Chapter 3

Following the Xmas Miracle over at Mrs Robinson’s house, we would begin to interact with each other from window to window, well beyond any unspoken awareness that had been “unknowingly” practiced between us before. A good majority of the time I would more confidently position myself there between the frame and paint my appreciation upon the glass like an angel in the snow. Mrs Robinson would have her fabulous tits out and show me several methods of approval if not favorable inspiration, or outright desire.

She would suck them for me. And fuck them for me. And slap them and pinch them and spit on them and lick them. Groping them continually like I had nights before, when not feminine or alluringly indicative instead. She would bathe her body with her hands in profile. She would slide the door aside so I could hear her moan, despite the falling snow. And she would example an endless parade of available clothing she had gathered from the closet to enhance some asset to her liking.

And she would fuck that big black cock for me.

Not all the time. Most of the time her fingers would tend to be enough for her. But maybe if I refused to leave the window after several gasms of goo had made it hard for us to witness each other. I’d wipe the stain apart enough to see her shoving that thing up inside herself all close and personal like. I would continue to fuck my hand and even appreciate the chill of the glass I’d gathered some cum from. All the more enhanced to slippery jam my dick with if not inflame a fire out of wood.

And sometimes I’d just simply watch her fuck herself while staring up at the moon once more. You know, for old times sake. Like I wasn’t there at all. No one else to know but her.

But the curtains never closed no more. Not ever.

She was now my wanton window welcomer to play with whenever I might like, from afar. Would never ever hide that vision from my eyes again.

Of course I could not think to clean my window up afterwards. That would be insulting.

And that would mean that Mother couldn’t not have any doubt at all about what might be going on in there. At least where my end of things was concerned. I went right on practicing upon the window regularly, as if finding a fresh pane of glass to slap my mess upon had happened on its own somehow a few days a week; cleaned itself up over time.

Or maybe not. Maybe I demand the right to enjoy my own interests that way. Find it if she must. Who cares. I’m becoming a man now. No complaint had ever been delivered for the past several months in fact she then sent me over there willingly - if not perhaps, purposefully. It’s all your own fault then, isn’t it? Mother?

Sure enough she came a knocking on my door one evening, a week or so into January.

“Sweetheart, can I bother you just for a moment?”

She wouldn’t ever barge right in without a warning. Nor would she ever think to try the handle first without my own allowance. She’d become smart with me that way.

And I’d thought I hadn’t given a fuck by then but when you’re caught red-handed - or at least interrupted by a knock on your door, your sperm-sloppy hand on your cock and you hear your own mother addressing you out of concern? Your own confidence could suddenly careen off of the road into a ditch and you might find yourself impossibly apologetic. Trust me on this.

“Um, no Mom! I’m sleeping!” I groaned at her, absurdly.

I quickly scrambled to the door. And barricade it off-limits with the back of my body. Arms across the width of it as a cartoon character would.

She would become discerningly quiet behind it.

I watched my jumpy cock drip goop on the floor and wondered if she could hear that. Or worse yet, witness it occurring beneath the gap in the doorway. I’d been mere moments from splashing a second helping of mash upon the window for Mrs Robinson to enjoy.

“Is there something going on in there I need to know about?”

Mrs Robinson had been doing my most favorite thing. Sucking her own nipples into her mouth. One after the other. She had a way of lightly teething the ends of her thumb and forefinger to that most stubborn yet vulnerable flesh and then suddenly gorging her mouth upon the spark that her pointy nipples would no doubt create. I couldn’t get enough of viewing that. And neither could she, by all indications.

“No, Mom. I’m just asleep. I mean. I was. I’m studying! Like, for homework.”

Despite my sudden predicament. The highest concern on my mind may have actually been what I might be missing beyond my window. What have I lost? Was she about to do something brand new? Damnitt!!

“With the lights off?” my Mother continued to question me, calmly.

Fuck.

“Yeah. I mean, like, rolling through formulas in my head and stuff.”

Just then I noted the shading in my room go further dark. Mrs Robinson had likely detected something to be reasonably concerned about and shut her curtains closed across the way.

Oh NO!!

“Howard. I need you to open up, okay? Don’t make me open up this door myself.”

Oh hell no. That’s not happening.

“Mom. I’m naked!”

God bless her (in retrospect), she giggled.

“I’m not surprised. You wanna get under the covers then and tell me when?”

Um ... yeah, I know my Mom well enough that there pretty much isn’t any “No” allowed when she’s asking for a Yes. She gets what she wants that way.

“One moment,” I respond to her favorably. And, “Okay, when,” once I had safely thrown myself beneath the blankets. She won’t notice that little tent I’ve got camping under there, would she?

