Chapter 06: It Wasn’t My Imagination

I awoke the next morning earlier than I usually did that summer. I had worked my ass off during my first three years of high school, and I was going to coast through my senior year, which meant that this would be my first summer off in a long time. Thoughts of returning to my slumber came to me, but in the end, I rolled out of bed, put on my basketball shorts and a T-shirt, and headed to my hallway bathroom to finish waking up before I headed downstairs.

The downstairs has a wraparound floor plan, with the living room to the left, followed by the dining room, then the kitchen, then a hallway that leads to a laundry room, the garage, a great room, and then back to the foyer, staircase, and front door. The great room has a piano, a pool table, a bar, but I don’t spend much time in there...

I reached the kitchen at seven in the morning, with the sunlight shining onto the breakfast table through the white curtains hanging over the bay windows. Dad was still home. He wouldn’t be leaving until about eight in the morning. Mom worked from home, using her advanced degrees in education to create specialized curriculums for private schools while also selling lesson plans that covered kindergarten through high school graduation to teachers over the internet. She did well enough that Dad often joked about retiring early, by about twenty years.

In the kitchen, I found Dad sitting at the table, reading his newspaper with his back to the window and the sunlight shining onto his paper. Mom was wearing a lavender robe made of silk with the belt looped once, and the two halves met at the center of her body. I noticed it dropped down to the middle of her thighs—something I wouldn’t have noticed before last night. I would have seen it, but I wouldn’t have noticed it.

“Good morning,” Mom said, giving me a smile and even without makeup on her cheeks, and lipstick on her ... lips ... she still looked beautiful.

Dad’s paper fluttered with that crunchy, flappy sound as he snapped it low enough to look at me. “You’re up early.”

“Good morning.” I shrugged and looked about the kitchen and breakfast nook as Dad lifted his paper. “I’m just up.”

“Sit,” Mom said. “I’ll make you breakfast.”

“Cereal is fine,” I said, taking a seat.

“I said I’ll make you breakfast,” Mom said.

I sat at the end of the table, to Dad’s left. To the left of me was the kitchen island and Mom, who was cooking what smelled like French toast with her back to me and her lower body hidden by the kitchen island.

I looked away from her, thinking, Last night was weird.

When Mom turned around from the stove, she set my plate on the kitchen island and picked up the maple syrup. I looked at her, but she looked at Dad, and as she did, she seemed to become lost in thought. Her eyes never drifted in my direction. She held the syrup in her right hand while her left arm came up, and her fingers slid between her robe’s lapels. Rubbing motions followed, almost caresses, and as she pulled her fingers out of her robe, she caught her lapel, pulling her robe open to the left. I had to work saliva back into my mouth as the golden-hued upper swell of my mother’s left breast came into view.

Holy shit.

Mom still hadn’t looked at me. She stared at Dad’s paper, and then she looked down long enough to pour the syrup onto my breakfast before raising her head and looking at Dad once more. She set the syrup down, then reached up with her right hand and slid her fingers beneath her left lapel and rubbed the top of her left breast, with her palm on the outer edge.

Holy shit again.

I watched in silence as her breast moved, not a lot, not even a jiggle, just back and forth with the motions of her fingers. Her hand came away, and her fingers curled around her right lapel, and she pulled that side open, creating a narrow V down the center of her cleavage. Mom shook her head as if ridding herself of whatever thoughts had been running through her head, and then she picked up my plate, walked around the far end of the island and toward me with a new gap in her robe that I had to struggle not to stare at—but wasn’t staring the point?

This wasn’t my imagination.

Mom was showing herself off to me.

Holy, motherfucking, shit.

Dad read his paper, and I ate, glancing at Mom as much as I could without turning my head to stare at her. Maybe I was supposed to look, but she was still my mother, and I still had a girlfriend. Despite the warmth flowing through my heart and into my skin, turning it red due to my mother’s good intentions, a little corner of my mind wanted to curl into a ball and close its eyes. I could hear it chanting, “This is weird. This is wrong. This is weird. This is wrong.” Lucky for me, the chanting’s volume faded with time, as though someone was lowering the volume of a stereo with the unnaturally slow but continuous rotation of its dial.

Mom spent some time preparing her breakfast at the kitchen island, cutting various fruits as her robe opened a little more, baring more of her breasts, but never as much as I hoped or feared. My heartbeat sped up with every flutter of her clothing, its thin silk sliding over her body, clinging here, gripping there, and rolling like waves with dips and rises as she continued with her task.

She never looked at me, only at Dad, and the one time his paper crinkled as he lowered it, Mom reached up with her left hand and pinched her robe shut. Dad didn’t look at her, he was sipping his coffee and had happened to tilt his paper forward, but when it had come down, Mom had covered up. It was at this time that my cock, already warm and relaxed, decided to have its first stretch of the morning.

As Dad’s paper rose, Mom’s robe came open. She finished cutting her fruit for her breakfast and came to the table, sitting across from Dad with an assortment of bite-sized bananas, berries, citruses to nibble on with a side of yogurt for dipping.

She ate. Dad ate. I ate, only I had a view of the inside of Mom’s left breast, almost to her nipple. The soft swell of her mound made my mouth water for more than her French toast.

