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The beers might have had an affect on me then, because I openly looked down the front of Mom's dress and said, "I just wanted to hear you nag me."
I wish I could have caught all the expressions that flickered across Mom's face in the next few seconds. In the end, her face went purple and her hand snapped out and slapped me hard across the face. I didn't see it coming, and it hurt.
"You little bastard," Mom yelled.
She tried to hit me with her other hand but I caught it and then the other when she tried to cream me with it too.
"You dirty, lazy little bastard."
"Whoa, Mom. Settle down."
I laughed and that energized her. She was a handful, twisting and turning. She pulled away and tried to kick me so I hugged her to me and turned her around. Obscenities streamed from her mouth. That was new. I lifted her off her feet and she kicked and flailed so hard her shoes flew off.
"Put me down!"
I managed to clamp a hand over Mom's mouth despite the frantic twisting while my other arm curled around her waist and pulled her tight, really tight. I realized then that I was still holding Mom off her feet because her ass was pressed right on my crotch. Through the thin material of the summer dress, her prominent buttocks folded around my bulge and that sent a zing through me that careened off my ribs and choked the breath in my throat.
My cock immediately hardened into granite despite signals from my brain telling it to cease and desist. I had only meant to cop another 'accidental' feel of Mom's tit—sticking a boner into her butt wasn't in the plan.
Mom slowly stopped struggling as she sensed what was sticking into the back of her skirt. She mumbled something unintelligible into my hand but I knew she was calling my name, shifting into authoritative mode like she had before, to make me come to my senses. But my cock didn't want to give up her sensuous ass so I curled my longest finger back from the others clamped over her mouth and poked it through her lips. Mom gasped and choked but still tried to bark my name. I wiggled my finger and she stopped mumbling so I eased her down until her toes could reach the floor, relishing the warmth of her buttocks around my rod.
We stood, both tense, with my finger trembling inside Mom's mouth. Except for that, and the wobble of her cheeks on my boner, we were still. I felt a hard lump on each side, the bones beneath the softer flesh of her ample cheeks. I hunched upward, slowly to disguise what I was doing as a stretch, and felt them tighten around my cock as it pressed deeper into her ass. I relaxed and stretched again, barely able to restrain myself from openly humping her butt, then again, and again. Instead of biting my finger and spitting it out to yell at me, Mom's head sank back against my shoulder and her mouth closed. She sucked my finger and I groaned, unable to silence the joy of that simple, feral act.
I lifted Mom off her feet again and rubbed my cock between her cheeks. I stumbled forward and walked her around the kitchen, each step forcing her cheeks to roll around my boner, to maintain the pretense that I wasn't just humping her butt. I circumnavigated the kitchen twice, my cock rolling wondrously between her cheeks, and might have been able to continue the charade but I went too far. I reached down to press Mom's ass harder against me but my hand touched her too low in front and that produced a vehement reaction.
"No!"
Mom shoved my hand away so hard I started to lose my grip. Quickly, I repositioned both arms across her belly and a clamped a hand on each hip.
"Warren, stop it!"
I wanted to, I should have, but I couldn't. I was too far gone, having lost control to my cock. Churning hips threw Mom off balance. Dangling forward and afraid to fall, her hands flailed about as I lunged into her bottom. A car door slammed outside.
Mom screamed at me.
"Let go! Your father's here!"
Instead, I pulled Mom upright and stumbled forward, pushing us both into the cupboards and mashing my cock into her ass. I was gasping for breath and grunting with the effort to finish while pretending, rather lamely, to push myself off her. My hands skidded ridiculously across the counter as I faked tyring to push myself away and I fell hard against her, my head slamming into her back and forcing her to lean over as a short series of obvious humps finished me off, spilling my seed inside my pants. Exhausted, I stumbled back.
"Sorry, Mom. I thought your were going to fall," I gasped. It was a flimsy, laughable excuse, but what else could I say?
Keeping her back to me, Mom stood up straight with great dignity and brushed her hair back with both hands, then smoothed the dress down her sides and over her hips. I stood, scared shitless, and waited to see if my stupid explanation would suffice. Ignoring me, Mom walked over to the fridge where her shoes had been flung and calmly slipped them on. I could hear Dad talking to the neighbor. God, if he hadn't stopped to…
"Go outside and paint the fence," Mom said, her voice restrained, looking at me and glancing outside as she crossed the room.
