Chapter 1

Bobby wasn’t the least bit surprised when this year’s Sadie Hawkins Dance was cancelled, but he was nevertheless disappointed. His girlfriend, Robin, had wanted to take him. On the one hand he liked spending time with Robin. They had lived three doors down from each other since he was eight and they had played together and become best friends over the years. When both of them moaned and groaned about not having boy and girl friends, she suggested they just be each other’s and he had agreed. What had started as an agreement between buddies turned into an actual romance when they were fourteen. Now, in high school, he was looking forward to a night with her. On the other hand, Robin had upped the ante when she said because it was a girl’s night to make decisions, she had decided she would have him take her virginity after the dance. That terrified him, at least a little bit, because he had no idea how to proceed. They had done lots of things on dates, but not gone all the way. He had been excited (and stiff) when she said that and was looking forward to the night.

But alas, Covid-19 reared its ugly head and, in a panic (or, perhaps because somebody had ordered them to), the school had closed.

And instead of her at least being available to do ‘Sadie Hawkins things’ (hint hint) without the actual Sadie Hawkins dance, Robin had gone to the lake with her dad, where the great outdoors gave them plenty of room for having fun without worrying about social distancing. That left Bobby home alone with his mom. Not that that was entirely a bad thing. He loved his mom, and it had only been the two of them since his dad had been killed in action in Afghanistan, when Bobby was only three, so being stuck quarantined with her wasn’t much different than the existence he had already been living with her for as much of his life he could remember. Besides, he was mostly an introvert, and would rather be quietly at home than out at a party or school event.

“So I have an idea,” said his mother Helen - who felt she was way too young to be facing empty nest syndrome at her tender age of 36.

“What’s that?” Bobby asked, setting down a book from the upcoming fall’s college syllabus: War and Peace, which was ridiculously long, and had a large cast of people, all with unpronounceable and quickly forgettable names.

“The two of us can have a Sadie Hawkins Dance together at home,” Helen said. “I’m a girl so I can invite you. We’ll get all dressed up and dance and have fun and give Covid the finger.”

Bobby looked at his mother. She was a psychologist and she still cared for a full schedule of clients, although now she did it from home, using Skype or video calls, and emailing prescriptions to pharmacies. She still dressed up for work as if she was leaving the house, although she could have been naked below the waist and her clients would never know. Granted, he would know, but their level of modesty had always been relaxed. That had started when he was little. He didn’t understand when his father had died in Afghanistan. Helen was going to college at the time, supported by her soldier husband. When he died, her benefits as a survivor took over helping with her education. Having government health care and financial benefits had let her get through her undergraduate education by the time she was twenty-three, and she started a program that allowed her to earn her PsyD by the time she was thirty-two. She had to work during those years, to get by and Bobby spent a lot of time in the university child care center.

At home, though, his mother was relaxed and she ran around in very little. She did not date and her entire world was work, school and Bobby. When she started her professional career as a clinical psychologist they stayed in the same house and her relaxed attitude about her dress didn’t change. The only visitor to the house was Robin, and she was a girl, so wearing just a bra and panties was still acceptable, especially since Robin, by then, was like the daughter her husband had never been able to give her.

So Bobby was quite used to seeing his mother in a bra, panties, and her thigh highs, as she was getting ready to get dressed and do a session. He had started reacting to this roughly when he entered puberty, but that also seemed normal and not at all unusual, by this point in his life. Helen was a very pretty woman whose hour-glass shape was emphasized by large, soft breasts, a narrow waist, and wide hips. When she sat at her desk in front of the camera her breasts made her look heavy. If you looked at her face and neck, though, you realized she just had huge jugs. A lot of the men she worked with looked forward to their appointments with her just so they could salivate over the cleavage and size of her tits.

Helen knew this happened, of course. She’d been practicing for four years. But she didn’t worry about it. Most of the men listened to her and worked on getting better. Her reputation was what got her new clients and she always dressed up for all of them.

That meant she dressed up for Bobby, too, and if he happened to see her in her room in just her undies, then so much the better. He’d even gotten a few glimpses of her naked tits, but only very briefly. As far as he was concerned, she was the perfect woman, with a great ass and gorgeous legs to go along with her heavy milk jugs.

“So, how would that work?” he asked.

“Come with me to my bedroom and I’ll show you,” Helen said.

Those were, verbatim, the very words Bobby had fantasized hearing many, many times, from various women and girls. He really liked Robin of course, maybe even a lot, but he also had a secret crush on his Geometry teacher Miss Parker. And he dreamed of fucking Tiffany, the blonde-haired, blue-eyed cheerleader ... who resembled his mother.

But his greatest fantasy, just like many other young men, was to bone his mother. He had been stunned when he found stories about incest on the web and forums where people chatted about their fantasies or even what they claimed were the realities of having sex with their mothers. Of course he assumed most of these so-called true life episodes were lies ... though some of the pictures looked real. He had stared at many pictures of a woman with a boy who was obviously under the age of 18, doing things that made his prick stiff. He saw women sucking their son’s cock and he saw the same cock buried in the woman’s pussy. The ones he liked the most also had pictures of the woman with her mouth full of spooge, or thick, white stuff oozing from her just-fucked pussy.

It inevitably led to scenes in his imagination in which he had slept with his own mother many times.

“Okay,” he said, curious to know what she intended.

Helen didn’t reflect on it about it, but down deep she had some feelings for her son that she would have told her patients were inappropriate. They weren’t overt. She had always held his hand when they walked, at least until he was twelve and it was obvious he felt like that made him look babyish. She hadn’t held his hand out of some perverted desire. It was simply touch, touch she missed after her husband died. It provided her with a natural, intimate connection between her and her son.

Bobby had been conflicted when he pulled away from her hand as he entered puberty. He loved holding her hand, but he felt like people would call him a freak if he “clung to his mommy like a little boy.” He compensated for this by hugging her a lot when they were at home. He frequently said, “I love you, Mom,” as he pulled her soft mams against his chest. She always squeezed him hard and said she loved him, too. He had to be careful, though, because when he hugged her like that he got a boner and he didn’t want her to know that.

Reaching her room, Helen said, pointing to the tux laid out on her bed, “Try this on.”

“You rented a tux?” Bobby asked, surprised to see one in their house.