately I'm sure now, and put the telly on. I didn't hesitate either. I placed my feet carefully on her calves and began the same regular in and out motion that seemed to give her pleasure. Again her thighs parted slightly allowing me to gaze at a very shapely set of legs and a very nice bum. I must have noticed in the past, but this time I was watching her as a sexual person in her own right. My own erection had bloomed as soon as my feet touched Mum, but I kept on wobbling and shaking her calves with my feet, watching her pelvis grind the floor until Mum reached under herself to slide her hands down her jeggings and into, I presumed, her underwear to begin fingering herself. Again, not a word was spoken, Mum didn't even glance back at me, and I could just see her fingers manipulating herself as I kept the momentum from my feet going. Finally she tensed up, gave a gentle moan and withdrew her hand, looked behind her and just smiled at me, before going back to her soaps which were just about finished.
I excused myself and went upstairs to masturbate and blew a massive load into the tissues before flushing them down the loo. I returned to find Mum just sitting in the armchair watching the telly, looking as if nothing untoward had happened, not choosing to talk about anything other than generalities. The only clue to her feelings were a damp patch at her groin again and a slight flush to her cheeks.
.... There is more of this story ...