Chapter 3

I wish I could say I had free access to Mom after that but I can’t. There were a variety of reasons, I guess. First off, getting banned from the drive-in, though not a big deal in and of itself, was a very close call with shameful isolation in our community. While Tim and I didn’t fully appreciate the significance of such a calamity, our mothers certainly did. Both of them were aloof in the following weeks.

While I don’t think either of our mothers were suffering from remorse they were nevertheless more cautious, making the next week at home a sexual drought for us. There was no sexual interplay while doing the dishes at home and Tim reported the same was true at his house. Mom even started lobbying Dad, without success, for one of those new-fangled dishwashers. Thank god there was no place to put one in our kitchen unless the counter with the stools was removed, something Dad wasn’t about to do. Still, I interpreted this a not-so-hidden message from Mom.

A trip to the drive-in was out of the question, given our banning, and there was no way we could go to the one in our town where friends of our parents might be encountered. So, if we couldn’t do anything at home, what could we do? Tim suggested going to the next town west of us but he said his mom was cool to the idea when he mentioned it.

School Grad superseded our sex woes and Tim and I were swept in the enthusiasm for a drunken party out in the sticks. Despite our fame, neither of us had dates. At first, everyone thought we’d been dumped and didn’t want to associated with second-rate stuff, and after that they assumed we’d be going with our college girls. We both actually did ask a couple of girls, who were already committed by the way, foolishly saying the college girls didn’t want to go to a high school thing. We discovered that no girl wants to play second fiddle. Duh.

Stuck without dates, both of us got hammered at Aftergrad. We went in Tim’s car because Mom refused to let me take the Rambler. Just as well, since we were too drunk to get anywhere with the girls that showed up at the party, not that we didn’t try, and we both got sick while passed out/sleeping in the car. It took me most of the next week for my head to stop throbbing with Dad harping at me all along about getting a summer job to save money for college. Mom was silent on the issue.

So it was late on a sunny, Thursday morning when I shuffled into the kitchen to catch Mom filling the sink and just starting the breakfast dishes. I stood in the kitchen doorway, yawning and scratching my ass, appreciating the way the sunlight streaming through the kitchen window washed over Mom’s form. The tent in my pajamas didn’t jump into existence instantaneously, it lurched into being as my lower brain awoke from its slumber more quickly than the cortex that supposedly controlled my behavior.

Mom was wearing a knee-length, white knit dress protected by an apron. I could tell she was wearing a bra by the muted expression of her breasts but the thrust of her bottom was impossible to camouflage regardless of what device she used to constrain her cheeks. Her legs, already starting to tan, were shaped in perfect feminine contours, sleek without looking muscular. Her right ankle was adorned by a very fine gold bracelet, attesting to her advanced sense of fashion for the times.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Mom greeted me. “Or, should I say afternoon.” She glanced at the clock and added, “Almost.”

I shuffled across the floor, snagging the dish towel draped over the oven handle, and turned to stand behind Mom, waiting for her to wash the first dish. I held back until she began, conscious of her reserved demeanor over the past few weeks. When she set the first glass in the rack, I stepped forward to retrieve it, wrapping it in the towel using both hands while I allowed my pajama tent to press lightly against the rough material of her knit dress.

Mom didn’t say anything until she placed the second glass in the rack while I was still drying the first. She sighed.

“We really can’t continue this, Ricky.”

Her hands were still, hidden in the sudsy sink. I leaned closer to her, flattening the top of my boner against her skirted bottom.

“Why not?” I asked, adding a nearly imperceptible twist to lock my bending member into her rear end groove. Her breath caught for an instant before she spoke again.

“Because we just can’t, that’s why.”

I didn’t reply, instead giving my tingling cock a slightly more affirmative rock in her bottomly notch.

“We almost got caught,” Mom cried out. “Can you imagine what would have happened, how that would have spread around town?” Her voice was close to tears as her head hung down toward the sink.

Unmoved, I continued to rock my cock deeper in her crack while she hunched over the sink.

“And your father could have walked into this kitchen any time,” she said, expressing a fear I didn’t share. “You know what would have happened then.”

“He isn’t here,” I said, applying a slight forward thrust to emphasize my point.

“Oh, Ricky,” Mom said, exasperated, realizing she was talking to a teenage boy with a raging libido.

