Chapter 10

Mom insisted on going out for dinner that night so I couldn’t watch the action live. All through dinner, I worried that I would miss Paul’s first time with his mom because I hadn’t had an opportunity to slip downstairs to add cameras in Paul and Mary’s bedrooms. Mom noticed that my thoughts were elsewhere and was annoyed at my lack of attention to her. I couldn’t very well tell her that it was hard for me to warm up to her when three hours earlier she’d let Paul cover her face in his juvenile semen. So we had nice dinner in a romantic restaurant like two people who had been married for years.

I realized I was being a little ridiculous. I had convinced Mom to encourage Paul so he might transfer his behavior to Mary, so I could watch. It was disingenuous of me to expect her to do that without having any fun herself, and there was no question that Paul likely wouldn’t be brave enough to do anything with his mother, other than look, if it wasn’t for Mom. Face it, I thought, it was pretty hot watching Mom let him try to get that big cockhead of his into her mouth. I should be appreciating her efforts and trying to support her more.

I certainly didn’t want to lose Mom over Mary and Paul. Looking across the table made my heart skip a beat as I realized how elegantly beautiful she was, especially with the candlelight flickering over her face and bare neck and shoulders, despite the rather grim look on her face. I resolved to change that look by the time we had finished dessert.

When we arrived home, there was a note from Mary. Apparently, Dad had been restless and she had been up and down looking after him until after ten. He was settled down now but she was exhausted and asked that Mom look after him tomorrow morning so she could sleep in. Mom felt sorry for Mary — she expected something to happen tonight but didn’t know I also knew that — but I only felt relief that Dad had been such a bother since I was now sure that I hadn’t missed anything.

However, there was a downside. Our dinner had turned into a fun and romantic evening with a good chance for a very satisfying evening upstairs. But Mom now felt a little tired from all the wine, rather than perky and adventurous as she’d been right up to reading the note, and now wanted to get a good night’s sleep if she was going to be dealing with Dad all morning. So I was left high and dry.

When Mom headed upstairs for bed, I stayed downstairs to see if there were any good movies on, but soon found myself in the study, browsing through letters and reviewing the monitors to make sure I had indeed not missed any action. The recordings showed Mary and Paul in the kitchen, Paul making soup and sandwiches. Evidently he had offered to make dinner, and the only other thing he could make was kraft dinner but Mary looked very pleased by his efforts. They chatted while they waited but were interrupted by a call, evidently from my Mom who asked Mary to keep an ear out for Dad while we went to dinner. Mary looked tired when she put the phone down; she must have had a hard day. They ate their dinner quickly.

Not long after, Mary went into the living room to listen to the handheld monitor. Both she and Paul left to go upstairs. I guess Dad had started getting restless right away. While they were gone, I sifted through the letters and picked one up from a guy named Kevin.

My name if Kevin and my mom’s name is Margaret. We’re a fairly typical family except that my older brother left home a few years ago and we haven’t heard from him since. Matt was the outgoing one. He was pretty good at school but excelled at sports and was very popular, with the girls and guys, almost making captain of the football team. Me, I’m the bookish one. In the last year, my mother has become quite withdrawn, going to church at least twice a week until recently. We used to go only on Sundays, but since my brother left Mom became even more religious than before. My father is the same, except he seems to keep to himself more, spending most of his time at home out in his workshop or downstairs in the rumpus room listening to his old music or watching old movies.

Matt and my mother were close. He used to tease her a lot, about being so straight-laced, prim and proper. He tried to get her to let her hair down, literally, instead of wearing it in a bun all the time. Mom had thick brown shoulder length hair with deep red highlights, very sexy if it wasn’t on an uptight, religious church woman. But Mom would only loosen her hair after extended harassment from Matt, and then only in the house, never outside, and only when no one else was around, especially Dad. I only saw her like that twice when they didn’t realize I was home.

I still remember that first time. I came upstairs into the kitchen and heard their voices in the living room. For some reason, though I was on my way up to my room, I didn’t just walk into the hallway and head up the stairs. I stopped in the kitchen, listening to them, creeping quietly up to the doorway to hear better, and peeking around the jamb.

“There,” Mom was saying, “I don’t know why you like this so much.” Mom’s hands were dropping from her shoulders just as she began shaking her head, her hair snapping out and swirling in the air, tossing out the kinks.

