Page 02
"Hi Mom," I called walking in the front door.
Mom was sitting cross-legged on her yoga mat in the middle of the living room.
"Shhhh," she hissed, her head twitching slightly but less intense than the frown I knew would be on her face in response to my disruptive entry. I wrinkled my nose and flipped a bird at her back. Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad thing if Billy's stupid dolls actually did work. Sometimes Mom could be a pain in the ass. I ran up the stairs, making no attempt to be quiet, and slammed my bedroom door, pleased by the muffled sound of Mom's displeasure, "Jeffrey!"
I took the dolls out and threw the one of Billy's mother on the bed. Holding the other one, I read the note on the back.
"Obla di, Obla da, On your knees, Ready to please."
Billy was mildly dyslexic and had difficulty reading. When we were little, in school, the teacher asked me to help Billy read. That's how we became friends. Amongst other difficulties, Billy couldn't tell the difference between a 'b' and a 'd'. Had he grown up in a house where Beatles music was played all the time, he wouldn't have made that mistake with this lyric. The old boot couldn't even come up with original mumbo jumbo.
Not that it mattered, but I wanted to be sure. I opened my bedroom door and crept down the hall to the little alcove at the top of our stairs and kneeled behind the banister. Mom was still sitting in her yoga position with her hands pressed together in front of herself. I got down on my stomach and peered through the slats, setting the doll in a sitting position in front of me.
"Obla di, Obla da, On your knees, Ready to please," I whispered.
Nothing happened. I frowned. What did I expect?
About to get up, I realized I had only repeated the words, I hadn't actually done anything to the doll. Setting the doll back in front of me, I gently brushed it on the right side and was startled to see Mom abruptly lean to her left, jerking arm hand out straight to break her sudden fall.
A chill shivered up my spine and the hair stood up on the back of my neck. What the fuck?
Mom shook her head and returned to her position. I pinched the doll's hair and, as gently as I could, tugged it back just a smidgeon. Mom's head tilted back.
Holy fuck. I stared at Mom. Her arms were moving slowly in a flowing motion, perfectly balanced from side to side. I pressed my finger into the doll's back and watched as Mom arched hers. I jerked my hand back. Motherfucker!
I watched Mom until her hands came back to rest in front of herself. When she rose up in a fluid motion to her finishing stance, I pushed myself up onto my knees and backed into the hall. Quietly, I returned to my room and shut the door.
Holy fuck! What was this? It worked! The fucking thing actually worked. Billy would really owe me when I showed him how to make the one of his mom work.
No, shit, I couldn't do that. Billy might seriously hurt his mother if he knew how it worked. He'd get carried away, like he always did. I had to take the dolls back, had to get rid of them. I picked up the doll of Billy's mother and stopped dead in my tracks.
It was cold. No, not cold. It was room temperature. I looked at the doll of Mom which I still held in my left hand. It was warm, but it hadn't been when I'd first picked it up. When did it get warm? I looked at it more closely, then compared it to Billy's doll. The one of Mom seemed more real. In addition to being warm, the skin looked more natural and felt less like plastic.
I threw both dolls onto the bed and jumped back. This was weird, and scary. I had to get rid of these cursed things. No, no I couldn't. I couldn't let the one of Mom get into someone else's hands. I'd just get the money back for Billy's.
What to do with the one of Mom. I couldn't destroy it in case it killed her. Or would it, if I didn't say the mumbo jumbo? I decided I couldn't take that chance, which meant I had to keep it in a safe place. I shoved Billy's doll into my backpack ready to take back the next day and tucked Mom's under my pillow for safe keeping until I found a better hiding place.
I stayed in my room until Mom called me down for dinner.
- - - - - - - - - - - - -
The next day I went over to Billy's place because his mother called and asked to see me. How she knew my number I could only guess. She probably searched Billy's phone. I shivered at the thought of her knowing his password and reading his emails. I went because she said if I didn't come, she would come to my house to talk to my mother without saying what it was all about. Maybe Billy was right, maybe she really was a douchebag. Filled with apprehension, I rang the doorbell. Mrs. Hammond answered the door with a disingenuous smile.
"Well hello, Jeffrey. It's so nice to see you. Please do come in."
