Mom's Touch But Don't Look Policy

"We can't even go to the store to get a new one," Mom said, pouting. It was the first time I'd seen her treat our quarantine as anything but a fun adventure.

"We can order a TV off Amazon," I said. "And I think the Wal-Mart in Danbury is open. We could go tomorrow."

"No, I know," Mom said. "Honesty this isn't so bad it's just frustrating. I want to be able to see my friends, go to a play, eat at a restaurant, any of it."

I noticed she hadn't mentioned having Dad back on her list of things she was missing.

"Being stuck in the house is hard," Mom said.

"You mean with me," I said.

Mom reached over and tousled my light brown hair. It was slightly curly, and I hated it. "Honey, you're the only good thing that's come out of this stupid virus."

I smiled, despite myself.

"Darn, I was really looking forward to watching our movie tonight," Mom said.

"There's always Dad's 'man cave,'" I said, giving those last words the disdain they deserved.

Mom sucked in her breath like I'd kicked her in the shins. "Your father doesn't like me going in there," she said.

"So what?" I said, "He's not here and we want to watch our movie. What's he going to do about it, exactly?"

Mom looked at me with new eyes, like I'd said something that surprised her.

"You're right," Mom said, "Let's do this thing."

She made popcorn while I went down to the basement. Dad had set up his little sanctum really well. It was probably the nicest room in the house. Most of our furniture was old and tired, but Dad had filled his space with a fancy leather love seat, a massive 75" television, and thumping surround sound. It was a small area, not much room, but he'd turned it into his cozy hideaway.

I sat on the couch and set up the entertainment center. It was this whole complicated thing, which was probably one of the reasons that Mom treated it like a landmine. But I knew how to work it from my high school days of watching the Bruins with Dad.

I got everything going, then leaned back on the couch. Mom came down with the popcorn and sat next to me. By the nature of the furniture here, we had to sit closer. Hip to hip.

This time, we'd chosen to watch Forgetting Sarah Marshall. It was one of Mom's favorites.

"I used to watch a lot of these movies when you were young," Mom said, "It was my way of giving myself a break."

"Come on, I wasn't that bad," I said.

"You were an easy baby," Mom said, patting my leg, "But that's like saying it was an easy hike across the Sahara. Even the effortless ones feel impossible. Especially for a young girl. I was still in college when I had you. My friends were back in school, doing wild stuff. I was at home being a mom. Sure, I was twenty, but it was still hard."

"I'm sorry," I said.

"Oh, don't apologize, sweetie," Mom said, "You didn't do anything wrong. But sometimes, after I'd put you to bed and your father was already passed out, I'd rent a bunch of these movies and marathon them. I don't know, I guess it made me feel like I could be young. At least for a little bit."

"That makes sense," I said, "But I still feel bad. Like I stole your life."

"Mom leaned over and kissed me on the cheek, "Oh honey, you made my life."

We pushed play. Ten minutes later, Jason Segel was walking around with his dick flopping out. Again, Mom gave me a pointed look. Seeing those kinds of scenes with her still made me uncomfortable.

But as the movie moved on, I started to experience a different kind of discomfort. It was cold in that basement. I wrapped my arms around my chest.

"Your father always complains about the cold," Mom said, "But I can't let him bring a space heater down here because of all the other electronics. I'm worried he'll blow something out and burn the house down."

"It's fine," I said, "My fault for wearing short sleeves."

"You could get changed," Mom said.

"Nah," I said. Getting off the couch seemed like a lot of effort in that moment.

"I think there's a blanket here," Mom said. She reached over and pulled a heavy blanket from behind the couch. She put it over both our laps, then restarted the movie.

There were a few more dirty scenes. The tantric sex one, for example. Once again, my body responded. Especially under the blanket where it was comfy and warm. I felt myself stiffen at some point and it never went away.

Then we got to the scene where Sarah decides she wants Peter back and they're in the bed together. It's supposed to be an uncomfortable scene, but something about it set me off.

"Do you want my mouth?" Kristin Bell asked, and my cock tried to skyrocket through my shorts.

"I forgot about this scene," Mom mumbled to herself.

Then, for some reason, she glanced down and clearly, obviously, saw that I was pitching a tent. She made a little squeak, then quickly turned away. There was a moment of protracted silence. The sounds of the movie weirdly muted by the pounding in my chest. My head.