Upon entering her eyes went immediately to the window. Mrs Robinson had left her lights on but the curtains were safely closed as I’d recognized. Maybe that hadn’t been such a horrible thing after all?

“She’s not sleeping either, is she?”

I could tell Mrs Robinson had stumbled back into her closet. I knew all the shadow patterns well enough by then (or long before). But certainly my mother wouldn’t recognize anything beyond an indiscernible phantom glow. It’s odd that she might glance there immediately during entry, however. I mean, it’s dark enough that ... oh hell, I’d already painted the window up with my first appreciation of the evening. And that couldn’t be anything less than patently obvious.

I’m cooked.

Mom allowed herself a moment of amusement at the cum-coated window pane somehow and then casually turned from that view to drop her seat at the edge of my bed. Further compromising the camping spot I’d set up beneath there. Which she managed to ignore somehow quite kindly as well.

“I just needed to know that everything went okay over there the other night. Is there anything you might want to talk about?”

Good lord. Is this really happening right now? Is it time for the birds and the bees? Just how aware is she of what’s been going on?

Her slim backside burrowed into the bed a bit more deliberately. Enough to acknowledge the difficulty I was having with a stiffy not too far from her hips. If I hadn’t known any better she might be enjoying my challenged situation even more so than I was terrified. The pleasantly amused look she had on her face would say so, although she would not identify any of what’s so obvious directly. With mere words, in any case.

“I just want you to know that I enjoy her very much. And would not mind at all if you found yourself more generous about your time with her. Like, if you wanna go over there more often I think that might be quite nice for you. And her.” She then allowed a direct look at the camping site before returning her pleasant look to mine with a wink.

I’m not kidding you here. That’s the way it happened. She may as well have drawn a ring around it in big bright crayon. With an X across the diameter.

“Okay?”

What could I say? And for her part she sure could have branded me a whole lot worse. What would some other mother more politely say? “Ooops, sorry sunshine. Have I caught you beating off about the big boobied neighbor next door? Not to worry. Why not go over there and enjoy some of her famous blowjawbs more often than once?”

She just sat there smiling at me, harmlessly. Waiting for an answer.

I wasn’t gonna get out of dodge without acknowledging her kindness and understanding in some form of equivalency.

“Sure, Mom. She might like that.”

For another of the very rare times in my life up to that point I was genuinely stunned by my own rather measured response. Not bad. Not bad at all.

“I’m sure she would,” her eyes would add spice, somewhat impressed perhaps herself.

Then she got up to go. Gratefully not patting the tip of my teepee in some belittling form of agreement. Though I would note the impeccable grace and dependability that my mother tends to raise from a seated position. And one that often indicates, she’s not done with you yet.

“Just one other thing,” yup, I knew I could not get out from under it that cleanly. “I’m gonna have to wash that up for you each morning from now on, okay?” she motioned towards the spotted rivers of spent cum rained upon the window, her kind yet calculated backside now on it’s way to an undefined exit. “Not that you should worry about it none, it’s just ... well it stinks a bit too obvious in here so I’m going to have to attend to that each morning from now on, okay? I’ll wait for a private moment where you won’t be bothered by that activity. I’ll handle it without your concern.”

Wait. What? That didn’t sound all that threatening. Where’s the part where I get dismissed or demolished and feel completely emaciated for it?

Rather than head for the doorway directly, her immaculately drawn derriere would wander over to the glass for some light if not uncomfortably alarming (for me) inspecting, from a visual perspective only. “And please understand I’m not asking that you stop saying “Hello” that way. I’m just fine about how necessary that might be and likely healthy for you also, for the record.” Her hands took a seat on both knees temporarily. She waddled her curves back and forth just a tad. In a somewhat assertive if not arrogant manner. Ownership, of a kind. Before swinging all that to the side more abruptly and legitimately heading off for the doorway and a more assured exit. “You go right ahead. I’ll take care of the freshening up. Agreed?”

She paused within the frame of the doorway. Mother gets an answer when she wants one.

“Thanks, Mom,” I smartly acknowledged. And sincerely as well. Is that all there is? I can be nothing but grateful if not alarmingly relieved by her mystifying and gloriously selfless generosity.

Maybe she’s not the wicked witch after all, ya know? My mother I mean. Maybe I’m just a dickhead instead.

“Okay then. Night night, nut butt.”

The door went closed behind her.

Wait.

Nutt-butt?

No. That was not a term I’d ever heard her use before. Nothing ever much like it, in fact. I get sweetheart and darling and pumpkin sometimes. But never ever “nuttbutt”.

