Chapter 2

I couldn’t get Mom alone the next day to say I was sorry. We all worked and she left with Dad. I tried to get off early to get home sooner but couldn’t. Right after supper, Mom disappeared upstairs. I cleaned up the kitchen myself and then went upstairs to see her. Her bedroom door was closed. I was about to knock but chickened out. Instead, I went to my room and changed into an old t-shirt and some sweat pants, the closest get up I could think of to a hippyish outfit. I approached Mom’s room. The door was open but she wasn’t in her room. I proceeded downstairs and ran into Dad coming up the stairs. It was early for him to be on his way to his study. He was muttering to himself.

“Have you seen Mom?”

“Downstairs,” he grumbled. “Better go watch your chick flick, she’s already starting it.”

I stepped onto the landing and turned down the main flight of stairs. I could see Mom already stretched out in front of the couch, holding the remote. The living room was lit by a single lamp. Mom turned and smiled as I approached, adjusting the blanket over her legs.

“You looked relaxed,” she observed my dress.

“Yeah. It’s comfortable.”

Her demeanour should have relaxed me but I started freaking out about what I had to say. Should I but say it now and get it over with? I’m so sorry Mom, I didn’t mean to, blah, blah blah. I sat down next to her and turned to speak but my mouth was suddenly dry and I felt extremely nervous. I just sat there, looking at Mom as if about to speak, but no words came out.

“Well, are you going to pick a picture?”

“A picture?”

“Yes. A picture. Hellooooo.”

“Oh, yeah. A picture.” Relief flooded through me. “Yeah.” I leaned over and around Mom, searching for the box under the table. I pulled a picture out and showed it to her without even looking at it first.

Mom laughed. “Oh, that one. It figures you’d pick it first.”

She grabbed my wrist and pulled my hand to her chest, pressing the picture against her shirt and, without delay, began to tell a story about how the three girls had decided to get ‘Donny’. I knew right away what the picture was. It was the one with Mom, Jenna and that other girl sitting topless. I tried to turn the picture to look but Mom held it and my hand firmly against her shirt.

As Mom talked, I noticed she wasn’t wearing the old t-shirt. She was wearing that old plaid shirt that had covered it that first day I found her sifting through the pictures on her bed. Rats. I couldn’t see her breasts as well through the looser and thicker material. Oh well. I considered myself lucky, far luckier than I had expected to be this evening.

The story lasted much longer than the others had and it dawned on me that this ‘Donny’ was a person of some importance, at least to the three girls and, judging by Mom’s breathy voice, he still was. When she finished, I tried to peek in the box as I rummaged for the next picture, hoping to find one of ‘Donny’.

“Hey no looking,” Mom put her hand up to block my sight.

I picked a picture and Mom told me another story. A couple more followed. I was tired of this now. I wanted to do more than just brush her breasts and I couldn’t see them very well anyway which made things worse because I was pretty sure she was naked under the shirt.

“Let’s play a new game,” I suggested.

“Like what?” Mom asked.

“I’ll say something, or ask you something, about one of the pictures we’ve seen or the story you told to go with it, and you tell me something more about it. My questions might make you remember things that you’ve forgotten.”

“That’s a good idea. Do I get to see the picture first?”

“No. I’ll describe one to you and you have to remember which one it was.”

“That might be too hard,” Mom protested.

“No it won’t. It’ll be easy. Just lean back and close your eyes. Try to imagine yourself back in the picture.”

“What picture?”

“This one. Remember that picture of your friends playing around on the beach?”

“Which one?”

“The one that looked like it had been taken from a grassy hill beside the lake?”

“Oh yeah.” Mom nodded.

“Who took the picture?”

“Jenna did.”

“Who was with her?”

“Just me.”

“Why were you two off on your own watching the others?”

Mom’s brow furrowed.

“I don’t know.”

“Just relax and try to picture yourself back there with Jenna.”

Mom’s brow furrowed even more.

“Don’t try too hard. Just let the memories come,” I suggested.

I twisted toward Mom and, putting an index finger from each hand on her forehead, slowly trailed my fingers tips out to her temples. I repeated this and kept doing it. Gradually, the furrows disappeared and Mom’s body visibly relaxed. She began to talk.

