Part 02
What the hell was wrong with me?
I took a few deep breaths and tried to clear my head as I stumbled out of there. The hum of all the travelers didn't stop. The scanners rushed with noise. Agents ordered people around in a long, droning wave. I felt dizzy. And guilty.
I was looking at her. I couldn't stop.
I watched my own mother undress.
My incredibly beautiful mother.
I had to find her. I felt disgusting. My gut was flipping, my mind started screaming at me, about the kind of freaky piece of shit I was. I had to find her. I had to explain myself. A horrible thought crept into my mind that I had alienated mom by staring at her, right when she was at her most vulnerable. Vulnerable was the right word. All those layers of protective clothes were coming off. The color of her skin flashed into my mind, wiping it like it was a slate. It was a clear and beautiful alabaster, her soft and hairless skin was so unbearably inviting.
I shook it off just as mom came into view. She had both of our suitcases in front of her.
This time she looked calm. Her face wasn't red anymore. She seemed relaxed. Composed. Very collected and sure. She looked at me, all business, no embarrassment, no nothing. I breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe she didn't realized what was going on. Maybe she didn't notice the erection she caused. Maybe everything was fine, and this would be a hilarious memory to talk about during holidays.
"Your father," she started sternly, "he can't know. Neither of us are going to mention what we just went through." She took a deep, deep breath, her chest swelling as she closed her eyes and clearly dispelled even more of the strangeness of the situation. "He'd go absolutely insane," she said, finally. "It might give him a stroke. So we're going to keep this a secret for now. Alright?"
"Absolutely," I agreed. "You got it."
"Good." She handed me both of the suitcases and smiled. "You get to hold these, mister muscles." She winked, and I laughed awkwardly, embracing the return to normalcy.
Dad came out of the crowd behind her, holding a few bags of fast food. "Chow time," he said, surprisingly cheery. "You guys really took a while."
Once the terminals called for seating, we boarded our airplane and tried to relax in the infinite hospitality of economy class. Mom had a window seat. Dad sat in the middle. I had the aisle. Dad popped a few pills and stretched as much as one could within those tiny seats. "Piece of shit ripoff," he muttered, then continued sarcastically, "it's eight hours to paradise. Don't wake me unless we're falling out of the sky."
"Absolutely, honey," said mom. She seemed relieved that at least he was winding down. She tried to hold his hand, but he kept redirecting himself to his phone, a virtual golf game sucking the entirety of his attention. Eventually mom gave up, rolling her eyes.
A cabin host came up to us as we got comfortable. "Good morning," said some bright red lipstick lips. Dad opened one eye and looked her up and down, noticing the girl's thin legs, which he seemed to appreciate very much. Mom noticed and tried not to react while dad miraculously discovered his ability to pleasantly smile. The air hostess continued, "It looks like we have an opening in economy plus, so if one of you," she said, looking at me, "wants to go up there, we can consider it a free upgrade. And then," she hinted, looking at mom and dad, "a couple of you can get some quality time." She gave a plastic smile - the best that our airline could give in customer service.
Mom tapped dad's shoulder. "Honey, isn't that great? Brett can get some room, and we can have some time togeth-"
"That sounds great! I'd love to head up there," dad said hurriedly as he got up, grinning at the air hostess. He made his way out of his seat without even waiting, punching me in the shoulder as he passed over me. Dad scooted past the airline hostess, making sure to obviously look down at her body. I saw him wink at her. I'm certain mom did too. He quickly disappeared down the rows of seats toward the front of the plane.
Mom, hurt, tried raising her voice after him, "You don't want to spend some time with-" Her words trailed off. He was long, long gone.
The air hostess, stunned, still standing by, gave a quick look of pity to my mom, who returned with a withering scowl. The air hostess gave a final nod with her practiced smile and wished us both a great flight, before walking after my dad who was by now, making an ass of himself elsewhere.
Mom stared at the back of the chair in front of her and tried drilling through it with a look of pure frustration and hurt.
"Hey," I offered, "I'm sure he's just..." I hesitated. I wanted to say something like he was just impatient, or he was just really tired, but the way mom stared ahead told me everything.
