Page 02
Mom must be really worried about me to be wearing a robe so late in the day and that bode well, leading me to believe my in-need-of-sympathy ploy was going to work. That was it. All I had to to was gaze at her with a forlorn look and then seek comfort when she responded with a sympathetic look. But Mom wouldn't meet my eyes and that denied an opening for me to go to her.
As I waited patiently for relief, my gaze dropped to her chest. What was she wearing under that robe? The jostling when she sat down suggested the usual bra wasn't there to hold things in place. My cock stirred at the thought and Mom looked at me before I could shift my eyes so I started talking to throw off suspicion about what was filling my mind. I had missed the opportunity to go to her. Dammit.
As I droned on Mom looked away. My gaze returned to her chest and she looked back, catching me again, but looked away almost immediately. The chest-gazing interval was longer that time and the one after that even better. Was Mom purposely letting me enjoy the mysteries hidden under her loosely belted robe? The first words out of her mouth dispelled that notion.
"Well, I can see you're alright, despite the bruises. You and I both know you didn't start that fight. Stanley, you really need to start standing up for yourself."
She was right of course. Normally I never would have started anything. Mom knew me too well, or, in this case, not well enough. Nevertheless, I was taken aback. This wasn't what I was expecting. I tried to recover the sympathetic mood I had been hoping for.
"I did Mom. I almost got one in," I lied.
"Well, that's good but you need to do more than that."
"I'll try," I mumbled, trying to look vulnerable.
"You're big enough to scare them off if you just hit back. You don't have to win, just make it cost something."
Mom started to get up but I blurted out a detailed, fake description of the fight in a desperate attempt to keep her in the kitchen with me. She stopped half way out of her chair and leaned on the table with both hands. The robe opened and I could see the nightgown underneath, its deep V combining with her forward leaning stance to reveal her swinging breasts.
My story stumbled as my attention wavered and Mom stood all the way up. My heart sank, knowing she was about to leave me alone. She pulled the bathrobe tight around herself and said in a disbelieving tone, "I really have to get my sewing done, Stanley."
Real depression suddenly hit me like a freight train. I wanted to follow her, or better, to block her path, but I couldn't move and, anyway, her jostling tits had made my cock way too hard for me to stand up. Mom left and I finished my hot chocolate alone, listening to the sewing machine as I waited for my hardon to subside. But it wouldn't, not the least because I kept picturing Mom's open robe and the way her breasts fell forward free of any constriction. Strangely, knowing I had had probably blown the chance to touch them made my erection all the more persistent.
Finally, I got up, took Mom's mug to the sink and rinsed it with mine, then went into the dining room. I watched her sew, unable to go upstairs but incapable of doing anything else. Her flip from sympathetic compassion to insistence that I act to defend myself still confused me. I felt a sudden, deep sorrow and lurched toward her until I was standing right behind her. I felt lost and wanted to hug her but Mom kept sewing as if I wasn't there though I knew she was aware of my presence.
"I'll try harder next time," I mumbled.
The sewing machine didn't stop but it slowed and Mom's head turned slightly to the left, indicating that she was at least aware I had spoken even if she hadn't heard me over the machine.
"I'll try harder," I repeated.
Mom's head straightened and seemed to nod, just once.
A lump swelled up inside my throat and I put my hands on Mom's shoulders though her demeanor was still not welcoming. The machine stopped. Mom's hands remained on the controls, like before, but this time she released a long, resigned sigh. I had only wanted to hug her in the old way but that sigh triggered a different desire within me. It was like she was expecting something else, something unwanted, but inevitable. Was it possible she would console me again in that special way? Was her cold reaction a simply a deception to ward me off?
I pulled at the collar of the robe to make room to massage Mom's neck and shoulders but I had something else in mind. The lapels gapped open, revealing a pale blue, silk nightgown under the darker blue robe. Without any pretense of massage my right hand slid down to her solar plexus. Mom's breath sucked in hard, then her head turned to the left and tilted forward the way it had when she had acquiesced before. My cock jumped inside my pants as my right hand continued its journey, slipping under the robe and sliding over Mom's left breast, taking it into full possession.
