Eye of the Appreciator

"They are?"

"Mhmm." I continued to brazenly caress my Mom's hip and waist. How can she be letting me do this?!

"What else does?"

"Huh?"

"What else... distinguishes between the sexes?" She asked shyly, reddening.

I removed my hand and gestured back toward the pages. "The breasts, of course." I pointed to a few depictions of her jutting, upper assets and explained how I liked to draw the lower curves with a circular line while tapering off the upper edges. You needed to imagine them as tear drops, I told her, being shaped by gravity, rather than perfect balls.

Then I brought my fingers to her torso and began rubbing the backs of them across her rip cage, just below her tits. Mom inhaled and held her breath, knowing what was about to happen. She bit her lip and waited.

"You have a great bust, Mom, perfect for a model." My fingers ventured to the far side of her rib cage and stroked the bottom half of her right tit on their way back. Would I really dare to openly grope my Mother?

"I do?"

I brought my hand over to her left tit now, the one closest to me, and let my finger tips draw large circles around it, encircling her subtly protruding nipple, barely touching her. We both felt the brutal eroticism of the moment. Now there could be no doubt. If Mom hadn't already figured out what I wanted, she knew now. I was making no attempt to hide my forbidden interest. I had already crossed the line of how a boy ought to behave with his Mother. When will she stop me?

"Hell, yes." I responded softly while lost in admiration.

"Don't use that phrase."

I had just finished gathering the courage to open my hand and fully cup her when she spoke again.

"Getting a little frisky, again, huh?"

Slow down, I told myself. There is plenty of time. Play the long game.

Reluctantly, I brought my hand back down to her jean-covered thigh, continuing to slowly stroke her. Mom sat up straight, closing the sketchbook and putting it on the table. Whatever hypnotic effect it had been having on her seemed to have worn off and she was fully rational again. I wondered if she was mad.

"Since when do young men touch their mothers that way?" Her stern voice came suddenly, but her tone didn't carry any recrimination. I was in the clear.

I continued lightly exploring her leg. Appreciating her rather than answering her.

"You wouldn't touch me like this in front of your father." She put up a wall of defense. It came as a simple statement.

I responded with a statement of my own. "My father isn't here."

A pause, then, "what has gotten into you lately?"

"I found something that I like." My answer was instant.

She raised an eyebrow at me. "Boys aren't supposed to... like... their Mothers. Not this way, at least."

"You raised me to not be concerned about what other people think, to simply accept my feelings without judgment."

"You spent the last three years fighting with me and trying to avoid me." She took a more serious tone. "Those years were hard for me. I knew that it was normal for a teenage boy to pull away, but I still felt like I was losing you. Now suddenly you want... whatever this is. What's going on?" She tried another line of defense.

"I grew up." I stayed on the offensive.

Her eyes explored mine for a full two seconds before a smirk broke out on the corners of her mouth. "You're a lot like him," she said.

"Yeah?" I replied, sensing that an important chord had been struck.

"Mmhmmm," she said while relaxing ever-so-slightly toward me on the couch. "Defiant and confident. Just like your father used to be."

Used to be? I guess my theory was correct. Things weren't the same between my parents anymore. And by the sound of it, it was my Dad who'd changed. I decided to push that button a bit more.

"He doesn't appreciate you," I stated.

She exhaled before responding in a whisper, "...no, he doesn't."

"But, I do."

"...Yes. Yes, you do."

She turned and looked at me, her face mere inches from my own. For a split-second her eyes dropped and looked at my mouth. Then her tongue slipped out of her own to quickly wet her lips before retreating back inside. I didn't miss the signs of a woman who wants to be kissed and slid my right hand up her neck to cradle the back of her head.

When our mouths came together it was nothing like the peck we had shared a week earlier. Our lips slowly worked on one another without ever separating. After ten seconds, I opened my mouth and her tongue immediately snaked inside. She had been eager for this. I pressed my tongue against hers and chased it back into her mouth. Both of us relaxed into the kiss as we realized that the other had no intention of stopping it.

My heart beat like a drum as pleasure chemicals flooded my brain and body. Somehow I knew that Mom felt the same way. Making out with Mom! Already!

Amazingly, after a full minute of kissing she showed no signs of slowing down. In fact, she put her hands on either side of my face and continued to mouth me deeper.