She took a deep breath. Her shoulders dropped. Her stare went down. The anger disappeared in her. All that was left was a tired, embarrassed look. Her lips looked so soft and pale.
"Maybe it's not him," she said, finally. "Maybe I'm not enough, or something." She sat up straight and pulled out a magazine. The light from her window came down and across her chest, across her pale skin. It refracted and gave our seats a gorgeous, almost ethereal glow. I tried to say something until I realized that a small tear formed in the corner of her eyes as she tried to read.
"Oh, mom," I lifted the arm rest and moved a little closer, into the seat next to her. "Come on, mom." I put my arms around her. I assessed it as best as a freshman with one psychology class under his belt could. "Dad just doesn't know what he's missing. He can't help it. People get stuck, mentally. That's how it is."
"He doesn't know? That's how it is?" Mom gave a small laugh, wiping one of her eyes. There were no more tears. "This vacation's going to be..." She couldn't finish that sentence. "Well, at least there's you." Mom sighed. "I just wish your dad cared enough about all of this. Maybe if I looked better, he'd be more excited about staying on a fucking beach together. If I were more beautiful," she suppressed a sob, choked it back, "then we wouldn't have these problems. Damnit, I bought new swimsuits for this!"
"But you are beautiful," I said without thinking.
She turned and looked at me. Her dark eyes seemed deep, like wells. The whites of her eyes were pink from her suppressed crying. Under her eyes, there was a color like dusk. The sun reflected off of her shoulder now, illuminating her from behind, putting a halo around her skin and under her dark brown hair. It was incredible.
I repeated myself, meaning it more than I did before, "You are so, so beautiful."
Mom stared at me more intently. Our eyes were glued to each other. The light from the window behind her shimmered. I felt my heart opening, thudding out of my chest as I waited for her to reply. I even felt myself shaking. It felt like talking to a girl one on one for the first time.
Then I felt like she'd laugh at me, tell me I was ridiculous, maybe push me away, say I was being a little too kind. But the honest truth was, I didn't regret saying it. I told her the truth. Her soft cheeks were a light pink. I could almost feel them. She nodded at last, sitting back.
"I think I believe you."
With that, she seemed to relax. "Alright, go back to your seat," mom pushed at my arm. "Let's enjoy all this room your father gave us."
The plane took off. We got our peanuts and our sodas and made some small talk. I tried going through the magazines they had in the seats but got tired of looking at the same overpriced shit they advertised the last time I flew. I looked over every once in a while. Mom looked at her phone, glued to her social media. She scrolled through other people's pictures - of their homes, their families, their happy, smiling lives. Handsome husbands holding their beautiful wives. She pondered over the pictures where the husbands seemed proud, satisfied, where the wives looked thin and tan and blonde. Her lips pushed out in a frown as she saw them. Her brow furrowed with worry.
The roar of the airplane seemed to cover everything, except for the strange feeling that I was watching somebody in mourning.
A couple hours went by. By now we were getting close to the Gulf of Mexico, vast swathes of browns and blues below melted into the heavy drone of the airplane engines. I felt a little tap on my arm. Mom was looking at me, her eyes a little pink. "I'm exhausted, baby," she whispered. I wasn't surprised.
"Well, yeah. You've been up since, what, four?"
"Yeah. I had to pack everything. Your father..." she started, "well, let's just say the man doesn't give a shit about preparing. For anything." My mother's tone was bitter.
"You had to do everything again, huh?" I tried to laugh and to make it light, but the look on her face told me I should stop trying. I gave up and looked around in vain for a pillow. "I don't have anything for you to sleep on. Maybe I could get out my suitcase, and see if I can-"
"Oh, just let me put my head on your lap," she yawned and pulled the window shutter closed. The armrests were already out of the way. She unbuckled her seatbelt and leaned over, her soft dark hair draping over the upholstered seats. Her soft cheek pressed against my leg. Her gentle hands went over my thigh, and soon, I could hear her soft breathing, barely audible over the sound of the plane engines. I had my jacket rolled up next to me, so I draped it over her, covering her shoulders. She gave a little moan of thanks, snuggling closer to me. Her hands softly pressed into my leg. I moved a hand over to hers and felt it. Her skin was smooth. It was strange - you'd think with all the cleaning and work at home she's put up with that her hands would be a little tougher. But instead, the skin was smooth, soft. Lotioned.
