Chapter 1

I hate hearing my mother cry. Thanks to my father, bastard that he was, I was all too familiar with that horrible sound. I needed more than two hands to count the number of times I listened to Mom crying at night due to his decision to abandon our family – to leave her for his secretary, of all things; it was pathetically predictable.

Dad had always been the breadwinner, but my mother, Sharon, remained a very capable woman. When an accidental pregnancy -- you know, me – had altered their life plans, Mom had been faced with a tough decision: to either stay home or hire a full-time nanny. I’m sure plenty of people would argue she’d made the wrong decision, but she never regretted becoming a homemaker. She embraced the role, putting her at the center of all my fondest childhood memories.

Eventually, Dad had grown tired of pretending to be a family man. Not content with the standard version of breaking Mom’s heart and screwing up his kid, he’d opted to saddle his ex-wife with a mountain of debt from fraudulently obtained credit cards. Mom had had no idea the debt existed. When she found out that the cards had all been taken out in her name, she discovered that her credit score had been completely ruined. She was devastated twice over.

We had no money and no prospects, and I had just started to attend an expensive university in pursuit of a photography degree. Mom supported me every step of the way, but as time marched on, it became necessary to admit that love and good vibes were not going to pay my tuition.

Mom spent many nights trying to find a way to keep both of our lives afloat without having to sacrifice my future to do so. We moved into a small townhouse in order to save money, but everything she earned with her waitressing job went up in smoke. The only silver lining from the move was that it brought us closer together -- emotionally and physically.

In my new bedroom, I could hear Mom sneeze from the other side of the house. We owned a single television, so “movie” nights on the couch were a common event. We mostly watched her shows, but as long as the night ended with me giving her a backrub, I chalked it up to a win.

On one particular night, I was massaging Mom’s shoulders while The Bachelor played in the background. A bowl of sat on the coffee table, empty but for some unpopped kernels. Mom liked to take them and suck on them until the shell was soft enough to bite through. Several empty beer bottles littered the tabletop as a monument to a successful night of drowning our collective woes.

I was perched on the back of the couch, and she on the cushion below me, which gave me the leverage I needed to ease the stress out of her aching muscles. The high ground also gave me an unobstructed view down the front of her loose-fitting t-shirt, which my wandering eyes shamelessly exploited.

Mom was in the middle of venting her misery so that she could fall asleep with an empty mind. “She doesn’t listen, she’s rude as heck, and the poor thing thought triple sec was a type of deodorant!”

I knew better than to interrupt one of her tirades, so I stayed quiet and redoubled my massaging efforts.

“Girls like Amanda make this job so much harder than it needs to be!” Mom ground her teeth together, annoyed with the trifling behaviour of her younger co-worker.

I dug my palm into a knot behind her left shoulder. “I could slash her tires for you?”

“As much as I want you to, I— ow!” Mom swatted my hand playfully. “Gentle, honey! I just ... I want her to grow up. I’ve already raised a kid, and you weren’t half as bratty as her!”

“So you don’t want to set us up on a date?”

She tapped a finger against her chin, mulling over the idea. “Her dad is super rich. Maybe an arranged marriage would solve all our money problems?”

“All of our problems are money problems, Mom,” I joked, but she was not amused, so I tried to save face. “I’m kidding! You know I would only marry for love.”

She tensed up at the thought. “What good will love do when you have to drop out of school? Love doesn’t pay the bills.”

Mom had always been good at lifting my spirits, and I hoped some of her trademark magic had rubbed off onto me. “Love doesn’t, but we can! We’ll find a way. We always have, right?”

“Everyone ‘always has’ until, one day, they don’t! Then they’re homeless, and they’ve ruined their son’s future, all because they couldn’t keep one shitty husband from running off with a fucking...” She stopped herself and took a breath. “Sorry.”

I slid off the back of the couch and wrapped my arms around Mom’s torso in a big bear hug. With my legs on either side of her, my crotch was pressed firmly into her backside. I rested my chin on her shoulder and tightened my grip around her tummy. “No, Mom, that’s where you’re wrong. He couldn’t keep you around. I get to have you in my life, which makes me the luckiest guy in the world.”