I put the towel, still wrapped around the glass, in the rack. Hands free, I grasped her waist and pushed my cock more firmly into the soft flesh of her ass.

“Ricky stop.” Then she provided justification as if she needed to have a reason, “You’ll crease my dress and I have to go out.”

Mom’s voice was denying me but her hands skidded forward in the sink to counter my forward pressure, causing her behind to push harder against me as she bent over the sink. My hands slipped down to her hips and I pulled, burying my hard cock deeper in her dress.

“Ricky, really. I have to go out,” Mom protested louder but still offered no physical resistance.

Using my fingers, I scratched at Mom’s hips, inching her dress higher, and increased the pressure from my own hips which were now rutting rhythmically into her behind. An enormous thrill coursed through me as I sensed that I could soon be inside my mother’s wonderful pussy again. I loved the way her head bounced toward the window with each thrust and the way she seemed resigned to take it.

“Oh, God, Ricky,” Mom gasped as her dress skimmed to the top of her buttocks and my pajama-covered cock pressed into her panties. “Can’t you stop?”

“No,” I rasped, leaning forward even more, pushing her well over the sink and trapping her dress above her hips so I could free my hands to pull her panties down.

Mom used her head to swing the tap sideways out of the way as my frantic hands yanked her panties down to her knees. My pajamas followed suit as Mom lifted her soapy hands to brace herself against the edge of the sink in the nick of time as my eager cock started nudging between her legs, searching for nirvana.

I must have missed the mark ten times but finally, with a helpful tippy-toe rise from Mom, I slid inside, instantly forgiving her for the recent drought as I reveled in the oozy slickness of her gripping, womanly channel.

“Ohhhhhhh, yesssss!”

Mom’s clear delight belied her earlier protest and weeks of feigned disinterest. I knew from her sighs and the way she squeezed my cock that she wanted it as much as I and from now on, no matter what she said or how she acted, I was going to give it to her. I shoved in hard with manly, primal satisfaction, causing Mom’s hands to slip and a small tidal wave of sudsy water to surge over the back of the sink and then return to wash over and onto the floor.

“Unnnnnnghhhhh,” Mom cried, followed by “ugh ugh unnnghhh,” to several urgent follow-up thrusts.

I wish I could say I was thoughtful and gentle but I wasn’t. Mom’s reaction spurred even harsher lunges that almost lifted her from the floor. My only nod to gallantry, if it could be described as such, was to take a handful of Mom’s hair to lift her head away from potential damage on the tap. After that I lost control, as my hips launched a rapid and sustained series of thrusts, each more desperate than the last.

“AAAHHHHHHHagggghhhhhhh,” I screamed as my balls boiled over, shooting a searing stream of frothy cum inside my mother, releasing weeks of pent up sperm in a huge pressure burst, the muscles in my thighs straining to the breaking point as I stood rigid, cheeks flinching as I bulged my cock, the better to empty my seed within her.

Exhausted, I stepped away, my trembling legs unable to hold me, slipping to the floor in an awkward slump, my arms swinging behind to stop me from falling flat on my back. Gasping for breath, I looked up at my mother, dress now fallen into place, panties stretched across her legs just above her knees. My eyes traced down Mom’s shaking legs to fixate on the delicate gold, bracelet lying broken on the floor beside her feet, my fogged brain reconstructing its demise as a toe snagged it by accident in an effort to digger deeper inside my mom.

I was still breathing heavily, leaning back on one hand, when Mom quietly stepped back from the sink and, without looking at me, walked away, slowing but not stopping as she reached down with one hand to tug her panties up, her briefly raised exposing a trickle of my cum running down the inside of her left leg. She was gone.

A few minutes later I heard the front door close and just caught sight of Mom getting into the Rambler. She had changed her clothes. I guess the white knit dress had gotten wet.

I called Tim to find out what he was up to. We made plans for him to come and pick me up. Nothing more detailed than that, just to drive around and kill some time. Maybe go to the lake. Just before he was about to hang up, I told him what had just happened.

“I just fucked Mom,” I burst out, in the middle of his sentence, unable to conceal the excited pride in my voice.

“When?” he asked.

“Just now, in the kitchen.”

“You’re kidding,” he said.