I took a deep breath through my nose and could almost smell... a perfume. A clean scent, of shampoo, conditioner, of perfectly laundered everything. My mother softly snored on my lap. I drank in the scent of her and moved a hand to her shoulder. Her face was lightly covered by her hair. I took a finger and gently moved it to the side, revealing her face, her white cheeks, her defined cheekbones, a pleasantly curved jawline. Natural, full lips.
Mom was gorgeous. The kind of woman that must have been a bombshell in the 90's. Even now, she had a queen-like beauty. Her face was relaxed as she fell deeper and deeper into sleep.
Long minutes went by. I pulled out my phone and spent some time on forums, read a few comics, sent a few dumb jokes to my friends. Mom's quiet breathing settled into the rhythm of deep, deep sleep.
I felt something move on my leg.
It was mom's hand. It moved upward, then down, sliding along my leg, up my thigh, up the inside of my leg. I did a double take -- but she was definitely asleep. Her breathing was calm and slow. But her gentle fingers continued to move along my thigh. I noticed that her nails were painted. My heart rate spiked.
I looked closer, trying to make sure she really was asleep. That she wasn't faking it, and maybe... touching me on purpose. But her eyes were closed, her lips partially open - she was relaxed, purring in the throes of some hidden dream. I internally kicked myself for believing for a split second that she was moving her hand around like some horny girl in the back seat of a bus. My own mother wouldn't do that. There was no way.
But the hand kept moving. My breath caught as her left hand smoothed along, and kept moving up, tracing my quad, touching the inside of my leg, going lower, creeping closer to my groin.
I felt my cock spring up and press against my pants, far, far faster than it did before. My mouth went dry. This was insane. I tried to come up with a plan to stop hers from reaching my rapidly hardening junk. I could pick up her hand with mine, move it back. I could make a noise and wake her up. I could... My eyes drifted down and I saw something that pushed all those plans far out of reach, destroying any semblance of sense.
Her shoulders were uncovered. The jacket must have slipped downward. Her pale shoulders were exposed, the strap on her tank top was loose from it having jostled during her movements. And I could see perfectly down her chest.
Her purple bra lightly pushed away from her skin.
There was an opening, a space where her breast revealed itself, ever so slightly. The curve of her cream-colored tits went on forever into her shirt and blended into a deep shadow.
I choked.
And her hand didn't stop moving, back and forth. Like she was petting a dog. My erection grew hot in my pants. It strained against the cotton and protruded the fabric outward into a painful tent. Her lips moved. Her fingers bent. Her thumb lightly grazed, just an inch from my cock.
I had an incredible mental picture of her hands wrapping around my penis. Then her lips opened a little more. I saw the wet pink of her tongue.
I tried to take a deep breath and looked around. Panic slammed against my chest. Somebody could see this, right? But there were only a few people around -- just a couple sleeping in the seats off to our right. The air hostesses had long finished with the drink and snack rounds so she was at the front. This was something only I could see.
Surely, I was going crazy. This had to stop. I carefully pulled my hand from my side and tried to carefully aim for hers. If I could pull it up, or just down my leg... then...
But mom's hands kept moving upward, faster than I could, and her palm passed over my cock. Her fingers curled, grazing my head through my pants. Electric shocks went through my pelvis. It was everything I could do to keep from pushing out my hips. Her fingers kept moving. It must have been the heat from my cock, those soft fingers moved along it, pushing against it.
My heart skipped a beat. She was going to wake up. There was no way she couldn't. I carefully put my hand close to hers, hoping her eyes wouldn't open, but then she gave a slight turn, nuzzling her head along my lap... then her chest angled upward, pushing the bra fabric even farther...
I could see even farther down than before. The piercing white of my mother's flesh rolled into her full breast. And below... was suddenly interrupted by a hint of coral pink in the dark. A little nub - the pointy, blissful peak of... mom's nipple, suddenly, barely visible as her bra pushed away from her chest. My throat and jaw ached. But I couldn't look away.
I gasped silently.