It was another long story, full of small memories that attested to the close and strong friendship between Mom and Jenna. Though there was tension between them, apparently due to a friendly rivalry over the attentions of Donny, I detected no bitterness. Mom paused every so often and I renewed my gentle stroking. Eventually, feeling uncomfortable twisting around to use both hands on Mom’s face, I turned around and straddled her legs, placing my knees on either side of her hips. Mom’s eyes flew open.

“Don’t sit on me, you big lug.”

“I won’t. I just can’t twist around like that anymore. Close your eyes,” I said, reaching out to stroke her face again.

Mom closed her eyes and a moment later, she began talking again.

It didn’t take me long to discover what a bonus I’d stumbled on. With my legs straddling Mom’s hips, my crotch was tantalizing close to the bottom of Mom’s breasts. I remembered the day when I held Mom’s t-shirt while she kneaded the dough, and the softness of her breasts as my hand bumped against them. I rose up on my knees a bit and shifted forward, lowering myself gently until my crotch was stretched across the bottom of the prominent lumps in Mom’s shirt. I pushed forward an inch and made contact, watching Mom’s face closely for an adverse reaction but, except for a flicker in her speech, Mom didn’t react.

I held still, afraid now to do anything that would make her pull away. Fantastic. My cock was pressing against the bottom of Mom’s breasts and she continued to reminisce as if nothing was wrong. I felt myself swelling in excitement, causing my balls to press more firmly into Mom’s stomach. As my cock unlimbered, it too pressed harder, but against the fullness of Mom’s breasts.

As Mom continued her story, I moved my fingers down the sides of her face and began stroking the sides of her neck. Slowly, I extended my massage out to her shoulders, gently prying her shirt apart. My body tingled as I realized that Mom’s shirt hadn’t been buttoned right up, it had just been lying close together. The lapels parted to display the inner swells of her breasts.

“Mmmmmm, that feels nice,” Mom murmured. She stopped speaking and I concentrated on making it feel as nice as I could. After many strokes, I ventured to push the shirt over the edge of Mom’s left shoulder. As it fell away, I braced myself for a rebuke, or even just a flash of angry eyes, but all she did was purr softly again.

I pushed my fingers over the edge and traced a delicate line down the outside of Mom’s upper arm, drawing an oval around and around, then back up and over her shoulder, dipping my fingertips into the hollow of her neck before proceeding outward again. This time, I pulled the shirt over her right shoulder too. As I tickled both upper arms, I dragged Mom’s shirt lower until the lapels were almost cresting the edge of her swollen breasts. In fact, if it wasn’t for her nipples, I would have bared Mom’s tits.

I stroked and stroked. Mom began talking again but so quietly I couldn’t make out the words. I hadn’t been listening anyway. I had no idea what she’d been telling me. I pushed my balls forward until they rested between the bottom of Mom’s tits. I had been pressing myself in there for awhile before I realized Mom had stopped talking. Her breath was too rapid to speak easily. Perhaps that’s why she had stopped. I pushed my hands down to Mom’s forearms, pushing the sleeves over her elbows and dragging the shirt over the final crest, baring a pair of stiff nipples.

I wanted to lean down and suck them into my mouth. What was stopping me? I leaned forward.

Then, as if in a echo chamber, the sound of Dad’s door opening careened down the stairs.

OMG, I jerked off Mom and spun around to sit facing the TV. Mom was sitting up, frantically pulling the blanket up to cover herself from head to toe. I realized I was looking at a blank TV. Mom hadn’t turned it on. In a panic, I tried to start the DVD but only managed to get the TV on by the time Dad rounded the corner in the stairs. He barely nodded on his way into the kitchen with his empty mug. There was time for me to belatedly realize I was sitting with a huge tent in my sweats. I froze in inaction as I heard Dad’s footsteps returning to the living room. Mom saved the day, spreading the blanket out to cover my legs as well as hers. I drew up my knees, completing my concealment.

“That doesn’t sound like a chick flick,” Dad observed as he passed through the doorway.

I looked at the TV. Another war movie.

“That’s ‘A Bridge Too Far’, not a chick flick,” Dad said.

“We bet and I lost,” Mom explained, sounding somehow very composed.