“Because your hair is so beautiful, Mom,” Matt said, reaching out to take a handful in each hand when her locks settled to her shoulders, his fingers closing in to feel it as it slid through his hands. “Turn around,” he said quietly, his hands pressuring her shoulders into a spin. He stopped her when she was halfway around, his fingers tugging through her hair to the end, then back up to fill themselves again at the sides of her head.

Mom’s eyes closed as her head lifted to the pull of Matt’s hands through her hair. Matt watched as his hands pulled through her hair, lifting them to do it again, but his eyes moved past the end of Mom’s hair to the small of her back and then over the rise to her rear end. That was what drew my attention, this hint of illicit lust. This wasn’t a girl at school. I’d seen Matt eyeing up most of the girls there. This was our Mom! I wasn’t angry, I was simply confused. Why was Matt checking our Mom’s ass? Aside from being our Mom, she was old, past forty. And she was dressed in her typical fair, long dress made of thick material that covered her from her neck to almost her ankles.

There was something odd about that look and the way he touched her hair, even the expression on Mom’s face as if she really enjoyed the feel of Matt’s fingers running through her hair. I tried to retreat then, feeling like an intruder, an observer of a moment not meant to be witnessed. But my elbow bumped a bowl sitting on the counter near the door as I backed away so I went to the fridge to get a glass of milk. When I passed through the living room on my way upstairs, glass in hand, Matt was sitting on the couch fumbling with the remote and Mom was in her chair, hair tied up in her usual bun.

The second time, I had come home from school early, surprised to see Matt’s car already in the driveway. I entered the house quietly, thinking I might find Matt playing with Mom’s hair in the living room again, but the house seemed to be empty. Then I heard the faint sound of muted voices downstairs. Quietly, I snuck down the stairs and along the hallway, stopping short of the rumpus room in the relative darkness of the hallway. Peeking around the door jamb, I saw Matt and Mom at the far end of the rumpus room, he playing with her hair again. Unlike the first time, I wasn’t confused. There as an implicit erotic aura surrounding them and my groin stirred in recognition even before my brain processed the information impinging upon my eyes.

Mom was wearing a dress. Yes, of course. She always wore dresses, never pants. But she was wearing a dress you’d see on other women about town, not on my mother or most of the ones that attended our church. This dress was above Mom’s knees, had no sleeves, leaving her arms bare, even dipped down over her breasts before reaching the buttons that ran down the front, rather than a zipper on the back. Mom didn’t own a dress like that. At least, I had never seen her wear one.

Matt’s hands slid through Mom’s hair to her shoulders and onto the outside of her arms, holding her there. His head nestled beside hers and he was whispering to her as they both looked at the wall, I presume at the full length mirror I knew to be there. There was an odd sparkle in Mom’s eyes as they looked out from her face which looked small embedded in the rich auburn surround of her rumpled hair. She seemed enthralled by what she was looking at.

“You see,” Matt was saying, “I was right. You’re beautiful.”

I could see that. Mom looked like another woman. She could see it too, and I could see it fascinated her as much as Matt.

Matt’s hand slid down her arm, slowly, caressingly, possessively. He lifted her hand, holding her arm by her slender wrist.

“Look how it shows your figure, like it’s part of you, shouting at the world, here’s a real woman!”

Mom’s face broke out in a smile when he said that and she didn’t object, or even seem to notice, when Matt’s other hand slipped down inside Mom’s other arm, sliding over her waist until his hand rested just above her hip, squeezing her flesh.

“This isn’t a woman to hide.” Matt’s other hand loosened its hold on Mom’s wrist, letting it fall against her other hip. He swung her torso in a tiny circle, his face nuzzling closer to her head. “You can’t hide this kind of beauty with frumpy dresses.”

Matt’s face turned inward to kiss Mom on her jawbone. I remember going rigid, expecting her to swing angrily around to slap him. Instead, Mom raised her arm up to place her hand on the side of Matt’s head, pressing him to her. His hands slipped down her hips and around the front. I could see him pulling her back into him and his own body pushing forward into her rear. Her face turned toward him then and he kissed her. Not like we kissed her goodbye before going to school. Mouth on mouth, for a long time.