Her fingers didn't stop. Her hand moved and pushed against my cock, which twitched in pleasure. I could feel it throbbing, and I ached to push my hips forward. And then her fingers curled closed, wrapping themselves around my length.
I felt like I was going insane. ]I thought I heard a gentle sigh. I had to look a few times to make sure she was still asleep, but she was. She had no idea that her hand was basically closed around her son's cock through his pants, that her left breast was nearly entirely visible to him from that angle, that her hand sent shivers of pleasure through her son's shaft.
This was insane. It had to stop, and it had to stop, now.
There was one chance I had. If I could make a sudden enough motion, free my penis from her soft grasp and get her to sit up, there was no way she would realize what was happening. She'd go back to reading magazines or checking her phone, and then we would land, and then we would have a normal vacation. Things would be fine -- they had to be fine.
The alternative... was that she would wake up. She'd realize where her hand was. That her son was looking right down her shirt. She'd realize I was enabling... no, encouraging it, enjoying it, pleasuring himself with her hand. She could realize that her son was an irredeemable pervert.
Her hand gave a gentle squeeze around my rod. I felt a jolt of pleasure go through me. And then my animal instinct pushed me past whatever sense I had left. My hips rocked forward, pushing her hand even harder against my cock. I shuddered with the sensation.
The plan had to be done, now. I was losing control too quickly.
I gave a loud cough, and forced my self backward in my seat. I covered my mouth and put my other hand on hers and swiped it upwards, violently hacking. People turned in their seats and glared at me as I pretended I was suffering from something transmissible.
Mom stirred and sat up slowly, her hair tousled, her eyes bleary. She looked the way I'd imagine her waking up in bed. Angelic. But I watched her through my fake coughs like a hawk, hoping she had no clue as to what had been happening mere seconds earlier. There was no recognition in her eyes. Nothing seemed off. My heart started to relax.
She made eye contact with me and smiled, mumbling. "You alright? You sick?"
"No," I sputtered. "Wow. Something in my throat." I coughed again for effect as she carefully pulled my jacket up and around her, as she now leaned against the closed window.
It was over.
All of my combined animalistic impulses roared within me. And I couldn't answer them. The lust in me, didn't disappate. My hard-on didn't go away. The perverted thoughts and desires I had just been struggling with were louder than any logic or sense.
I watched her, longing to somehow see my own mother exactly that way again. To see mom's hair, messy as she emerged from sleep. To see her rising gloriously in a bed. To see her ample breasts, uncovered, her pink nipples cutting the air, to smell her clean scent, to feel her hands moving along my length again, to feel them wrapping around my cock again. I felt so wrong. But I couldn't deny what I was experiencing.
More than anything I wanted to feel her, closer next time. To feel and explore her body more. To feel skin on skin.
She blinked at me wearily and smiled. "Brett, are you sick?"
I felt something very, very wrong in my heart.
"No," I lied.
By the time we landed, it was almost night, and we were exhausted. Dad slept badly in economy plus -- apparently there was a kid behind him that kept kicking the seats just as he was nodding off, so he was in a worse mood than ever.
"God damn," he shouted, as we all walked out of the airport. "Worst fucking flight of my life." Employees and tourists alike turned and stared.
"Ross!" Mom hissed at him. Her hair was slightly tangled, eyes glassy from the flight, but that didn't stop her from looking coldly furious. "You. Are. Embarrassing. Us." She walked ahead of me and whisper-yelled at him all the way to the bus depot. This time, with me handling all of her luggage, she carried her hoodie instead of tying it around her waist. Her hips moved as she walked, quickly, angrily. The back of her legs peeked in and out of the shadow created by her rear as each cheek moved up and down.
At that point, tired from all the flying, I didn't have the willpower to avoid looking. Sometimes she accentuated a word, like 'rude,' 'self control,' 'decency,' and with that she gave an angry hop. Both cheeks would move, a short bumping motion. The leggings accentuated the soft, plushy curve of her ass below her back.