I hesitated. Mom glared at me and it seemed about to challenge the silly explanation for my outrageous behavior but her eyes flickered downward and she walked past me to the sink instead. Following the direction of her glance I saw a wet stain seeping through the front of my pants. I looked up in surprise but Mom avoided eye contact. She reached for the empty beer bottles and said, "Go!"
The front door opened and I fled, stumbling through the back door in a frantic search for a paint brush, anything to indicate that I was doing something outside. I felt ashamed and then afraid. Not that she would tell Dad. How could she? But would the 'new' Mom never reappear? A heavy lump formed behind my solar plexus. I had ruined everything.
****
Dinner was an excruciating experience. I kept thinking that I was wrong thinking that Mom wouldn't tell Dad. Any minute now, he would leap across the table and grab me by the throat, yelling, "You little bastard. You tried to fuck my wife, your own mother!"
And then I calmed down. As if my Dad would ever swear. I could imagine him killing me but not using profanity. Then the cycle of fear would start again.
Mom acted like the picture-perfect June Cleaver housewife and mother, and I was the ideal son, speaking only when spoken to and then politely. Was Dad blind? Couldn't he see her for the asshole teasing bitch she was and me the disgusting, unworthy son? The more the charade went on the more I wanted to be sick.
As soon as I could, I went upstairs to my room. Mom didn't make me do the dishes and when Dad seemed surprised she explained, "Warren's been painting all day, Harold. I think he might be a little tired tonight." I guess she wanted to be rid of me as much as I wanted to escape the shitty pretense of a perfectly normal family.
I locked my room. I didn't think Mom would come up but if she did I didn't want to face her. How could I have done that to my own mother? She must despise me despite the charade for my father's benefit. Maybe she would continue acting like nothing had happened and if I did the same we could start over with a clean slate. No more stupid games. Starting tomorrow, I would find a job. That would help get things on the right track.
The next morning I got up and was out of the house before anyone else was up. I made the rounds of all the gas stations, tried grocery stores and even a shoe store in the new mall. I searched all day but had no luck. That changed when I stopped at the corner store on the way home for a pop.
"Saturdays and Sundays," the old man said.
Well, it was something. I hurried home, feeling better but waited until we were sitting down for dinner before springing my news. Actually, it wasn't until Mom brought in dessert that I unloaded the big surprise.
"I got a job today."
Dad looked up, truly surprised. Mom glanced at me but quickly looked away, concentrating on slicing up the apple pie.
"Really? That's great son," Dad said. "Isn't that great, mother?"
We both looked at Mom who was trying to shake a scoop of ice cream onto a piece of pie. The scoop was the old fashioned metal kind with a spring loaded band that was supposed to swing around to dislodge the ice cream when the thumb piece was squeezed but it didn't work very well. Mom didn't answer.
Dad looked back at me. "Where? Doing what?"
"At the corner store, running the cash register and stocking the shelves, I guess."
"It's a good start."
"It's just for Saturday and Sundays."
"That's great, isn't it Mother?"
Mom nodded curtly, then handed Dad the first plate of pie and ice cream. She didn't look happy even though she smiled. Yes, the perfect mother and wife, the great act. I smiled back and thanked Mom for making a great dessert. Such an appreciative son.
"Thanks, Mom. Apple pie and ice cream is my favorite."
So I played my role in the perfect family. I ate my dessert and, without being asked, cleared the table and started doing the dishes. I watched TV with Mom and Dad for an hour after that and then went to bed.
The next day, I told Mom and Dad at breakfast I was going out to look for a second job for during the week.
"You don't need to do two jobs," Mom said.
"But I want to Mom."
However, I didn't have any more luck than I did the day before. The next day was Saturday and my first day of work at the corner store. Mom complained that I didn't get a couple of dishes clean so I apologized and did them over without whining. I went to bed early.
The job went okay but was real boring. The corner store hardly had any customers. The old man said he'd lost most of them when the mall was built and he only stayed open for the few elderly customers he had left. Mostly for the conversation, he said.