"It must be hard," Mom said. I nearly fell out of my seat. "That is, I mean, it must be difficult for you to be all alone with just your mom in the house. You know, no outlet for the feelings and desires that come with being a boy your age."

"Oh," I said, "Yes. Sometimes."

"It's perfectly natural," Mom said, "To have, um, urges."

I stared over at her, my eyes widening so fast I feared they'd explode. I tried to answer, but the words wouldn't come.

"I have them too," Mom said, "It's biological. And with your father not in the house. I mean, you can't see it, but sometimes I react, too."

Instinctively, I looked down at Mom's chest. Her nipples really were poking out from her white, ribbed tank top. Mom saw me looking and pulled her flannel tighter, clearing her throat.

"In any case, it's nothing to be ashamed of," Mom said.

"Thanks," I said. At some point we'd paused the movie, so I reached for the remote to turn it back on. Anything to change the subject.

"Do you need to, you know, take a break?" Mom asked.

"Mooooom!"

"I understand if you do," Mom said. She rested her hand on my leg, over the blanket. "You shouldn't feel bad about it at all."

"I'm fine," I said, my voice quavering. Mom nodded. But she kept her hand on my leg.

I pushed play on the remote and we finished the movie. When it was over, I stayed on the couch. My erection was still obvious. I knew Mom was aware of it, but I didn't want to stand up and have her see me for sure.

"Want to watch something else?" I asked.

"Sure," Mom said, "Pick something."

"I think I'm kind of movied out," I said, switching over to cable. I flipped the channels to something banal and meaningless -- some show where they redid houses -- and willed my dick to go down.

Mom sat back and sighed. She took her hand off my leg and I thought that was the end of it. Then I felt a touch on my thigh.

On my bare thigh.

Mom had slipped her hand under the blanket. I was only wearing mesh shorts, and Mom's hand was touching my skin. Lightly stroking my leg hair. I looked over at her, but she was staring forward, as if entranced by the TV show.

She slid her hand upward. On top of my shorts. Slowly tracing. Until, finally, her palm rested on my cloth-covered cock.

I froze. I didn't want to say anything, afraid it might break the spell. Mom was still watching television. If she had any idea what she was doing, touching, she didn't show it.

My breath was shallow. I couldn't focus on anything. Just Mom's warm hand on my dick. Finally, I knew I had to say something. If she'd grabbed me by accident -- it had to be an accident -- I needed to tell her.

"Mom, you're touching me," I said, "You know. Down there."

"Am I?" Mom said. For the first time she turned to look at me. She was smiling coyly. I thought she was playing around. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," I said, as if the word was synonymous with 'duh.'

"How do you know?" Mom asked, still grinning, "Can you see?"

Instinctively, I reached to lift up the blanket, but Mom forcefully held it down with her other hand.

"Nuh-uh-uh, no peeking," she said. I felt her hand move, and for a moment I was overcome with both relief and regret. All Mom did, though, was move up slightly, find the waistband of my mesh shorts, and pull them down till my dick popped free.

My mother -- the woman who'd given birth to me, raised me, cared for me my entire life -- grabbed my bare cock and squeezed.

I groaned.

"Are you OK, dear?" Mom asked, casual.

"Um, yes," I said, "Yup."

Mom loosened her grip a little, then began to stroke my dick up and down.

"You're um..."

"I'm what?" Mom asked. She didn't slow her movement one bit. If anything, she picked up speed. Playing me to perfection.

"Well, I mean." The faster Mom stroked, the less I could speak. "It feels really good."

"What does?" Mom asked.

"What you're doing," I said.

"What am I doing, exactly?" Mom asked.

Even through the increasing pleasure, I gave my mother an incredulous look.

"Tell me what you think is going on," Mom said.

"You're um, well, you're stroking me off," I said.

"Perhaps," Mom said, "But unless we look, we truly can't know for sure. Can we?"

"Oh God," I said. Mom was milking my dick like a master. With Cassie, a hand job took a long time, and I'd have to stop her a few times and correct her motion. My Mom had me near completion in moments.

"Oh. Oh. Oh." I wasn't used to making noises during sex, but Mom was dragging them out of me. "Mom, I'm getting..."

My mother shushed me. She met my eyes. And in that moment, with my mother looking right at me, I came in her hand.

"Ohhhhhhh fuck," I said, my semen spilling out of me. The ecstasy sharper than I'd ever experienced. Finally, I softened, sticky in Mom's palm.

"Thanks," I said, stupidly, sinking back into the couch.

