Page 03
I jumped when Mom spoke, snapping my head up so fast my neck hurt. Did she know I had been peeking down the front of her jeans?
"You should finish your beer so we can get some more done on the fence before your father gets home."
Mom twisted, as if something was sticking into her back, then rested her hand on her tummy just above the waistband of her jeans, blocking my view. I started to look away but her fingers curled up and she started to lazily scratch her tummy. I took a big swig of beer, tipping my head back, but kept my eyes riveted on Mom's belly and her hand.
She tickled around the edge of her navel with the tips of her fingernails. I sucked my breath in slowly as if I was watching a bird that I didn't want to startle into flight. Mom's pelvis twitched as she reacted to the light caress and that drew my attention lower to the zipper area of her jeans which pouted much like the area around her navel. I took another swig but kept my eyes on the waistband of Mom's jeans, or rather, the skin beneath it.
I drained Mom's bottle over the next two minutes while her belly twitched even though she had withdrawn her hand and laid it on the blanket. When I finally emptied the beer and tossed it on the grass, Mom sat up.
"Time to get painting."
I was surprised when Mom followed me to the fence. I had expected her to return to the house.
"I'll use the little brush to do the edges," she said.
"I can do it Mom."
"No, I want to help. It's too nice to stay inside anyway."
So Mom helped me paint the fence. The best part was that she squatted to paint the edges of the boards which meant I was often looking down at her beside me. The waist of her jeans had been dragged lower by her folded legs which exposed the crack of her ass. Looking back, it seemed ridiculous that such a small thing would have excited me so much but I still remember to this day how worked up I was over Mom squatting beside me. We had done maybe another ten feet of fence when Mom got paint on her knee.
"Oh shit!"
She leaned back and straightened up, then bent over to brush the paint away but only managed to smear it and make a bigger mess.
"Damn. Well, they're ruined now. I'll never get this out," she said.
I couldn't help myself. "I guess you should have put some old clothes on."
Mom's head snapped up, eyes glinting.
Oh, oh. I'm going to get it now.
But her eyes softened and her face relaxed into a smile. Her hand reached out and two fingers stretched vertically across my lips.
"No nagging in this household," she said. "Not any more. We've turned over a new leaf, remember?"
I nodded in agreement and Mom withdrew her hand. So that's what she meant by taking a different road. No nagging? I couldn't see how she'd be able to keep it up.
"I don't want to get any on my blouse. It's new."
"I can finish myself."
"No, I'll do my share."
Mom looked around at the neighbor's houses.
"I guess nobody can see me when I'm kneeling, can they?"
"No," I answered, wondering why that mattered.
"Hold this," Mom said, shoving her paintbrush at me.
I took it but almost dropped it when Mom knelt down and loosened the knot holding her blouse together under her breasts. My mouth dropped open.
Her hands trembled as she worked the outer knot undone but the second knot came apart more easily. I was very surprised, and a little relieved to tell the truth, to see that Mom was indeed wearing a bra underneath the blouse. It was made of a thin, flesh-colored material embossed with red flowers. I stared while Mom worked her arms out of the sleeves and peeled the blouse off.
"Give me the brush."
Mom was holding her hand out. I hadn't seen it and she must have noted why. Embarrassed, I put the brush in her hand and looked away.
"It looks like I'm wearing a halter top, doesn't it?" glancing at the neighbor's house.
"Yeah," I said, hoping she believed it, or at least thought I believed it, and quickly looked away before my eyes irretrievably latched onto her boobs.
I could hardly believe this woman that had emerged from the house at lunch time was real. She seemed completely unconcerned that I knew she was only wearing a bra, and one that left little to the imagination, at that. The material was so thin that Mom's dark nipples looked like they were straining to poke through.
Mom started painting and I picked up my brush. After a while, I began sneaking peeks. Mom was preoccupied with doing a good job and was carefully dabbing paint on the edges. Her concentration allowed me to openly admire her body. I looked at her boobs a lot but also took in her bare shoulders and surprisingly slender arms. She wasn't any more exposed than if she was wearing a bathing suit top but the fact that it was a bra made a huge difference, one that was reflected within my pants.
