Mom's Errant Panties

This was perhaps worse.

Had she become so upset that she didn't want to look at me? Were the hungover, forced pleasantries we'd just exchanged to be our last conversation ever?

As if to answer those questions, Mom suddenly stopped, mid-stride, but then she didn't turn to face me like I was expecting.

She brought both of her hands up to her scalp and pushed her fingers into her hair. She then shook her hands, causing her slept-in-wet, untamed hair to flutter wildly over her head, and then she began scratching at her scalp as she turned to face me.

I prepared myself to admit everything and accept her assessment of what I was and what I could do with myself.

"Oh, yeah," she began in a horse, hungover voice, sounding inordinately casual compared to what I'd been anticipating. She stopped to clear her throat and then stuck out her tongue as if to illustrate how she was feeling.

"I'm sorry, Greg, I meant to tell you yesterday, but it slipped my mind. Amy and Ashley are going to be in town next weekend, and they want to stay here a couple nights to save on a hotel. I guess some band they like is playing downtown, so I don't expect they'll be in the house much, but you may need to clear out some of your stuff in the spare room downstairs... unless they decide to double-up in there, I guess," she explained, gesturing with her head towards the guest bedroom one door down from the bathroom she'd puked in.

She seemed genuinely oblivious to the torrent of emotions raging inside me as I waited to be castigated for the overt gawking I'd done. For a moment, I allowed myself to believe I'd misread what I saw. Maybe she was so hungover she hadn't noticed after all.

"I don't know if they'll even make time to visit or if they'll just do their usual... Greg? Greg!"

"Yeah?" I replied after hearing my name the second time.

"What's going on with you? Did you hear what I said?"

Some of my emergency faculties came back online then. My soul paused its efforts to sever itself from my body as my brain registered her words and attempted to organize them into a coherent thought.

She'd mentioned my sisters, which had solicited a familiar sentiment that prickled under my skin. Despite how surprisingly casual she was being, I knew Mom would be excited about their visit. I also knew it would be just another opportunity for the twins to disappoint her.

There'd also been that annoying bit about having to clear out the second basement bedroom for one of the twins, which had several, in-progress jobs laid out in a system that might look like chaos to the casual observer but helped me keep track of parts and deadlines.

All those things dropped into the processing centers of my mind at once, and while most of my neurons had been devoted to weathering the justifiable, imminent rage I'd been expecting, I was able to verbalize a response that was handed to my communication relays.

"Can't we just tell them they have to bunk up in there?" I asked, looking at the door she'd gestured to a moment before. "I really don't want to mess up my--" I began to protest on autopilot.

Mom shook her hands vigorously through her hair again while I spoke, causing it to bounce wildly on top like she'd just walked through a dust devil. She cut me off before I could finish explaining my objection, saying, "Brbrbrb... Okay. Okay! I know. I know. Your system. We can't disturb that. I'll talk to them about sharing the room, but can you please try and be nice while they're here? I'd like this visit to be pleasant."

I nodded my head as I tried to casually place my coffee down and reach for a piece of fruit from the bowl on the kitchen island, realizing as I brought it to my lips, that I'd absentmindedly selected a peach.

For two incredibly awkward seconds, I held eye-contact with my mother while holding the piece of fruit to my lips, remembering the wistful image I'd painted of myself sucking on the entirety of her pussy only a moment before.

I tried to quickly return the peach to the bowl, but missed and watched it roll across the floor towards her.

Mom bent down and picked it up, narrowing her eyes in confusion, saying, "You sure you're alright, Gregory? You seem a little off. Did you want this?"

I felt a dribble of precum hit my thigh as I watched her holding the peach out towards me, asking if I wanted it.

"Uh, yeah. I want--er no, I changed my mind. I mean, I'm just in my head about graduation and stuff," I lied.

"Really?" she said, cocking her head to the side and sticking her bottom lip out in a gesture I'd seen before but now found frustratingly adorable.

"Awww. Me're, baby," she added, then winced in what looked like a reaction to the headache she'd mentioned having.

Me're was a contraction she'd invented... or at least coined in our household. She'd combined the words 'come' and 'here' into a single word and she'd been doing this for as long as I could remember.

