Chapter 2

Dad wasn’t in a good mood the next day. I felt awkward between them, given what I’d heard the night before and was happy when they each slipped off to engage in their own activities for the day. I did the same, retiring to my room to fart around on my computer.

I waited until early afternoon to go downstairs to get lunch, hoping to be on my own, but Mom was there. She was drinking a cup of coffee and browsing through a stack of magazines on the kitchen table. I felt her eyes on me several times as I made a couple of sandwiches and poured a large glass of milk. I was about to take it all upstairs with me when she asked me to sit with her for a few minutes. I sat down and filled my face.

“I guess you’ve probably noticed that your father and I are having a difficult time right now.”

“Oh?” I said, innocently.

Mom smiled. A weak smile that allowed my pretense but acknowledged that she knew I knew.

“Something happened and we’re trying to work through it,” she explained. “I’m having a hard time with it,” she added, wringing her hands.

“Is there something I can do?” I asked.

“No. I don’t want this to affect you. Just give us some room. It may take a while.”

I guess I looked curious because Mom headed me off.

“You don’t want to know,” she said.

I nodded.

“Your father needs to pay some penance,” she added. “A little punishment won’t hurt him.”

“Like no TV. No sports. Except chick flicks,” I stated.

“Right,” Mom confirmed. “I’ll bend a little soon and let him have some of that back.”

I nodded, agreeing that might be a good idea.

“But not anything else.”

Mom didn’t explain what that meant but I had an idea.

Later that afternoon, Mom asked me to help her swap the TV unit and the love seat around. Dad didn’t notice until after supper but seemed very pleased. He immediately put the news on. Mom sat in her usual place and touched up her toenails before getting into her magazines. I stretched out on the love seat, lying on my side, supposedly reading but actually watching Mom, reveling in the fine line of her legs and the arch of her feet, loving the way her calf muscles tensed when she examined her toes.

After the news, Dad put on a baseball game and Mom swiveled around with her back to him, perhaps making a point about his selection. I was thrilled because with the new position of the loveseat, I was looking straight at the back of Mom’s raised thighs. I spent the next hour following her hand as it strayed up and down her leg. From this angle, I could see her fingers stretching right across the underside of her thigh, tickling the inner part of her leg. I imagined it was my fingers coming so close to her panties.

“Hot chocolate and pie?” Mom broke me out of my reverie.

“Yeah. That would be great, Mom.” I didn’t even blush though Mom had surprised me while I was looking over the top of my book.

“You have to work for it,” she said. “Help with the dishes?”

I looked pained but I looked forward to being alone in the kitchen with Mom. Maybe I would get another leg show on the chair or even another look at her ‘bruise’. If not, I could ask her how it was doing.

“Ok,” I said, as if it was a huge conciliation.

As I followed Mom into the kitchen, Mom said, loudly, “Close the door so we don’t disturb your father’s game.”

I pulled the pocket door from the wall and snugged it shut. We were alone.

It made sense to have our pie and hot chocolate first so we could wash those dishes too, but Mom insisted we work first. We loaded the dishwasher, me rinsing and Mom loading, and then filled the sink to do the delicate dishes and the pots that wouldn’t get clean enough in the machine to satisfy Mom. It was while the sink was filling that I made my move.

“How’s your bruise?”

“My bruise? Oh. It’s ok. I didn’t feel it at all today. Forgot all about it.”

Shit!

“I think it must have gone away.”

Shit, and more shit.

“Are you sure?” I asked. “With all the exercise you’re doing, it could be a sign of a bigger injury.” Like I knew anything about exercising.

“Hmmm,” Mom considered what I’d said. “Can you take a peek for me? My hands are all wet.”

Fantastic!

Tentatively, I lifted the hem of Mom’s skirt.

“Go ahead. You’ve seen my legs before.”

I lifted the skirt up. There was a very faint trace of the bruise, barely visible.

“Well? Is it gone?”

“Almost.”

I ventured a brief touch. Mom flinched.

“Did that hurt?”

“A little.”

I touched Mom again, gently this time, circling around the edge of the slight discoloration like I had the day before.

“Does it hurt there?”

“No. Actually that makes it feel a little better.”

I circled my fingertip around and around, slowly.

Mom turned off the tap and began washing a wine glass, just as slowly. I widened my circle so I could touch her further inside her leg, until my fingertip brushed against her panty leg at the top of the circle.

Feeling the need to make excuses, I said, “You really should massage your leg, Mom. It’s really tight.”

“I can’t reach back there easily. Could you do it?”

“Sure,” I answered.

We were both speaking quietly, though there was no need with the dishwasher on and the pocket door closed.

“Since your father and I aren’t getting along so well right now.” Mom must have felt the need to explain why she wasn’t asking him to do it for her.

“I understand,” I said, almost whispering.

I continued caressing Mom’s soft skin, reaching further inside her leg. I was still holding her skirt up and, keeping my hand away so she wouldn’t realize what I was doing, lifted it higher until I could see Mom’s panty-covered ass.

Awesome!

Mom finished the glass, put it in the rack, and started washing something else. It must have been a pot because she scrubbed harder and this made her butt jiggle. Her panties were part way down her ass so I could see a stretch of bare crack. I loved the way her cheeks jutted out and jiggled underneath the panties. Her butt was so prominent it was almost like looking at her cleavage.

I couldn’t believe she was letting me do this and that made me think of my father’s words to her last night: _You need it too. You know how you are._

Mom seemed to be getting a little restless with the extent of my finger massage. I was afraid she was about to put a stop to this, realizing how odd it was to let her son do this, argument with Dad notwithstanding.

