Facial / Cream

I blinked. "What? No. No, mom, you're beautiful."

She looked at me, unsure, her arms wrapped around her slender body. She looked very, very distracted. Maybe a little scared.

I tried to reassure her. "Mom, you're really pretty. I don't think you look forty at all. I don't think anyone would guess it."

She persisted. "Do you notice my wrinkles? I'm pretty sure I look like I'm in my fifties. Don't I?"

I took a minute to really, really look at her. I knew she was entertaining some crazy stuff. And I knew she was insecure now, and that she was in real danger of doing something stupid, whether it would work or not.

"Mom," I said honestly, assessing her looks, taking a moment to appreciate her effortless prettiness, her beautiful and clear face, her slender and curved frame. She really was beautiful. She wasn't some kind of blown-up supermodel. She wasn't an eighteen-year-old girl with more tits than brain. She was a woman -- a kind, pretty woman that dressed nicely and looked nice and was nice. "Mom, you're gorgeous. And you look like you're thirty, maybe."

Mom sighed and relaxed her shoulders. "Wow. Who taught you to be so kind?"

"I dunno," I answered honestly. It definitely wasn't my dad.

"Well... thank you, Mark." She turned to leave. Relief washed over me as I realized I likely saved my mom's self-esteem and helped her to make a good decision -- something that didn't involve her kneeling and waiting for semen to coat her face.

Then mom stopped at the door.

"Mark..." She said, suddenly very nervous again.

I sat up straighter. This sounded serious.

"As a hypothetical... if you were in a difficult situation... and you had to do something a little crazy to make things better... would you do it?"

"What?" I knew exactly what she was talking about. I thought maybe after what I said she'd feel a little better, but even with that, she was clearly thinking about it some more.

"Would you do something crazy if it meant... if it meant we could have nicer things? If I could, I don't know, pay off your car? Or if I could take on your student loans?"

I stared at her, trying to make sense of it. She turned and looked at me concernedly. My heart half melted knowing she was doing her best for us. It also half froze as I knew what 'her best' likely entailed.

"No," I said, firmly. "No, I think I'd just do what's normal, I think. Or I'd just deal with things as they came. I'm getting a job this summer anyways. Better to be on the safe side."

Mom blinked. "That's not very like you to say."

I quickly thought up something to explain myself. "Yeah. Well. I'm an adult now. Brain must be developing or something." I nodded, trying to make myself look like I was telling the truth.

Mom made an unsure note. "Well, alright. Thanks, honey." She stepped out and almost closed the door, but ducked her head back in right before leaving. "I just want you to know..." She cleared her throat and looked off to the side, "I'm... I'm proud of you. You know? You're a very, very good kid. And I think you're going to grow into a good man."

I nodded, suddenly very proud of myself.

That pride lasted about an hour.

I was just walking into the kitchen when she stormed past me, out of there, huffing and covering her mouth. I had no clue why she was so riled up, why she was moving so uncharacteristically fast. Once she was out of the space, I realized her phone was on the counter. The screen was off, but her pass code was just her birthday, so I opened it to see what the hell had gotten her so upset.

And then it was obvious.

She had installed Tinder.

I almost had enough time to feel betrayed, but my concern for her immediately forced me to read her messages and profile.

It was obvious that she very literally just made it that afternoon. She had a dozen or so matches, all on today's date. I didn't look into the messages just yet and instead investigated her profile to see what exactly she was putting out there.

Her main picture was her, looking carefree at a ladies night with a few of her friends. Just a cocktail and some lights, her friends slightly blurred out, and the focus was on her. She looked pleasantly happy, slight wrinkles around her eyes from laughing, but in all, she looked like a decent person who was having fun.

She really was pretty, her hair was all curled, she wore a fresh lipstick that just transformed everything about her from stern, reasonable mom to a beautiful older woman. That lipstick was really, all it took.

Her next photo was a selfie. Just her on a walk in the park, puffy vest and all, the sun shining through trees and making a dappled halo around her. With the greens and yellows of the leaves all around her, it made for a nice and pleasant look. She seemed safe to be around.

And yes, pretty.