Mom sniffled. “You’re the one who gets to hold this old, sobbing bag of bones in their arms.”

“I think you mean this beautiful sobbing bag of bones,” I insisted. “But also— you know, you’re not a bag of bones. Maybe I should have led with that?”

Mom chortled. “Stop trying to make me laugh. I’m supposed to be pouting!”

“It’s just money, Mom. We can always get more, but what we have is irreplaceable.”

She sighed, letting her head fall back so it rested on my shoulder. “Any bright ideas?”

I had a few ideas, actually.

Ever since I had learned what a woman truly was, Mom had lingered in my mind as the pinnacle of the female form. I’d often wondered how many of my sexual preferences were based on her image. As time had marched on and circumstances had left us with no one but each other, it had become clear to me that it was basically all of them.

Mom had a head of vivacious blonde hair that cascaded over her shoulders like a golden waterfall. The subtle curls that framed the sides of her face, and her windswept bangs, were iconic symbols of the timeless beauty she had radiated for almost two decades.

There were faint wrinkles that formed shallow creases on her forehead, and nights spent dismayed over financial destitution had given her eyes a hollow somberness that I found oddly alluring. Mom wasn’t just beautiful, she was intriguing. As soon as men laid their eyes on her, they wanted to know more. She’d always shut them down.

By the time I’d reached adulthood, I’d understood why so many men had approached my mother once her ring had come off. Her breasts – two enormous, wobbling, cream-coloured mountains – rivaled any I had ever seen on the internet. That’s the literal truth; I rarely watched porn on the internet, electing instead to simply think of my mom’s breasts, and to remember how soft they felt pressed against my chest whenever she hugged me. That was all I needed to bring myself to a brain-melting orgasm.

Unless she chose an outfit that was specifically designed to be modest, her cleavage was nearly impossible to contain. Mom was not a particularly tall woman, so her twin blessings in front stood out even more than would have otherwise. The image of her large, billowing breasts had filled my mind on many lonely nights. The memory of their softness, bulging like enormous pancakes against my chest whenever she hugged me, was all I required to bring about a brain-melting orgasm. Even fewer of her wardrobe options concealed the detail I found most captivating: a small beauty mark on her left breast that looked like a chocolate teardrop.

The same was true in the rear – of it, about it ... you get the idea. Mom’s ass was fat, and I loved it. Ever since I’d first noticed – really noticed -- how profoundly curvy her body was, I had gone out of my way to catch a glimpse of its spellbinding wobble.

Thanks to her plump rear end, all of her swimsuits met the same fate; swallowed between her bulging ass cheeks like dental floss. Watching her butt jiggle like mud in an earthquake -- each step of her tiny, adorable feet sending shockwaves through her cheeks -- would bring even the most confident man to his knees.

At first, I’d felt guilty about the attraction I felt towards my mother. I’d known it was abnormal, but over time I’d made peace with it. So the story I told myself went: I loved everything about her, so why not her body, too?

As long as I was awake, thoughts such as those constantly ran through my mind. No amount of homework, or corny episodes of The Bachelor, could stop me from obsessing over her. Having her rump pressed into my crotch while we watched said episodes did nothing to alleviate my fixation.

That night on the couch, I was experiencing something like a dream come true. In my dreams, of course, it would be Mom’s famously fat and naked bottom pressing directly into my crotch.

She piped up, pulling me out of my daydream. “So, no ideas?”

I blushed, thankful that she was still paying attention to the television. “Uh, I have a couple. People make money doing all kinds of stuff these days.”

Mom obliterated a popcorn kernel between her teeth. “Like what?”

I pushed the envelope with a very specific goal in mind. “Like ... stuff online.”

“Oh, you mean spreading their coochie for the world to see?” She was making a joke, yet still managed to take the words right out of my mouth.

“Uh, yeah. I mean, sometimes you don’t even need to spread it.” I was prepared for her to swat me for being so crass.

“Don’t be gross,” Mom instructed with a swift smack on my arm. She slithered out of my grasp, and lay her head on the opposite end of the couch so that her feet rested in my lap. “I will be doing exactly none of that, thank you.”