"For what?" Mom asked, again looking at me like I was the odd one.

A moment later, she got up to go to bed.

*

The next morning, I woke up on Dad's couch. I didn't remember falling asleep there. But I definitely recalled what had happened the night before.

I made my way upstairs, feeling like I was on a strange walk of shame. I told myself that what I remembered couldn't have happened. After I got changed, I went out for my first morning run of quarantine. Mom was already in the driveway, stretching.

I froze, anticipating an awkward conversation. Instead, Mom said nothing. She just nodded her chin at me. Maybe I really did dream the day before.

We went for a short, one-mile loop around the neighborhood. I knew I needed to do more, but even after that little distance I was already breathing hard. Amazing how quickly the body can let go if you let it. Besides, I was still bamboozled by what had happened and Mom's seemingly unfazed attitude about it.

We got home and I showered in the hall bathroom, lost in myself. When I went downstairs, I found Mom humming to herself and making breakfast, like always. I sat down to a mug of steaming coffee and a small stack of pancakes. For half the meal, I waited for Mom to say something, but she acted like everything was normal. Finally, I had to speak up.

"Mom, about last night," I said.

"What happened last night?" Mom asked. She looked down at her phone, distracted.

"When we were watching the movie," I said, "When you were. When I..."

"I told you honey, it's perfectly natural to react that way," Mom said. She got up and started to clear the table.

I spent the rest of the day in a cloud of confusion. I considered every crazy option I could. Maybe Mom had been drunk. Though I knew she hadn't had any alcohol. Perhaps Mom had gone temporarily insane? Or maybe I had accidentally hypnotized her in some way. Could aliens have possessed her for one five-minute period? And made her give me a handjob? For some reason?

It was all ridiculous. But were any of my theories any stranger than the fact that my own mother had stroked me off while watching TV and then pretended that nothing had happened?

Once again, after we finished dinner, we went downstairs to watch a movie. I sat on the couch and discovered, to my dismay, that I was already hard. Apparently, my body was prepped. The handjob had only happened once, but already I was conditioned to expect it. Pavlov would have had me drooling in an afternoon.

My dick stuck up like it was a divining rod. And I knew exactly where it wanted me to head. I grabbed the blanket to cover myself as Mom made her way downstairs, hoping she wouldn't see.

Mom chose Knocked Up because, of course, then sat down next to me on the couch. My erection went from stiff to raging as Mom's hips pressed against mine. I noticed she had both her hands under the blanket.

"Ready to go, kiddo?" Mom asked.

I turned on the movie. Almost immediately, I felt Mom's warm palm touch my bare leg. There was no pretense this time. She went straight for my shorts and pulled them down. Then she grabbed my hard cock.

"Mom," I said.

"What dear?" Mom asked.

"You're doing it," I said, "Again."

"Are you sure?" Mom asked, a mirror of the night before.

"Pretty sure," I said.

"Really," Mom said. She pulled her hands out so I could see them. Her wedding ring glinted in the basement lights. "You're super sure about that? Because I want to make certain we understand each other. This thing you say is happening, does it feel good?"

I had to concede that it did. It felt amazing.

"Good," Mom said, "But here's the thing. If I was doing what you say, that would be wrong. Moms aren't supposed to do those kinds of things with their sons. So, I would have to stop.

"But if you don't know what I'm doing. If neither of us is certain, then who's to say what's going on? It might be nothing at all. And that amazing thing you like so much can keep happening."

My mother smiled at me, a little twinkle in her bright blue eyes. Did I tell you my mom was beautiful? She was fricking gorgeous.

"If it's under the blanket," I said, "Then it's OK."

Mom tilted her head slightly, like she hoped it would help me think harder.

"Because this thing that I'm feeling could be anything," I said, "I'd have to look to be sure."

"You would," Mom said.

"And I just don't have the energy to do that right now," I said.

Mom grinned at me. "Good call," she said. She slid her hands back under the blanket. As soon as I pushed play on the movie, Mom grabbed my cock once again.

"Oh, Mom," I groaned.

"Now, if nothing is happening, we shouldn't be making noises," Mom said. "Right?"

I nodded, already completely under control of the hand that was tightly gripping my cock.

Mom worked me up and down, languid. Unlike the previous day's urgency, my mother took her time, gradually teasing and building as we watched TV together.

"You're not doing me like a dog," Kathryn Heigl said.

"Doggy actually feels really good," Mom muttered to herself, idly.