"Me're. Me're. Me're," she repeated in a throaty whisper as she walked towards me, returning the peach to the bowl and then holding her arms out like a zombie as she came back around the island to where I stood.

I instantly stuck my butt out as she draped her arms around my neck and stood on her tiptoes to kiss me on the cheek.

She took a half-step back, her hands still gripping my shoulders as she looked me in the eye and said, "You'll be fine at graduation. Everyone is going to be focused on themselves and their families. Now, I want you to try and get along with your sisters when they visit next weekend. I don't think we'll see much of them. I tried to schedule a couple things already and they did their usual--we'll have to see how it goes, mom--crap, so odds are they'll only sleep here and then take off, but it would mean a lot to me if we were able to have a pleasant visit."

I was normally a good foot taller than her when we stood face-to-face like this, and she seemed to notice the difference my compensatory posture was causing.

She glanced down and began scanning me as though assessing my progress towards adulthood.

I forced myself to stand up straight in response, silently begging my erection to deflate and my clothes to conceal it.

"When did you get so big?" she asked, eyes still looking down.

"What do you mean?" I replied, feeling like she'd been looking at my erection when she'd asked, but certain that couldn't have been what she meant.

"You just look so grown up and I feel like I missed it happening," she answered as she returned her gaze to my face. "Ugh, I see so much of your father in you... makes me miss him when I see you, you know?"

The truth was, she had missed a lot of my life; the better part of the last eight years to be precise, but it really hadn't been very interesting

anyway... most of it took place downstairs.

But the last thing I wanted to do was agree with her about missing my youth, potentially sabotaging her sobriety progress; besides, she'd been emotionally ill, so ill that she'd almost checked out twice and I'm sure there were a lot of days in between those where she'd thought about it. Apart from being ornery about my lifestyle choices, she'd seemed a bit more optimistic lately, and she felt more present in the last two or three months than at any time since Dad passed.

"Sorry?" I replied, somewhat in my head about the implications of the last thing she'd said.

I'd been wondering if my slight resemblance to my father was actually contributing to the difficulty, she was having with moving on and my response had subsequently come out sounding sarcastic.

"Rrrrrer," she hissed like a cat and held up a hand in the shape of a claw. "I'm just saying you'd have girls chasing you if you let them."

"No. I didn't mean it like that. I meant, I'm sorry if it makes you feel sad... you know, seeing reminders of Dad when you look at me. I know that's why we moved out of the old house, and I don't want you to feel that way about me."

I knew my explanation wasn't phrased well; my mind was partially distracted by the erection in my pants and the way her proximity was suddenly affecting me.

I winced as I saw her expression change.

"What? Baby! It's not like that at all. Oh my God, you're going to make me cry," she said, and there were tears forming already.

"No! I mean, I like how much better you've looked lately-- seemed, lately," I corrected, feeling my face warm several degrees. I tried to smooth over the Freudian slip, quickly adding, "I just don't want to make you sad, Mom... which is what I seem to be doing in trying to avoid it... Look, I'm sorry. I'll try to be nice to the double A's and absorb as much of their abuse as possible without reciprocating."

"Oh, okay. I would never feel that way about you, for the record," she said, sniffing and then leaning in to dab each of her eyes on my shirt. Then, as if remembering, she narrowed her eyes and added, "And you better not call them that when they're here."

Mom then tried to throw a grumpy look behind her unconvincing reprimand for the nickname I'd given my twin sisters many years before.

In one of my more magnanimous moments, I'd thought of calling my sisters the double A's as an affectionate nickname, for obvious reasons; their names both start with A, and they're twins. They'd interpreted the comment as an inuendo about their budding breast sizes and beat the shit out of me when Mom wasn't around, thus solidifying the moniker in perpetuity.

"And thank you for the compliment, but I'm way better looking than Dad," I added, somewhat dangerously, but then I saw the snort of laughter I'd been fishing for.

"You're a brat," she said, pulling on my neck and guiding me back into a hug before I could protest. She squeezed me tightly to her and then she kind of wiggled back and forth like I was a stuffed animal she was cuddling.

