Mom's Errant Panties

I was both relieved and disappointed to see the bottom hem of her T-shirt cover her crotch, leaving just a narrow gap between two sexy legs that looked like they could have continued up to her neck. Her figure was non-existent under the shirt's amorphas, baggy outline, and I thought I might just be okay being around her if she were to dress like that all the time. Obviously, the panty-peaks would have to go.

"I'm not moving out over weed, no," I replied, thinking how it was a bit odd how much she seemed to dread me moving out, but had been trying to get me to get married before it was too late. Did she not realize I would be moving out if I was starting a family?

"Okay, good," she said, a cute little smile creeping onto her face, "because I have half the joint still and I think it will help with my hangover. I was going to smoke, but I didn't want you to smell it and freak out."

I was a little annoyed by the suggestion, suddenly feeling like the geezer in the room. "Do you want me to put some Bob Marley on the Sonos for you?" I asked, wanting to demonstrate some measure of hipness.

"That's okay," she said, adding a celebratory, "Yea!" that I found adorable. I felt a sudden compulsion to buy her things and tell her she was pretty.

"You are kind of a dork, ya know?" I said instead, projecting a flirty tone into it I'd not consciously intended.

"Gre-eeeeg, can I ask you something else?" she replied, obviously feeling no shame about using her strange power.

"I'm afraid that was your allotment of questions for the day. Try tomorrow," I replied, glancing at my screen as I heard a low ding issue from the headphones, I'd left on their charging cradle. I'd just been outbid.

"God dammit!" I grumbled.

When I looked back, she had her brows lowered and a slight frown on her face.

"No, not you. Go ahead and ask. I just got outbid by this guy. I swear he just looks for auctions I'm winning and tries to steal them. Anyway, what's your question?"

"So, listen," she began, a slight hitch in her voice, "this is gonna sound weird, but did I do anything, uh, weird to you last night when I came home?"

"Anything? What's an--weird? I mean, what do you mean?" I replied clumsily, my throat suddenly drying up as her naked ass and pussy flashed into my mind.

"I don't know, exactly. And I think it was maybe just a dream, but it feels kind of real, like maybe it happened when I was drunk and--" She looked down, suddenly sounding a bit emotional, and perhaps embarrassed?

"But what?" I asked.

"Um... Shit! Greg, did I try to kiss you or like grope you or anything? I'm sorry to ask but I need to apologize if I did and--"

She stopped talking and looked down and I thought she was still doing the cute thing for some reason but then I saw her body shiver and a tear fell.

"Mom?"

She continued to look down and two more tears fell, followed by a sniff.

"Hey!"

She looked up, suddenly miserable and I felt like I'd missed something.

"Why are you upset? You didn't do anything to me. You said I was handsome and that girls would be into me if I put myself out there. Nothing you haven't said when you were sober. There's nothing to apologize for," I explained, feeling like I should walk over and give her a hug but also feeling too conflicted by recent events to manage it.

She sniffed again and wiped her eye as she lifted her head to look at me, asking "You promise? You'd tell me, right? We're close like that, right?"

Where was all this coming from, I wondered. This was a bit out of character for her. Even when she was obviously frustrated or upset, she usually tried to appear like she was fine.

"I'd tell you, yes. And I'd forgive you immediately. We're at least that close," I said.

She nodded several times but didn't speak as she lifted up a corner of T-shirt to wipe her face, her satin panties that I wouldn't have even registered the day before, suddenly the sexiest thing I'd ever seen.

"You okay, Mom?" I asked, forcing my eyes to find hers.

"Yes. I had a weird night, followed by weird dreams. I'm just in a weird place lately, and I feel like I need to check in with you more."

"We're not responsible for the shit we dream, Mom. I've even-- Uh, you gotta cut yourself some slack. They're just dreams," I said, righting the ship after almost divulging my nocturnal three-way with her and the neighbor lady.

"You probably shouldn't mix booze and weed, going forward, though," I added after a beat.

She took a deep breath and when she blew it out, she had a smile brewing on her face. It made me inordinately happy to see it.

"Alright. Whew!" she replied. "I've been beating myself up, uncertain if I'd dreamed... or if I'd really done the things I was remembering."