“No. By the sink. She got her dress all wet,” I added, as if that was an important detail to mention.

“Wow. So did I,” Tim said.

“This morning?”

“Last night,” he replied. “I’ll tell you about it.” He hung up.

Driving down the sunny country road, listening to Simon & Garfunkel’s Bridge Over Troubled Water, Tim told me about his incestuous reunion with his mother in their own kitchen the previous evening. Like me, he hadn’t been treated to the same nightly treats that had heralded our second drive-in adventure. Thus, my friend had built up an enormous sperm attack craving for release.

“It was the skirt that did it,” Tim said, finally letting me in on what had happened, now that we were safely ten miles out of town.

“The skirt?” I said, leaning forward to turn the sound down, afraid of missing any part of the story.

“Yeah, the skirt.”

Tim turned to look at me as I sat back in the seat, a broad grin on his face. Thankfully, he looked back and kept his eyes on the road as he told me what had happened, sometimes speaking so fast he could barely get his breath and sometimes stopping altogether until I prompted him for more.

“It was just like with you. Mom seemed to be freaked after getting busted at the drive-in. I don’t know why. Neither she nor your mom were bothered on the way home, but by the next day, things had changed. I wasn’t too bummed out until later in the week when it became clear she wasn’t going to play anymore. I was really depressed that night.”

Tim turned to look at me again.

“I thought I’d never get to shove it in her face the way you did that first night.” He laughed at the shocked look that must have covered my face. “Yeah, man. After the first time, Mom told me about you almost climbing over the seat. She was afraid you were going to choke your mom.”

“We didn’t think anyone saw,” I said.

“Mom did,” Tim said. “She said you must have come on her face because you were fidgeting around so long after. She thought your mom was cleaning up because she saw you grab some napkins.” Tim’s prodded me for confirmation. Though I didn’t say anything, my reddening face was answer enough.

“I knew it,” he cried, elated, turning back to watch the road.

“Mom thought that was real hot. Her voice got really hoarse when she told me about it. I knew then she was going to let me do it to her. I was going to trade seats with you last time but when I got into the car after getting back from the concession, Mom was already hot to trot.”

Tim turned to face me again.

“I don’t know how much wine they had before they met up with us but when the movie started, I put my hand between Mom’s legs as soon as I kissed her and she grabbed me by the wrist and yanked my hand right up.”

Tim dropped his right hand from the wheel, between his legs, then yanked it back hard to cup his crotch.

“Like that,” he laughed, thrusting his hips forward into his hand, mimicking how eagerly his mother had rubbed him that night.

Tim’s face muscles slowly relaxed until I couldn’t tell what he was thinking about. His hand lifted to take the wheel again. Then he started speaking.

“It was the pleated skirt,” he said, returning to where he had started. “The same one that started it all.”

I nodded, silently urging him on.

“I had stopped helping her with the dishes, you know, not because I didn’t want to but she kept sending me out of the kitchen every time I tried. So I quit.”

Tim paused.

“I was watching TV with Dad when she came downstairs. She’d gone upstairs right after dinner,” he explained, “but she came down about half an hour later and went straight to the kitchen. I thought nothing of it except for this funny look she gave me as she walked by. It was weird. I was watching the show but I kept thinking about that look, and one time when I played it over in my head, I realized she was wearing that same skirt.”

Tim laughed again, looking over at me. “Man, I gotta tell ya, that gave me an instant woodie. I couldn’t very well sit next to Dad with a big bone on for Mom, so I got up and went into the kitchen.”

“She was doing the dishes already, but differently than usual. Slower, almost like she’d been waiting for me to come help and she didn’t want to get too far ahead. She was wearing a summer blouse, the kind with no sleeves and I could tell she wasn’t wearing a bra, the way it jiggled when she scrubbed something. She does that in the summer sometimes, you know, not wearing a bra. But only at home, and never when Dad’s home,” he mused.

Tim shook his head. “Anyway,” he said, “I could tell she wasn’t wearing a bra, and she wasn’t wearing pantyhose. She was barefoot. No slippers or anything. It was kinda primal, man.”

He certainly had my attention.