She was stronger than I'd anticipated and before I could adjust for it, I'd felt my erection poke against her abdomen and list sideways. She didn't cancel the hug or pull back after I'd speared her tummy.

Similarly, she didn't seem to notice the bulge in between us where my cock was strained at an odd angle between our bodies. It both hurt, and felt the opposite of hurt, as she continued to wiggle against me, seemingly oblivious to what felt obvious.

I don't know if I was just smelling her shampoo or if she'd applied some other fragranced lady-product, but it was intoxicating, and I didn't trust myself to remain in the hug very long. I was starting to feel a bit dizzy, almost euphoric from the novel effect of her proximity and the friction.

"Your father was very handsome, just like you, and your sisters might surprise you; they've been away for a while, and they've probably matured some," she said, placing her head on my chest and tilting it back until she could see my eyes looking down at her.

There was still a subtle twisting motion to her body as she hugged me tight and while my body had been keenly aware, my mind finally caught up to it, realizing why I was suddenly feeling so good, but before I could decide what to do with that information, Mom took a step back and brought the heel of her hand up to her temple, one eye closing as she winced.

"Ugh, good lord. I took some Ibuprofen, but this headache is fighting back. I guess I earned it."

I offered a bemused chuckle in response and shrugged my shoulders as she turned to leave for the second time.

I felt my eyes trying to drift immediately to her ass, and I forced myself to move towards the fridge, opening it and quickly stepping into the frigid air, using the door with its shelves of condiments to block any additional perving on my mother.

I noticed that the mustard was exactly where she would have been, relative to my eyeline if the door wasn't blocking my view.

Then, I realized I'd read all the ingredients and most of the daily nutritional values printed on the mustard label while imagining the little, rigid bounce of booty meat that would be following each of her steps, just on the other side of my self-imposed barrier.

I knew I was in big trouble.

Whatever happened to me in the earlier hours of that morning had realigned my circuitry in an alarming way.

Nothing had changed about how I'd loved my mother before. She was still very much the Mom I'd grown up caring about, but now she'd also become something else.

I now felt like I was both her protector and her predator. My inner child, the boy who saw her as Mom, was now my biggest and loudest critic, shaming me to a degree that felt inescapable, heavy, and condemning.

The indictment was fair. I'd crossed several lines and I'd watched myself do it, but the realization that I was actually worse than those little shits in seventh grade, having committed their sin, but against someone who knew, loved, and trusted me, might have been the worst part.

But there's a bitterness that creeps in when you're hating yourself for wanting something that makes you feel good. It was easy to imagine that that bitterness was what caused many addicts to relapse while trying to quit something that could potentially harm them.

I wasn't actually worried about how hooking up with my mother could harm me, nor was I considering how it might harm her. I didn't need to consider those consequences because it wasn't ever going to happen.

Even if my creepy little brain somehow reconciled it's sudden, undeniable desire for my mother, with its natural aversion to incest, I was never going to make a move on her and there was even less of a chance that she would make a move on me.

What I was both worried and bitter about, was how strong my feelings for her were. I'd never fallen for someone like this, so I had nothing to compare it to. It was so compelling and so strong, I was worried that the only solution was going to be avoidance, something I did not want to do for the concern I had about my mother's sobriety, which was really a concern for her life.

When I finally heard her bedroom door shut, I closed the fridge and placed my hands on the counter, forgetting all about the milk I'd intended to put in my coffee as I lifted my eyes to the ceiling to ask, "What the actual fuck is wrong with me?"

** 3 /**

I jacked off three times that afternoon, taking a two-to-three-hour break between each one, and while an orgasm always feels good, they'd also felt urgent and obligatory.

Each time I came, I forced myself to really focus on the images in the porn I was watching, thinking about the girl's bodies and looking intently at their not-Mom-faces when I finally blew.

As I was washing my hands of the lube/jizz compound I'd coated them with for the third time, I heard footsteps coming down the stairs.

I reached over and flushed the toilet, thinking it would throw her off the trail of what had really brought me to the bathroom.