Somehow, Mom splashed green paint on her belly. She started to wipe it off but then, perhaps remembering the mess she had made of her jeans, instructed me to get a rag with some paint thinner on it. She leaned back and stretched her arms back to brace herself on the grass.
"Dab it off for me, honey," she said. She almost had to say it twice.
I dabbed at the paint, almost as rattled by her calling me 'honey' a I was by touching her sexy belly.
"Oohhh, that's cold," Mom cried.
I dabbed again and she took it without complaint though her belly quivered. Each time she sucked in her breath in response to the cold paint thinner the gap between her tummy and the waistband of her jeans opened wider. I couldn't help thinking about what was down there and was painfully aware that I was sporting an enormous boner.
Mom leaned forward and took the rag from my hand.
"Maybe I should finish," she said quietly.
She squeezed droplets of paint thinner from the rag and gave her belly a final swipe, then giggled.
"Oops."
A trickle of paint thinner ran down her tummy and disappeared under her jeans. Mom held the front of the jeans away from her belly and looked at me expectantly but when I didn't do anything she grabbed the dry rag from my hand and pushed it down her pants to blot up the paint thinner. It looked for all the world like she was rubbing her pussy. My eyes must have been bugging out of my head because I was just realizing that Mom had expected me to use the dry rag to wipe up the paint thinner. I wondered if she would have actually let me do it.
"There," she said, pulling the rag out. "That's enough painting for me today."
"I'll finish up, Mom."
"No, just clean the brushes and we'll both do it tomorrow."
"Okay, Mom."
She surprised me then by leaning up on her tippy-toes to give me a peck on the cheek, her bra briefly brushing my chest. I watched her walk all the way to the house, my eyes firmly fixed on her ass, wishing she would wear jeans more often. Mom's buttocks filled the back of her jeans in two prominent swells that bulged separately atop the back of each thigh. The way they moved, tick-tocking from side to side as she walked was mesmerizing and I couldn't help picturing my cock slapping against each one in turn as she lay on her tummy raising her ass up for me to play with.
The back door closed, jarring me out of my reverie. Thankfully, Mom hadn't looked back or she would have seen me drooling over her ass. I started cleaning the brushes but my mind wandered again. I wondered if I would ever see her again in just a bra.
****
Nurse Carver's face swam into view. I was hot and sweating and my palms were clammy. She was sitting on the side of the bed, leaning forward and pressing a facecloth to my forehead. My right hand was in her left and she smiled reassuringly when she saw that I was able to focus.
"I'm sorry to wake you but you were having a bad one, Warren."
I wondered if it was a professional trick to use my first name, to calm me with familiarity. This nurse was a cut above any I had met before.
"Are you feeling okay?"
"Yes, I'm fine." She looked skeptical. "Really," I assured her.
"I'm going to give you something anyway, to help you sleep."
"Okay."
She held out a pill and I tried to take it but my hand passed by hers and fell onto her knee. Unperturbed, Nurse Carver pressed the pill to my lips and waited until I opened my mouth. She deposited it on my tongue and quickly placed the rim of a glass on my lower lip. While I drank I became aware of my right hand which was still lying on Nurse Carver's knee. I smiled, a weak smile, but enough to make me gurgle. Nurse Carver eased the glass back.
"Too much?" she asked.
I shook my head and immediately felt drowsy. Boy, that was a powerful sedative.
"How's your son?" I asked, speaking to marshal my thoughts in an attempt to stay awake. I didn't want to fall asleep while this sexy woman was here.
"In trouble," she replied. "Drink," she said.
I sipped more, then thought about the warmth of Nurse Carver's knee.
"Trouble, what kind of trouble?"
"Oh, the usual. Gangs."
"Gangs?"
"Gangs," she confirmed. "They're trying to recruit him. I've managed to keep him out so far but I don't know how much longer I can."
I felt woozy and my hand gripped her knee. She noticed but seemed unconcerned.
"I'm worried sick about it because I don't know what else I can do."
"Sure you do," I said.
"What do you mean?"
I was feeling really groggy now.
"What can I do?" she asked, shaking me gently, trying to keep me awake long enough to respond.
"You can…you can…
She looked bleary. I was gone.