“So I walked up behind her, slow like. Something told me not to rush, but I felt more sure of myself than I had in weeks. I just stood behind her. I didn’t even get a dish towel. I just watched those pleats swishing behind her bum as she scrubbed away. She turned and smiled at me once but went back to the dishes right away. After a minute, she asked me what I was doing.”

“Nothing,” I told her.

“Aren’t you going to help?” she asked me.

“No,” I said.

“Then what are you doing back there?” she asked me.

“Watching you,” I said.

“Watching me?” she asked me.

“Yeah,” I said. “I’m watching your skirt.”

“Timmy,” she said.

“What?”

“Behave yourself,” she said. “Your father’s in the next room and his show hasn’t started yet.”

“She meant he was still watching the news, waiting for his show to start,” Tim explained. “So I didn’t do anything, I just kept watching her. She turned around and saw me looking straight at her bum.”

“Timmy, stop it now. The news is almost over. He could come in any minute.”

“I kept looking at her and a few minutes later, he did come in. I picked up a towel as soon as I heard him get up and started drying the dishes. While he was getting a beer out of the fridge, I put a few clean dishes back into the sink. Mom stopped and looked at them but she didn’t say anything. Dad said he was glad to see me helping Mom again and went back into the living room. A minute later, I heard his show start.”

“It was tense after he left. We both knew he wouldn’t come back in while his show was on but I still didn’t do anything. I just kept looking at Mom’s bum, and she knew what I was doing. After a few minutes, I dropped the towel over the dishes in the rack. I could tell Mom thought I was going to touch her ass because her shoulders went all tense like she was expecting me to.”

“You didn’t,” I said, thinking that was exactly what he was going to do.

“No,” Tim said.

“Then...”

“I just watched for another minute,” he cut me off. “I was going to touch her, but it felt really cool watching her knowing she was expecting me to, but not doing it. She was breathing real quiet like, in short breaths, almost like she was scared.”

“So you didn’t touch her?”

“Not right away,” Tim said. “I took my thing out.”

“You what,” I cried incredulously.

“I undid my jeans and took my cock out,” he said, laughing.

“What happened?”

“Nothing at first. She heard me. I could see her head start to turn a bit and then stop.”

“What are you doing, Timmy?”

“Nothing.”

“I heard something,” she said.

“I’m just looking at your ass,” I said.

“Quiet down. Your father’s in the living room!” she whispered harshly.

“I know,” I answered. “Let me see it.”

“What?”

“Your ass.”

“She glanced back at me then but quickly looked away.”

“Put that away,” she hissed.

“Show me.”

“No. Do up your pants, right now!”

“Not until you show me.”

“She wasn’t going to do it,” Tim said. “I was standing there, swaying on my feet, jeans open and zipper down with my cock hanging out. I was starting to feel a little foolish when Mom’s hands lifted out of the sink and reached down outside of her skirt, one by each thigh.”

Tim suddenly swerved off the road, scaring the shit out of me. But he was just pulling into a pull-off. Not a viewpoint or anything. It was too minor a road for that. He stopped the car and shut off the engine.

I looked intently into his eyes, waiting.

“She pulled her skirt up real slow,” he said, “like she was unveiling something special. She went so slow I could hear her breathe in and out several times as if we were in a slow motion movie. She kept pulling until her skirt was sitting on top of her bum.”

Tim paused. My eyes were riveted on his face.

“She wasn’t wearing anything underneath,” he said, his voice still full of awe. “Her ass was bare, two cheeks hanging down, sloping out like two pears. I remember staring down her crack, dimly becoming aware that there were no panties covering her, pretty obvious because there was a tuft of hair sticking out from between her legs.”

“What happened?” I gulped.

“She turned around and looked at me. She could tell I was awestruck and I remember thinking how pleased she was, especially when I whispered how awesome she was, that her ass was absolutely stupendous. She didn’t tell me to quiet down then,” Tim laughed.

“What then?” I asked.

“It was her turn to watch,” he said. “I grabbed my cock and gave it a few pulls, then reached out with my left hand and cupped her cheek, pulling it apart a little so I could see more.”

“Remember your father,” she whispered. “You better put it away.”

“No. Let me touch it first.”

“I leaned closer. She tried to pull away but she had nowhere to go. I pushed my head between her cheeks. She groaned when she felt me, like I did. I almost came when I heard that.”