There were a few others I saw, a selfie at Starbucks, a pose in front of a local landmark, just the kind of stuff that showed that she was a pretty, normal woman.

Her profile was even sweeter.

Cassie, (43).

I've never made a dating profile before. I hope I can meet somebody with the same goals as me. I like spending time with my family, going to new restaurants, and sometimes, visiting the library. I want to meet nice, kind people here and hope I can live up to that as well!

Let's get coffee and talk about our lives in the park.

In all honestly, if she wasn't my mom, I would have swiped right. Cassie was pretty. She was sweet. She was normal and cool and honestly, she seemed like a total rarity, especially for the kind of girls I saw on Tinder. Not to knock them. It's just that my mom was special. In a way, I was happy for her to put herself out there and to try and find somebody decent again. Maybe the whole conversation with Jessica was more of a prompt just to get my mom back into finding happiness.

But when I clicked on her messages, my heart sank. Mom hadn't replied to any of them.

I could see why.

If you have kids I don't want any of it.

Hey im not looking for anything serious but I work out every day and can give you a fucking hot night in bed, just text me.

Hey sexy do you like guys that drive BMW's?

Some of the messages had follow up messages, where the guys knew she had seen their initial attempts and ignored them.

Bitch

What too shy? Baby I'm packing and you're gonna love it.

There were about a dozen others. I wasn't surprised that she had that many matches in the few hours that she had the app, but I was surprised that the available dating pool was so fucked up.

And then there was the last one she received. The one she looked at before leaving her phone here. Just a single, solitary message, left by somebody who was essentially her age.

Too old. Sorry.

I closed out of the app, turned off her phone screen, and went back to my room.

Mom didn't deserve that. I'm not sure what the hell happened -- it's not like her profile was built to attract people like that. Was it really just that the local dating pool was so messed up that she wasn't going to have any luck finding somebody decent?

After ruminating in my room for a while, I heard a knock. The door creaked gently open and mom leaned in.

"Hey," I said, pretending I hadn't seen what I saw. I took a careful look at her. She wasn't crying or anything, but she seemed a little down. Definitely offended. Her voice was a little terser, but not at me, just in general.

"Mark, are all men like your father?"

She stared at me with very concerned, questioning eyes. The voice didn't seem to match up. It was like she was covering up how she felt. Like she was hoping I wasn't going to look at her.

I stammered. "I don't..." I wasn't sure how to respond. Dad and her split because he wasn't a good husband or a good dad. It wasn't an easy decision for mom, and I'm sure she was always thinking on the back burner that other men wouldn't be like him, and that maybe she'd still have a chance at finding somebody good in the future.

But I knew for a fact that what she read completely shattered that idea. Whether it was true or not.

"I don't think so," I said, cautiously. "You okay? You need me to make some tea or something?"

I watched her eyes soften as she looked at me. "I'm alright, Mark."

She turned her head as if she was leaving, but then came back. "I don't get it. You look just like your father, but you're nothing like him. You're just... you're just..." She paused and pressed her lips together. "I don't know. Better." Before I could respond, she left and closed the door. It suddenly felt warm in my heart.

Then she knocked on my door again. When she came in, she came in a little farther and looked me dead in the eye. "I just want to tell you," she said, very serious, "you're a good kid. You know?"

I nodded as if I knew what the hell she was talking about.

"I just wanted you to know that you're a good kid, and I'm really, really trying to make things better for us. I know you're got your whole future ahead of you, and I want you to know," she took a very, very deep breath, "I'm going to do... I'm going to do whatever it takes. Alright?"

I didn't know what the hell to say now. My mind was making some weird conclusions in that instant. I couldn't tell on a visual level what mom was thinking when she said, 'whatever it takes', but I couldn't help but suddenly see, in my mind's eye, the idea of her tongue held out, glistening and wet and pink, her eyes gazing lovingly at a cock. It scared me to think that she was probably about to go back to Tinder, and try out one of the guys that were so rude to her.

"Okay," I said, trying to shake the mental image from my head. It was having an effect on me now. The whole thing was getting intense, confusingly intense, where suddenly it almost seemed like a real possibility, like it was an idea that I knew my sweet, pretty mom was considering. "I'll... I'll try hard too. I'm going to be fine, mom. Seriously. Don't worry."