I snaked my left hand between us and began stroking her tits again. There was no chastisement this time as I opened my hand and fully cupped her right breast, taking its full, glorious weight. Being openly groped sent Mom into a frenzy and she drove her tongue back into my mouth, frenching me passionately.

SLAM! The door of my father's truck closed loudly.

Reality hit us like a tidal wave. Dad was in the driveway. He was home. He'd be walking in the front door in mere seconds.

We pulled apart and stared at one other, panting.

"Your room," she said, buttoning her blouse and fixing her hair in a quick, well-practiced motion, "go." She used that Mom-tone that every boy is programmed to instantly obey.

I stood, my rigid member painfully bent in my pants. I saw Mom glance at it.

As I turned to the stairs she picked up my sketchbook and handed it back to me. "Better not leave this laying around, Mister."

I scampered downstairs just as the front door opened and in walked Dad. Looking back from the safety of the stairwell I saw Mom leisurely taking a sip of water as she flipped a page in her magazine.

"How was your game, Dear?"

The only indication that anything was amiss were two small, hard protrusions on Mom's chest. But my half-drunk father certainly wouldn't be looking there.

Descending to my room, I had to shake my head in disbelief. Who was this woman?!

---

Still rock hard, I spent the rest of the afternoon in my room as I processed what had happened.

My blue balls ached and needed release. I was forced to masturbate into an old pair of boxer shorts, the feeling of Mom's tit still fresh in my mind.

A couple hours later, Mom called me upstairs for dinner. We sat together as a family and ate. Dad spoke about his game and Mom nodded along. A few times she glanced at me and our eyes met. She rubbed her foot along my shin once or twice, sending tingles through my body.

I cursed myself for not moving faster on Mom this afternoon. Why did Dad have to come home early? I wondered how far I could have gone with her. How long would I have to wait for another chance to get my hands on her? Maybe until next Saturday. Shit.

After dinner Mom said that she was tired and would head to bed early. My Dad sat in the living room drinking beer and scrolling through his phone while I cleaned up the kitchen.

Not wanting to be anywhere near Dad, I, too, retired early.

---

I managed to doze off quickly but awoke in the middle of the night, hungry. I got up to quietly grab a snack from the kitchen. On my way back downstairs I, once again, heard voices coming through the ceiling vent in the corner.

Curiosity compelled me, and I set my plate of food in my room before returning to the vent. This time I quietly set up a small step ladder so that I could put my ear right against the ceiling, hopefully being able to hear more.

Mom's voice was raised. Emotional. She was upset. Then I heard Dad. His low register was easier to make out clearly.

"I said, 'no', Maria. Not now. Not tonight."

"But you mean, 'never.'"

"Go to sleep."

Mom had been trying to have sex again? So I get her warmed up, and Dad gets the payoff, huh?

Mom didn't relent. "We're not ignoring this, anymore, Rick. I'm not happy. You barely look at me."

I long sigh came from Dad, like he was exasperated.

"What do you want me to do? You can't fix this marriage by complaining or nagging me, Mar. We're not 20 years old, anymore. It's normal for the excitement to fade. I can't change that."

"I'm not delusional. I know we aren't young anymore and I don't regret marrying you. But we don't have to let this die. I'm not asking for much. You can make an effort."

"I do."

"Hah! You don't appreciate me. When was the last time you gave me a compliment? Or did anything around the house?"

"And what about you? What kind of effort do you make?"

"You better be joking."

"I'm not. What makes you so special?" Now Dad was on the offensive.

"How dare you?" Mom's voice turned to ice. "I keep this house spotless, I cook for you, wash your clothes. I keep myself in shape and wait every night in this bed for my husband to finally have sex with me, for once. I raised our son while you spent your life at the office or on the golf course."

"So you're going to put me on trial for working? How do you think our bills get paid, woman?"

"Back when our son was born you were barely home! And don't pretend that you're the only one working. There were times I could have sworn I was a single parent. Raising a child is not easy, not like you'd have a clue about that. You were barely a part of his life."

A pause.

Mom continued. "And you know what else I do for this marriage? I don't ask you anything about them. I look the other way."

"About who, Mar?"

I strained harder to get my ear close to the vent. I had to hear this.