My brother pulled Mom against him the whole time he kissed her. I could see his hips pushing forward and back, grinding against her behind just like his mouth was grinding on hers. Mom pulled away from his when the kiss ended, gasping for breath.

“No, Matt, stop.”

Matt caught her in his arms, stopping her from getting away. “You promised ... you said if you liked the dress, you’d let me kiss you. And you like it. I can see you do,” Matt insisted.

“But not like that,” Mom was still struggling to catch her breath. “We can’t kiss like that!”

Mom was pulling away from Matt but not so hard he couldn’t hold her. He used his arms to smooth hers down her side and turned her to face him, moving close and taking her lips in his once more. As they kissed, Mom’s hands came up, slowly, until she was again holding his face in hers. Matt’s hands moved around her back and down, over her hips to hold her buttocks, pulling her to his own thrusting hips. Mom’s hands slid past his face until her elbows crooked around his head, her body plastering itself to Matt’s front, her hips moving in closer even than his hands were pulling.

The kiss ended but they broke apart only long enough to gulp in air and breath each other’s name, before locking into another intense kiss. Matt walked Mom backward to the wall, holding her there with his body. When the kiss ended, he moved his hands up to the buttons on the front of her dress.

“No, Matt. I said I’d kiss you, that’s all.”

“Mom, even in your day, a girl would let her guy have a little feel when they were necking.”

“No, I can’t, Matt, please stop,” Mom struggled to stop him as she complained. But Matt managed to undo a button anyway. He stopped then and Mom ceased struggling. Matt’s head moved forward, his lips capturing Mom’s again in another long kiss. Seconds later, Mom’s hands returned to wrap around Matt’s head, pulling him to her. And Matt’s hands returned to Mom’s dress, fumbling to get her buttons undone the whole time he kissed her.

“Oh, Matt, Mattie,” Mom cried when the kiss ended, her dress undone to her tummy, which heaved as she recovered her breath.

Matt stared down her front. “Mom, you’re awesome, just awesome.” His hands slipped under her dress and I could tell he was holding her tits. The way the muscles in his forearms moved, I knew he was kneading them with his fingers.

Mom didn’t fight him, she simply leaned back against the wall and let Matt play with her breasts, her hands loosely clasped behind his neck. I even saw her arch her back, I guess in response to something he was doing underneath her dress that I couldn’t see. I had a boner by this time and I was wishing that he’d take her dress off so I could see her tits too. But he didn’t try to. Mom was smiling at him as he continued fondling her and she kept smiling when his right hand dropped away from her breast to slide over her hip, behind her leg to her knee. She was still smiling when Matt pulled her knee up and pushed her calf behind him, pushing himself, and her in front of him, hard against the wall.

Matt started rubbing himself up and down against Mom, sliding her bum against the wall.

“No, Matt, stop!” Mom ordered, but she didn’t do anything to inhibit his movements, and nothing was keeping her leg up around his hip. Matt ignored her, increasing the pace of his thrusts against her.

“Mattie, ... no, no.” Mom was saying she wanted him stop, but her arms seemed to tighten around his neck.

I could hear Matt’s breathing getting very loud. His hand slipped down to grasp Mom’s raised leg just below her bum at the top of her thigh. Mom’s other foot suddenly appeared behind him on his other side. I guess he was lifting that leg as well. Mom was only held up by the pressure of Matt’s body against the wall.

Matt’s hips were really moving now. He was shoving Mom up and down the wall with great vigor, and gasping loudly from the effort. Mom was gasping too, and she continued imploring him to stop, but her clutching feet were pulling him tight to the apex of her wide open legs.

Suddenly, Matt let out a great bellow, “AAAAAHHHHHHHH, Ahhhh, ahhhhh.”

His hips stopped, legs straining mightily to almost push Mom through the wall, interrupted by sudden surges of even greater strength. Not until he was long still did Mom’s legs loosen their hold and slide down to the floor. Gently, she pushed him away, her hands going to her dress, starting to button them as she slipped out sideways, toward me. Thank god she was looking at Matt.

“That was a mistake, Matt. It won’t happen again.”

“But I love you, Mom,” he turned toward her, looking somewhat ridiculous as he exposed the front of his come-soaked jeans.

“I love you, too. But that was a sin before God. It won’t happen again, and that’s all there is to it.”

