Mom's Touch But Don't Look Policy

Something a little different this time. Also, very much the same. Everyone in this story is over the age of 18. Enjoy!

All in succession, my perfectly crafted life collapsed.

First, the coronavirus hit and closed my college. Then they instituted shelter-at-home. I found myself trapped in the house, with no one else around except my mom.

The last straw came a few days after that. I was finally getting settled back into my boyhood bedroom when I got a call from Cassie, my college girlfriend. She wanted to FaceTime, and I assumed it was time for our inaugural session of hot and heavy virtual sex. I took off my pants, then turned on the screen.

Cassie was there, but she was fully dressed and looking glum.

"I just can't do it," she said, "If we're apart like this, I don't know how we can stay together." The pretty brunette did look upset, at least. Even if her logic made little sense. Everyone was stuck inside. It's not like we were in a long-distance relationship where I could be out dating, and she would never know. I was home with my mom, for fuck's sake.

"I can't," Cassie repeated, "I'm sorry. When it's over, when we're back in school, we can try again."

She clicked off the screen. I pulled my jeans back on, sheepish and sad. Cassie and I had been dating for nearly six months. I didn't think I was going to marry the girl, but I didn't see us breaking up anytime soon, either. Having her dump me out of nowhere like that left me feeling low.

That night at dinner, I barely had any appetite. I pushed my food around my plate like a lazy cat chasing after a mouse. Never quite getting to the kill.

"What's wrong?" Mom asked. I turned her way, and, for a moment, I got caught in her huge, blue eyes.

I could admit my mom was very pretty. She had honey blonde hair and a warm, sunny face. Her tomboy-esque outfits -- she always wore flannel shirts with white, ribbed tank tops and high-waisted Mom jeans -- only made her look cuter.

My high school friends had all foundered after her. I knew that at least two of the guys in our group had only hung out with me because it meant they got glances of my mom. Even some of the dates I'd brought home had faltered when they saw my mother.

"I'm fine," I said, the standard evasive answer.

"Come on, talk to me," Mom said, "You used to confide in me all the time, you know."

That was true. Mom and I had been quite close when I was younger. We both loved reading books and seeing plays. She would take me to do errands and taught me to sew and cook. Mom had been my constant companion.

Everything changed when I turned 13. Mom became distant and removed. When I tried to hug her or show her affection, she would flinch like I was about to fight her. We stopped spending time together. Gave up going out as Mom and son. I ended up hanging out with my dad through most of high school, which came with its own unique set of issues.

Not that Mom was mean or cruel. Just detached. It's why I had wanted to leave for college so quickly after high school, and one of the reasons I had been dreading my corona-caused return home.

"Seriously, Jay, what's wrong?" Mom asked me again.

Instinctively, I looked over to where Dad would usually be sitting with us at our small, round kitchen table. I was used to him interceding on my behalf. Unfortunately, Dad had been travelling overseas when the virus hit and wasn't coming home anytime soon. I was on my own.

Mom put her hand on mine, pulling me back to the moment. The truth was, I wanted to tell someone. Needed to. And, with no one else around, I guess it was easier for Mom to pry things out of me.

"Cassie and I broke up," I said, barely even a mumble.

"What happened?" Mom asked.

Again, the words caught in my throat before spilling over. "She said she didn't think we could be together through quarantine," I said.

"Well, that's fucking stupid," Mom said.

I startled. I wasn't used to Mom taking my side, and I really wasn't used to hearing her curse.

Mom saw the look on my face, realized what she'd said, and blushed. "Sorry, your old mother still has a little fire left in her, I guess."

"You're not old, Mom," I said, reflexive. A smile snuck onto Mom's lips. She quickly turned away.

I wasn't just being polite. Mom was only 38 and she could have easily passed for late twenties. She and Dad had me when they were both twenty. I was a college mishap (during the final performance of the university's spring play, Mom would say wistfully, like that was a detail I needed to know). While I'm sure it was hard for them at the time to have a child, it seemed like there were also a lot of benefits to being a decade younger than anyone else with a kid my age.

"Anyway," Mom continued, "I'm sorry about what happened with you and Kelly."

"Cassie," I said.

"Right," Mom said, "But if she's that superficial, she's doing you a favor. You deserve someone way better."

Now it was my turn to blush. Like I said, I wasn't used to getting compliments from Mom.

