Part I: Reverse Psychology
by The Prodigal Son ©
I'd had a hard day. It was Monday; I'd got up at 7:30am to be at class for 8:30, had classes until 4:30pm, and worked in the pizza parlour from 5pm until 10pm. To make matters worse, I'd been playing soccer the previous afternoon, so all day my joints had been stiff enough without having to walk around campus all day then wait on tables for five hours. By the time I got home, I was beat.
My mother greeted me in her usual, perky way. Sometimes it was annoying, but really there was no-one better to lift your spirits when you were down.
"Rough day, hon?" she asked when I entered the den and slumped down on the sofa, her voice lilting like she was talking to a baby. Well, that's how she always saw me, I guess, even at nineteen and 'the man of the house' since dad left.
"Yeah, pretty rough," I answered listlessly, staring at the commercials on TV. I hadn't even taken off my coat yet, or my boots.
"Aaaw, that's too bad. How was class?"
My mom smiled slightly. "Still sore after yesterday, then, are we?"
I had to smile too; my mom always could see right through me. "Yes, I'm still sore," I answered, tersely but joking.
"Well, you shouldn't play so rough you know..." she intoned in mock chastisement. Then she began waggling a finger at me, smirking.
"Yeah, yeah, I know," I said, grinning in spite of myself. Games like this always cheered me up, mom teasing me like I was a little kid. My eyes hadn't left the TV screen. By now the program was back; 'Ready, Set... Cook!' One of my all-time least favorite shows, one that my mother insisted on watching.
"I hate this show," I announced.
"Ooooooooh!" cooed my mom, like an extra from a British sex comedy. "Look who's Mr. Grumpy!" She affected a 'there-there' baby voice. "Awww, did those big boys hurt my widdle-biddy booby thaaahn?"
"Ma," I began, a little sternly, "I hate this show, period. Whether I'm feeling stiff, tired out, or on top of the god-damn world, I hate this show."
Mom laughed, a sweet chuckle that made me forget my irritation, and I laughed too.
"I know, hon, I know. Mommy's only teasing!"
"And quit that little kid voice, would you!"
We both laughed hard for a few moments, me throwing a cushion at Mom when she kept on teasing me.
"I surrender, I surrender!" she wailed as I flung another cushion at her. "And keep it quiet, or you'll waken Chrissy. She only went to bed about a half-hour ago."
We calmed down, wisely. Sis was a real bitch if she didn't get her 10-hours beauty sleep. There was quiet for a while.
"You know, though," Mom began brightly, "If you really are that sore, I could give you a back rub."
This was a little strange. May be she was still joking. "Umm, no, that's okay, Mom. Thanks anyway," I said, scoffing a little.
"No, I'm serious. I've been reading this book." She leaned down to the floor beside her armchair, and picked up a medium-sized hardback book. "It's all about aromatherapy and massage. It's good."
I rolled my eyes. That explained it. Mom doesn't have a career as such. Dad was always the bread winner, and after he ran off with his secretary, Mom struggled to find a job. There weren't many positions where 'experience as a home-maker' was a principal requirement. So she tried her hand at a few things, but never found the perfect job for her. Four years on, she's still looking, and it seemed this was her latest fad.
"Here we go," I said cynically, "Starting a massage parlour, are we? Where, in the cellar?"
"Don't mock! Honestly, I'm really into it. I've read up on all the techniques. I need some hands-on practice."
I waved my hands in the air. "No way! I'm not being your guinea pig for some new-fangled hocus-pocus, airy-fairy, arty-farty..." I'd ran out of proper rhyming couplets, so I settled for "... crappy-wappy stuff!"
"It's not new-fangled!" Mom insisted. "The Chinese have been doing it for years!"
"No wonder. You know the indigestion you can get from eating their food."
"I'm serious!" Then she paused, and eventually she threw up her hands, shrugging. "But, okay, if you want to walk around another day feeling like the tin-man, then that's fine by me..."
Damn. Reverse-psychology. Never fails. Bill Cosby, you have a lot to answer for...
I relented. "Yeah, okay, you can try out your damned massage on me. But don't use any of those funky oils! If I turn up for practice tomorrow smelling like apricots or lavender, I'll get kicked off the team."
"It's okay, I don't have any essential oils yet. I'll just use warmed baby oil."
"And quit calling me a baby!"
At Mom's instruction, I stripped off. I wasn't crazy about this, but she left the room while I did it, and gave me a towel to drape over myself for when she came back in. We were working in her bedroom, Sis being asleep through in the bedroom we shared. Jesus, and that was another joke. Two teenagers of opposite sex sharing a room, Christ! Still, it was all we could afford, so we had to make the best of it, I guess.
I lay face-down on the bed, struggling but eventually managing to lay the towel over my bare ass. After a moment Mom came in. "Ready, hon?" she asked.
"As I'll ever be,"
"I've warmed the oil. Tell me if it's too hot."
I felt a drizzle of oil on my back. Actually, the temperature was just perfect.
"It's okay," I said.
"Good. Here we go..."
I felt Mom's fingers work the oil in a little. Then she began to slowly sweep her hands, fingers pointed upwards, across my back, towards my shoulders. When she reached the nape of my neck, her hands fanned outwards into circles across my shoulderblades.
I had to admit, it felt great. She was literally rubbing away the tension. I'd never felt anything like it.
"You're not bad at this," I said.
Her hands met again in the centre of my back, and she ran them down my sides in a pulling motion. She repeated this process three or four times, sweeping up my back, arcing with her hands, and then running them down my sides. It felt like heaven.