“Timmy, stop,” she whispered frantically. “Your father.”

“Shhhhhhh, then,” I whispered back. “Be quiet or he’ll hear you.”

“I was rummaging around with my cock, steering it with my hand, trying to find her slit. I slipped my left hand around to her belly, under her skirt, to hold her still but I still couldn’t get it in. And then I said the magic words.”

“What words?” My eyes and ears were almost off my head trying to pull his story out of him.

“I said, ‘I want to do you from behind the way Rick did his mom.’”

I stared at Tim.

“She went all still and relaxed and my cock was suddenly inside her and I was shoving it in, all the way, right up into her. It was incredible. I was fucking her right there in the kitchen. It was insane! Dad was in the living room watching TV and I was fucking Mom against the sink. I mean, not rubbing her fully clothed. There was no way I could have jumped back and pretended nothing was going on. My cock was all the way up her cunt, man.”

I just kept staring at Tim. He went on.

“She started making sounds, so put my hand over her mouth and kept banging her. It was fucking awesome. All of a sudden, I was cumming, jerking into her and spewing like crazy. Mom slumped over the sink then but I kept holding her. She felt so good, I kept her ass tight to me, plugged to the hilt inside her, though I was finished.”

Tim shook his head.

“It was weird. The clock seemed to be ticking really loud and I could hear the sounds of Dad’s TV show. After few minutes, I realized that Mom’s hair was hanging down in the dishwater. I tried to pull her up but she was like a rag doll, so I pulled her away from the sink. She just flopped forward and would have fallen to the floor if I wasn’t holding by the hips to keep myself inside her.”

“So we stood like that, Mom flopped over, hair hanging down to the floor, and me with my cock still plugged inside her. I’m not sure when I started, but I realized that I was no longer just holding Mom up. I was swaying in a circle, with a steady rhythm. I was starting to fuck her again.”

“She just let it happen for awhile but then she must have consciously realized what I was doing and she tried to pull away but she quickly ran into the cupboards and I pressed her so the back of her head was against them. She ducked closer to the floor but I followed, squatting to keep myself deep within her. She couldn’t get away, not with the iron grip I had on her hips.”

“I started gouging into her then, really rooting her. My cock felt huge, like it wasn’t mine. I felt like a star in a porn flick wielding a weapon that women couldn’t get enough of, and Mom was the sexiest woman you could ever fuck.”

“She is, you know,” he looked directly at me. “Her pussy has the most fantastic feel to it,” he said, adding a moment later, “Especially from behind.”

“We were fucking so hard that Mom’s head slid along the cupboards and she ended up on her knees with me squatting behind her, our backs to the kitchen doorway and the living room, until I finally unloaded in her again.”

“We were just finishing up the dishes when Dad brought his dishes in halfway through his show. It seemed like I’d been fucking her for hours but it couldn’t have been more than twenty minutes once we got started. And we did it twice at that. The first one couldn’t have taken more than two minutes,” he laughed.

We got back on the road after that.

“What a bummer,” Tim said.

“What?” I asked, turning the music back up, thinking the opposite, that we were both back on track.

“Getting kicked out of the drive-in,” he said. “What are we going to do now. We can’t keep doing it in the kitchen. We’ll get caught.”

“Right,” I agreed.

“Anyway,” Tim said. “It was more fun together.”

“Right,” I agreed again.

We drove on. The miles passed, beautiful, sunny countryside.

“We’ll go for a drive,” I said, suddenly inspired.

“We are on a drive,” Tim looked at me like I was on something.

“Exactly,” I said. “Sunday. We’ll go for a Sunday drive, with our moms.”

Tim looked at me, and I knew then what Einstein must have felt like when people looked at him.

“Right on,” Tim agreed enthusiastically, his hand slipping between his legs again. We both laughed uproariously.

That was Thursday. That night, I didn’t offer to help Mom with the dishes. After listening to Tim’s story, I was afraid I’d try to lift Mom’s skirt and shove it in. No. I needed to give Mom some distance after what had happened. The next day, I was out all day looking for another part-time job and I went to the local theater to see a movie. Saturday, I was the model son, helping out around the yard. Mom and Dad went out to dinner that night with some friends but I was still up when they got home.