Mom carefully studied my face. She sighed and nodded, and said in a tone that made me very, very unsure as to what she was thinking, "Alright."

Chapter 4

That night, I had a dream.

I dreamt that mom was a queen in a medieval castle, and that there were a bunch of knights all jockeying for her attention. Some of them showed off their martial strength, some of them composed bad poetry, some of them tried to woo her with their sheer force of personality. As she rejected each of them, they got violent, then left. Before long, they were collectively besieging the castle, and mom was begging me to save her.

It would have made sense, allegorically speaking, except that apparently the only way to save her was exactly what I had been struggling with the entire week.

"Please," she was begging, clutching at my clothes with her little hands, her eyes streaking with fear, "please, Mark, you must. You must save us, it's the only way."

Then her hands went up to her chest, moving over her flush skin, and then up to her shoulders, where she started pulling her dress down. Helplessly, I watched as my mother suddenly started pulling it all off, baring her small breasts, her pale, pale nipples that looked delicious and soft. She started pressing herself along my legs, tugging at my pants, freeing my cock, and my mother started to kiss it, to lick at it, her tongue feeling vividly warm and soft and wet and hot. In the moment I could only react, feeling the shock of realizing that it was my mom that was tasting me.

Then she started to move her mouth over the head, and I swear, I could feel heat and soft wetness as she let her spit coat me, and as she started to suck, and as I felt what had been pent up for so long rising, surging even stronger with the awareness that it was my mom that was bringing this out of me, and then she gripped the shaft with her little pale hand and started begging me to give it to her, as she started jerking me off, and I started to feel the cum surging upward -- mom then opened her mouth and looked at me with those gentle, begging, blue eyes.

"Please, honey, cum on my face."

I woke up to my school alarm, shaking, unbearably hot, sweating, my cock twitching, precum dripping from the head. I was feeling the urgency, the uncontrollable heat and drive that comes from wanting it to continue, not wanting it to stop. But the dream was gone and my cock was on the edge, and in that moment, I just wanted to let the fantasy come right back so I could burst, so I could pour out every drop of cum all over my mom's face, so I could shoot it directly into my mother's mouth and let her tongue overflow with it.

Holy shit.

I needed a therapist.

When I got home, I very, very carefully opened the front door so I wouldn't alert any guests. And as it so happened, Jessica was once again at the kitchen table with mom. Did Jessica not have a job? It suddenly occurred to me that she never really seemed to go anywhere -- she just had her house and lived a single lifestyle and very literally, seemed to do nothing but stretch and look sexy. I made a mental note that the instant I had spare cash, I would go searching all over OnlyFans to try and find her.

But they were talking -- my mom's schedule allowed her to get home only half an hour before I got home, so chances were, they weren't talking for long. I closed the front door gently and held my breath, as if that would make it any quieter. Once it shut, I listened for their voices. The volume didn't change. It was the same. I was in the clear and could hear everything they were saying.

"So..." My mom's voice seemed careful. Strained. "How... how do you do it?"

"Do what?"

"You know." Mom hissed. "The skincare."

"Oh." Jessica's voice turned a little sultry. "Well first you get it. Then you apply it. It's not hard, hun."

"Oh." Mom sounded relieved. "So, I can just go to a sperm bank?"

"Oh my god, Cassie." Jessica's exasperated voice shot through the house. "No. You have to get it fresh. Do you understand?"

"Not really. Just... explain it to me plainly. But not too plainly." Mom sounded really, really uncomfortable. "I just want to understand how I'm supposed to... make it happen."

"Fucking... okay. Listen. Fresh! You have to... you know... make it come out. Then you've got it, right? Once it's... there... you spread it."

"Oh. So as long as it's... I mean, as long as it's recent. So, I can, say, have it put in a... a jar, and then really quick I can take it and put it on?"

"Holy shit, Cassie." Jessica started sounding frustrated and angry. "No. Every second that it's in contact with oxygen, every instant that it's not on your face, that's a huge drop in effectiveness. Don't ask me why -- that's the science of it. Alright?"

"So I have to..." Mom's voice started to get a little high.