****
I didn't want to hide in my room from my 'new' Mom. I showered and changed and went downstairs right away. Mom had changed into a sleeveless orange blouse that blended nicely with her lightly tanned skin and a chocolate brown, pleated skirt. She looked nice, as she should, in one of her better outfits. The blouse wasn't tight but I knew it would be hard for me to keep my eyes off it anyway, knowing what was underneath.
"I hope you like dinner, it's your favorite."
"Steak and kidney pie?" I asked, super pleased.
"Yup. You worked hard today and you deserve a treat."
"Dad won't be happy."
Mom shrugged. She knew Dad hated steak and kidney pie. I thanked her and pooh-poohed the amount of work I had done but was adamant in my mind I was going to change my ways. If this was the way Mom responded when I worked hard then I was going to work my ass off.
Dad arrived home shortly after I came downstairs and the nagging started. I couldn't believe it! In an instant, the fantastic woman I had been with all afternoon changed back to the mother I knew so well, the harping bitch. She told Dad I had lied about the interview, said I made such a mess of painting the fence she had to fix it herself and then got paint on her favorite jeans. It went on and on. I was dumbfounded. Oh yeah. We didn't have steak and kidney pie.
After dinner, Mom told me to clear the table and get the dishes done. Dad beat a hasty retreat to the living room and turned the volume up louder than usual when Mom followed me into the kitchen to supervise, still harping at me. Everything was back to normal.
I finished washing the dishes and started drying them, knowing the bitch wouldn't let me get away with leaving them to drip dry. She followed me from the dish rack to the cupboards, nattering about putting the dishes in the right place.
Finally, I'd had it and pushed her back against the fridge. This time I clamped my left hand over her mouth and used the flat of my right against her belly, with my fingers wrapping onto her hip, to pin her to the fridge. I gritted my teeth and stared angrily into her face.
Mom's eyes twinkled and she tried to smile and mumble something under my hand. I loosened my grip but was ready to clamp it tight if she started to yell, though I doubt Dad would hear over the TV.
"I take it you don't want me to nag you."
I shook my head, confused. "No."
"Are you sure?"
Her eyes twinkled again. What the hell did she mean by that? Of course I didn't want her to nag me. The TV roared into laughter. Dad was watching Red Skelton.
"What?" I repeated, totally confused.
"I thought you like it when I nag you."
What the hell was she talking about?
I stared into Mom's sparkly eyes, trying to understand what was going on behind them, but became even more confused. Then I got angry thinking she was laughing at me. She was really pissing me off!
I closed my hand more firmly over her mouth so she couldn't talk. Mom struggled and twisted her face from side to side so I brought my other hand up to keep her head still but she arched her back and tried to break away from the fridge. My hand got caught in the neckline of her blouse when I tried to stop her from twisting away and a couple of buttons pulled apart.
The orange blouse opened to reveal a chocolate brown bra that matched Mom's skirt. It was skimpier than the one she'd worn in the afternoon and her tits threatened to spill out of it. This time, I knew the fleshy color I could see through the lacy parts was Mom's skin.
I looked at Mom and for some reason removed the hand covering her mouth. She gulped in air and I realized I might have been choking her but then thought, no, she could still breathe through her nose. So why was she so short of breath?
She looked down at her loosened blouse and then up into my eyes. Her pelvis wiggled, probably unintentionally, but it drew attention to something else down there that was also at attention.
"Should I call your father so he can see what you're up to?" she asked, emphasizing one short word near the end.
"Hmmmm?" she wiggled.
I felt myself, unfolding, stiffening while my power over the situation started to slip away. If she called Dad into the kitchen now my guilt would be undeniable.
"Well?"
Mom pushed her shoulders against the fridge, forcing her pelvis outward, and my cock bulged against the softness below her belly. I should have called her bluff. I almost did because I wanted more than anything to shove my bulge hard into her mound but at that moment I thought she was crazy enough to do it. Mom's hips wiggled again, demanding an answer, and I shook my head.
"I think I will anyway," she said.
That made me mad. She was always pushing me. I closed my hand over her mouth again and was surprised that, rather than expressing anger, Mom looked triumphant which made me even angrier since that meant I had somehow played into her hand again.
I'll show her who's boss, I thought.