I pulled back then, hiding in the furnace room as Mom passed by, followed by Matt a moment later.

That’s the last time I saw them together, although I did hear them arguing when I came home early again to see if I could catch them again. Matt’s car was there but all I heard when I came in was yelling, and Matt stomping upstairs. I fled to my room. Moments later, I heard him pull out of the driveway and when I crept out of my room to peek downstairs, I saw Mom standing in the living room, looking out the front window, sobbing. Two days later, Matt left.

So it’s been a little over a year now. Dad has no idea why Matt left but he stopped to visit one of our distant relatives a few states away so we know nothing ill became of him. Mom and I have a pretty good idea, but only I know that we both know. Mom seems to have pulled back from the religion thing recently, perhaps not finding the solace there she’s seeking. I’ve tried to comfort her, but I’m not Matt and don’t have his personality. Don’t think it didn’t cross my mind to try to fill his shoes, but I know I don’t have that easy banter with people the way he does. I think, deep down, I knew better than to try to be Matt.

I came home from school one day, at the regular time, to find Mom in Matt’s room. The time must have slipped by her. I hadn’t seen her there before, though she may have gone there often when nobody was home. She was sitting on Matt’s bed, the dress she’s worn the last time I’d seen them together draped over her lap, her hand absently stroking it.

She jumped when she saw me, clearly not expecting me to be home yet.

“Oh, sorry Mom. I didn’t mean to scare you,” I apologized for startling her. She seemed flustered, even after recovering from her surprise, trying to gather the dress behind her. I realized she felt guilty, though there was no way she could have known I knew the significance of the dress. She stopped trying to hide the dress after my eyes fell on it, fidgeting with it in her lap. “I just found myself here. I miss him so much,” Mom said, feeling the need to explain herself, I guess.

“I miss Matt too, Mom,” I replied. Then, I blurted out, “He liked you in that dress.”

I don’t know why I said that, giving myself away like that. How was I going to explain knowing about the dress?

“What?” Mom asked, her face going red, “What dress?” Her hands almost seemed to be trying to shove the dress between her legs, through the clothes she was wearing and out of sight.

“That one,” I pointed, “The one he got for you.”

I could believe my own pizzazz, brazening this out like this. Where was I going? My mind was frantically trying to catch up with my mouth.

“Got for me?” Mom looked confused. “What do you mean, got for me?”

I made good my escape then. “We’re brothers, Mom. We talk.” I turned and scurried to my room, leaving Mom with a shocked look on her face.

There was a knock on my door a few minutes later. “Can I come in?” Mom asked.

I didn’t answer. Mom pushed my door open and came in. I kept my nose in the comic book I was pretending to read.

“What makes you think your brother got this dress for me?” Mom held the dress up in her hand.

I glanced over at the dress. “Because he told me he did. He showed it to me,” I lied. I still wasn’t sure what I was up to, I was playing this entirely by ear, not even knowing where I wanted to go.

“What did he tell you?” I could see fear in my mother’s face.

“He said you looked good in it and that you liked wearing it,” I casually tossed out, flipping the page of the comic I definitely wasn’t reading.

Mom looked even more shocked. She didn’t say anything for a minute, then explained, “Matt did buy this dress because he said Dad never buys me anything, ‘modern’, but I never did put it on.” She turned and spoke to me over her shoulder as she walked away, “That’s just nonsense, what he told you.”

That night, I made a point of sitting in the kitchen while Mom prepared dinner. I was reading a comic book but I made it obvious that I was looking her over. When she got everything on the stove and the oven set to cook for a while, she came and sat down kitty-corner at the table next to me.

“What’s going on?” she demanded.

“What?” I asked innocently, “I’m just reading a comic.”

“You know very well what I’m talking about. I can’t get a spoon out the drawer without you watching every move I make. I can feel your eyes on me when I’m getting something out of the cupboard or looking in the fridge. What’s the matter with you?” Her voice was intense, angry, but subdued as well, lowered to limit its range to inside the kitchen.

“I just can’t help thinking about what Matt said. He said you looked fantastic in that dress. He said ‘You won’t believe how great Mom looks’.” I held her gaze.