“Oh, I think you’ve got a bruise on your other leg.”

“Really?”

Concern now replaced restlessness.

“Yeah. In the same spot. Were you riding a bike?”

“No. Well, the exercise bike at the club.”

“Jeez, this one looks worse.”

I moved my hand to Mom’s other leg and began gently stroking the skin under her other buttock. There wasn’t a mark to be seen but the skin was just as soft.

“It is bigger,” I said as I let my fingers stray further between Mom’s legs. “Does it hurt more?”

“A little,” Mom replied.

Christ, I really wanted to push my other hand under her panties to cup her ass and let my thumb slide into her crack, but I didn’t dare. I was amazed at what I was doing, let alone touching her bare ass. Mom let me rub around her new bruise for a couple of minutes until we heard a commercial come on in the other room.

“I think that’s enough for now,” Mom said.

“Ok.” I dropped Mom’s skirt, letting it fall, and pulled my hand away. But I when I did, I let it brush against Mom’s panty-covered ass, lightly dragging over her cheek. I smiled as she sucked in her breath.

“Do you want me to massage your legs tomorrow?”

“Maybe,” Mom answered after a brief pause.

Just then, the pocket door started to open so I stepped to Mom’s side and picked up a pot from the rack, grabbing a dish towel with my other hand. I let the towel drape over the front of my jeans so my hard cock couldn’t be seen.

I made sure I was in bed way earlier than my parents that night. I turned the hall light off so my more than half open door wasn’t so obvious. I drifted off.

“I don’t care.”

Mumble, mumble.

I couldn’t see anything. The hall light had been turned off.

“Well, obviously I don’t need it as much as you.”

Mumble, mumble. Angry mumbles.

“Go get it from her if you need it that bad. But don’t come home if you do.”

Mumble, mumble, mumble. Submissive mumbles.

Silence.

I waited, straining to hear more. Nothing.

Time passed. I don’t know how much, but it was a long time.

I started drifting off.

The light flicked on!

I opened my eyes, then squeezed them into a squint. Mom was in the hallway by the light switch. She turned and walked slowly toward my room. She was wearing a housecoat loosely tied at her waist. Shit. The light didn’t shine through that. As she neared my room, I couldn’t see any evidence of a nightgown underneath. By the time she reached my door, I was sure of it. Christ, she was sure making my Dad pay. She must have gone to bed naked and then put him off. What a tease. She must be really mad at him.

I shut my eyes and waited for Mom’s call to see if I was sleeping and readied my deep breathing gambit. The call didn’t come. I raised my eyelids enough to see. Mom was still standing by the door. Slowly, as if not really sure about what she was doing, Mom pulled the belt loose on her robe. She held the belt in her hands for a moment, then let them drop to her sides. A few seconds later, she parted her robe, holding it open.

Curse the darkness! I could see the naked swells at the sides of her breasts, could sense their heaviness, but the light, behind her, was too dim to provide any detail. I had the sense she wasn’t wearing panties but couldn’t see for sure. She just stood there, holding her robe open.

Then, slowly, Mom shucked the robe off her shoulders and swung it around, folding it over one arm. Just as slowly, she turned, pausing halfway around, her tits sloping down and then sweeping out, nipples jutting upward. She completed her turn and sauntered down the hall and as she passed under the light, I saw her bare ass wiggling away from me above a pair of legs that looked longer than I knew they were.

Mom paused at the light switch, turning her head to the side as if she was going to look back, but she didn’t. The light went out.

Mom didn’t ask me to give her a massage but she did put on the same leg show for me each of the next three nights. It wasn’t until Thursday that she mentioned that she’d made another pie. BTW, Dad didn’t like pie. She waited until the news was over and a game had started before making the offer and demanding I help with the dishes. I didn’t put up the pretense of a fuss and I closed the pocket door without being asked.

I stood behind Mom, dishtowel in hand, as she filled the sink. Mom started washing a glass but she moved with the same unusual slowness as on Sunday night. I draped the dishtowel over the rack and lowered my hand to the hem of her skirt. Mom kept washing. Slowly, I raised her skirt and followed it up with my other hand. Not a word. No invitation but no rebuff. Gingerly, I touched her leg.

“Careful,” Mom cried, startling me. “It’s sore, today.”

I was touching the ‘new’ bruise, the nonexistent one.

“Sorry, Mom. I’ll be gentle.”

Mom didn’t say a word as I began my ‘massage’. I caressed Mom’s thighs while she slowly washed each glass, moving back and forth between legs. I held her skirt high so I could see what I was doing and also look at her ass which jiggled delightfully when she scrubbed the pots. She was wearing a smaller pair of panties tonight that clung lower on her ass, showing more of her crack. Once more, I felt the strong urge to push my fingers into it, under her panties, but chickened out again.

I was ready for the mid-game commercial set this time and was drying a pot when Dad opened the pocket door. I kept my boner turned toward the counter. It was in no danger of subsiding, nor was the tingle on the back of my hand, where Mom’s panties had rubbed as I scraped it up her behind.

Dad left the pocket door open when he returned to his game. I didn’t care. I slipped my hand under Mom’s skirt. I didn’t bother lifting it, I just slid my hand up and continued where I had left off. Only this time, I rubbed further between Mom’s legs and ‘accidentally’ bumped the bottom of her panties several times.

When Mom finished the last pot, I offered to check out her bruises to see if the massage had helped. I lifted Mom’s skirt and leaned down for a close look. She smelled warm and damp. I noticed that her panties had slipped down on her buttocks, baring more of her crack, possibly from my bumping hand.

“It looks like they’re getting better,” I said, straightening up.