“Ah. I’m missing out on all the good stuff,” Dad said. He sat down on the couch beside me, watching the movie intently. “It’s half over,” he lamented.

For the next few minutes we sat in silence, watching the movie. Now that my hardon had mostly subsided, I almost burst out laughing at the absurdity of the situation. Here I was with the remnants of a boner, sitting in front of my father, while my mother sat under a blanket beside me, shirt open and breasts bared, watching an old war movie. I bit down on my lip to contain myself and pinched my thigh, my hand brushing Mom’s hip.

Mom’s hand suddenly appeared over mine, her fingers curling over and squeezing mine. It was comforting under the cover of the blanket but then suddenly disconcerting when Mom pulled my hand towards her. She continued to tug and I realized I couldn’t resist without drawing attention to ourselves, something I dare not do. I relented and allowed my hand to be drawn slowly onto Mom’s leg, then up to the waist of her jeans. Thankfully, she stopped and held my hand there, in safe territory.

I glanced at Mom. Her face was tilting forward, chin pinching the blanket against her collar bone. I noticed movement under the blanket over Mom’s tummy. She was doing something with her left hand but she stopped when Dad suddenly stood up and walked into the kitchen. His kettle had boiled.

Mom renewed the pressure on my hand, tugging it down, pushing it under her jeans onto her bare tummy. I resisted. I was shocked that she was trying to repeat the near disaster of the previous evening. Clearly, I now realized I had no need to apologize but we had been extremely luck not to get caught and I didn’t want to repeat the terror of those moments. Why was Mom pushing it?

Dad returned and I quit struggling. Mom pushed my hand down and it easily slipped onto her panties just as Dad sat down beside me again. Mom’s left hand reappeared outside the blanket to hold it up near her neck. I had plenty of room underneath the blanket. Mom had unbuttoned her jeans and pushed the zipper down. I easily positioned my fingers over her mound and let my long finger slip into her already damp groove. Dad slurped his tea behind me.

I held my hand still for some time, then wiggled it briefly and stopped. I knew it was a big tease but Mom deserved it. I was in control now and I wanted her to know. Nevertheless, as time went on, I succumbed and began reacting to her her gentle pressure, responding in kind. When I realized that I was just following the lead of her pulsing pussy, I decided to do something. Two can play this game, I thought. I can be a shock jock too.

I pulled my hand up, dragging my fingers over and away from Mom’s damp panties. I could feel the tension in her body, the shock of separation. I waited a good thirty seconds, then pushed forward. I glanced at Mom in time to see a smile forming on her face but it changed to surprise when my fingers slipped under the elastic band of her panties and blazed a trail through her wet muff. I found the top of her groove and plowed through the furrow beyond, then pressed the length of my finger into her slit, parting her wet lips. I smiled smugly as I watched Mom biting her lips in a struggle for control.

Curling my finger, I inserted my fingertip into her hole and dug it inside. She was so wet I thought I heard an audible squish but of course it was only my imagination. I kept my finger plugged inside, wiggling, while I squeezed the others on both sides of her pussy lips. Take that, I thought in gleeful victory. I continued my ministrations until a glance warned me that Mom was in danger of losing control. Quickly, I pulled my finger out and withdrew my hand. This time, Mom made no attempt to stop me. She must have realized herself how close she was to losing it.

“I’d better get another cup,” Dad’s voice shattered my reverie. He was through the kitchen doorway before I interpreted his words, the shock of his presence was so great. It was as if he had spoken in slow motion but moved at the speed of sound. He returned a moment later with a full mug but only said goodnight as he wheeled away and up the stairs.

I turned to look at Mom. She was slumped against the pillows, eyes closed. I pulled the blanket off her chest and tossed it to the side. Her eyes remained closed as I pushed her shirt completely off her tits which were heaving with her ragged breath. I inserted my right hand under her panties and cupped her mound. Poising my finger at her entrance, I lowered my head toward the closest, stiff nipple and sucked it into my mouth hard as I plunged my finger into her lower mouth.

Mom gasped out loud. I pressed my hard cock against the side of her leg, stretching my leg atop hers. I started humping against her side as I fingered her, periodically switching tits but never stopping the plunging, twisting action of my fingers in her wet puss except to grind my palm down on her swollen lips.