As I was drying my hands, it occurred to me that there was no reason to do that. She wouldn't have cared if I'd gone in there just to wash my hands. There was literally nothing suspicious about what I was doing.

I was obviously paranoid, and I needed to get a grip if I was going to talk to her in any way that resembled normal.

"Hey, Greg. I have a question for you," Mom said as I walked across the room to sit at my desk, reassuring myself that she didn't know I was just cleaning spunk from my hands.

"What's up?" I replied in a tone that sounded way more casual than I'd intended.

Why was I trying to sound cool to my mother? Insanity! Get a grip.

"Do those drug tests check for cannabis?" she asked in a pouty, almost sheepish voice. She even stuck out her bottom lip and did that little flirty knee sway thing girls do when they're intentionally trying to illicit favor.

"I'm pretty sure they do, yeah. Why? You meet up with Snoop last night?" I asked, suddenly feeling an irrational dislike for Snoop Dogg.

"Sort of. Wendy had a joint. It was kind of cool at first but at some point, after I smoked with her, I started getting the spins really bad, and I know I puked but don't remember where. I did leave a big tip for the Uber driver so I was thinking it might have been in his car, but they have a cleaning fee that's more than the tip I gave. So, I'm confused as to wheeere..."

She dragged the last word out a bit and let the statement hang in the air, almost like

it was really a question; a question she wanted me to answer without having to directly ask it.

I suddenly felt like I was being baited and my mind raced to connect dots that seemed relevant to the tip I'd given on her behalf and-- Oh shit!

She would have seen the Uber driver's call out to me from her cell phone around two in the morning, I suddenly realized.

"Yeah, I gave that tip. Your Uber driver called me to get you out of the back of his car. You were sleeping and I got you up and into the house. You puked in the hallway bathroom," I explained, trying to sound like I was just relaying benign information.

Inside, I was feeling very nervous about where this was going, but she'd not leveled any accusations at me yet, so I continued to walk towards my computer desk, glancing around at my monitors when I got there to see if I'd been outbid.

I remained standing because I didn't want to give her the impression, I was dismissing her.

Also, my monitors would have blocked my view of what I was seeing just under the hem of the oversized T-shirt she'd obviously been sleeping in. She had her arms folded across her chest, which was pulling the shirt up just enough to show me the bump of her vulva, tightly wrapped in white satin panties.

"So, you did notice, then?" she asked, her faux-flirty posture turning a bit more dangerous.

For a moment, I thought she was referring to the bit of her panties I was more than noticing, but then I registered the relevance of what she'd said as it related to the previous evening, and I felt a swell of panic rise from my gut.

"I--" I started to say, almost apologizing for everything in a sudden emotional outburst, confessing all and begging her to understand, but then some IQ point that had been keeping itself dormant for just such an occasion, suddenly woke up and yelled, "WAIT she might not be talking about her naked ass!"

"--I only meant you didn't bother me when you came in. You'd obviously had too much to drink. I started your shower for you while you puked. You know, so I didn't have to hear it," I explained, giving myself an alibi for the moment her ass had been exposed.

"Oh," she said, her expression hard to read.

"Yeah, why? What's the problem?" I asked, forcing a hint of indignation into my voice for having helped her in her hour of need and getting grilled about it, even though she technically hadn't grilled me.

"So, you didn't smell weed and get all worried?" she asked.

"Weed? Uh, nope. Don't think so. Why?" I said, then putting things together, added, "Oh. You're asking if that violates our deal... I honestly hadn't thought about weed. Hmmm." I made a point of rubbing my chin pensively, which was something I couldn't remember ever doing before, so I stopped.

"I guess it's like the occasional drink. I'm not worried about it unless it were to lead to other things," I said after a beat, cringing inside at how much I sounded like the paranoid, ill-informed parent right then.

The gateway drug fallacy about pot had never felt particularly compelling to me. I occasionally smoked and thus far, had never felt the need to up the ante with some heroin or ecstasy.

I really had no concerns about her smoking pot. Her therapist had even suggested it once, but she'd had no interest then.

"So, if you give me one of those tests and it's positive for weed, you're not going to move out?" she clarified, after backing up one step and letting her arms fall to her sides.