It turned out that Dad was going fishing with some friends early in the morning and Mom and I would be home alone. She seemed nervous about that but I jumped in and asked if she wanted to go for a drive with Tim and his mom instead of sitting at home by ourselves. She couldn’t very well argue that in front of Dad. Or maybe Mom thought going for a drive the lesser of two evils, and agreed. She waited for Dad to go upstairs first.

“I talked with Millie a few days ago,” she said. “There won’t be any funny business anymore, despite what happened Thursday. You just caught me off guard, is all.”

“Of course not,” I replied cheerily. “When did you talk with Millie?” I asked, as if it wasn’t important.

“Wednesday. Why?”

“Oh, I just wondered if they were still going for a drive,” I said.

Sunday morning, Mom had already called Millie and she confirmed that Tim had indeed suggested going for a drive since the men would be gone fishing all day. They organized who would make what to take for a picnic lunch and an hour later we went over to Tim’s place to pick him and his mother up. We took the Rambler, of course.

Mom got out when we arrived and quickly sat in the back with Millie before Tim could get in. We left, Tim and I both trying hard to be nonchalant and upbeat. Mom was apprehensive but Millie was in fine spirits and Mom soon relaxed.

We drove for well over an hour. I retraced the route Tim and I had followed and pulled off a dirt side road that dipped through a field and then lazily wound around and climbed a lightly treed, grassy knoll. I pulled off and parked the car in a spot offering a view over a distant farmhouse. I opened the door and stepped out, pulling the seatback forward and offering my hand to Mom to help her out in a very gentlemanly fashion.

I opened the trunk and we spread a couple of blankets on the grass, unloaded our picnic baskets, and sat down to enjoy our lunch with the Rambler’s doors open so we could listen to the stereo. Millie had brought wine and that, together with the surroundings, beautiful sunny day, and the casual, innocent behavior exhibited by both Tim and I, seemed to relax my mom.

We were all lying on our backs, on the blankets, chit chatting and singing along to the music. The wine helped but neither of the moms seemed to be aware of it since either Tim or I replenished the bottles with fresh ones from the trunk, unobserved. I noticed that both women were very relaxed, and Mom had finally quit tugging her skirt down every time it rode up on her thighs. She was wearing a pleated, plaid skirt just like Millie’s, I imagined the same one that had gotten Tim so fired up. The hem was resting about three inches above Mom’s knees which were parted just enough to make me think about what was up there, beyond the shadows that prevented further inspection.

“God, we should have brought chairs,” Millie complained, stretching and arching her back.

“I’ll get the backseat out of the Rambler,” I offered, struggling unsteadily to my feet.

Mom frowned. “I don’t think that’s a very good idea.”

“No, no. I’m fine,” Millie protested, but I was already reaching inside the car and Tim had jumped up to help from the other side of the car.

It was an easy task. A sharp jerk on the front of the back seat pulled it from its clips and Tim and I soon steered it out of the car, setting it down at the top of one of the blankets behind our moms with the narrow rear-end facing their backs. They soon shuffled back to lean against it. Soon, all four of us were leaning back, feet stretched out before us, sipping the last of the wine.

Millie finished hers first, tossing her plastic glass over Tim onto the grass. “Well, we’re stuck here for a couple of hours until this wears off,” she giggled. Mom agreed, wondering how we had drunk so much wine.

“Because these little buggers probably wanted us to get drunk,” Millie tittered, elbowing Tim.

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Mom said, eyeing me suspiciously.

“We’ll just have a nap, and then we’ll be ready to go,” Millie suggested, pulling the other blanket over top of us and worming her way down into a more prone position but with her head still on the seat. Tim crooked his arm over his mom’s head and snuggled closer to her, straightening the blanket over her while Millie wiggled closer to her son.

Mom held off for a few minutes, watching Millie’s closed eyes, then slipped lower and tugged the blanket over herself too. A moment later, I snuggled down closer to Mom.

Time went by. We listened to the birds and the distant sound of the odd car driving by on the road back over the hill. Once in a while I opened my eyes and looked for the birds, then watched Mom. Tim was still lying with his arm over his mom’s head, but his eyes were closed. I could see his other hand moving slowly over his mother’s body, caressing her belly and running over her breasts. Millie seemed content. I was jealous.