It was a sunny and warm May afternoon as I sat staring out the window, trapped in my senior chemistry class with little hope of sneaking out early. Only one week of school remaining and then I’ll be free. Graduation! I’ve looked forward to this day for … well since I can remember, and it’s almost here. I just have to get through finals, and while I am a pretty good student, it has been difficult, if not impossible of late keeping my mind on studies. It seems I am daydreaming more and more. Mostly dreaming about how I am going to spend my last summer before I head off to college. But I’m also thinking about my mom. I wonder how she is going to get along without me. I’ve been the man of the house since my dad left almost five years ago and now I will be leaving her too. The thought is so depressing that it has nearly ruined my excitement over the end of twelve long years of school.
Sure, Mom says she’ll be fine. She always says that. But I know how much she depends on me. Although she is still young at 37 (I was born when she was 19) and, if I say so myself “hot”, she doesn’t date or have a man around, other than me, to fix things and take care of the car and such. Keeping the house running is my job and I don’t mind the responsibility. In fact, I love it. She and I have a very special relationship and are very close-we are more like friends than mother and son. We have leaned on each other exclusively over the past few years; through my adolescence crises and her more important adult concerns … like how we were going to pay the bills.
When Dad ran off with his secretary, he left us nothing, and even worse, Mom was emotionally crushed and for a long time I hated him for that. He burst my bubble of a happy family and hurt my mom terribly. But I don’t hate him anymore. His leaving is the reason my mother and I grew so close. Since he’s been gone, I’ve made sure she didn’t miss him. At least in all the ways a young boy can act as the man of the house. I learned to fix things, helped with finances by getting a part time job to pay for clothes and minor school expenses, and just being there when she needed someone’s shoulder to cry on. And she did plenty of that. I have a couple of shirts on which she shed her tears and, although I should throw them out, they are still in my closet as a reminder that I never want to hurt her like that. Oh, and yes I’m just a little embarrassed to say that I also have a couple pair of her panties hidden in my dresser that I stole from the hamper.
As I said, my mother is hot, and if you haven’t guessed already, I have a major crush on her. She is gorgeous and not just because I say so. All of my buddies say she is by far the hottest and coolest mom of any they know. She’s about five-six with large round eyes that change from an aqua blue to sky blue depending on the outfit she is wearing, and they twinkle like stars. She keeps her dyed red hair at shoulder length and curled under stylishly. Her figure is perfect, but I will tell you more about that in a moment. At 37 she easily passes for her late 20’s. Some say we could pass for brother and sister; and of course she loves it when I tell her that.
On her 37th birthday I surprised her with a birthstone ring and necklace. She had no idea that I was getting her anything, but I had saved up my extra spending money-seven hundred dollars-and spent it all. I know she liked the necklace and ring because she said so when we saw it at a jewelry store at the mall one afternoon. I worked hard to save up the money and purchasing the ring and necklace was probably the most exciting moment of my life up to that time. I had it specially wrapped at the store in pretty paper with a red bow.
When I gave it to her she began to cry. For a moment I thought I had made a big mistake. But her tears were tears of joy. She said I shouldn’t have spent so much money but she loved it and loved me. That statement alone made it all worth it. She said she was going to wear the ring always. I was surprised when she put it on her left ring finger where she used to wear a wedding band. That was special to me as well.
I guess it is time to admit that I have been fantasizing about my mom a lot lately. Recently I actually got the nerve to spy on her. I had resisted the incredible sixual hormones raging in me until I accidentally saw her undressing in her bedroom. I went to her room to ask if she needed anything before I went to bed. Her door was opened just a crack. Before I could knock, I saw her standing near her vanity. I had seen her in her nightgowns and such and she had seen me in my underwear plenty of times, but this was the first time I had seen her totally naked. I still have the image of her slim waist and tapered hips with the smooth perfect white skin of her ass burned into my memory bank. I don’t think I have ever seen a more perfect ass.
When she bent over to pick up her panties my heart almost jumped out of my chest when I realized that I could see the lips of her pussy between her slightly spread thighs. And, incredibly, she didn’t have a speck of pubic hair, none-baby smooth. The inner lips were pale pink and hung between the smooth shaven outer lips like the delicate petals of a rose … a gorgeous pink rose with the petals shimmering with morning dew. The outer lips were puffy flesh colored mounds and seemed to strain to contain her longer inner lips.
I watched with mounting guilt and excitement as she sat down and began to sensuously rub cream on her large but still firm breasts. She rubbed the cream over the upper portion of her breasts and then moved down, pausing to work it into the impossibly hard nipples until they were shiny and slick.
Then she poured more onto her hands and placed the palms under the two large orbs and lifted and kneaded the flesh. I thought I heard a sigh of pleasure, but it might have come from my own lips.
I stood transfixed, my eyes as wide as saucers as I watched her. This might sound naive coming from an eighteen year old boy, but it was at that moment that I knew that I loved my mother; but not like a son. I also realized that no woman would ever entirely take her place in my heart. I know some would say it is just adolescent fantasy, or more specifically sixual fantasy, and that a lot of kids fantasize about their mothers or their high school teacher etc., but that wasn’t me. I never had a crush on a teacher, or any other older woman for that matter.
I remember how excited I was that day; so excited that I had to take my swollen cock out of my pants or risk cumming in my underwear. I fought hard not to climax, not only because I felt guilty, but also because I wanted the chills of excitement running through me to last. I wanted to watch her forever. When she stood up and stretched her arms over her head, I couldn’t hold out any longer.
My cum hit the door so hard that I swore she heard the splat. My knees almost buckled as I fought to remain conscious. Of all the times I had masturbated in my life, and there have been plenty, this was by far the best one. It left me feeling drained and dizzy. When I opened my eyes I saw my mother sitting on her stool again, looking into the mirror with an odd smile on her face. I was petrified that she had seen me, so I scurried away like a roach in the kitchen when the lights come on.
I felt very guilty for a long time about that night, but not guilty enough not to do it again and again. From that point on, I took every opportunity to spy on my mother. I took big risks too. I put a small strip of rubber on the frame of the bathroom and bedroom doors so that they wouldn’t shut all the way. She asked me many times to fix them, but somehow I never got around it. Then, almost every night I would slip down the dark hallway to watch as she undresses for her bath or sits at her vanity to perform her nightly ritual before she goes to bed. Sometimes, if I am very lucky, I see her doing naughty things, on the bed or in the bathtub. At that point I lose control and I stoke my cock with a pair of her panties until I climax.
Did I say what gorgeous breasts she has? I know I would never grow tired of looking at those beautiful tits. Even when she is dressed I often find myself staring at them … so round and soft with a sixy giggle as she moves. Sometimes she catches me looking, but she never seems angry. More recently, when she sees me staring, she just shakes her head and smiles like she did when I was a little boy and got caught raiding the cookie jar.
“Jerry Moss, can you finish the formula on the board for the rest of the class?”
I was suddenly awakened from my daydream. “I … uh … I uh …”
The teacher stared at me and waited. The rest of the class broke out in gales of laughter. My face turned three shades of red. “I wasn’t paying attention,” I admitted.
“Well, at least you admit it. You had better listen up because this is going to be on the final,” Mr. Henson pointed out. “And that goes for the rest of you seniors.” To my great relief, that brought the still snickering students back around and took the focus off me.