I went to a movie that night with Kent. Afterward, he gave me a couple of issues of Penthouse Forum he'd stolen from his father's stash. Kent liked looking at the pictures in Penthouse and Hustler but I liked reading better. I stuffed them in my shirt but Mom and Dad weren't home so I was able to conceal them in the hideaway downstairs which I had rebuilt with a different entrance.
Sunday I went to work but the old man let me go home early because there weren't any customers after lunch. I wondered why he had hired me because he had stayed with me both days. On Saturday I thought it was to train me but when he stayed Sunday I think it was because he didn't have anywhere else to go. I felt sorry for him and offered to stay the rest of the day to 'train' without pay but he insisted on letting me go early and paid me for the whole day. I had been hoping to look after the store alone because there was a whole bunch of skin mags behind the counter. I guess the old guy had noticed me looking at them and let me pick one out and take it home. He said I could take a new one every Sunday but should try not to crinkle them so they would still sell.
Dad was watching the news when I got home and I guess Mom was upstairs so I went down to the hideaway to look at the new skin mag. When Mom called for dinner, I slipped out a basement window and climbed up to the one in my room—my usual ruse to maintain the integrity of the hideaway. It had worked for years but Mom looked surprised and then suspicious when she saw me coming down the stairs. She must have known I wasn't in my room.
Mom was stand-offish during dinner, losing the June Cleaver act, but at least she didn't bug me, even when I put away the dishes. It was both relieving and disconcerting that she stayed out of the kitchen and didn't harass me. She did give me another suspicious look when I went upstairs after watching only a half hour of TV.
"Are you not feeling well, Warren?" she queried when I started up the stairs.
"No, I'm okay. I just want to read. I got a good book from the store today."
"Oh. What is it?"
I scrambled for something to say, having trapped myself, but my mind went blank.
"Uh, I can't remember the title."
"You can't remember the title?" Mom repeated, her expression becoming more dubious.
"Nah, but it's by that guy that wrote, uh…what was it?…I can't remember that one either."
"What's the author's name?"
"Uh, Jacobs. Yeah, that's it. Jacobs."
I turned and beat a hasty retreat, cursing myself for such a lame performance, it's lack of credibility confirmed by the knowing nod that accompanied Mom's response, "Uh huh."
I hung out in my room for half an hour in case Mom came up to check on me. I meant to stay for an hour but was too eager to get back to the new skin mag from the store and to check out the stories in the Penthouse Forum and the old magazines I had found in my grandfather's old beside table.
The table was next to my Dad's old Lazyboy in the rumpus room. I hadn't used either of these pieces to build my fake wall because Dad was super touchy about them. When I was first building the hideaway I sat down in it to take a break but quickly became bored with the old TV in the corner because it only got the basic channels and opened the small drawer in the top of my grandfather's table.
It was an odd table, sitting atop two foot high legs that bowed out and then curved in to end only a foot apart from each other on the floor. There was a solid block on top which contained the small two-inch high drawer. Thinking there might be a secret compartment in the area below the drawer I pulled it out to look but it was completely closed in within a mahogany casing. I lifted the table to confirm my memory that it was heavy despite its small size, part of the reason I had suspected a hidden compartment. Evidently, the drawer was cut into a solid block of mahogany.
Disappointed, I had started to slide the drawer back in but noticed an old magazine covering its bottom. It was tattered, and too thin for a proper binding, being kept together by a couple of sturdy staples through the folded middle. The cover was plain except for some small writing across the bottom and a plain title in large font, 'Strange Family Tales'. I didn't find it particularly interesting and tried to replace the drawer. That proved difficult and while fiddling with it I noticed the bottom of the inner casing was loose. Reaching inside, I managed to pull the quarter inch thick bottom out and lo and behold, the inside block was indeed hollow and filled with more magazines.
They proved to be issues of the same magazine. I flipped through several of them and found stories about guys trying to get it on with their sisters. Weird, but kind of exciting. I would have read more but on that day I had been in a hurry to the hideaway before Mom got home. I put most of the magazines back in the table, replaced the false bottom, and returned the issue that had been in the drawer. The rest I hid in the hideaway for later enjoyment.