She stepped back to let me enter. Her welcome didn't fool me; I had seen her explode on Billy before. Three feet inside the door, wanting to run back outside, I watched while she closed the door and then followed her slender, shiny legs into the kitchen. She was wearing a dress with a short skirt made of a filmy, body-hugging material that very effectively advertised her former-model physique. She may be a bitch but she was a foxy one with a bitching hot body.
I remembered this outfit. I had seen Billy's mom wear it before over the flimsy bikini she used to tan in the backyard, that is, back in the days when I was welcome in her house. As I followed her, I noted that there was no evidence of a bikini top under the barely translucent dress and a similar lack of evidence for a bikini bottom. I was glad when she motioned for me to sit at the table. I covered my lap with my backpack when I sat down and braced myself for whatever tirade was to come. Maybe someone saw Billy and I completing our latest graffiti masterpiece or it she might just be pissed about Billy and I ducking her yesterday.
Mrs. Hammond opened a cupboard and pulled out two tall glasses. She turned and went to the fridge, returning with a pitcher of what looked like green lemonade. Silently, without looking at me, she filled the two glasses, replaced the pitcher and dropped some ice in each glass. Picking up both glasses, she handed one to me and walked back to the counter, hitching herself up on a stool on the side facing me.
"So, Jeffrey. First, thank you for coming over on such short notice..."
I nodded agreeably despite the fear her gracious behavior instilled in me.
"...and secondly, I'd like to acknowledge all the help you've provided for Billy over the years, especially in school."
I nodded more slowly, anticipating the launch into what had being going on outside of school. However, I was distracted when Mrs. Hammond lifted her right leg to cross it over her left knee. The short dress skidded back an inch or so, leaving a sizeable expanse of the underside of her glistening right thigh open to inspection.
Mrs. Hammond raised the glass to her mouth and took a long sip of the green lemonade, perhaps to let her points sink in, but my brain used them to process the lean shape of her leg, an analysis that placed an uplifting pressure on the backpack sitting upon my lap. I blushed when Mrs. Hammond lowered the glass to set it on the counter, revealing a knowing smile. I took a drink myself to cover my reddening face and almost choked. The 'lemonade' was some kind of strong, gin-based drink.
"I thought we should discuss your relationship with my son over the past year," Mrs. Hammond went on while I sputtered.
She looked down at her dress and brushed her hand over it to remove something from her leg that was too small for me to see but I definitely noticed the hem sliding higher up her thigh.
"But I've changed my mind. I think we should agree to forget about the recent past and concentrate instead on the future."
Mrs. Hammond gazed blankly, making me even more uncomfortable. I nodded and hugged the backpack to my chest. Mrs. Hammond smiled confidently.
"Have another drink, Jeffrey."
I took a big swig and was glad for the immediate effect of the gin. Mrs. Hammond waited for me to finish, bouncing her right foot up and down, leveraging that leg over her left knee. The muscles in her right leg tensed and relaxed, alternately stretching and bulging the soft, sexy underside of her long thigh, now naked to within inches of her ass, the beginning of which was identified by an extra bulge of flesh. Mrs. Hammond continued to gaze at me with an undecipherable expression. Unable to discern what she thought about the obvious target of my own attention, I nodded nervously, silently urging her to continue.
"Perhaps you should take a bigger swig before we start."
I did as Mrs. Hammond suggested, feeling I might need it. As soon as I dropped the glass from my mouth, now only a third full, she spoke in a softer but more threatening tone.
"I'm not even going to ask why you gave Billy fifty dollars yesterday, or why you're supposed to give him another fifty tonight."
I looked away to give myself time to think. If she had had read his email or the text messages on his phone, she'd know about the dolls. She didn't seem to know what the money was for, so she had probably just overheard us talking. Did she think Billy was selling drugs?
"Don't even try to deny it," Mrs. Hammond said in response to the expression of denial automatically forming on my face. "I know what I know. Anyway, I want to move past that."
She looked down and brushed something else I couldn't see from her leg, then allowed her eyes to travel along it to her slowly bouncing foot and the brightly painted toes protruding from her matching sandals. She looked up and caught my eyes moving up and down in time with her foot.
"Why don't you finish your drink and bring it over here so we can discuss things properly," she suggested.
I didn't want to but was afraid not to do what she said. I gulped down the rest of the glass and took it over to Billy's mother as she straightened the 'dress' and made a futile attempt to tug it down her legs. All she accomplished by squirming her thighs about was to draw my eyes there more firmly.