We boarded the bus in a line and took off. The sunset started, coming through the trees as we left Belize City. Brick buildings, short, accentuated with adobe white and the bright, impossibly vivid pastel colors of the long-abandoned colonies disappeared. Jungles now surrounded the highways and roads. We moved north toward Chetumal, a Mexican city just over the border, but our last stop was going to be just below it. Our destination was a Belizian fishing village called Consejo, where we had a weeklong reservation in a beachside villa.
We pulled along, until the signs for Consejo started appearing through a dense and verdantly green jungle, bathed in the reds of the darkening sunset over the mountains. The whole place smelled of trees, the scent of quiet lagoons spilling through the bus windows. Eventually we pulled in, where the stringed electric lights of the village danced along the sides of the bus. Voices appeared, and some people - villagers hawking wares, booze, food.
The Mexican city of Chetumal was practically a step to the north - a little bridge connected Consejo and Chetumal, giving my parents the daily choice of enjoying the excitement of Chetumal, or the placid beaches and streams and palm forests of Consejo. We were all pretty excited.
"Ooh," mom breathed, by now fully awake. "I could kill for a ceviche." Dad mumbled a comment about how she should probably skip dinner. Mom's jaw set, but she ignored it, refocusing on the village. She kept alert, trying to spy out the villa we'd be staying at. Everyone in the bus was enthusiastic, except of course, for dad. As we got off, a few villagers waved and approached. Dad started snapping his fingers in response, trying to keep literally everyone away from our stuff.
"Ross," mom groaned again. "You're doing it again. Come on."
"Gotta keep our stuff safe, Nora." Dad said, gritting his teeth. He tried to shoo away a guy who clearly had a sign with our last name on it. "Go on. We don't need help. Go! No mas, por favor!"
"He's the guy we're supposed to meet, Ross!" Mom threw up her arms. "How are we supposed to get to our place if he doesn't give us the key? Didn't you even read the pamphlet I told you to read?" His silence gave her an answer as we followed our host, my mom apologizing as we went down the path to the two-story modern home where we were staying.
The villa itself was gorgeous - the bottom story had a wide living room, a kitchen, a bedroom (for me), and a patio that stretched over the sand and onto an incredibly wide beach. The other villas on the beach were far, far off, glinting in the distance with warm, orange lights. "Oh my god," she gasped. "It's... actually on the beach. It's lovely."
"Other bedrooms upstairs," said our guide in perfectly passable English as he gestured around the place, his eyes flicking down to mom's chest every few seconds. "Lots of water and juice in the fridge. Some tequila in the pantry," he winked at my dad, who nodded awkwardly, but approvingly. "And if I may recommend, you should head north to Chetumal for drinks if you don't feel like going to the bar in Consejo. Prices are best here, but the fun is in Chetumal. You can even walk the beach to get there. Takes maybe a half hour. Just keep your passport with you. Can I give you dinner recommendations for tonight?"
"No," dad said strongly. Mom glanced at him, hurt. I wasn't sure why he said it either. Mom's figure was the best any woman her age could manage. The host certainly thought so. I caught him ogling her ass every time she turned around.
"And... it's safe here?" Mom asked, cautiously. She wrapped her arms around her slim waist, self-conscious. I guess dad's comment were finally getting to her
"Oh, extremely." Our host leaned on the counter. "I don't recommend wandering around by yourself in the dark, but that goes for everywhere. We haven't had anything happen here in a couple years. Very safe."
Mom almost relaxed, warily eyeing dad, who was admiring the tequila bottle without even seeming to notice her. "Wonderful."
That night, right after I exhaustedly showered and got into bed, mom and dad got into a fight. I couldn't quite tell what it was about, but since my bedroom was just below theirs, I could tell that there wasn't much positive feeling going either way. There were some phrases thrown back and forth. Things like, unbelievable. Why were you so rude. How can you say that. Not like you used to look. Then, I heard a shout. Then stomping, going all the way down the stairs, and huffing as my dad wrapped himself up on a blanket on the couch.
I thought about mom being by herself in her room. There wasn't much I could do except think about all the ways even the façade of their relationship crumbled.
I thought being in college meant mom and dad had the house to themselves. But everything about this trip seemed to be an endless trail of clues to the fact that it really only meant that they were more by themselves.
I couldn't imagine what it would be like to be mom. To be alone even when with the person she married.