So now, days later, I was safely ensconced in the hideaway and reading a Penthouse Forum story while sitting on the mattress with my back against the wall. I glanced occasionally at the pics in the new skin magazine spread out beside me while I lazily stroked the underside of my hardon through my undershorts. My fingers were pushed through the open zipper of my pants to achieve a more pleasing contact along the underside of my blood-engorged cock and my eyes were closed so I could better imagine myself in the Penthouse Forum story.
A rustle from beyond the hideout's improvised wall forced my eyes open and my hand froze inside my shorts. Since Mom's discovery of the hideout, I had completely closed it in so the only easy access was through the basement window.
Careful not to make any noise, I listened intently. Fortunately I had covered the inside of the barrier with blankets to block stray light from the lamp plugged into the wall next to me. It was the light, I knew, which had betrayed the hidden room's presence in the first place. Excited but confident that I wouldn't be discovered, I managed to control my heightened breathing. I was even cocky enough to rub myself, experiencing an additional thrill from the nearby presence of my mother. I tilted the magazine up and imagined her in the same pose as the younger model.
My confidence was shattered by the scraping of the narrow bookshelf at the far end of the hideaway as it twisted sideways, leaving little more than a foot-wide improvised doorway. Mom poked her head inside.
"There you are. I was wondering where you'd got to."
Mom stepped inside but quickly turned to twist the bookshelf-doorway closed. Thankful for the opportunity, I lowered the open skin mag to cover my unzipped jeans, hoping it wouldn't betray the lump in my shorts. I glanced down to check that I was adequately covered but quickly looked up at Mom when she turned to face me. She took a step or to toward me and stood at the and of the bare mattress I was lying on.
"Is that the book by Jacobs?"
"Uh, yeah, er, no. I mean, that was his name but it isn't the book."
That was patently obvious as testified by the naked woman sprawled across the front of the magazine spread over my lap. There wasn't a single book in sight. I looked helplessly at the rest of the skin mags strewn around the mattress within easy hand-reach. Why hadn't I left them stashed under the mattress and just taken them out one at a time?
Mom followed my gaze, looking at the dozen or so magazines, then returned to the one covering, and hopefully, concealing my open jeans.
"Is it good?"
I avoided Mom's face while I attempted to provide an even-toned response but was thrown off my thoughts when my eyes fixated on the yellow blouse she was wearing. She had changed her clothes since supper. She was now wearing a dark bra underneath the almost see-through yellow blouse and I wondered if it was the same chocolate brown one I had seen earlier. My eyes dropped to the pleated brown skirt and my confidence rose that it was indeed the chocolate brown bra. That wasn't the only thing that rose. I gave my head a mental shake but managed to keep it steady as I responded.
"Um, yeah. It's okay."
Mom didn't wait for my response. She got down onto her knees on the mattress and picked up one of the magazines. I waited for the blast of outrage I knew was coming.
A simple 'Oh' was the unexpected response.
Mom flipped through a few pages and, as she did so, turned around and used her spare hand to position two pillows against the wall, then settled in beside me, separated only by a few magazines.
"Mom…"
"Sssst."
I took a deep breath and resigned myself to my fate. I knew I was going to get it. She was only extending the expectation for punishment, knowing my dread would make it even worse. She was quite accomplished at this sort of psychological torture. I knew things would soon be taken to the next level with the insertion of threats of my father's intervention which did make it worse even though it had never happened.
Mom threw the magazine aside.
Here it comes.
Surprisingly, she picked up another one.
Uh, she's going to prolong it. She must really be enjoying this.
"Mom…"
"Ssssst," she raised a finger to emphasize the command for silence.
The second magazine was flipped open to the centerfold.
"I don't know why some of these girls are even in here," she mused. "I know several women that are just as attractive, if not more." She paused, then added, "Even I have nicer legs than some of these girls."
Mom shifted the magazine she was looking at sideways and looked at her legs, which were partly drawn up so her knees could form a table for the magazine. I followed her gaze down her legs which looked very fine in the sheer nylons she was wearing. I had only seen Mom in these nylons when Dad was taking her out to a fancy dinner for some special occasion. It seemed a bit late for Dad to be taking her out.