Mrs. Hammond's eyes burned into mine as she lifted her own glass and downed its contents. This close up, I could readily see that she wasn't wearing a bikini top under the dress which I now realized was more of a wrap. In fact, she was wearing nothing, not even a bra. The material clung to her smallish breasts which nevertheless managed to slope down and almost fling themselves through the flimsy material. Mrs. Hammond noted my line of sight and smiled.
"Pour us another Jeffrey," she husked, banging her glass down on the counter.
I opened the fridge, retrieved the pitcher, and managed to refill our glasses without spilling a drop even though I snuck several peeks at her chest and was even able to isolate her nipples. When I started to put the pitcher back in the fridge, she spoke abruptly, "Leave it."
I set the pitcher down on the counter and, before turning away, cast my eyes into her lap. There was a hint of black beneath the translucent material of the dress/wrap. The sight of such sexy panties initiated a tingling in my cock which I realized with a start was no longer covered by my backpack. My arms and neck stiffened. I knew I was hard but I couldn't look down to see how apparent my erection was without giving myself away. I looked up and stared fixedly at Mrs. Hammond, hoping to prevent her from looking down. She gazed steadily back at me.
I broke first. "Mrs. Hammond, I can explain..."
"I said I wasn't interested in the past," she cut me off but in a soft voice added, "Really Jeffrey, I want to talk about the future."
She unlimbered her right leg from atop the left and braced her foot on the lower rung of the stool. The action pulled her knees apart and it was impossible for my eyes not to be drawn into the gap that appeared between her thighs. Mrs. Hammond looked down too and attempted to tug her skirt lower but when she lifted her hand it scraped the dress back even further than its original exposed position. I sucked in my breath as an inch-wide slice of black panty appeared. Mrs. Hammond's left hand, which had been resting on the counter, slipped onto mine.
"I want us to work together, closely together," she almost whispered. Coincident with her last word, her thighs widened momentarily, thrusting the panties forward and markedly delineating a dark groove. "I know you're a good friend to Billy. I want to be your friend too. Can you do that, Jeffrey. Can you be my friend and work with me to help Billy?"
I nodded, at a loss for words and unable to pull my eyes away from her panties.
"That's good," she said. "The first thing we have to do is get Billy to stop cruising around on that ridiculous skateboard."
That got my attention. "His skateboard? I don't know Mrs. Hammond. Billy loves his board."
"I know," she said, flexing her thighs, "but it really has to go."
"I don't know. I don't think I can get him to quit using..."
Mrs. Hammond stood up, an action that left her standing so close to me we were almost touching.
"Are you sure, Jeffrey? Skateboards are for little boys. I'm sure if you quit using yours, Billy would too."
Mrs. Hammond's fingers curled around my forearm and lifted it up, pressing it to her side. "Surely you're ready for more manly things, Jeffrey?"
I stifled a gasp. My hand was pressing against the side of Mrs. Hammond's left breast. I could feel its warmth and the outline of it shape in my palm. She pressed my hand closer to her chest and I was surprised by the meatiness of her little tit. Mrs. Hammond turned her head to the right and twisted her torso slightly with it, grazing my palm with a hard nipple.
"I don't know what I'm going to do if you can't help me, Jeffrey," she sounded suddenly vulnerable. "I was counting on your help."
"Uh, I can try, Mrs. Hammond," I choked.
She looked up at me but kept her breast turned into my palm.
"Will you try to help me?"
I nodded, my wooden head. "Yeah, I will, Mrs. Hammond."
"That's wonderful, Jeffrey."
Billy's mom stretched up on her toes and kissed me on the cheek and then briefly brushed her lips across mine.
"Thank you," she breathed, staying up on her toes. "You don't know how much I appreciate your help."
Her right arm curled around my neck and she stretched her mouth toward me again. As her lips nibbled at mine, she pulled my arm closer, closing my hand over her little tit. I was so stunned, I stood there like a stump. Even the moistness of her lips couldn't block the sense of the hard nipple digging into my palm, even when they sustained a more firm pressure that could only be interpreted as a kiss. But it wasn't the kiss that pushed aside the impact of Mrs. Hammond's nipple in my brain, it was the brush of her belly against the peak of the tent in my pants. When she pulled away a few seconds later, by only an inch or so, Mrs. Hammond smiled under glazed eyes and seemed poised to recapture my lips but slowly sank back onto her feet instead.