She probably feels so lonely. Feels like she needs something. Maybe something... in her. Like she needs a man.
The thought surprised me. I tried to push it out, but it festered.
She probably spent a lot of nights in their room, trying to get dad to do something. Trying to be beautiful. She probably tried a lot of ways to get his attention -- flirting, coaxing. Trying every way a woman could think up. Probably tried to keep fit, which she definitely had accomplished, despite his denial. She probably tried to seduce him time and time again. What kind of stuff had she tried? What ways did she try to allure my father? Did she even try anymore?
Does she touch herself instead?
My mind flashed with the sudden image of her skin. Of her breast, revealing itself to me on the plane. Of her gorgeous, white, milky flesh.
What does she look like when she touches herself?
My brain played that thought, that question, over and over. I thought about her legs, pale, smooth, maybe writhing, maybe her face contorted in pleasure, picturing her with a toy, or using her fingers in something invisible... something... pink. Or maybe, she was writhing on something. Squirming, breathless on a cock. On a man. On me. On mine. Squirming.
My dick sprang up and I felt an unbearable heat rise in me.
I slapped myself, hard. "Get it together," I hissed. I did some pushups. Checked my texts. Did more pushups. Went to bed. I tried opening the internet to pass the time, but I forgot to get the wifi password from the living room, and I definitely didn't want to go out there with dad after mom put him out. I settled into my sheets and listened to the sound of the waves through the windows instead. Maybe if I just fell asleep, I could...
There was a sudden sound. Then another. A series of sounds.
It came from above me. Like a quiet thudding.
I froze. The sound of the waves was too loud through the open windows. I couldn't make it out.
It could be her.
"It can't be," I said to myself. "Damn, Brett, get your head out of the gutter, man." But the thudding continued, barely audible. At first I thought dad had gone back up there, and they were making love, that maybe mom had forgiven him and seduced him in the hope of making the vacation better.
I sprinted to my door, and confirmed that dad was sitting on the couch, enjoying some tequila and Mexican television with the volume off. So he wasn't up there. She was by herself. Making noise.
The noise kept going. I held my breath, trying to figure out what exactly it could be... until I heard a low hum. It was unmistakable. It gave a low note, rattling against my eardrums with the clear noise of a vibrator. I knew that sound from porn, from girls I knew. There was no mistaking it.
"It's probably just... a fan," I whispered to myself, mouth dry. But there was no mistaking it. I knew exactly what was going on up there.
Then there was a soft, feminine grunt that came through the ceiling. Then another. And another. Heat in my core surged powerfully downward.
And then there was quiet gasping.
My cock grew, arching through my underwear, pointing directly upward. My mother's gasps and moans passed through the un-insulated walls of the villa. My cock grew harder, and harder.
I couldn't bear it. My I yanked down my pants and grabbed some tissues and jerked it, gripping myself, furiously moving. Her whimpers kept going. I felt my seed rising, each of her sounds evoking a picture of her pleasure, what I could only imagine as her sexual agony, her soft, white body thrashing in response to something she so, so badly wanted. My mind flashed back to us standing across from each other at the TSA checkpoint. Her soft, white flesh revealing itself for me. The way she looked at me. How far her bra fell to reveal a hint of her areola, how far her eyes went down as I pulled my pants down...
Then I heard a gasp that didn't quite end, a soft cry that rose as I felt cum surging. The last thing I saw in my mind's eye was the image of her mouth open, her whining in pleasure, impaled on me, her breasts heaving up and down as the coral pink of her nipples flashed in sweaty ecstasy, and with that image, everything went white.
I came, my balls exploding into the tissue. My cock pumped semen into it with a force I didn't expect and I grunted, at the same time hearing a last gasp from her upstairs.
Her soft panting came filtering down drifting softly like feathers, and so did reality.
It set in starkly that I just came to the sound of my own mother.
I went to bed and hoped I wouldn't feel guilty in the morning, but the guilt was already there. The afterglow pulled me to sleep as I heard her soft breaths from upstairs, quieting down as my eyes pulled themselves shut. Thoughts of her gasps swirled with pictures of milky white skin, haunting me with a distorted, guilty, perverted grief.