After dinner, I helped Mom clear the table and do the dishes. We stood in front of the sink, her arms elbow-deep in soapy water, while I held the tiny dish towel to dry. At one point, our hips bumped, and I glanced over at Mom's body.

Like I said, I was her son. I didn't have a 'thing' for my mom. But that didn't mean I couldn't see her for what she was: a thoroughly gorgeous woman with a sweet face and a hot, tight body. I guess, in that way, it's like appreciating a painting at the MFA. I can admit that something is beautiful without needing to break in and take it home with me.

Mom saw me looking and, pointedly, stepped away. She gave my shoulder a playful shove.

"Eyes on your own paper, mister," Mom said with a grin.

"Moooom," I said, the stereotypical small boy whine, "I wasn't."

"I'm just teasing," Mom said, "Besides, I know you're a single man now, but that's no reason to start lowering your standards."

"Mom, I would be lucky to be with you. I mean, a woman who looked like you. I mean..."

Mom put her hand on my shoulder to stop me. She was smiling so wide, it looked like the corners of her mouth could reach her earlobes. Her white, straight teeth were practically shining in the thin light of the kitchen.

"It's OK," she said, "I understand and appreciate the compliment. It's sweet. Especially coming from such a ladykiller like yourself."

For a moment, I thought Mom was saying something about how I treated women and I got defensive. "I'm not like that," I snapped.

"No, no," Mom said, "I'm sorry. That wasn't what I meant at all. Girls like you. I see them checking you out. The way your high school girlfriends would fall all over you."

"Oh," I said.

I tried to picture what Mom meant but I couldn't see it. I'd had a few girlfriends in high school, nothing serious. Had they been swooning? I didn't think so. And Cassie?

Suddenly it all came crashing back to me and this stopped being fun. I finished putting away the dishes and turned away from the sink.

"I know you're down, Jay," Mom said, "But, trust me, you'll find someone who's worth your time."

"Thanks," I said, still feeling dejected.

"How about we watch a movie tonight to cheer you up," she said, "Something silly."

Given the choice between watching something dumb on TV with Mom or sitting in my room by myself and moping, it was an easy decision.

*

Mom made a big bowl of popcorn and we sat on the living room couch. She clicked on the TV and scrolled through the options. With Dad, watching TV was easy: we just chose hockey. And if hockey wasn't on, we watched recordings of hockey. Easy peasy. Mom was way pickier.

But when she found Bridesmaids in the menu, she stopped. My mother was not a very 'outward' woman. She was not one of those people going to wild parties, even when she was younger. She'd been a drama geek in college and, as she explained it, was probably the last person you'd think would end up accidentally pregnant.

Mom didn't wear revealing clothes. She liked safe music that I would describe as 'Mom Rock.' She rarely ever cursed. Her one secret was that she loved, loved, raunchy comedies. It was like finding out your pastor was a huge metalhead or that grandma was a grand champion at League of Legends. It was completely out of character, but that didn't make it any less Mom.

"What do you say?" Mom asked. Honestly, it seemed perfect for the mood I was in. I agreed, and Mom clicked play.

I'd seen the movie a few times, but I still found myself getting into it. When we got to the classic bathroom scene, Mom and I laughed so hard that tears rolled down our cheeks. We watched the rest of the movie, both lying back like we were in physical pain from our hysterics.

"See, don't you feel better?" Mom asked as she clicked off the TV. I had to concede that I did.

*

The next morning, however, the blues slipped back into my brain. I spent most of my day in bed, unsure of what Mom was up to. To her credit, she left me be. I think she understood that I needed some mourning time.

At the end of the day, she knocked on my door. I'd been lying around in boxers all day, so I scrambled to pull my shirt on. Mom came in while I was still getting dressed. She started to speak, then stuttered.

"Hi, I was..." Mom froze, staring at my chest.

I'd been playing hockey since freshman year of high school. It was Dad's thing, so I practically had to join up. The fact that Mom hated me playing was just an added benefit at the time.

I wasn't a world beater at hockey, but I was good enough to get a scholarship. I knew I wasn't going to be a star -- I was on the third line at a two-star program -- but whatever. It was D1 and a free education and I was going to make the most of that. Plus, I figured I'd end up with lots of cool stories about getting checked into the boards by some future NHL stars.