I was fighting a losing battle, but Mom taught me to never give up. “People would pay big money. I know I would!”

Mom gave me her full attention, her eyes snapping to me like targeted missiles. “Excuse me?”

“In theory, I mean. You’re gorgeous, Mom! Smart people would pay good money to see you naked, and I’m no idiot!” There was no correct way to approach the topic of paying to see my mother’s naked body, but I still tried to tread as lightly as I could.

Mom shook her head disapprovingly. “I can’t even believe we’re having this conversation! It’s a no, if you still aren’t sure.” She refused to speak on the subject any further, but I saw the gears turning behind her eyes long after the topic had been dropped.

I had simply wanted to float the idea, and considered that mission to be accomplished. I knew that it would take more than one night for it to stick. I had planted a seed, hoping it would grow into a source of hope -- a lifeline that would constantly be swaying at the periphery of her attention.

Mom passed out a few minutes later. It shouldn’t surprise you to learn that I was incapable of focusing on the remainder of The Bachelor. Instead, I was replaying every detail of our short and not-very-hopeful conversation. Never before had we spoken so openly about anything sexual. I could feel how uncomfortable the subject had made her, but I knew her well enough to read that telltale glimmer in her eye. Whether it was the prospect that random men would pay to see her naked, or the easy avenue to quick cash that intrigued her, I was not sure. What I did know was that my mom was a firecracker. If I could only get her to accept that tiny, awkward little idea, I would be able to solve two problems at once:

One, obviously, was our near-destitution.

The other was that I was still a virgin, and I wanted Mom to be my first.

I walked into the kitchen the next morning to see Mom in the midst of breakfast preparations. The room was bathed in decadent morning light, with an abundance of warm smells to match its nostalgic comfort. She was backlit by the sun, its rays beaming through the window over the stove in a way that tied the whole beautiful scene together.

I had just immortalized the snapshot in my memory when a little voice whispered to me. It filled me with the confidence to broach the subject she had rebelled against so vilely the night before. I’d hoped that sleeping on the thought would make her more receptive to the new career prospect. I was horribly mistaken.

“N. O,” she asserted with a stomp, her bare feet slapping against the kitchen tile. “What does that spell, honey?”

“Mom, be reasonable,” I pleaded.

She spun on her heels and pointed a spatula at me, ignoring the chunk of runny egg that fell from the end. “Be reasonable, or be naked?”

“Both! Just let me prove it to you.”

Mom arched her eyebrow. “Prove that men are horndogs? I don’t need any more evidence!”

I held a hand over my heart like she had just shot me with an arrow. “First, on behalf of my fellow men, ouch. Second, yes! You don’t even have to be naked! Let me take a flattering photo of you, and I’ll prove we can make money with it.”

Mom threw her hands in the air. “Then what? Hmm? You take a couple with my boobs out, too?”

I did not have a right to be annoyed. I was asking something insane, and she was right to react that way. That said, my education was on the line, so I was frustrated that she would not do everything in her power to stop that from falling through.

“No, actually. Then I drop out of school because we don’t have any money and my life falls to pieces!”

That was a huge mistake.

Mom shut down, receding into her shell. She threw the spatula into the sink and folded her arms over her chest. “Don’t do that; that isn’t fair.”

The colour drained from my face. I felt like a monster. No matter how genuine my frustration – even desperation – was, it had been cruel to use them as ammunition on her—the one person whose support I should never have questioned.

“I’m sorry. That was mean. I’m just under a lot of stress.” I knew it was no excuse, but I fell over myself trying to explain my bad behaviour. “I have to keep doing my assignments just in case I don’t drop out, but I’m doing a half-assed job because I don’t feel like I’m going to be around next year. What’s the point?”

I swear that I wasn’t trying to guilt her into anything, or manipulate her, but something about what I’d said or how I’d said it must have tipped the scales in my favour. Moments after I’d given up on the pipe dream of seeing her naked, Mom breathed new hope into me.