I shook my head, grinning warmly in solidarity for the relief she was expressing, but suddenly obsessed with the idea that she'd possibly had some sort of sex dream about me.

"Okay. I'm gonna go get baked. I love you, sweetie."

"Yeah," I replied weakly, lost in thought, then added, "Love you too, Cheech. Say hi to Chong for me."

She gave me another cute smirk and then turned to leave.

I was still within the window of normalcy to be looking at her when she turned back around, one eyebrow raised and her mouth scrunched to the side, saying, "Hey, you wouldn't want to smoke some with me?"

The question caught me completely off guard and I wasn't sure what to say.

"You don't have to, obviously. I just thought--" she said, her body language suggesting something between embarrassment and disappointment as she pivoted to continue heading back up the stairs.

"Sure," I heard myself reply.

"Wait, have you smoked before?" she asked, turning back to face me. She looked pleased, but also genuinely surprised by my response.

"Smoke-Dogg, baby!... that's what they don't call me, but I have dabbled a time or two."

She furrowed her brow and adopted a cheeky smirk. "What else don't I know about you?"

"The cam shows I put on for wealthy old ladies might come as a revelation," I quipped, feeling inordinately clever.

She

snorted a laugh at that... a devastatingly cute laugh that suddenly had me worried about how I was going to behave while smoking pot with her after everything that had recently happened.

Why had I agreed so readily? I was behaving like one of those sycophantic boys my sisters used to trick into doing their chores.

** 4 /**

Smoking dope with my mother for the first time was a novel experience to say the least.

It was a little weird, at first, as she invited me to sit up on the bed next to her, placing a little ceramic ashtray in between us as she tried to figure out how best to light the half-burnt joint. I'd seen the ceramic ashtray in her drawer during room inspections, but it never had ash in it. I assumed it was some sort of souvenir keepsake with a backstory I hadn't thought to ask about.

I watched her try and fail to light the joint for another minute and a half. She was holding it like a stick of dynamite that might explode if she lit it wrong, and I finally had to ask if I could see it.

She handed it over, somewhat reluctantly and then I lit the end while pulling in a mouthful of smoke before blowing it out with my cheeks and tongue, producing a pretty good ring. Satisfied it was well lit, I handed it back to her with a not-so-subtle smirk, saying, "It's a born-again virgin."

She'd looked somewhere in between shocked and impressed until I'd made the comment, then she looked confused.

"Virgin?" she asked as she brought the joint to her lips.

I pointed to the end of the joint as she took her hit, suddenly feeling too awkward to explain the joke. Thankfully, I didn't have to. Mom followed my finger and stared cross-eyed at the end of the joint she was hitting for a beat before blowing her hit out in a gasp of laughter.

"Cause it has a cherry," she tittered adorably as I nodded, feeling the intensity of the grin she was putting on my face for the muscle strain in my cheeks.

Once we'd passed the joint back and forth several times, and after she put her legs together and pulled her shirt down, I was feeling pretty loose, giggly and comfortable.

She was lit too, and had barely recovered from two major laughing fits, the second of which had her turned on her side away from me, her satin-wrapped ass pointing at my face as I tried not to stare, which I managed to do part of the time.

"You good, baby?" she asked, sitting up.

I closed my eyes and nodded slowly, beaming at her as she tried to force her eyelids to open wider. Her cute, stoned expression made me chuckle, which sent her back over the edge, laughing hysterically.

I'd never seen this side of her before. Her laughter was unguarded and reckless, coming easy with little self-awareness. There was the occasional snort mixed in, and while everything she did, continued to seem very cute to me, there were a lot of moments that felt like I was just hanging out with a friend... at least, I assumed it was what hanging out with a friend felt like.

I think I'd smoked a bit more than I normally would have, though, as I was getting a little self-conscious with the way her amusement seemed to double each time, she looked at me.

I was about to ask her why my appearance was so funny but then she seemed to lose her ability to sit up straight, having to lean on me for support and ultimately sliding off my shoulder until her head was in my lap, cackling madly.

I straightened out my leg to lower it on the bed, trying to relieve what looked like an uncomfortable angle in her neck and she rolled onto her back, looking up at me from my lap.

