Chapter 08: An Agreement

I didn’t see my mother again until after Dad had arrived home. She had changed from her bikini into a pleated white tennis skirt that barely reached the middle of her thighs. A tight, dark blue polo shirt with white trim and short-short sleeves covered her upper body. We didn’t talk, and Mom made dinner, and we ate, her tits pushing against her top like two perky orbs outlined by the faintest impressions of a bra. It must have been a thin bra, maybe lace or something transparent, I didn’t know, but my mind spent most of its time thinking about what kind of bra she could be wearing.

Jenna had some transparent bras that she liked to wear for me.

Dad said nothing about Mom’s outfit. He was too busy mumbling, “My sleepless nights are getting worse. Can you believe that? They just won’t go away anymore.”

My dad, as far as I knew, had bouts of acute insomnia, typically lasting for several weeks, then they’d dissipate for several weeks, then they’d come back in an endless cycle of hell for him. When he mentioned this, I saw my mother’s face tighten, but my heartbeat sped up. Had the same thoughts gone through our heads at the same time? I didn’t know, but I’d like to think that they did. Despite her reaction, I was eager for my father to start taking his pills again.

Even though Mom was wearing a short tennis skirt that showed off her slender legs down to her little, bare feet with their perfect toes and elegant arches, it wasn’t like this morning and afternoon. Dad was here, so when Mom noticed me looking a little too long or a little too hard, she narrowed her eyes at me and sent a firm headshake—with only the slightest hints of movement—my way.

Not long after dinner, I went upstairs, saying, “I need to give Jenna a call before she thinks I’m ignoring her.”

Mom, who had been reading a book on the couch while Dad watched TV, looked up at me as I headed upstairs and called out, “Remember our deal.”

Our unspoken deal, I thought just as my father said, “Yeah, remember it. I don’t want to have to explain to my mother why her grandson is a sex offender.”

“Jesus, Dad,” I said as my dad laughed, and I continued upstairs.

I talked to Jenna, but I was distracted. She could tell. I knew that she could, but I couldn’t tell her why. My thoughts kept drifting back to my mother and the promise I had made her. Did I really make her a promise? Do unspoken promises count? I didn’t think—so my cock said to me—but Jenna would be there for me in a week, while Mom might end her desperation tactic if she thought I wasn’t keeping my word.

“Come on,” Jenna was saying, “tell me how hard your cock is for me.”

“I can’t,” I said, licking my lips and continuing the lie I had told her at the start of our conversation. “Mom keeps walking into my room.”

“Fuck it,” Jenna growled, “let her hear how hard I make your cock. I’ll let my dad hear if you let your mom hear.” She made a tongue-clicking sound. “Every time that my dad thinks that I’m being naughty with you, he gives me this look, and I just want to say, ‘Mark makes my pussy wet, Daddy, deal with it.”

“Daddy,” I said, laughing.

“Well, Dad’s my father,” Jenna said, “but you’re my Daddy.”

“Oh,” I moan-groaned. “That’s so fucking hot.”

“I know, right?” Jenna giggled. “The dirtier this gets, the jucier my pussy gets for your big, adult dick. Maybe my dad’s just jealous of you getting my ass instead of...”

I groaned again as she trailed off, her voice slick, sly, and dangerously suggestive. My cock grew and grew. Maybe it was for the best if I put an end to Mom’s teasing and went straight to Jenna. Why should we torture ourselves by waiting? We could fuck, tell her dad, and call his bluff. It had to be a bluff. Jenna’s mom loved me!

“I’ve got to go, you nasty girl,” I whispered. “I can hear my mom outside of my door. I think she’s pacing. I’ll send you a picture later, okay?”

“Okay,” Jenna sighed. “Our parents suck.”

“Yes, they do,” I whispered, hoping it was true in my mother’s case.

“Love you,” Jenna said, “and don’t forget that dick pick you owe me. I want to see cum and lots of it.”

“I promise,” I whispered as her bratty voice sent a tingle through my glans. “Love you too.”

Would she be mad when I didn’t send her a picture?

Probably, but I’d think of something.

I left my phone on my bed as I headed downstairs. I had talked to Jenna for an hour; what would Mom make of that? Was she antsy? Was she pissed? Should I pretend that something happened, even when it hadn’t? There was danger in that; wasn’t there, but how much?

Fuck, there were too many variables to digest, so I tried to slow down my thoughts as I descended from the top of the stairs into the TV-lit foyer and living room. Mom, sitting on the back couch with her back against the armrest, turned her head to the left and gave me a long look. I smiled, and she watched me as I walked around the couch and sat opposite her. She had her knees up and together, along with her calves and feet, creating a wall that hid her panties from my eyes.

I leaned back against the couch’s arm, bringing my feet onto the couch. Mom looked at me, watching as the soft light flashed across my body. Dad yawned.

“Did you already take your pill?” I asked my dad.

“Yeah,” he yawned again. “I haven’t had a good sleep in days.”

I hadn’t noticed—what an asshole I was.

“Gonna go upstairs?” I asked.

“You want the TV?”

“No.” I shook my head, though he was lying on his back with his head on a pillow, staring at the TV. “Just making conversation.”

“Make it when the show’s over,” he said. “If I last that long.”

I nodded and turned back to Mom. She was still looking at me, and even though the living was dark, and I wouldn’t have been able to see much had she spread her legs for me, I nodded at her knees anyway. Mom tilted her head, and I lifted my hands, placed my palms together, then spread my fingers open by tilting them away from each other. Mom widened her eyes, and then she looked toward the TV. I sighed without making a sound, extending my right foot and nudging her left toes. Mom brought her feet back, and when they ran out of the room, she turned on her cushion and lowered her feet to the floor.

Damn it!

Was it because of Dad?

It had to be.

Or maybe she needed reassurance that I hadn’t done anything with Jenna—over the phone. How was I going to do that? Fuck it, I was going to press my luck, and I could assure Mom later that her son had followed the law, mostly. Was talking dirty to a willing fifteen-year-old girlfriend illegal?

I sighed again, a little louder this time. Mom didn’t look at me, and neither did Dad. I lowered my back down the armrest to my shoulders, and I stretched out my legs, pulling short of touching Mom with my feet. Her skirt lay a tiny bit above the middle of her lap, both atop and along the sides, while the back lay bunched against the back of the couch. The pleats were perfect and rectangular, layered, her long legs illuminated by the bluish-silver of the TV light.

Like moonlight.

When was Mom going to pull her skirt up? She wasn’t sitting on it, so it wasn’t like her movement would disturb Dad. Not that he’d notice by the way he was lying.

Time ticked by, the show went on, and Dad yawned.

Any day now, I thought, throwing my silent words at my mother.

Was she mad at me for touching her today? I had pushed it. Or, if not mad, was she having second thoughts? This game had barely started, so there was only one way to find out. I extended my right foot, the one closest to the back of the couch, with a slower-than-normal motion, making sure that my mother would notice me coming from the corner of her eyes. She did. Her lips twitched, but was she attempting to hide a smile, or had they tightened? She didn’t look at me, so I continued forward.