“You really think men would pay to see me ... you know?” She squirmed, her toes wiggling about like frenzied worms. Her arms, crossed over her chest, were a protective shield that she hid behind.

I chose my words carefully. “I was just thinking with my dick, and trying to make a quick buck off of a bunch of other idiots doing the same thing.”

“How quick?”

“With a body like yours? Probably overnight.” I had no need to lie about that.

Mom pouted, trying to suss out the truth. “Do you really mean that? I’m always going to tell you how handsome you are, even if you’d just been in a car accident!”

“This is different. I think you’re gorgeous, Mom. A lot of my friends thought so when we were growing up, too. Do you know what the term ‘MILF’ means?”

She grinned sheepishly and shook her head.

“Well, it’s an acronym ... for “Mom I’d Like to Fuck.”

Her jaw dropped; she was struck dumb. “Your friends called me that?” I only nodded, and let her sit with it. For several moments, her eyes darted wildly around the room without actually focusing on anything, so I knew she was deep in thought. She finally refocused me, though I could tell she was having a hard time holding my gaze. “So ... how do we do this?”

No matter how obvious the implication was, I didn’t want to stick my neck out. “Do what?” I asked.

Mom rolled her eyes, annoyed that she had to explain herself. “Take a photo, dummy!”

I gestured to the back porch. “The lighting on the deck is pretty good. We could do it right now.”

Mom bit her bottom lip pensively. “What if someone sees?”

“This is just a normal photo. You can wear what you have on now -- no change.”

Mom was right to feel strange about the experience. I shared in her trepidation as we stepped onto the back porch.

The trees at the back of our property gave us a good amount of privacy from our neighbors. With the exception of a small crack between the great pines, we were hidden from the street as well. Still, Mom shuffled out of the house behind me as if there were drones watching her every move.

I chuckled while Mom nervously scanned the neighbouring windows for voyeurs. “The coast is clear,” I said.

She sighed and stepped into the sun. “Fine, fine.”

She looked like a figure from heaven. The rich, yellow cloak of the morning sun that draped over her shoulders was surpassed only by the vibrancy of her magnificent blonde hair. I desperately wanted to embrace her and channel my love into a kiss so passionate that it would leave her gobsmacked, but I shook the lively fantasy from my head.

As she usually did, Mom wore a thin cotton shirt with no bra underneath. I prayed for a brisk chill that would bring her nipples to attention. She was also wearing a pair of high-rise booty shorts that, when paired with her tight-fitting shirt, accented her curves suspiciously well. It was not an uncommon outfit for her, but the context of the photo I was about to take made it feel deeply lecherous.

When Mom asked what pose she should strike, I drew a blank. I thought the process would be easy, but conjuring the perfect shot did not come as naturally to me as I anticipated.

“Maybe, like, put your leg up on the chair?” I offered. “Yeah, arch your foot like that. That looks good.”

Mom raised an eyebrow. “It does?”

“Gotta start somewhere,” I said with a shrug. “What if you put your hands on the back of your head? Now, give me a look that says ‘I know how good I look.’ Does that make sense?”

Mom tried to follow the instructions, but she looked too uncomfortable for the photo to read as anything other than an amateurish attempt at eroticism.

An ear-piercing whistle, fired like a sniper bullet from between the pine trees that lead to the street, broke the silence. The shooter was a man about Mom’s age, walking his dog on the other side of the street. A serendipitous glance between the needles had given him the perfect angle at which to see her posing. Given how good Mom looked from behind, I was not surprised that he’d chosen to extend his heartfelt appreciation.

Mom squealed and crouched down to her knees. “I told you people would see!”

I hoped my smile would disguise the jackhammer thumping in my chest. “Who cares? You’re fully clothed!”

“I mean, I guess so. Is he gone?”

The man had left as quickly as he’d appeared, and once I confirmed that to Mom, she started grinning uncontrollably. Seconds later, she fell headfirst into a fit of euphoric giggles with such enthusiasm that I could not help but join in. We had been caught in the middle of a bank heist by a passing guard, only for him to walk away as though nothing had happened.

Mom cackled, her face beaming with relief. “My friggin’ heart just about burst through my ribcage!”