She gained some composure then, but continued to smile, looking incredibly happy and insanely cute as she held the roach above her face, studying it. I kind of just watched her with a dopey grin, enjoying her proximity to me and appreciating the rarity of the unexpected moment.

Smoking pot with her while she laid in my lap was very surreal, and I remember wanting to place a hand on her cheek and tell her how pretty she was, but the weed was helping me get out of my head enough to just be in the moment with her. I'd been longing for something like this, albeit with perhaps less clothing, when I was watching her earlier in the kitchen, and here I was, saturated in the sensory input I'd been craving.

I could feel her on my leg and the frequent touches as we talked and laughed. I could smell her even with the pungent weed smoke wafting through the air.

I was sincerely enjoying myself and thought I probably would be even if I wasn't currently smitten by every cute thing she did.

We should have started smoking weed together a long time ago, I thought. It really seemed to help her relax.

She lifted my left arm and put it behind her, saying, "Scratchies." (another Mom original)

As I began scratching her back, she wrapped her arms around my torso, squeezing my abdomen in a tight hug, her head pressed into my stomach.

I was going to start buying her weed if this was how dramatic her personality changed when she smoked it.

"I'm so glad I have you," she whispered as I scratched her back. "I love you, Greg, and I hate it when we argue."

"Yeah... I don't like it either, Mom," I replied, placing a hand next to her ear and lightly caressing the soft skin between her ear and cheekbone with my thumb.

She closed her eyes and breathed through her nose, her chin rising slightly at my touch.

We both seemed to realize the gesture was overly familiar at the same time.

She looked up at me and I didn't know what to say, so I just shrugged, which made her laugh... which made me laugh, and we just sort of went back to relaxing.

We sat like that for a while, with her ear against my thigh as I lightly scratched her back and adored her. She would occasionally reach over to pick up the roach and hit it, rolling her head up and offering me some each time she did.

I waved a hand to suggest I was good every time she offered and then she'd crack up each time I informed her that I was still good.

I felt warm all over as my fingers traced the small of her back in little looping circles that slowly became more of a caress than a scratch, and I sort of zoned out, just being with her and feeling her near me.

It was all very pleasant... almost too pleasant.

"Whoa," she suddenly said, sitting up with her eyes as wide as they would currently go, a smile slowly stretching across her face as she brought a hand up to cover her mouth. She tittered and said, "I'm so sorry."

"Sorry for what?" I asked, oblivious to the half chub that had developed right into her head as she'd rested on my lap. She looked down at it and I didn't have to follow her gaze to realize what she was talking about.

I immediately slid to my side of the bed, waves of crushing embarrassment breaking upon me as I got to my feet, saying, "That's my fault. I should have controlled myself better. I'm sorry."

I was almost to her door when I heard her say, "NO! Please don't go!"

I froze with my hand on the doorknob, wanting to get away and confused as to why she would want to stop me from leaving after the awkwardness of what just happened. My erection had literally just knocked against her face while she was trying to have an innocent moment with me.

"Look at me, Greg," she said after a beat.

I continued to stare at my hand where it rested on the doorknob, wanting to escape and definitely not wanting to look her in the eye.

"P--Please look at me?" she asked more plaintively.

I dropped the hand and slowly turned in place to face her, my hands coming together in front as I clasped them over the erection.

She was trembling. "That was my fault, not y--yours," she said, a slight hitch in her voice that suggested a nervousness in the effort it was taking to talk.

"What?" I asked, thinking she was probably trying to spare me some embarrassment. I closed my eyes tight, anticipating, but not wanting to hear her say that she should have put on more clothes, or been less touchy with me.

"I--I did something that I shouldn't have, and I'm embarrassed," she said.

I realized then that something else was happening here that my stoned brain wasn't catching on to. "What do you mean?" I asked.

"I--sort of saw it," she replied as she leaned forward, then pivoted onto her knees from a crisscross sitting position, placing her hands together on the mattress, palms up and rocking forward until she'd buried her face in them.

She rocked back and forth on her knees like that, pushing her head into her palms and stretching her neck in a manner that looked uncomfortable.

Her T-shirt slid further and further forward with each rocking motion, eventually falling up to her armpits and revealing a mismatched black bra, not to mention a clear view of her two deliciously round ass cheeks that seemed to be threatening escape out each side of her currently stretched satin panties.