"Oh, God, don't play stupid now. I know you've seen other women. I can smell them on you when you get home late."

"Hmph. That's a lie." The bed creaked as if Dad had just rolled over, his beer belly compressing the mattress springs.

"Really? You're going to deny it? Did you know that I once found a condom wrapper in your pants pocket? You didn't even bother to throw it away before I did the laundry."

I felt like I was listening to an episode of Jerry Springer. Mom was really letting Dad have it! I wonder why she felt so empowered today?

"Fine. It's true."

"I know it is. And do you know why I don't say anything?" Mom was going in for the kill. "Because I still love you and I'm not giving up on this marriage. And because I know that you have needs. So, I do my best to ignore what I know. And what do I get in return? At least a bit of appreciation would be nice."

How could a guy respond to that?

"I'm sorry, Maria. I'll try harder..."

"Rick, you've said that before."

"I mean it this time."

"You said that before, too."

They seemed to calm down a bit. Mom had said her piece. I really felt for her. Dad had been cheating on her? And she didn't even make a fuss about it? She should be getting some kind of "Greatest Wife" award, not being neglected. Christ, I'd marry her myself at this point.

I quietly put the ladder away and got back in bed. I had a lot of new information to process.

---

Just like the week before, Dad hung around the house all day on Sunday. There was no way to get any alone time with Mom.

After returning home from her morning run, she kept her tight workout shorts and top on while getting to work on some gardening in the backyard. I went outside to watch her while I drank my coffee, enjoying the chance to study her body in the skin-tight outfit.

Yes, it was frustrating knowing that I couldn't touch her, but I also knew that it was only a matter of time before I got my hands on her again.

Mom didn't stroke my shoulders or play footsie with me that night during dinner. And just as I was about to offer her some after-dinner tea she announced that she'd go to bed early that night.

"Well sport, what do you say you sit in the backyard and have a few beer with your old man?" Dad asked.

"I'll pass. I'm heading to bed, too," I told him. "Gotta work in the morning."

Dad looked dissapointed. I think he'd been trying to avoid having to be alone with Mom.

He followed her to bed and I heard him click the TV on to the sports channel.

I went downstairs and got out my sketchbook, beginning to draw Mom from memory. The positions that she was kneeling in while gardening came to life on my pages.

---

The beginning of the week was also a repeat of the previous one. I returned from my Monday night class to see my parents' bedroom door closed and Mom nowhere in sight. She returned on Tuesday from her pottery class complaining about being tired and sleeping early. What gives? All anybody does in this house is sleep!

By Wednesday morning I couldn't take it anymore. If I wanted time alone with Mom I was going to have to make it happen. I wasn't waiting until Saturday.

The three of us sat together having a bit of breakfast, a typical morning. Mom had made a pot of coffee and set some toast out on the counter with jam. The kitchen window, facing east, lets in a lot of sunlight in the mornings. Mom had the small radio tuned to the Classics channel, which came in just a tad fuzzy. Between retro hits the news reporter would talk about current events or the weather. I must admit, our little kitchen was a cozy place to sit and start the day.

Dad stood up to use the bathroom and change for work. He always left a few minutes before me. As soon as he left the kitchen I took out my phone and dialed my boss, preparing to do something I had never done before.

He answered quickly, "Mornin', Ty, how are ya?"

"Oh you know. Been better, been worse," I said, looking at Mom.

She was still wearing her pajamas, a light blue two-piece suit. The pants were normal, loose-fitting, but tight around her hips. They let her butt jiggle a bit as she walked. I had been sneaking peaks at her rear all morning as she made her way around the house, ogling the way the fabric stuck in her crack and outlined each cheek between each step. The top had a row of clasped buttons down the front. The only one Mom had left open was the highest. Not enough to show any cleavage even though her boobs kept the fabric quite taught. She leaned back and watched me curiously, sipping her coffee.

"Look," I continued, "I gotta take the day off. I'm coming down with something."

"You sure?" He said. "You know we're busy these days. We could really use you here."

"Sorry, boss, the only time I'm getting out of bed is when I'm running to the bathroom, if you know what I mean."

"Say no more. Come back when you're better."

I hung up and returned my phone to my pocket. Casually taking a bite of toast. I didn't need to look at Mom to know that she was still studying me with that inquisitive look.