She pulled her knees up to her chest and hugged them tightly. Her breasts fell on either side of her legs, barely contained by the thin t-shirt and begging for me to stare at them.

“I feel like I’m in high school again,” Mom cooed, “sneaking around behind Grandma’s back to go see a boy.”

I chuckled. “I thought he was going to come and ask for your number! All he did was see you from behind, and he was ready to propose!”

Mom gave an ugly little snort as she pondered the idea. “Oh, yeah. I just shake my ass and they come running with the rings.”

“Not rings,” I corrected her. “Money. That was a potential customer right there. I told you they’d be interested!”

Mom had yet to acknowledge the simple truth held by everyone, from strangers on the street, to her own son: she was hot.

Her eyes sparkled with a familiar glimmer. It was the same one I had seen in the living room the night before. The faint peach fuzz on her forearm stood on end, abuzz with electricity. Whatever idea had passed through her brain had elicited a rush of goosebumps. Their tingly surge granted my wish, and successfully made her nipples hard enough to poke through her shirt.

That was the photo I had been looking for: the sincere happiness brightening her aura, the light pouring through her luscious hair, and the hint of nipple to provide that extra “special something.” I knew I might only have a moment before she came back to reality, so I acted fast. I raised the camera, racing to capture her. “Smile, Mom.”

In a flash, she cast her gaze at me with a subtle tilt of her head, sending a coil of golden hair over her forehead. Her smile contained a thousand words. There was an enchanting comfort to the photo that made me want to live in its frame forever. I felt as though I was nostalgic for an era I had never lived through; Mom’s beauty was truly without equal.

I snapped a few dozen shots, as photographers do, but the first one had been perfect. I should have told her about her nipples poking through her shirt, but I couldn’t risk her demanding that I delete my prize – and our moneymaker. Better to ask forgiveness than permission.

“Can I see it?” Mom asked cheerfully. “Maybe I’ll finally see what you see.”

I had to make up a lie. “I need to edit it first; otherwise it’ll look too amateur.”

“I thought the whole point was that I am an amateur?”

“Yes and no. It still has to look clean enough so that people will want to keep coming back.” I winced at the mealy-mouthed half-truth and hoped she would not press any further. Thankfully, her high spirits did not put her in an investigative mood.

Mom jumped to her feet. She was no longer checking around her for peeping Toms. If they were watching, she was keen to let them. “Whatever you say, honey. Just tell me before you post it.”

I knew right away that I would break that promise; Mom was too shy to let a photo like that go online. Later that afternoon, as I stared at the photo on my computer screen, I told myself that once she’d experienced the thrill of knowing that people had paid to see it, she would surely see things my way.

I hadn’t been lying that I was going to edit the photo. I wanted to spruce it up, change the contrast to match the sunlight better, and ensure it wasn’t overexposed -- all the normal photography stuff, except for the fact that every change I made was done in service of highlighting Mom’s breasts.

Her nipples did most of the heavy lifting by drawing the eye immediately to her ample bosom. That would ensure that plenty of viewers would spend an extra couple of seconds analysing the photo instead of swiping to the next one. We needed a hook, and her nipples were it.

The whole process was finished within an hour, and it went off without a hitch. Unfortunately, the guilt I’d temporarily set aside came flooding back in as I took step after methodical step towards posting the picture online without Mom’s permission.

I made a new account on reddit for us to use with the name “CallMeMommy.” For the first post, I found several mature- and MILF-themed subreddits and posted the photo to all of them. Against my better judgement, I went with a title that was sure to earn me a stern scolding.

“This newly single Mommy just started selling her body for money. DM for info!”

Nothing was going to come of it while I stared at the screen. The wheels were in motion and all I had to do now was let them spin until they found traction. I closed my laptop triumphantly, and planned to hit the shower rather than waste my time waiting for results. As luck would have it, I did not have to wait long.

DING!

My phone pinged, alerting me to a new message. I opened it, expecting to see something horrible making front page news, but was taken aback to see that it was from Reddit. Mom already had a hit.

The message read, <HEy Sexy, im in DFW u do reqs?> followed by a number of emojis that, to me, seemed to have been selected at random.