Then she worked on the backs of my legs, kneading my calf muscles, which always ached after a hard game. Then she moved back up my body, and over the tops of my shoulders, which she knuckled for a while "to ease out the knots", she said.
"Okay, turn over," she commanded after a while.
To be honest, I was totally into it by now, and did so gladly. Turning over, I took great pains to keep myself covered with the small towel, which seemed to amuse Mom, but she didn't say anything. I noticed also that she had changed into her robe while I was undressing.
"Lay back and close your eyes now, hon, just let the tension seep away..."
Actually, I was pretty mellow already. But I played along, and closed my eyes. Mom's soft voice continued in soothing tones.
"Just let yourself drift..."
I did. My mind really did feel like it was floating. Hundreds of random thoughts were entering my head, but not in the confused, crowded way that they usually did. There seemed to be real harmony to them, like hundreds of old friends meeting up and gelling together like they had when they were kids, or like the thousands of spots on a Monet painting coming together to form an idyllic country scene.
I guess I let my mind wander a little far. I don't know whether it was the warmth of the oil, or the trance of near-sleep, or just the hormones still raging through my teenage body. But after a while, my mind became totally detached from what was happening, and all I could feel was a pair of hands touching me sensuously, stroking my chest and gliding down my legs. Then the next thing I knew, Mom was talking.
"Looks like someone's really enjoying his massage!"
My eyes snapped open, and my stomach lurched at what they saw. My knob had become erect, and had tented the towel covering my groin. "Oh shit," I murmured, struggling to get up.
Mom laid a firm hand on my chest, and eased me back down. "Don't worry about that. And don't be embarrassed. It's perfectly natural."
I thought for a moment. What the hell, I decided, shrugging inwardly. The damage is done now. I'm lucky she didn't freak out like I did. I tried to relax again, and closed my eyes.
"Imagining I was some sexy masseuse, were you?" Mom said slyly.
Before I could stop myself, I'd said, "I don't need to imagine that you're sexy, Mom."
My stomach lurched again, but when I looked, Mom was just smiling, oiling up her hands once more. "That's very nice of you." she said. "Now lie back."
I did, letting her hands sweep over me again. Amazingly, my hard-on hadn't dwindled. Usually, a shock like that meant that Flop-city, but not this time. I guess I really had been turned on.
After a few more moments, Mom said, quite breezily, "You know, if you want, I could make this an all-over massage."
"What!?" I asked, shocked.
"Y'know... all over." Her hand ran up my leg, and dipped down slightly into my inner thigh, underneath the towel. Her knuckled brushed the testicle that hung there, causing my dick to rear up. "Cuz it looks to me like you could use some help."
Her other hand swept down my chest, sneaking under the towel slightly and stroking the shaft of my penis just a fraction. "What do you think?"
Her tone, as much as what she was saying, had shocked me into silence. She was obviously serious, but she was being very airy about it all. I found my voice.
"I-I don't know,"
"Well I do, and I think it would be a good idea. You could certainly use some relief here." She went to lift the towel, and I fumbled to grab her arm. Again, she laid a firm hand on my chest, and laid me back down.
"Relax, would you? It's nothing I haven't seen before." And with that, she whipped away the covering. My released knob sprang up, with such force that I wouldn't have been surprised if it actually had gone "Boiinnng!"
Mom gasped a little, not in shock exactly, but I guess in some surprise. "Well, okay... I haven't seen that before!"
She giggled, making me wonder for the thousandth time in just a few seconds what the hell was going on. My mind was again filled with hundreds of thoughts, but these weren't relaxed, these were confused, in turmoil; my mother wanted to... to what? Wank me off? Wasn't that wrong? But if it was, what was wrong with it, exactly? And if it wasn't... then I might just be in for a great wank from a woman who had a really talented pair of hands.
Mom seemed to be reading my mind. "If it makes you feel more comfortable, you can imagine I'm someone else. Like a girl you know from school, or whatever."
I figured I'd just go with it. To be honest, I didn't have much choice. Mom was already drizzling oil onto the head of my cock. Suddenly, when the oil hit my swollen glans, I longed for her expert hands to touch me. I closed my eyes.
"Wank me, Mom," I breathed. I think maybe she smiled.
Taking my cock in her grasp, she ran her fingers up and down the shaft, coating them in oil and then rubbing it in. Then she moved up to the head, working the lovely warm oil into my uncircumcised helmet, and she peeled back my foreskin gently, sending waves of pleasure through my body. Her oil-soaked fingers danced across the purple glans, softly rubbing the viscous liquid into my most sensitive of areas. With her free hand she poured more oil liberally onto my groin, until her hands were virtually swimming in the lubricant. Making a loose fist of her fingers, she jacked my cock up and down, my breathing increasing with the strength of her rhythm, and as she pounded my meat I arched my back and lifted my ass off the bed, thrusting against her, meeting her strokes with my eagerly pounding pelvis. I fucked her hand like the pussy I imagined but had never experienced, delighting in the slipperiness of her makeshift cunt. Then, as she jacked me, Mom used her other hand to kneed my helmet at it thrust back and forth between her fingers, the pain and pleasure mix sending me finally over the top until I came in waves and waves, and spurted my jizz all over myself, the bed, and my mother.
I collapsed on the bed, exhausted but deliriously happy, wondering what the hell had just happened, and not daring to wonder what the hell was going to happen next...
To Be Continued...
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