Dad walked by the kitchen door then, now in his work uniform. He stopped and leaned inside to peck Mom on the cheek. "See you two tonight!" he yelled as he stomped to the front door.

"Goodbye, Dear." Mom couldn't seem to muster much love in her voice that morning.

As the front door clicked shut, she stood and went to the sink. She began rinsing out her coffee cup.

I stood as well, sitting back on the edge of the small dining table, watching her work.

Over Mom's shoulder I saw Dad standing in the driveway beside his truck. He seemed to be organizing some paperwork in his briefcase, clearly not in a hurry.

I turned off the radio, enveloping us in silence. Mom stopped washing and turned off the sink, continuing to look straight out the window. We were alone again and both sensed the significance of it. I began to tent my gym shorts.

Approaching her, I wrapped my arms around her sides. She stiffened momentarily before exhaling and relaxing into me. I put my face in her hair and inhaled deeply before bringing my face downward and kissing her neck. There was no protest from Mom, nor encouragement. She simply let me mouth her throat while, together, we watched my father climb into his truck.

"He could see us."

I ignored her, twirling growing circles with my finger tips on her sensitive sides as I tenderly kissed her. She pressed backward into me, her soft ass bumping into my tent, then pulling away as if startled.

"You should stop. He'll see."

Mom was right. If Dad happened to look at the kitchen window, he would see us. His truck's engine fired up.

I brought my hips forward a few inches, barely grazing her butt while bring my tickling fingers around to her tummy. She pressed backward again, and this time, she didn't pull away. Her cheeks felt like two soft pillows hugging my shaft. Tingles shot through me.

Mom pressed her hips backward, pinching my still-hardening cock between her ass cheeks. I fucked into her, pressing her forward against the counter.

If what I heard during their fight was true, Mom was absolutely starving for affection. And I would give it to her. I decided to take a chance. "Maybe he should see."

"What?"

My hands slid downward, gripping her hips.

"He should see you... being appreciated," I whispered into her ear.

Though her breathing picked up and goosebumps appeared on her neck and upper chest, she seemed to tense slightly.

"I... don't know, honey." Her bottom remained pressed against my hardness.

"He should know, Mom, what he's missing."

She squeezed the counter to steady herself, pressing back harder. We were beginning to grind ourselves together, my shaft nestled beautifully between her cheeks. She pressed back again, vigorously, enthusiastically grinding into me. Was she getting hot knowing how close Dad was? She liked the danger!

"He should?" Something about the doubt in her voice made me hot.

"Yes, he should." I used my best reassuring voice as I pressed forward against her with an upward movement at the end.

Now Dad was in his truck. I was no longer watching, my face buried in my Mother's hair. If he so much as glanced toward the kitchen window, I would be caught in the act. Dad would see me molesting his wife and I'd be in for a serious beat down and kicked out of the house. Or worse. But the thrill was worth it. And by the sound of her breathing, Mom felt the thrill, as well.

"Sweetie... I don't think that it's right for you to be... appreciating me." We were both dry humping each other now, her hips moving up in down in unison with my own. "This. What we've been doing... it's wrong."

Dad's truck pulled away as our dry humping started to pick up pace.

"Just a bit more, Mom. Then we'll stop. Just let me appreciate you a bit more."

Mom was panting heavily now, enthusiastically being dry humped as she leaned forward over the sink. "Okay, just a little more. Just a bit."

I slid my hands under her pajama top and felt her smooth back, noticing the lack of a bra strap. Leaning forward I let my hands slide around the sides of her ribcage, pressing into her meaty breasts, I reached for glory but my hands were blocked by the backs of her arms.

Mom realized what I wanted and, to my surprise, she lifted her arms and wrapped them around the back of my head, pulling me toward her as she twisted to her right, bringing her mouth to my own.

As Mom thrust her chest outward, knowingly giving me access to her bare tits, my hands easily slid onto their targets, cupping each one, fully supporting her. Their weight felt exquisite in my hands. My hip thrusts became more frantic.

"Yes, baby! Let it out." She cried.

The eroticism of the moment too much to bear, I exploded in my shorts. Collapsing forward as we grinded out our finish. We stayed like that while we caught our breath before finally disengaging.