Nutt-butt? What the hell is that about?

I laid there in bed feeling like my mother had just pulled some sort of Vulcan Mind-Meld on me, or a Jedi trick of some kind. What in the world had honestly just taken place in my bedroom? Had she just come in here and sat aside my boner beneath the covers while my jizz cried tears of pained exclusion upon the window sill? Gone over there and viewed all that more closely herself. Told me she’s gonna have to get after that on a more regular basis. Pretty much invited me to head on over to the source of light beyond for a more regular mouthful of Mrs Robinson cuz, you know ... boys will be boys?

You might not think I would be but I was enormously upset about all this. It was all way too forgiving. She MUST have something harmful up her sleeve. Or up her pants somewhere. Hidden up her no doubt practiced and practical, conniving cunt somewhere. Either that or up her butthole.

She’s gonna ruin me at some point with whatever that is. I just know it.

So annoyed.

And then I went back to beating off cuz ... you know, ya gotta.

I’m just following orders. Aren’t I?

Nutt butt.

Bust a nutt. On my butt. Nevermind that I’m your mother. I’ve got a fancy ass. Little boy. You know you wanna. Nutter Butter for me. And my twinkle little star of a poetic ass you’ve replaced with Mrs Moon-Melons over there. I brought you into this world. How’s about bust a nut or two for your mother now and then, hmm? Since I give all the effort around here, little prick. Show us some kindness as well a time or two, eh?

OOPS!

It had now been a year since I’d gone over to Mrs Robinson’s house just prior to Xmas.

We’d begun fucking on a regular basis.

Following my own mother’s apparent “support”? of some pleasant visitation opportunities with Mrs Robinson I saw very little reason to deny myself a second bj, potentially. And sure enough she wolfed down my boner upon arrival without much moving me out of the doorway all that significantly; would shutter the wood behind me but barely so before my pants were down around my ankles in a heap.

She was so enthusiastic about that return performance that I thought I might go ahead and try for a third, or a fourth, or a fifth. Etc. I would head on over there to “mow her lawn” and whaddya know, the grass might not get cut at all some notably large percentage of the time.

Until one afternoon she’d finally announce a very general complaint.

“When are you gonna go ahead and fuck me, Howard?”

My balls were in her mouth at the time. She liked to suck me while I stood there so she had access to all and everything more easily. She would jerk me off over top of her face and suck my balls like that. Loved it. Laughed a lot while doing so. “I love to suck you balls. I’m sorry,” she might comically apologize to some degree. Might even drop her head under there a bit further and stuff her mouth between my cheeks. One time she even pushed my torso over the rail of the couch and rimmed me. Spread my buns apart and slurped up my butthole like a cherry pie. There wasn’t anything she would ever be embarrassed about. And would quickly strip me of any embarrassment myself with as much ease as she might peel a banana into something fresh.

“Now might be a good time. Want to?” she asked once more.

So that’s how that got going.

I wouldn’t wanna bore you with that entire process of learning how to fuck a woman but eventually I got the hang of it. As with all things steady about Mrs Robinson she was quite the willing and effective tutor. Never once was I made to feel inferior and she somehow more effectively had an endless supply of inspiration available to lead me with. The better I got would not stop. There was always more rope to carry and length to climb, despite the distance I had prospered from. Her energy was astounding. And addicting on every level.

We would continue with the window thing as well.

Somehow that element would always need more nourishing.

Like the flowers surrounding her balcony.

I would fuck my hand in front of the window while Mrs Robinson went on performing for me through an endless abundance of advanced awareness and inspiration. I couldn’t hardly maintain any discipline. She wouldn’t stand for discrimination of any kind.

It had almost become a duty to deliver for her.

“Quite an evening, eh?” my mother would ask me one morning.

She was knelt at the base of my window, cleaning the cum off from the night before. By then we wouldn’t even bother to be all that discreet about it. Initially she would wait until I was somewhere other than my own room but that had led to some complications on her schedule so she told me to grin and bare it and would windex it off of there whenever it might match her own available hours.

“Uh, yeah, sorry,” I sincerely offered.

“Not to worry,” she deflected. “I might even be a fair amount impressed”.

And rightly so, perhaps. I’d erupted all over the window three separate times that night. And fucked Mrs Robinson as well two times before that. I was exhausted, to be fair.

But my cock was erect again that morning anyway.

That had begun to happen when my mom might enter my room and scoop up all my cum. She was never ever rude about it. Treat it no differently than cleaning up a ring mark from a glass on a piece of furniture. She was excellent that way, at keeping things presentable and classy.