No Monkey Business: Week 02

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I spent some time wandering around the small town I lived in. I hadn't really had a plan when I left the house, but once I was out I realized that my home of eighteen years was about to lose that streak. Sure I wasn't moving very far away - only a few hours drive - but I was moving. There wasn't a lot to see, but I took my time and saw it.

My little tour ended, as many of my trips into town did, at Café Esprellento. It was a great coffee shop despite its car crash of a name. It was also the only coffee shop in town, so with hindsight it might not even have been that good. But it sold hot coffee, had plenty of comfortable couches, and never asked people to move on, no matter how many hours they'd been nursing the same empty mug. I ordered the biggest coffee they sold then settled into a comfortable armchair tucked into the corner and got stuck into my book.

I'd been there for maybe an hour and was approaching the grand climax of the novel when I heard my phone's text message tone from my bag. I thought about leaving it until after I finished the book, but curiosity got the better of me and I put down the book and rummaged in my bag until I pulled out my old and slightly battered phone.

I thought the message might be from one of my friends who'd recently left for college or on other adventures. Or more likely a message to tell me I could get 10% off a pizza if I used the discount code PIZZA, with the caveat that I could discontinue such communications if for some reason I wanted to using the code STOP. As it turned out both those guesses were wrong.

"Hey hon. Where are you? x" was all the message said, and the number wasn't one in my contacts list. Still, I was pretty sure I recognised the style.

"New number, mom? x" I typed back.

"New phone! I went out and got one this morning. x"

"Nice!" I sent back. But her response begged an obvious question. Mom hardly ever used her phone, at least as far as I knew. Other than me and her parents I don't think she ever called or texted anyone. Her phone was ancient, sure, but it worked just fine. "Why?" I texted her.

"So I could do this..." came her almost immediate reply. There was then a long pause. I used the time to update mom's number in my contact list. I waited for a while longer and began to wonder if that was all mom meant to send. If I was meant to decipher her enigmatic statement then I had failed. I was just about to return to my book when my phone buzzed in my hand and a picture message appeared. From the small preview in the chat window it looked like a photo of mom's dressing table.

I opened up the picture full screen and, sure enough, it was a high resolution photo of mom's dressing table. I stared at it intently, zooming in here and there. Nothing looked different about it, certainly nothing that would explain why mom would need a new phone. And then, like a really slow Sherlock, I realised what mom was getting at. Her new phone could send photos, something her old phone would struggle to do unless she superglued a camera to it. Even then, I wasn't sure that would count.

"A camera phone! That's great! Welcome to the 21st century mom. x" I belatedly replied after my sleuthing. "Beautiful shot of your dressing table too."

"Shit, didn't mean to send that" came the reply. "Still getting hang of this thing."

I shook my head with affectionate amusement at mom. She was usually quite tech-savvy, so I could forgive this slip up. That didn't mean I wasn't going to tease her about it of course.

"So I could do THIS..." was the next message. I wondered what item of furniture I was going to get a photo of next. Or maybe the camera wasn't the point at all. Maybe I was about to get an invitation to play Cake Crush or Farmtown or whatever the kids were playing these days.

It wasn't a game invitation that came through next. Nor was it a photo of furniture. Though it was a photo, a selfie no less. I could see that from the preview. In fact I could see enough to make me nervously glance around to ensure no one else could see my phone screen. Satisfied that no one was nearby I opened up the picture full screen.

It was a photo of mom sat on her bed. Hints of her bedsheets were just visible around the sides of the photo. Most of the frame, though, was taken up by mom herself. The top of the shot started somewhere around her nose. I suspected this was an accidental semi-dismemberment as mom got used to her new gadget. At the opposite end the shot cut off just above where her pussy would be visible. And given the light hair on display and utter lack of visible underwear, I was pretty sure that her pussy would be visible.

But it was in between the two extremes that my eyes kept returning. Centre of frame was a simple black bra similar to the purple one that I'd almost cum all over the night before. Beautiful though the bra was, it was the captivating breasts that it barely contained that I couldn't take my eyes off. My cock, which clearly still held a grudge for not being given its release last night, suddenly felt uncomfortably hard in my jeans.