How wonderful it felt covered only by the thin nightgown. Its exquisite shape caressed the full expanse of my palm to the root of my fingers, nudging between the base of my index and longest fingers, and imparting a warmth which promised that what I had previously felt was only a shadow of what was to come. Soft, yet firm and resilient, it triggered a groan within me which I barely suppressed. My legs weakened. Such a beautiful, gorgeous tit, the only one I had ever held, but which I knew in my heart was perfect.
I closed my fingers around it and squeezed gently, released, and squeezed again, then pulled it up and pressed it against Mom's chest like I'd done before. This time, as I pressed my palm onto the top of Mom's breast, the nipple poked hard through the thin nightgown, sending a thrill coursing up my arm. I lifted and mashed it down again, rubbing my palm hard over Mom's stiff nipple!
My fingers closed around the tiny cock perched on her tit and, fearing this would make her pull away, I curled my left arm loosely around her head to keep her in place. But there was no reaction except the stiffening of Mom's nipple. Excited beyond words, I flicked it with my thumb for several long seconds before moving to the right to take possession of the other breast. Its nipple wasn't nearly so prominent but as I massaged and flicked, it too began to grow. Soon, it was as stiff as the left.
I released Mom's head and dropped my left hand inside her robe to take hold of her left tit. I squeezed and massaged and flicked both nipples but never ventured inside the nightgown itself, afraid to venture beyond what I had already been allowed to do. I was completely satisfied. If only I could do this anytime I wanted.
Mom's head hung between my arms and her quiet acceptance made me wonder if I really could hold her bare breasts. Would she let me?
I released her tits and slid my hands up to probe inside the nightgown but when my fingertips slipped under the nightdress the sewing machine growled into life. Mom's head turned forward but remained tilted down. Respecting this half signal, I withdrew my hands. As they slipped out of the robe, Mom lifted her head and started to sew.
I needed something more from her, some hint that this would happen again, but sensed it wasn't forthcoming. Then I wanted to express my appreciation for her 'comfort' but thought better of it. I slipped quietly away and went to my room where I jacked off a huge load and not long after, another.
*****
Mom didn't sew the next day, or the day after that, or the one after that. On the fourth day the machine was put away. Over the next week my disappointment transformed into depression and then desperation. In a moment of clarity, I reviewed the situation and realized I had misinterpreted Mom's message.
Despite her cold reaction in the kitchen she had allowed me to seek comfort inside her robe and that made me think everything was okay but I was wrong. I had missed the significance of the words I had mumbled—"I'll try harder."
When Mom had allowed me to touch her I had thought it was because my pathetic words had made her feel sorry for me again but in fact she was rewarding me for getting on the right tract. Mom had indicated what she wanted me to do and if I wanted to enjoy her maternal comfort in the future, I had to make her believe I was doing what she wanted. Those words had done just that and if I wanted more I had to build on them.
One night after dinner, I told Gordie I would do the dishes myself to make up for getting him in trouble two weeks before. Gordie was dubious but he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth, so he quickly disappeared. While I was doing the dishes, Mom came into the kitchen to put the leftovers in the fridge.
"Where's your brother?" she asked, annoyed.
"I don't know," I said, acting dumb.
"Dammit!" Mom exclaimed.
"Please don't say anything Mom."
"He's not getting away with it this time."
"Let me handle it Mom," I pleaded.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes," I said, pleased that she hadn't said 'Can you'.
"Like you said, I need to start standing up for myself."
'Are you sure, Stanley?" she asked again, sounding worried. It wasn't quite 'Can you?' but is was close.
"Yeah Mom, I think so," I replied, trying to sound falsely confident. "With a little help."
Mom smiled and I felt good because I knew in that moment she was proud of me. I opened the fridge so she could put away the bowls she was holding in her hand. She put one on the top shelf, then bent down to put the other on the shelf above the crisper. I hadn't meant to act selfishly but when Mom bent over her buttocks pressed invitingly against her dress, even through the heavy tweed material.
My cock swelled and I would have pressed it against her but she stood up too quickly. However, before she could turn around, my arms encircled her waist. Mom's head tilted back against my shoulder. I held her for a moment in a loving, platonic hug. My hands loosened as if I was about to release her but then slid around to take the weight of her breasts. Mom's head swiveled quickly toward the open kitchen doorway.
"Stanley!" she hissed.
"Shhhhh," I whispered.