In any case, hockey is a full body sport. It's not like baseball where you can have a big gut and still hit 98 on the radar gun. Skating gets your legs in incredible shape, but you need upper body strength, too. And playing in college had taken me to a whole new level. I hadn't even had a full year of training, but I was already in the best shape of my life.

I guess I was pretty cut, is what I'm saying. And Mom noticed. She stayed stuck in place, staring at me half-shirtless. I knew that Mom didn't want to see her son naked, but I didn't realize she'd be that upset.

"Sorry," I said, sheepish, and finished pulling down my shirt.

"It's fine," Mom said, "Just warn me next time."

Again, I apologized. "So, what's up?"

"I wanted to see how you're doing," Mom said.

"Oh. I'm OK," I said. I flopped back down on the bed.

"Sure you are," Mom said, a smirk sneaking across her face. "I was thinking I could make dinner and we could watch another movie."

I looked back at my bed. All I wanted to do was crawl under the covers. But I heard my stomach growl, and I knew I needed to eat.

I went downstairs and helped Mom make dinner. It had been a long time since we worked on a project together like that and it was fun. Like having an old friend back.

After we ate, again, we stood over the sink and washed the dishes. At one point, I dropped a big serving dish in the soapy water, and it splashed up, soaking Mom's chest. I looked over and saw a bit of her tit through her wet, white tank top. Mom wasn't huge chested. She had nice-sized breasts. Honestly, I hadn't thought about them until that moment. Now, they were all I could see.

Mom looked over at me staring, then down at her chest. She frowned.

"Sorry," I said.

Mom's mouth twisted. "I'll go change," she said, "Next time be more careful, OK?"

Mom came back in a long, lime green sleep shirt that went down to her knees. For a moment, the thought that she might not be wearing underwear under that outfit slipped into my mind, unbidden. What was wrong with me? Back home for less than a month and I was already going full pervert? Mom wasn't a sexual being, she was my mother. But something about that shapeless, long shirt was totally arousing. I can't explain exactly why.

When we finished the dishes, we went back to the couch and Mom picked out another over-the- top comedy. This time, she went for an old one called Airplane.

"Your grandmother used to love this one," Mom said.

Almost immediately, I realized that Grandma was a very different woman than I'd realized. Airplane was filthy. Full of dirty, inappropriate humor. I'd thought the world was getting more liberal, but that movie had bits in it that no one would dare perform in 2020.

Then there were the sex jokes. At one point, a topless woman showed up on screen for no reason, breasts flying around. I looked over at Mom and she shrugged like it was nothing. Another scene was an extended blowjob gag where Julie Hagerty had to give oral to the autopilot balloon to keep it inflated. Mom giggled like crazy through the whole scene.

Again, I had to recalibrate my thinking. I knew Mom had sex. Duh, she had me. But the idea that Mom could find oral sex funny implied that she performed oral sex and that kind of blew my brain. Rationally, of course, these revelations were stupid. But some part of me hadn't ever processed the idea, quite the opposite, and the reshuffle left me rustled.

When the movie was over, again, Mom and I were lying back on the couch all laughed out. Once again, I went to bed feeling way better.

The next few days, we found ourselves falling into a routine. Most of the day, we kept to ourselves. I stayed in my room playing videogames and attending virtual classes. Mom did Mom stuff. Mostly gardening or cleaning the house. It's not like she could even go out shopping (we had the groceries delivered to our door). Around 4pm, we'd come out of our respective corners, make ourselves a nice meal, and finish off with a racy comedy.

After Airplane, we stayed old school for a while and watched Mel Brooks movies: Young Frankenstein, Blazing Saddles, History of World Part I, and Spaceballs. Then we moved back into the Abrams Zucker Abrams oeuvre and watched all three Naked Guns.

With the classics out of the way, we shifted to more modern stuff, starting with 40-Year-Old Virgin. This time, when Steve Carrell was walking back and forth with an unflagging erection, it was Mom's turn to give me a funny look. But I didn't say anything. For a movie about having sex, the film wasn't super sexual overall.

The next film we chose, however, was the one that got us in trouble. Actually, it was the whole damn day.

I was settling in for another session of hardcore gaming when Mom knocked on my door. I was in my underwear, and this time, I knew to warn Mom that I wasn't decent. I pulled on some clothes and opened the door. Despite the fact that I was fully dressed, Mom ran her eyes from my feet to my face. She seemed let down, almost like she'd been hoping to catch me half-clothed. Or maybe it was just my outfit. Yes, that made way more sense.