“Kevin, I didn’t wear that dress, I don’t know why Matt told you that,” Mom’s voice was almost pleading. I let my eyes drop from her face to run over her chest, unhurriedly, then down her left side to the hip and leg nearest me. Mom’s mouth opened in shock as she watched my lecherous gaze caress her body.

“Kevin! ... Stop that! ... Look at me.” Mom reached out with her left hand and pulled my chin up to level my face. “I don’t know why Matt told you that, but it’s not true. Now just get it out of your head and behave yourself.” She pushed the chair back and stood up, angrily turning away. Halfway to the stove, she suddenly whirled her head back my way, catching my eyes on her behind. She huffed as she carried on, and continued making dinner as normal, except she tossed utensils about more aggressively than seemed warranted. She didn’t try to catch me again, but I think she knew I was watching her even more closely than before.

I behaved myself during dinner but when it was just Mom and I in the kitchen again, I resumed my close observations. Usually, Matt and I did the dishes after dinner but since he had left, Mom washed and I dried. Every time I picked a dish from the rack I would step back to dry it, eyeing mom’s figure up and down, imagining her in that dress that showed her legs above the knee and even higher, like it did when Matt pulled her foot up behind him. I became hard putting myself in his place. I started brushing by Mom every time I put a dish away.

“Please stop, Kevin” Mom sighed when we were nearing the end, working on the pots. “Why are you doing this?”

“I know you put that dress on, Mom. Matt told me. He said you looked like a movie star.”

“A movie star?” Mom couldn’t help but laugh out loud, “me?”

“Yeah,” I lied, “he said you let him undo your hair and you looked like that actress in ‘Fatal Attraction’, the one that played the jilted wife, Ann Archer.”

“I don’t look anything like Ann Archer.”

“Matt said you did in that dress, with your hair down. He said you were even sexier than her.”

“That’s nonsense.”

“You have the same hair as her, Mom, and your voice is real soft, like hers.”

“So we have the same voice and hair. Big deal.”

“That’s what I said, Mom,” I put a pot away and stood very close behind her, waiting for her to wash the next one, letting my jeans just contact the back of her dress, “but Matt said you were real sexy in that dress. He said I’d have to see it to believe it.”

Mom looked wistful for a moment, perhaps thinking of a shared moment with Matt when she’d first put that dress on for him. Suddenly she looked down and began furiously scrubbing a pot, oblivious to the effect her shaking butt was transmitting through to my jeans as she scrubbed. I was at full mast when she stopped again.

“I’m not putting that dress on just so you can see if I look sexy. I’m your mother, not an actress, not a mannequin you put dresses on and gawk at.” She yanked the pot out of the sink and banged it down in the rack. She pulled the plug in the sink and stomped out of the kitchen, her hands dripping suds across the floor.

I finished up and joined my parents in the living room. Mom became further annoyed with me several times that evening, catching my eyes on her legs and stocking feet. I really couldn’t help it. When she crossed her legs, hanging one foot over her knee, the image of her leg crossed behind Matt’s hip leapt into my mind. She noticed and stretched her legs out, still crossed, but that only tightened the muscles of her calf prettily. She glanced quickly toward Dad, who was oblivious, then back at me, ‘Stop it’ she mouthed.

But I didn’t. I let my eyes run up her legs, over hips, to her chest, and stopped there, replaying the scene with Matt kissing Mom as he unbuttoned her dress and unfettered her tits. When I ‘came to’ Mom was getting up, seemingly angry, saying she was going to bed early. Dad barely acknowledged her.

The next night was a replay. I watched Mom the entire time she made dinner. She didn’t admonish me or even talk to me. When we washed the dishes, I continued brushing against her and started to put my hand on her hip or waist every time I reached around her to put a dish away. She didn’t stop me, or even rebuke me, but she became more angry and aggressive washing the dishes, banging them about more. She hurried through, finishing the dishes quickly but leaving them less clean than her normal standard. I rewashed a few dishes after she left before joining my parents again in the living room where I continued my admiration of her legs and breasts.

By the end of the week, Mom wasn’t hurrying through the dishes, but she wasn’t dragging it out either. She just went about her business as usual, ignoring my rapt attention. I almost always had my hand on her hip or up along her waist when I wasn’t actively drying a dish. In fact, I had made it a habit to grasp her waist when I passed by her if Dad wasn’t around, usually giving her a quick kiss on her cheek, and sometimes on her neck. She just seemed to bear with it, pausing to let me finish but not reacting against it or for it, except that is if Dad was very near and sounded like he was coming our way. Then, her hand would press against my abdomen or chest to gently urge me away, or she would try to turn away early. The thing that excited me about those times was that her breath would quicken.