My free hand slipped inside Mom's blouse and between her breasts, the back of my knuckles caressing the inner swell of her left tit. I lowered my hand and twisted it around, then moved it up to cup her breast. Mom's eyes went cold and she started squirming, trying to get away, but I brought my pelvis and legs to bear to keep her pinned against the fridge. She stopped struggling and went limp, her submissive eyes indicating she wanted to speak. I loosened my hand to hear her apology.
"Let me go," she hissed.
"No."
"Warren," her voice was terse and harsh. "No more games. Let me go!"
When I didn't comply Mom's eyes softened and she changed tactics. Smiling sweetly, she said, "Do you want a beer with your lunch tomorrow?"
I let her go.
Mom silently buttoned her blouse and smoothed it down with both hands. She stretched up to give me a kiss but when I moved to respond she swished by me and out of the kitchen. I looked at my hand, still warm from her tit, and pushed it into my pants to curl it around my hard cock.
What the fuck was going on?
****
Mom wore a fancy dress the next morning. Not a going-out-for dinner dress but still one of her better ones. She looked fantastic.
"You can finish the fence this morning," she informed me when I came down for breakfast. "I'm going shopping and I expect to see it done when I come home. Do you hear me, Warren?"
"Yeah," I answered, disappointed that the old mom was back.
"See that you get it done."
Dad looked up from his paper and gave me a sympathetic glance.
Thanks a lot, Dad.
I grumbled but didn't waste much time getting started on the fence. I was starting to learn that it was better to do what Mom wanted. Why fight her? She always won. The one day in my entire life that I did what she wanted without complaining had really been worth it. Maybe it would happen again. After five feet of painting, I was starting to doubt it. Twenty feet of fence further on, I was still mumbling to myself.
Do what she says; the bitch will get what she wants.
I stopped, holding the brush in mid air.
"She always gets what she wants," I repeated aloud, then louder, "She always gets what she wants."
I started painting again.
So give her what she wants.
What does she want?
You know what she wants.
"Yeah," I said out loud. "You know what she wants."
I stopped painting.
Mom ran all over Dad and did the same to me until that moment in the basement when I pushed her against the wall. She did the same with everyone she knew. That was it. That was the secret. Mom needed someone to stand up to her.
I went into the house and got a beer from the fridge. I didn't know what I was going to do when Mom got home but I knew one thing: I was going to leave the fence the way it was and see what the hell happened.
I waited a long time, feeling constantly on edge, so I had a second beer and was going to have a third but thought better of it. I left the empty bottles beside the sink where Mom would be sure to see them, made myself a couple of sandwiches, and ate them. Where the hell was she?
Mom finally came home just before five. She closed the door and I saw her go straight up to her room, carrying several bags. Several minutes passed before I heard her swear.
"Jesus, God damned Christ!"
I smiled, knowing Mom had looked out her bedroom window to see the fence only half finished. That edgy, apprehensive feeling returned but only for a moment.
Such language for a regular Church-going lady.
Mom clomped down the stairs, already yelling.
"Warren!"
"I'm right here," I said calmly, although I felt anything but. "There's no need to shout."
Mom stopped in the doorway, clearly shocked by my manner.
"Just what the hell do you think you're doing?"
"I'm waiting."
"Waiting? Waiting for what? Why isn't the fence finished?"
"I'm waiting for you, and the fence isn't finished because I didn't feel like painting it."
"You didn't feel like finishing it?" Her jaw dropped as she took two steps into the kitchen.
Mom's face was red with anger but my attention was directed lower than that. Mom looked real good in that dress. She was worked up and breathing so hard her breasts moved nicely under the material. I remembered how good the left one had felt in my hand and pictured it jutting out, its nice, hard nipple pressing into my palm.
A flicker in Mom's face showed she was aware of my glance so I got up from the table and walked over to the counter and let my plate clatter into the sink.
"Yeah, I didn't feel like finishing it," I said, turning around. I leaned against the counter and Mom looked past me to at the two bottles of beer beside the sink.
"You've been drinking," she accused.
"Yeah, so?"
"I see. So you thought you'd have a little rebellion but you needed to drink a couple of beers to face me?"
"I didn't need to, I just felt like it."
Mom approached and stopped in front of me.
"So you want to have it out, is that it?"
I shook my head.
"What's the matter? Two beers isn't enough courage?"
"I don't want to fight with you, Mom."
"That's right, you damn well don't."