"But, your brother…"
"…will stay away until the dishes are finished."
My logic was impeccable.
"Your father…"
"…is watching TV."
There was nothing else to say. I felt bad about taking immediate advantage of Mom's new pride in me but she felt so good leaning back against me, especially after the past week of drought. Mom didn't struggle but I knew she was searching for an excuse to break away and would likely do it sooner than later whether or not she found a reason.
"I have to be a man to stand up to Gordie."
It was a desperate plea and I don't know why I said it but it was true. Perhaps I was subconsciously aware that Mom knew it too and that was why she had allowed me to do what I had done. Somehow I had put what we were both feeling into words.
Right or wrong, there must have been a mutual understanding because the tension in Mom's neck and shoulders subsided. Before she could change her mind, or find my words wanting, I pulled apart two of the big buttons binding the front of the heavy tweed dress.
I discovered then something I didn't know. When Mom wore thick dresses that could disguise movement she wore a slip to protect her skin from the roughness of the material but no bra to constrain her breasts. Instantly, my hardness strengthened and pressed into the back of her dress.
"Stanley," Mom whispered, realizing the extent of my excitement, but it was more a plea than a command to stop.
I slipped my hands inside the dress, filled them with her beautiful tits, and breathed heavily against the side of her neck. Mom gasped as my fingers found and closed over her nipples which stiffened more quickly than the last time, as if primed to do so.
"Stanley," Mom pleaded.
"Please," I gasped into the hollow of her neck.
I flicked Mom's nipples with my thumbs and kissed the side of her neck. She let me massage her breasts and even allowed my bulge to press into her firm behind. But when I realized the slip was cut deeper than the dress and pulled the material apart to bare Mom's breasts, she began to struggle. I pushed her onto the fridge and took her bare tits into my hands, pressing on her behind to prevent her escape. The thought of my brother upstairs and my father sitting in the living room only feet away caused my cock to surge between Mom's cheeks.
Mom let me roll her nipples and press my cock against her for another minute, perhaps knowing I was too far gone to reason with, but then shoved herself and me violently off the fridge. I stumbled backward and Mom whirled around, ready to push me away if I persisted, but I simply stood there, incapable of action. She buttoned her dress, regarding me with a strange look I couldn't decipher. In no apparent hurry she smoothed her dress over her hips, turned, and sauntered out of the kitchen. At the last minute I garnered the presence of mind to admire the sweet sway of her hips.
*****
No further maternal comfort was offered during the following week even though I twice managed to trick Gordie into behaving badly towards me. It was confirmation that Mom would reward me only if I stood up for myself. The sympathy ploy would no longer work. But how could I stand up to Gordie or the Johnsons without getting creamed?
After another week of drought I came up with a plan. Gordie always needed money to take Janet out and I had lots banked since I never had anything to spend it on. Gordie knew this and was always trying to borrow it but I had learned the hard way that he never paid me back. I offered to pay Gordie if he would do the dishes himself and not tell Mom about the deal.
"Whatever dude," was his only response.
That night I was sitting in the living room watching TV with Dad while Gordie was doing the dishes by himself. Mom went upstairs but turned half way up and looked back, her eyes seeking me out. As soon as I noticed, she turned and continued up the stairs. I didn't know what to make of it for a minute, then got up and followed her, excitement growing within me as I tried not to jinx the feeling that maybe the new strategy was working sooner than I thought. I hadn't expected a reward until Mom had seen Gordie doing the dishes for a few days at least.
She was waiting near the entrance to my room, leaning against the hallway. As I approached, she asked, "Why is Gordon doing the dishes by himself?"
"Because he owes me," I lied.
"Is that so?" She knew it was true, but that wasn't actually the question.
"Yeah," I said, then added the explanation she she was really demanding. "Like you said, a man needs to stand up for himself."
Mom smiled and curled her hands above her head, letting her fingers play with her hair, but it was the way her breasts lifted that caught my attention.
"And do you feel like a man now?" she asked.
I glanced at Mom's body which, twisting as she pivoted on the axis of her right heel and the back of her head pressed against the wall. Her dress wasn't as thick as the tweed one but I could tell she wasn't wearing a thick, constraining bra underneath. Despite her saucy demeanor it unnerved me to openly cruise her body while she was facing me. I raised my eyes and tried to meet her steady gaze but couldn't.