On Saturday night, we faced more dishes because we’d had our usual roast beef dinner. There was no hurry because Dad very rarely took Mom out. As we worked our way through the mound of dishes, I continued my usual brushes across Mom’s backside but stepped up my waist holding to give her side a slight squeeze and, while drying a dish behind her, leaning in to kiss her neck. We didn’t speak while we did the dishes, Mom concentrating on ignoring me, waiting me out I suppose, and I on enjoying myself, wondering how far I could push things. I was surprised, then, when she spoke.

“Kevin,” she spoke softly, “if I let you see my legs, will you stop this nonsense?”

I finished drying the dish in my hand. “What nonsense?”

“You know. If I put a robe on tonight and show you my legs, after Dad goes upstairs, will you leave me alone? After all, you said you wanted me to wear the dress because it showed my legs.”

“I don’t know, Mom. Matt got to see you in that dress, and with your hair down. Wearing a bathrobe isn’t the same.”

Mom paused, her head turned to the side, thinking. “I can’t wear that dress in this house,” she blurted out, “I just can’t.”

Recognizing that this might be a painful memory for her, I relented. A little. “Will you go for a drive with me then, tomorrow?”

“Where?”

“Anywhere,” I replied, “just out in the country.”

“Ok,” she seemed pleased at the opportunity to get away.

“And will you wear the dress once we’re away?”

Mom frowned, but her frown slowly dissipated. “Alright,” she said, “I’ll wear the dress while we’re out on our drive.” She smiled and turned back to washing the dishes.

I had placed both hands on her waist while we were talking. I leaned in now to whisper, “And you’ll wear your hair loose?” I asked, letting my breath blow past her ear and sliding my hands just a little higher so they were at the sides of her breasts.

She drew her breath in before answering, “Yes.”

“Thanks, Mom.” I turned my mouth down to connect with her neck, kissing the muscle cord running across to her shoulder, pressing myself into her behind just a touch more and squeezing my hands in tighter, against the side of her breasts. “Thank you,” I repeated.

I was surprised when I entered the living room to see that Mom wasn’t there with Dad. I sat down in the chair in the opposite corner from Dad and picked up a magazine from the side table, flipping through it while I thought of the concession I’d won, about what a great day tomorrow would be. I was surprised again to see Mom coming down the stairs, already dressed for bed in her bathrobe. She never did this and, given her commitment to wear the dress for me, I had thought the bathrobe and leg show were out. Was she going to give me a preview anyway?

My eyes never left her as she approached the couch and sat down at the end near me. She rummaged through the pile of magazines and picked one up to read. Dad didn’t pay any attention. Fifteen minutes or more went by without anything happening. Mom changed her position a couple of times but she didn’t loosen her robe at all, keeping herself covered from neck to ankle, with her feet covered by fluffy slippers.

Then, Dad’s favorite show came on, CSI, and his eyes were glued to the set. Within minutes, Mom changed her position, re-crossing her legs again but this time, she didn’t reach down to tug the robe firmly into place around her ankles. The robe lifted about six inches up to rest halfway to her knee but, more alluringly, it split to show the inside of her calf, on my side, all the way to her knee.

Mom extended her foot, letting the heel flop down, the sole marking a 45 degree angle away from the bottom of her toes. As I watched, she began tapping her foot to some silent tune. I ran my eyes up her legs, leaving her foot with difficulty, past the magazine in her lap and climbing her torso to glance at her face. She was smiling. I gazed intensely at her, demanding her attention, but she never looked my way.

Running my eyes down her legs I found even more showing as her robe seemed to have split even wider. Her foot was still tapping to the same tune and, as I watched, she curled her toes and let the slipper fall to the floor. Her toes stretched out and then spread wide. Relaxing, her foot arched, bending her instep into a tight curl and stretched out, toes spreading wide again. Mom repeated this languid stretching over and over. Gradually, I noticed how the muscles tightened and released in her leg as her foot played, how it made her calf look hard and muscular and then suddenly soft and yielding.