"So, you have to make it come out, all over your pretty little face. Exactly the way a guy likes it."

Mom gasped. I personally shared the same sentiment.

After mom gasped, it got really, really quiet in the house. I tiptoed over to my room but could still hear them as I slowly made my way down the hall. I had to think up something. Mom needed to get off of this idea, she needed some kind of reassurance that I didn't need the help, that she looked fine, and that, frankly, submitting herself to anyone sexually for those reasons wasn't going to end well.

"I have a friend I can set you up with."

"No... I'm fine, no thank you."

"Suit yourself. Not sure where you're going to find a steady supply of fresh cum, though."

"Yeah..." Mom's voice nervously trailed off as I closed my door. "Me neither."

Chapter 5

That night, mom and I had a very, very quiet dinner. She was still dressed in her corporate uniform, but the top few buttons were undone so that she could relax a little. The soft, delicate skin around her neck and upper chest were exposed. I thought I could see the very edge of her bra. She was beautiful. I almost wanted to describe it as tragically so, her soft face was framed with concern.

She was leaning on her hand for several minutes, silently staring into a glass of wine. She didn't usually have wine. But she was clearly thinking, very, very hard. Her pretty face now concentrated; her brow furrowed. A couple of faint lines settled around her mouth.

The thinking went on, and while my mind also spun trying to figure out some kind of way to convince her that she really, really didn't need to check out Tinder.

She looked up and at me. What was normally a very gentle gaze was now thoughtful, nearly resolute.

Right as my brain was about to connect a few dots, right as it was about to give me the right words that could defuse her, mom suddenly got up, went to the pantry, and brought the wine bottle to the table. She opened it and filled up her glass entirely, drank it down, and poured herself another full glass. Then she took a deep breath.

"Mark..." She said, softly. Carefully.

This was it.

We were about to have the 'mommy's going to start dating' talk.

My brain started to enter panic mode. I fought the rising sensation and tried to at least be somewhat supportive, even if her choice to start meeting people was hinged on something I didn't want to think about at all.

"Mark, I need to ask you a huge favor." Mom's voice was unsteady. The color was draining from her face.

I felt it too. I put my fork down and tried to keep myself calm.

"You're not going to... think it's a good idea, and I'm really not sure how you're going to feel about it, but I need you to listen to me carefully and not say anything until I'm done explaining."

I nodded in response, feeling numb.

"In fact, you're probably going to think I'm crazy."

My gaze snapped up. Crazy? For dating?

Something was different here.

She took a deep breath. "You're probably... going to think that it's gross. And that your poor mother has gone off the deep end..."

My eyes went wide.

Something was very, very different. Something was more than different than how I expected.

"Now listen. What I'm going to ask you to do for me... it's... it's simple. Maybe it's even something you as a boy would want to do."

She was talking about it. She was talking about it.

Her voice started running, taking off without paying attention to how my jaw dropped, how my heart started thundering in my head. How I started realizing with absolute certainty, now, that mom was about to ask me to do the unthinkable. But she went on, closing her eyes, summoning all the bravery she could muster.

"And the reason I'm asking you is simple too. I'm in a bit of a rough spot with my career, the kind of rough spot that isn't going to go away unless I do something crazy. We have a lot of big expenses coming up, and I've got a lot of headway I need to make with my job. What I'm going to ask you to do, it's going to be hard to understand, but it's going to help me get a promotion, be treated better in the workplace -- only the younger looking girls can move ahead for whatever reason. Listen, Mark, what I need, it's a new form of skincare, and you're going to think this is so insane, but I need you to..."

My mom stopped and looked up, afraid of what she was saying. Despite how shocked I must have looked, her gaze didn't really seem to register me -- it was like she was stuck in her head and that she was fighting the whole idea, flipping back and forth between accepting and rejecting it. She was right on the cusp of articulating exactly what she needed from me, exactly what she wanted to do.

Mom could have stopped.

Maybe she should have stopped.

But she didn't. She suddenly looked very sure, and moved past the pain point.

"Mark... I need you to... jerk yourself off."

She swallowed. Took a deep breath as if she needed it to say what came next.

"Mark, I need you to jerk yourself off and to... to cum on my face."