A few moments later, she increased the speed of her strokes. I choked out a little groan, doing my best to keep it under control as Mom had told me. I reached my peak a moment later, gritting my teeth to keep my moans from slipping out. My seed seeped warm over Mom's fingers.

"Can you pause the movie for a moment?" Mom asked. "I seem to have gotten something on my hand."

"Probably moisturizer," I said. Mom smiled at me. She seemed so happy now that I was playing along.

"Probably," she said, then got up to go to the bathroom.

*

I woke up early the next morning, in my own bed this time, and got dressed for a run. Again, my mother was waiting for me. We went outside and started to jog through the neighborhood. Spring was in full force, plants budding, the ground wet with morning dew. The streets, though, were strangely empty. Everyone was inside. It was weird. Like we'd stepped into some post-apocalyptic place.

Mom caught up to me. She was wearing tight, black leggings and a blue tank top. Her golden hair was up in a ponytail.

"You're giving me quite the workout," Mom said between pants.

"Coach will kill me if I'm not in shape when we go back," I said.

"Well, do what you need. Your old Mom will just have to do her best."

"Mom, you need to stop saying you're old, OK? You're young, your body is in fantastic shape, you're super beautiful, and..."

"Super beautiful, huh?" Mom said. Both of us started to blush. Rather than respond, I picked up the pace.

When we got home, I showered in the hall bathroom while Mom cleaned up in the master. Then we both met up for breakfast. Mom had poured out granola for both of us, and we crunched in silence.

"You know I didn't think it was possible, but I think I'm done with raunchy comedies," Mom said, "At least for now."

"Oh," I said. I looked down at my bowl. Of course this was going to happen. Mom wasn't going to jerk me off every night till the end of the quarantine. It was silly of me to expect it. Especially after I'd slipped up and told her I found her attractive.

"We should start watching other stuff," Mom said.

"Oh!" I said, "That sounds good."

"Good," Mom said. And I swore she shot me a little wink as she went back to eating.

After dinner that night, I came downstairs to find Mom was already waiting for me, sitting under the blanket on the couch.

"Boogie Nights?" I asked, looking up at the screen.

"Trust me," Mom said.

I pushed play. It wasn't long until both of us were clearly worked up by what was going on. Sure enough, Mom reached over and put her hand on my bare leg. A moment later, it was my bare cock that she was holding, instead.

"Jay?" Mom asked, pausing the movie and looking over at me.

"What's up?" I asked, trying to sound normal while the woman who gave me life was giving me the handjob of my life.

"Well, hmmm, I don't know exactly how to say this," Mom said, "It just, well, it seems to me that if something could be happening to you under the blanket..."

"Which it might," I said.

"Or might not," Mom said.

"Right," I said.

"But if it were," Mom said, "Then it's also possible, though not for sure, that something might also be happening to me. Under the blanket. Not that I would know for sure, of course."

My eyes widened as I realized what Mom was getting at.

"Theoretically of course," Mom said, "Well, anyway. Something for the philosophers I suppose."

Mom reached for the remote and clicked play. I waited a moment, mostly trying to overcome the shock that was currently overwhelming me. Mom was still holding my dick, but she wasn't moving.

Then, when I saw she was intent on the movie, I slid my hand under the covers. I gasped as I touched her warm, bare thigh.

"You OK, honey?" Mom asked.

"Just fine," I said. I'd expected Mom's usual jeans, but she clearly wasn't wearing them. I moved my hand up further, feeling her creamy skin under my fingertips. I expected to hit the hem of shorts, but those weren't there either. This time, I managed to repress my surprise.

Was Mom completely naked below the waist?! I moved my hand up further and found that, no, she was wearing panties. But that was all. Only one thin layer of sheer cloth was between me and the very canal that had once birthed me.

I touched the gusset of her underwear. They were dripping wet and warm. The movie was completely gone for me. In fact, I was so focused on feeling my mother's most private place, I nearly lost track of her hand on my cock.

Gently, I began to probe at Mom's center with my fingers.

"Hm," Mom said.

"Movie's good," I said.

"Oh yes," Mom said. I have to admit, I was enjoying turning the tables on her. Feeling Mom's pussy through her panties was nice, but I knew I had to risk going further. I'd never forgive myself if I let the chance go.

I pulled Mom's panties aside and felt her bare vulva for the first time. Her nether lips were full and open. Her pussy practically had a welcome mat setup outside for how open and exposed she was. Mom wasn't kidding about being aroused.