"What are you up to?" Mom asked.

I gestured at my PS4 like it was obvious.

"I'm thinking about painting my nails," Mom said.

"OK." I looked at her fingers and they seemed fine. Honestly, I wasn't sure why she was telling me this.

"I can do my hands OK, but then I can't touch anything for a while till they dry."

"You want me to make lunch?" I asked.

"Sure," Mom said, "But I was also hoping to paint my toenails and it's way easier to have someone else do that for me."

"You want me to paint your toenails," I repeated back to her.

"It's not that girlie," Mom said, "Think of is as practice. Your girlfriends will love it if you can do that for them."

I thought that was a bit of stretch, but whatever. It was early spring, but the day was remarkably warm, so we went out to the backyard. Mom set up on a lounge chair and proceeded to paint her fingernails a deep purple. I sat back and chatted with her while she worked.

We talked about school and hockey. For someone who hated sports, Mom sure knew a lot about the game.

"I took you to almost every practice and game, hon," Mom said. I guess she had.

Dad loved me playing hockey and was happy to watch games with me. In most other ways though, he was pretty damn distant. Some of it was work, he was always travelling for some thing or another. Really, we shouldn't have been so surprised that he was caught on another continent when corona hit.

Even when he was home though, Dad wasn't the most supportive person in my life. His idea of a rousing pep talk was a slight grunt and then pointing to the TV to remind me that I was interrupting. He'd never been mean to Mom, exactly. But I'd never seen him be all that affectionate, either. Dad was just... Dad. A weird silent creature that, somehow, had been my safe harbor when my relationship with Mom went rocky for whatever reason.

So, now that I thought about it, of course it had been Mom who was taking me to practices and showing up at games. Because we'd been so cold with each other, I guess it never registered in the moment.

When she was done with her nails, Mom held them up so I could see.

"Very nice," I said, not knowing what else to say.

"Thank you," Mom said, looking gratified. She wiggled her toes at me.

"Same color?" I asked.

"Sure," Mom said.

I took the bottle of purple nail polish, then held Mom's bare, petite foot in my lap. I'm not a foot guy, but Mom's tootsies were quite cute. Worse, she rested them right in my crotch. My dick didn't know it was my mother. Instead, it just felt the bare foot of a beautiful woman hovering above it and decided to activate in full.

I did my best to ignore my aching dick, hoping it would go down. But as I began to paint my mother's cute, tiny toes, I felt myself grow even harder.

Mom took back her first foot. She gave me her second. And that's when her heel clearly, unequivocally, grazed my shaft.

"Oh," Mom said, and for a moment I feared she was about to pitch a fit. But then she settled in her seat, ignoring that the contact had ever happened. I set about doing her nails like it was nothing.

"Do you want me to do yours?" Mom asked when I was finished. I couldn't tell if she was kidding or not.

"Uh, that's OK," I said, waving her off.

I got up to go make lunch. We stayed outside in the fresh air and ate our sandwiches. By then, Mom's hands were dry, and she was able to get back to her day. But when I went upstairs to my bedroom, the idea of staying in there seemed boring.

"I think I'm going to take a walk," I told my mom, "We can do that, right? The cops aren't going to hunt me down for leaving the house?"

"I think you'll be fine, honey," Mom said, "Do you want me to come with you?"

"Up to you," I said.

Mom nodded and went back to folding laundry. As I went around the block, I could feel how out of shape I was. Coach would kill me if came back to school like this. I couldn't go to a gym, and we didn't have weights in the house, but I knew I needed to at least be running. It was early enough in the year that I thought there might be a hockey season when we got back. I know, I was a bit naive.

When I came home, I showered and helped Mom make dinner. As we ate, I told her my plan to wake up early and start running.

"That sounds nice," she said, "Would you mind if I joined you? Your old Mom needs to lose all this fat." She pinched her side for emphasis.

"Mom, you're not... You're perfect, OK?" I said, "Truly."

"Tell your father," Mom muttered.

After we cleaned up, Mom went to set up the TV. She pushed the remote, but nothing happened.

"Hmph," she said, frustrated. I did the mansplaining thing and took the remote but, to my embarrassment, I wasn't able to get the damn thing working, either. We spent the next half hour messing around with the electronics, looking on the Internet for solutions, the whole thing. As far as we could tell, the relatively new television had just up and died.