"Saw it?" I asked, half my brain now devoted to tracing every inch of her mostly naked shape in the mismatched black and white underwear.

"Well, the outline of it in your shorts and I don't know why but I started like... breathing warm air onto it... you know, like through the fabric of your shorts and it sort of got um, bigger, so I did it some more and it kept growing. I guess because I'm really stoned, it was sort of fascinating... then it kind of popped up and surprised me. It was wrong and I don't know what came over me, I was just enjoying how relaxed I was feeling with you and got carried away. I'm really, really sorry."

The sequence of events suddenly came into focus when her version of events

was added to my stoney recollection.

The warm, cozy sensation that had me rubbing her back instead of scratching it, had come from the no-contact, literal blowjob, she'd been giving me.

My cock stiffened further in my pants at the thought of it and then I heard her sobbing, but it was muffled by the way her face was buried into her palms.

I saw her body shaking and the combined cries unlocked my joints, moving me as if on autopilot to her side, albeit with my lap turned away.

I tried to pull her hand out from under her head, wanting to see her face.

I think she was resisting out of embarrassment initially, but it quickly started to feel like a game.

The sobbing ebbed and I thought I could hear a suppressed giggle, so I kept pulling her arm, trying to free it from the head pressing it into the mattress. Once I'd completely pulled her hand to where I was sitting, her body had contorted into an L-shape, and she was forced to abandon the untenable position.

"Fine," she said, flipping onto her back. She wiped her cheeks with the palms of her hands, her shirt now at least covering her bra, but stopping just above her naval.

She had the beginnings of a little six pack under there and I reached out and patted it without thinking.

She raised an eyebrow at me and, thinking, I said, "You've been working hard, Mom. You've got abs."

She blushed and smiled in response, but I left my hand on her tummy longer than I should have, my touch turning to a caress.

When I realized what I was doing, I quickly pulled my hand away and took a deep breath before blowing it out, realizing as I did, that I was revealing how much the contact had affected me.

With her legs bent and her knees together, she flexed her stomach, saying, "Put your hand back here. Feel this."

I hesitated but then returned my hand, slowly rubbing the smooth skin on her tight belly, caressing it slowly up and down and feeling my cock straining against my underwear.

She moaned, sounding somewhere in between pleasure and Marge Simpson.

I withdrew my hand again, chuckling nervously as she began to sway her knees towards me, knocking them into my right arm, saying, "mmmhhhm, Ugh. I made you feel uncomfortable. Please forgive me, Greg! I'm so fucked up. I don't know how you put up with me."

"I was really having a good time with you, Mom. You know, just hanging out, not because you were--"

"Me too," she chimed in, sparing me from having to finish the thought. "And then I fucked it up. I really am sorry," she added, dropping the flirty expression and forcing a serious look.

"It's fine. Can I ask you a question, though?" I replied, suddenly feeling emboldened by her confession.

She rolled her chin in and her eyebrows went up. "Of course."

"Did--" I laughed nervously as the question I'd been thinking started to come out of my mouth.

"Did what?" she said, pushing herself up onto her elbows, a look of total intrigue on her face.

I almost forgot my question. I'd not seen her look this way in... so long I couldn't remember, but it brought back some old feeling I couldn't place.

"Do you normally not wear underwear when you go out clubbing?" I asked far more casually than I'd initially intended.

There was a solid two second pause to process, and then her face flushed red.

She sat up, grabbed one of the many small pillows near the headboard and threw herself back, holding the pillow over her face as she wailed a muted cry into its stuffing.

"AGHHHHH! Oh My GOD! You saw! When you helped me into the house, you saw! I knew it!"

I chuckled, both because I'd been nervous about how she'd reply, and because, well, it was amusing to see her embarrassed.

"When you were throwing up actually," I said after her lamentations died down enough to be heard.

I couldn't remember a time when she'd been this vulnerable in front of me. Silly, sure... on occasion, she could be kind of silly, but even that felt weirdly careful. This was kind of special.

"That's when I noticed. Your dress kind of came up and, yeah. Full moon," I explained, holding my hands apart in crescent shapes that I was glad she didn't see as I'd unintentionally exaggerated the width to an unflattering degree.