"Yeah," I mumbled, looking down the hall where I could hear Gordie banging the dishes around.
When I looked back, Mom had turned and walked away, into my room. She sat on the far side of the bed, facing the wall. I followed her into the room and started to close the door.
"Leave it open."
She didn't say why but I hoped it was so she could hear Gordie doing the dishes rather than being afraid to be alone with me behind a closed door. In that moment, I deeply regretted forcing myself upon her in the kitchen.
I left the door and approached the bed, expecting her to speak again but she didn't. I waited but she remained silent. Finally, I knelt on the bed behind her, unsure of myself, but hoping. Mom's head turned to the left as if to look at me but then tilted down. My cock lurched inside my pants.
The signal.
I placed my hands on Mom's dress, flat against the side of her breasts. The meaty warmth confirmed my suspicion that she wasn't wearing one of those thick white brassieres. I slid my hands around to the front of the dress and molded them around her breasts seeking the telltale signs of the nipples I had enjoyed so much. After rubbing my palms on the dress for a few seconds I wanted more but this dress didn't open in the front. I moved my right hand behind Mom's neck and started to undo the zipper. Mom sucked her breath in and straightened her back, perhaps not expecting this, at least so soon, but didn't move away or tell me to stop.
I pulled the zipper down slowly but it caught anyway and I struggled to free it, pulling up and down several times before it came unstuck. I left the dress covering Mom's shoulders but pushed my hands inside, sliding around her waist over the slippery material of the slip, until I felt the softness of her belly and the heavieness of her breasts hanging above.
The slip was cut too low in front to constrain Mom's breasts and they literally jutted off her chest. My hands rose, grasping and lifting Mom's tits. I was content for the moment to hold them outside the material of the slip because I knew I would soon be holding the real, bare things in my hands. Somehow, I knew Mom would allow it and I savored the exquisite joy of anticipation.
I thought I could wait longer but my hands soon slid back, parted the low cut slip, and took Mom's lovely bare tits into my hands, no longer held back by the fear that she would stop me. As long as Gordie banged the dishes downstairs, I was sure I would be allowed to play, as long as I didn't go too far.
My hands skidded all over Mom's bare breasts, fingers curling to accommodate their shape and palms sliding underneath to assume their perfectly rounded shape. Mom murmured something I couldn't make out and tried to turn her head back farther as if she wanted to bury her face in my shoulder. Her back arched and that pushed her tits harder into my palms.
I dropped my mouth onto Mom's neck and kissed it, losing myself in her tits, the softness of her skin, and the fragrance of her hair. I don't know how long I stroked and squeezed and caressed her breasts, and I lost track of how many times my fingers and thumbs rolled her nipples and tugged them teasingly off her chest. I only knew that when her head lifted it was far too soon.
"Gordon is finished," Mom declared, the shortness of her breath exciting me further.
I lifted my head to listen and nodded dumbly but continued to massage Mom's tits, now swollen from the mauling they had been subjected to for the last who-knows-how-many minutes. The nipples, thick and hard, perched precariously upon trembling swells and each heavy breath threatened to throw them off. I tried to take them between thumbs and fingers—I couldn't give a fuck what Gordie was doing—but Mom brushed her hands down the outside of her dress and dislodged mine on the inside.
I tried to hold Mom in place, as I had done against the fridge. My left hand grasped her waist above her hip and the right slipped lower, onto her pantyhose. Mom's breath sucked in hard and she went rigid. I froze, fearful that I had over-played my hand but her muscles gradually loosened and her breath eased from her chest. My mind was like chilled molasses and couldn't will my body to move. My hand was on Mom's pantyhose!
Instead of a rebuke, Mom looked straight at the wall but didn't lower her head. It was a mixed signal which confused me for a few seconds. I didn't consciously make a decision but my left hand rose to cup Mom's left breast and followed its contours until her nipple was once more in my grasp. I slid my right hand lower, crossing over the raspy material of Mom's pantyhose to climb the gentle pout of her belly, and descended onto the triangular delta that flattened into the approach to the juncture of her legs but then stopped prematurely at the artificial barrier defined by the waistline of the tiny panties under the pantyhose.