It seemed like a long time but it was probably only a minute or two before Mom stiffened again and thrust herself hard against my fingers, her hand grasping mine and holding it still while she frantically fucked my fingers. I bit her nipple and she shuddered into the peak of her climax just as my seed spilled inside my sweats, soaking them through, the copiousness of my spend wetting the side of Mom’s jeans.

Some time later, I raised my head and looked down at my mother. She was so beautiful, her face relaxed and peaceful, yet radiant. Her eyes were still closed. Looking at her, I wondered why I hadn’t kissed her. Somehow, it had seemed that would have been a violation of an intimate boundary that I shouldn’t cross. Now, given what had just happened, that seemed silly. I lowered my head toward Mom’s face and her eyes opened. She looked surprised when she deduced my intention and shook her head, but I took possession of her lips anyway. She didn’t resist, letting me kiss her, but was unresponsive. I pulled away. It was an awkward moment.

“I think we should call it a night, don’t you?” Mom asked.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“You’re a lot like ... him,” she mumbled as we stood.

“Who? Donny?”

“Yeah,” Mom replied. “He liked to push the limits, always searching for something new.”

“You seem to like living on the edge too.”

“Yes,” Mom responded quietly. “And it used to get me into a lot of trouble.”

“Like now?”

“I hope not. This has to stop Scott, before it goes any further.”

“Ok, Mom. If that’s what you want.”

“It’s not what I want, it’s what has to happen.”

“Ok.” I knew better than to argue with Mom. She was normally a very soft and yielding person but you couldn’t push her ever; it would only stiffen her resolve.

So was that it, then?

Not if I could help it. Stubbornness aside, I had to push Mom now or it might be forever too late. Her old friend Jenna would be here in a few days. I was positive that all of this had come about because Mom had been remembering the wild days of her youth and was inherently dissatisfied with where life had led her. She was a free spirit that had been stifled too long. She hadn’t wanted what happened to happen but she got caught up in it and went with the flow. I needed that to happen again.

Mom obviously thrived on the danger of fooling around right under my father’s nose, maybe because she thought he was to blame for losing her old life, whether true or not. But I couldn’t quite believe that; it was too premeditated, too conniving, and my mother wasn’t like that. No, it had been a spontaneous reaction to the unexpected, and the thrill of danger.

I couldn’t think of any other situation I could get Mom in that would lead to the same result so I resolved to continue with the pictures and stories thing. I also decided to risk touching her when Dad was near. She might get mad but if she got off on it then the excitement might lead to another episode. I had to hurry. I had to move before Jenna arrived in case Mom realized you can’t relive the past and moved beyond it all. I needed to push Mom to the edge and see if she went over. I had to risk everything, win or lose.

I worked late the next day and when I got home from work Mom was in the kitchen. Dad was watching the news and I could see that he had already eaten. He looked grumpy and didn’t respond when I said hi. I popped my head into the kitchen.

“Anything left to eat?”

“Yes, it’s all ready. Sit down and I’ll join you.”

“You waited?”

“Of course,” Mom smiled sweetly. “What mother wouldn’t?”

I was surprised to see Mom wearing her tattered jeans and sneakers. The t-shirt and plaid shirt had been replaced by an old sweatshirt that was now too small, failing to reach the waistband of her jeans and leaving a three inch band of bare midriff. She looked very sexy. No wonder Dad had his moustache in a twist.

“Do I have time for a quick shower?”

“Uh huh.”

I ran upstairs and showered in record time. In my room, I couldn’t find any sweatpants so I pulled on a pair of old pyjama bottoms and threw on a sweatshirt to match Mom. On the way downstairs, Dad looked up and grunted when he saw me, then turned back to the news. I sat in the kitchen and ate with Mom. Despite her cheery welcome, she didn’t seem inclined to speak.

“Are you worrying about Jenna’s visit?”

Mom glanced at me and looked away. “Yes.”

“Because you’ve both changed?”

Mom looked into my eyes. “Maybe, but I’m more afraid that we haven’t.” Her eyes misted. “Oh, we’ve gotten older,” she waved her hand down over her body, “and I’m sure we’re both oh-so-mature, on the outside. But inside, I think the spirit is still there, and it will be so good to see that, and so sad to watch it disappear, again.”