I began typing out a message to send: <More soon, be patient my love <3 If you sub now, the next one is free!>

Just before I hit ‘send,’ though, I realized that we were missing something crucial. I rushed to create a profile for Mom on OnlyFans so that I could include the link in the message. I did the bare minimum so that we’d have some way of getting money into our pockets ASAP; I knew I could spend more time on it later.

With all that taken care of, I sent off the first text message of Mom’s new career.

I went to take a shower before I confronted Mom with the truth of the photo. I tiptoed to the bathroom, hoping that she would not surprise me on the way. The house was quiet, with nothing more than the musings of daytime soap operas echoing from the den to mask the creaking floorboards under my feet.

I waited for the waer to get warm, resting my head against the shower wall as I did. I fell into a potent daydream wherein Mom chastised me for the lewd photograph, kicking me out of the house as punishment for overstepping so distastefully. I say ‘daydream,’ but it was more like a nightmare!

I suddenly found it very difficult to focus on the positive potential outcomes of my experiment. My brain was swimming in a simmering stew of anxiety. I considered taking the photo down. It was just one photo, with no real name attached, so I figured it would still be a case of no harm, no foul, and no admitting anything to Mom. I imagined us laughing it off a few days later as a crazy idea that neither of us had been reckless enough to go through with.

By the time I stepped out of the shower, I felt dirtier than when I’d gone in. I toweled off and trudged to my room, ready to delete the accounts and apologize to Mom for dragging her into something so foolish.

I was going to do the right thing. I really was, but then I saw it: ten dollars. It was sitting in the account wallet, waiting to be scooped up. I had only been gone for a few minutes, but that was all it had taken for some hungry user to humbly donate the funds to secure access to whatever content we made next.

It felt gross to solicit money from some random stranger, but since there was no chance Mom would do it in my place, I was forced to brush off the ick. I knew men. I knew my plan would work. I wanted to strike while the iron was still hot, so the next step was getting Mom to pose for a second photo.

I threw on a pair of shorts and raced around the house with my phone in hand, eagerly searching for my illustrious model. I was still a bit apprehensive to show her the photo, but I told myself that the money in our account would make everything easier for her to stomach.

Mom was out in the garden, toiling in the soil under the cover of pillowy clouds. She was wearing a picturesque straw hat, like a farmer on the front page of a magazine supporting healthy agricultural practices. Considering that she was still braless, I imagined any issue with her on the cover would sell like hotcakes.

“You just made ten dollars,” I announced with pride.

Mom gestured to the rows of leafy greens around the garden. “Are you coming to buy some of my delicious, homegrown cabbage?”

I unlocked my phone and handed it to her, watching her reaction morph from confusion to elation to mild panic.

“Wait, is that the photo from this morning?” Mom pinched the screen, accidentally shrinking the image down a few times before she figured out the zoom feature. I’d taught her the ins and outs of modern technology a couple of years ago, but apparently the information hadn’t quite stuck.

Her tone rose sharply. “Uh, honey? Why can you see my nipples through my shirt?”

Mom handed the phone back to me, her teeth digging into her tongue. I knew she wanted to scold me, but instead, she was letting me dig my grave a little deeper.

“You wanted hits,” I offered meekly.

Mom slapped my shoulder. “You wanted hits! I wanted— wait, we got a hit?”

“Someone saw the photo, and before I got out of the shower they had already subscribed to your OnlyFans.” Maybe I should have been gentler with the delivery of the news that she was officially – technically – selling her body.

Her eyes widened in horror. “Jesus. I’m a forty-six year old woman with an OnlyFans account. So this is, like, really happening? I’m posing for the internet?”

“You can do whatever you want; you’re the one in control, but...”

Mom froze, bracing for the worst. “But?”

“Well, that’s the thing about the internet. They always want more. The more you do, the more interested your fans will be.” Listening to myself talk about my mother like a commodity made me cringe, but I could not deny that it was almost giving me a thrill.

Mom waved me away like a pesky housefly. “Okay, now you’re just being gross. Can you finish watering the veranda for me, please?”