"Get rid of his skateboard so we can talk about the next step," she husked. "I'll be so grateful to you, Jeffrey." Her smile widened. "Very grateful," she purred.
She fell back on her heels and spun away.
"Mr. Hammond should be home soon. He's coming early today."
I was dismissed. I picked up my backpack and made my way awkwardly to the door, opened it and turned to say goodbye. Mrs. Hammond was leaning in the kitchen doorway, her hips cocked up against the jamb.
"I hope to see you soon, Jeffrey. Oh, by the way," she said seductively, "do you think Billy is interested in girls too?"
I closed the door and ran home, sort of. I had to slow to a walk several times because my boner was so hard.
- - - - - - - - - - -
I didn't see Mom when I got home which suited me just fine because my erection was killing me. I rushed upstairs to my room where I quickly fished out and started pulling on my pud. Fuck, Billy's mom was hot! For a minute there I thought she wanted me to fuck her. I mean, she actually kissed me and pushed her tit into my hand. On purpose!
Slowing my whizzing hand so I could prolong the enjoyment of the memory of Mrs. Hammond's parting stance, I opened my backpack and rummaged around for Billy's doll. There was no way I was taking this back. Not now! The doll felt warm, just like the one of Mom had, and its legs looked more like real flesh instead of plastic too. I put it on my desk and sped up my hand to finish myself out the open window but stopped cold with my fingers curled tightly around my shaft.
Mom was lying outside on her yoga pad, stretched out on her stomach with her hands in front of her, reading a pocket book. She was wearing a bikini but the top had been unhooked and the straps were laid out to her sides. Instantly, the sensation of Mrs. Hammond's tit burned into my hand. What would it feel like to hold Mom's bigger tit?
My hand started moving on my cock as my eyes ran down Mom's lovely legs and slowly returned up to her fine, more substantial ass. The tiny bikini was obviously designed for tanning in private. Gosh, Mom should show her body more often. Mother or not, older woman or not, I knew I would fuck that in an instant if given half a chance. Her legs weren't long like Mrs. Hammond's but they were nicely shaped and I liked the look of her fleshier ass, especially the notable crease between her cheeks.
"Oh man, I'd love to fuck that," I hissed.
I let go of my cock and batted it away. What the fuck are you thinking? I looked away but then twisted my head back to look at Mom. She was hot, quite hot. It was as if a secret had been revealed. My hand moved back to my cock but instead of grasping it I turned around and pulled Mom's doll from under my pillow. I set it down beside the one of Billy's mom, but face down.
Opening the drawer of my desk, I scrambled around inside, picking up a pencil, a paper clip, a ruler and an eraser, discarding each in turn until, finally, I held an artist's paint brush. Quickly dissatisfied, I threw it away too. It was too thick. I leaned down to examine the contents and picked out another brush designed for delicate work.
I looked outside to make sure Mom was still there. Perfect. Quickly, I removed the dress from the doll. The bra underneath wouldn't come undone and I couldn't get it off so I found some scissors and cut it off.
I looked outside, armed with the paintbrush. Excited, fingers trembling, I put the tip on the back of the doll's ankles and slowly dragged it up the crease between its tightly pressed-together legs. I chortled with excitement, watching intently for a reaction from Mom, but there was nothing. Absolutely nothing.
Right, right.
Obla di, Obla da, On your knees, Ready to please.
I retraced the paintbrush's path.
Mom reached back and scratched the back of her leg, near her knee. I was so excited, I could hardly keep the paintbrush still. I took a deep breath and, forcing myself to concentrate, tickled it back up Mom's legs. Her legs twitched and she scratched herself again. Ecstatic, I laughed out loud, then quickly covered my mouth as I remembered the window was open. After another deep breath, I tickled the doll's legs again. Mom wiggled her bum and moved her legs apart but didn't scratch them. Encouraged, I ran the brush more slowly up the doll's legs and Mom's twitching legs parted even further.
I dug through the drawer for a smaller brush but couldn't find one. Running over to my cupboard, I retrieved a paint set that I hadn't used for years. Tossing it on the bed I yanked the cover off and got the smallest brush there. It was tiny, designed for extremely fine work.'