I don't know how long I stared at the photo for. Long enough that mom sent me another message while I was still gawking at it. I tore myself away from the picture long enough to read what she'd sent.

"You approve?"

"I absolutely do" I replied.

Mom replied with a smiling emoji, followed by: "When are you coming home?"

I didn't bother replying. I just tossed my book and phone into my bag and almost leapt out of my chair. Straight into a very large, very solid man.

"Dude!" he yelled, pointing a pair of high caliber finger guns at me.

"Sorry," I said, barely acknowledging who I'd bumped into. I only had one thing on my mind and it wasn't in that coffee shop. Or male. Or clothed.

"Steve-o, my man!" I finally took the time to look at the towering figure.

"Jeff?" I said, before belatedly adding "...o?". Jeff Bozemant was in my year at school, though we'd never really been friends. Most people said he was impossible to dislike. I just thought they weren't trying hard enough. He straddled the line between being aggressively friendly and just plain aggressive. Given his bear-like size that wasn't something to be sniffed at. "What's up?" I asked politely. Hopefully he'd say not much and ask what was up with me, I'd say not much, we'd lie that it was good to see each other, and I could be on my merry way.

"Oh man, man. So much is up with me. Why don't we grab a coffee and I'll tell you about it!" Jeff was the kind of guy who didn't really believe in question marks. They would imply that he was asking a question when in fact he was just pausing for breath in a way that made the other people feel like he was interested in them. His agnosticism about questions extended to a full on atheism when it came to answers. Exhibit A: "Hey, sweetheart! Two flat whites for me and my man here!" I'd barely opened my mouth to decline Jeff's offer when he made his order. The guy behind the counter looked about as pleased as I did about Jeff's manner, but at least he was getting money for being here. I was just getting no sex.

"Listen, Jeff," I began, hoping to nip this in the bud. "I don't really have time right now, I promised my mom I'd help her with something." I was rather proud of that excuse as it managed to be entirely true. It only occurred to me after I'd finished talking that I'd just told the self-certified Coolest Guy at my High School, as one eighteen year old man to another, that I had to run home to do chores for mommy. Still, the joke was on him as he no doubt thought it was weird that I was dashing off to help my mom with something when in fact I was dashing off to get my dick in her. Take that, Bozemant.

"Hey no problemo, Big S," he replied. Like I said, Jeff and I hadn't really interacted much at school and I started to wonder if he had been saving up nicknames for me for the past five years and was finally using this opportunity to unload them on me. "Let's make it quick!"

I groaned inwardly and prepared to make more excuses when the barista appeared at our side with our coffees. Now, I would freely admit that what I'd been doing with my mom had become more than a little addictive. For both of us, I'd dare say. But you know what else is addictive? Caffeine. And that cup of coffee was right there, small yet perfectly formed. Mom, meanwhile, was on the other side of town, at least a forty minute walk away. I reasoned that I could polish off the coffee in five minutes then head home. The extra spring in my step from the coffee would shave at least six minutes off my journey time, thus reducing the delay to hot times with my mother. It was crazy, sure, but just crazy enough to work.

"I guess I've got a few minutes," I said to Jeff, who was too busy getting settled at the table I'd just vacated to hear me.

Once I'd grabbed the coffee and sat down Jeff leaned forward and looked me in the eye. "So, S-man," he started. I gulped nervously on my coffee. Jeff had a reputation for trying to lay everyone in school, and the school had a reputation for letting him. Rumor had it that he'd succeeded with well over fifty percent of our year, and more than one of the teachers too. I wondered if he'd reached my name in the yearbook and was planning on adding me to his Sexédex. I had no particular interest in sleeping with guys so didn't rate his chances very highly if that was his plan. Of course, two weeks earlier I wouldn't have rated mom's chances of sleeping with me very highly either, which shows how much I knew.

"Are you still dating that girl?" he asked.

I gawked at Jeff for a moment, thrown by this turn the conversation had taken. "Cassie?" I finally said, as if clarifying which of my many ex-girlfriend he meant.

