Chapter 1

Mom and I had been alone since Dad passed away five years ago. It had been hard losing a father at the formative age of ten. Despite that, Mom's loving attention had steered me through the rough years of puberty, into a short-lived teen rebellion, and to where I was now; a relatively healthy, mentally balanced fifteen-year-old. Being fatherless had forced me to grow up faster than some of my friends.

Mom gave me my dark complexion from her South American heritage. She had impossibly dark, thick, glossy hair flowing to the middle of her back. She was petite, and I mean really petite, standing less than four feet, eleven and a half in bare feet. I'm surprised I didn't inherit that trait from her. Actually, I'm forever thankful my height came from Dad who, at a sigh over six feet, used to tower over Mom. Mom, at thirty-seven, had retained her shape after giving birth thanks to a dedication to yoga. She wasn't body-conscious; it was fitness that drove her, a requirement for an active sports social life. With the exception of a slight rounding of her lower belly you'd never guess she had a fifteen-year-old son.

I wasn't ignorant of the benefits of an active physical regime, either. Being in the middle of raging teenage hormones, I had no problem admiring her slim physique. She was, perhaps because I was around her so much, my definition of what a sensual mature female should be; her hips still slender flaring to curve around a beautiful pear shaped rear, shapely legs, and tiny ankles and feet. With her beautiful smile that seemed to light up a room and very unusual sparkling blue, expressive eyes that could dance with mischief glee or punish worse than harsh language, it was hard not to stare at her. In fact many men did, much to my consternation. I mean, it was my Mom for goodness sake.

Our life was fairly comfortable. A reasonable life insurance policy on Dad meant Mom didn't have to work. While I busied myself with all the normal activities of a young man, video games, sports and lusting after anything in a skirt or with boobs, Mom kept herself occupied with home, charity work, tennis, golf, and an extensive network of friends.

My relationship with Mom was unusual; it was really good. We talked a lot when I was home. With the exception of very personal stuff there was no subject we couldn't carry an interesting and easy flowing discussion on.

On this particular Friday night, everything was the same as usual. Mid-May meant the weather was coolish in the evening. The usual routine for a Friday night was for me to head out with some friends, perhaps to hang out with some girls at the mall or visit the local arcade or, even rarer, take a date to the movies - I was somewhat shy and hesitant around girls. Mom usually had some social engagement with one or another of her friends.

So when I say everything was the same as usual, I meant except for a couple of things. My rare and thus much anticipated date had cancelled due to some family thing that popped up, so I decided to stay home and watch TV. At around nine I finished a beer - Mom let me have some on the theory that it was better to learn to drink at home than get wasted when out - and went up to change into my pajama bottoms and a tee. I was way too cool to wear a pajama top. I figured I'd have another beer and snooze in front of the television until Mom got back; a perfect use of energy balanced with an ideal amount of brain activity for a Friday.

About nine-thirty I heard the front door open and Mom enter. It was a little earlier than she usually came home.

"Hey, Mom. What's up? How come you're home so early?"

"Nothing special, David. I wasn't really interested in going out on the town for a drink with the girls. What are you up to?" she asked, walking into the den.

"Watching a movie and having a beer."

"What movie?" she asked.

"Two Weeks Notice with Sandra Bullock and Hugh Grant. It just started." I know, a fifteen-year-old guy watching a romantic comedy? So sue me. I love romance when there are great comedic moments building the storyline.

"Maybe I'll join you," Mom said, smiling that wonderful smile.

"Sure. Good idea."

With Mom heading out of the den, I went back to watching the movie. It must have been ten or fifteen minutes later when I heard her come downstairs, the fourth stair from the bottom creaking. Some rattling in the kitchen followed and then she appeared in the den.

A quick look at her and I saw she'd prepared for bed too with one of her well worn soft long tee shirts and a glass of white wine in her hand. Now, we have a couple of armchairs in the den, comfortable enough in their own right, but only the one couch. And quite honestly, I was glad I had dibs on it. It was the most comfortable spot to watch TV. I expected her to take one of the armchairs but she surprised me. She came over to the couch and, putting her glass on the coffee table, started to sit. I quickly twisted onto my left side, against the back, giving her room to sit.

"Do you mind if I share the couch?" she asked.

"No problem." Feeling only slightly put out at losing my comfortable position, I started to sit up.

Mom put her hand on my shoulder saying, "No. Don't move. I'll lie down beside you."

With that she rolled down in front of me so we ended up in a spooned position, about three inches apart. This wasn't the usual position for us to watch TV, but being so petite I could see over Mom's head and easily watch TV.

"Can you see?" she asked.

"Yup."

Now, when I said Mom and I had a great relationship, I meant that we were more than the average mother and son. We talked and enjoyed each other's company a lot, unlike my friends and their mothers. However, we were not an overly physical family. Sure I'd reluctantly give her a hug if it seemed she needed it. She'd give me a quick kiss on the cheek if there was ever a reason. But that was about it. So when she plonked herself down in front of me, it was a first. And truth be known, it sort of felt nice, cozy. Looking down at her hair I appreciated how thick and shiny it was. Even the scent of her shampoo was nice.

We watched the movie for a few minutes. Then she reached for her glass of wine. As she reached, her back arched and her bottom pushed back. While up to this point there had been nothing sexual about our situation, I was fifteen. The feeling of firm buttocks pressing back into my crotch was VERY interesting, no matter whom they belonged to. After her sip of wine she again reached out to put the glass back and her buttocks once again pressed into me.

Now I don't know about you, but at fifteen, the vibration from a lawn mower or even the pressure of a counter edge can give me an erection. In fact, pretty much anything can do it. So when Mom pushed her rear back into me the results were no surprise; my penis twitched in response and started to wake up. No, I wasn't responding to my mother in a sexual way. My body was just responding to the pressure of a female rear end. None the less, I was embarrassed.

Chapter 2 »