As I watched my mother, my cock tingled, and the head swelled, pushing the fabric of my boxer briefs and basketball shorts outward and upward. After teasing me, how did my mother think that I wasn’t going to run off to the one girl who had already guaranteed me some pussy? How could Mom hope to keep me at home when what I really wanted was—

The shock of an electric spark zapping my brain put a stop to my thoughts, and when they came back, a new question had entered my mind. How far was my mother willing to go to keep me from being sexual with Jenna for the next two years and one month?

Did I want to know?

My mind stuttered, like an old film reel that had lost its tracking, and everything blurred. I didn’t know if I wanted to know, but my dick, the nasty mother fucker, who wanted to spread open the little lips of a fifteen-year-old girl, had no problem growing thick and hard and hell-bent on finding out.

I needed to get out of the kitchen, but I had a hard-on, so I sat there, eating with a slow, deliberate gait as I willed my fucking chubby friend down to half-mast. It wasn’t easy since I was sneaking glances at my mother’s tit while wishing that her robe would move a hair more to the left. I wanted to see the shade of her areola and maybe the size of her nub.

The size of her nub—her fucking nipple!

I had been aware of her nipple—nipples—since the start of this, but it was her flesh that had stolen the attention of my eyes and other, darker thoughts had also kept my mind occupied, but I had been aware of Mom’s nipples. What had started as smooth silk against the jutting swell of her breasts had developed small rises in their surface—rises that had pushed the fabric outward in a pair of points. Growing and growing, they thickened and hardened, my imagination witnessing the tight swirling and contracting of her flesh, seeming to thicken while stretching outward as the little cracks in her nipple flesh constricted.

Shit—my balls hurt.

As soon as the last bite of French toast entered my mouth, I pushed my chair back and turned in my father’s direction. He still had his newspaper raised. Who the fuck reads an entire newspaper? I’m glad that he did because the left side of the paper kept his eyes away from my tented shorts. I should have slid from my chair in a half-crouch and slunk away with my back turned to my mother before standing, but I didn’t do that. I don’t know why. I pushed my chair back, and as I turned to my right, I stood, leaving no doubt about the effect my mother had on me. Even if she were looking forward, her peripherals wouldn’t have failed to notice the hard-on that she had inspired.

I should have rushed upstairs to jerk off, but instead, I jumped onto the couch facing the TV, grabbed the remote, and looked for something to watch. I flipped through the channels, not paying attention, as I looked at the clock and waited for my father to leave the house. By the time he had left, my hard-on had gone down, but my leg had started to fidget.

Dad left just before eight in the morning, and I waited in the living room, unaware of what I expected or what Mom had planned. Jenna was always available after her half-day summer classes, and a little bit of teasing wasn’t going to keep me away from her. But would a whole lot keep me away from her? No. Mom’s teasing wouldn’t keep me away from Jenna, that’s for damn sure, so that question came to me again: How far was my mother willing to go to keep me away from Jenna for two years and one month?

Get your shit together, I thought. Did Mom really want to do this? Had I driven her insane? No way, she was a rational woman—educated, composed, experienced, and ... Mom walked into the living, just beyond my couch, stopping in front of me, but off to the side.

“Hey,” I said, staring at her back and butt—mostly her butt—which her robe rested upon, with the cloth covering her center groove dipping between her cheeks.

“Hey,” Mom said, not turning around. “I’m going to work for a little bit, but then I’m coming downstairs to do some housework.”

“Okay,” I said.

“It’s going to be hot today.” A tremor underscored Mom’s voice. “Don’t go anywhere.”

“Jenna doesn’t get out of school until noon,” I said. “And her dad insists on picking her up now instead of me.”

“Good,” Mom said. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours to clean, okay.”

“Okay.”

Mom turned, and when she did, her robe lay open from her neck to below her breasts, her inside swells and cleavage visible. Her perky handfuls left some open space between her breasts that made my mouth water and tongue dance. Mom paused for a moment, standing still long enough not to make things obvious before she left the living room, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

Fuck me, but this was unexpected and strange, and yet it filled me with a kind of nervous yet excited energy that I needed to release. I waited until I was sure that Mom was in her room before I raced upstairs to my room to relieve myself of this adrenaline-like burden.

Porno, stories, camgirls—I didn’t spend money on them—and other kinds of options presented themselves to me. I was ready to take them, but instead, I found myself searching Reddit for real-life stories about moms coming onto their sons, or vice versa. I was sure that every one of them was bullshit, but even if just one were true, then maybe I’d have an idea of how to handle this new side of Mom.

I mostly skimmed the stories and entries, but each one that captured my attention said the same thing: Be assertive. Don’t let your golden opportunity go to waste. If your mother was coming onto you, then go after her. Don’t let your mother run away from you, and don’t let the guilt that was bound to set in once she offered herself to you take hold of her soul. Take hold of her soul! That was a bit dramatic—a little over the top—but it also made sense.

Yet, why would I want to test this out?

My cock knew why, but what did a dickhead know?

My fingers danced on my keyboard, not clicking any of the keys but just dancing over them with enough pressure to make the plastic caps rattle and shake. I should have got busy jerking off, but that’s when I heard a knock on my bedroom door.