"Yeah, that's the one," he said, leaning back in his chair as he shot me yet again with his finger and winked with the opposite eye. I was pretty sure I'd look absolutely ridiculous if I tried to pull off that maneuver, whereas, somehow, Jeff only looked, like, semi-ridiculous.

Back to the conversation at hand, I shook my head. "No, we broke up about a month ago." I'll be honest, I'd kind of forgotten about Cassie. Here's a pro-tip: sticking your cock in your mom will have that affect, if you're ever trying to get over an ex-girlfriend.

"Cool, cool," said Jeff. "So she's single?"

"Uh, I guess so?" I said. "We haven't really spoken since then." It would occur to me later that I probably should have been mad at Jeff. Grabbing someone in a coffee shop to ask if you can bang their ex-significant-other yet isn't exactly the done thing. But with my coffee down to its last mouthful I was far too distracted to think this at the time. And Jeff has the empathic range of a cucumber so was thankfully oblivious to my unusual blasé attitude. "Do you want her number?" I asked, figuring that would definitely end this particular side quest and let me get home.

"Oh man that would be freaking awesome! man!" responded Jeff, defying the laws of grammar. I grabbed my phone from my bag and unlocked it, being careful to tilt the screen away from Jeff in case mom had sent any more entirely inappropriate photos. Unfortunately she hadn't, so I quickly found Cassie's number and shared it with Jeff.

"You are a scholar and a bro my man!" said Jeff as we concluded the transaction and he started tapping away at his phone.

"Yeah you too," I responded. I suspected that now he had Cassie's number Jeff would be far less interested in my company. "Anyway, I'd better make a move. Thanks for the coffee, Jeff."

"Anytime," he said, waving his hand vaguely in my direction as I got up and left the coffee shop. Once I was outside I pulled out my phone again and went into my messages with Cassie.

"Hey," I typed. "Jeff B just asked for your number. Gave him your old phone's number so you can dig it out if you wanna get Jeffed. x"

I started walking home once the text was sent, but kept my phone out. Cassie rarely took long to respond. Sure enough, after less than a minute a new message came through.

"Haha, thanks x" was all it said. I probably should have felt curious or jealous or something. Cassie hadn't said she wasn't going to look at Jeff's messages, but nor had she said that she was. Maybe she dug out her old phone right then and was sexting Jeff before I got home. Maybe she never responded and Jeff cursed me to his dying day for giving him the wrong number. As I prepared to leave for college I knew there would be more and more of these stories going on around me whose endings I would never know.

But whatever, philosophy could wait. My penis could not. I headed home at a rate of knots.

---

"Honey is that you?" came mom's holler as I closed the front door.

"Yeah, mom" I called back. I dropped my bag and hung my jacket up before kicking off my shoes. Our front door led straight into our living room, which took up the front half of the house. A door in the opposite corner led to an odd little space that contained the stairs and another door into our kitchen. Based on mom's yell, my acute powers of aural observation told me that she was somewhere downstairs. My equally powerful visual faculties told me she wasn't in the living room with me, so I deduced she would be in the kitchen. Columbo, eat your heart out.

The kitchen made particular sense for mom's location in space given our current location in time. It'd been late afternoon before I'd escaped Jeff and the coffee shop. Tempting though it had been to sprint back I did want to arrive home in a state other than 'sweaty gasping mess'. As a result it was now early evening, and mom was probably rustling something up for dinner.

I decided it was time to stop hypothesizing and collect some data. And so I made my way across the room and wiggled through into the kitchen. Or rather I wiggled through to the doorway into the kitchen. There I froze, all my hypotheses suddenly called into question.

There was a woman stood in front of the cooker with her back to me. Her brown hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail that dangled against her bare upper back. The rest of her upper half was covered by a strappy white tank top that clung to her body, though black bra straps visible at her shoulders told me she wasn't wearing just the tank top.

My eyes roved down to where the tank top ended and a black and white plaid mini skirt began. The skirt bloomed out over the eye catching curve of the woman's behind before coming to a halt indecently high on her thighs. Below that there was just leg, leg, and more leg, all the way down. Also feet, I guess, if we're being anatomically accurate.

For eighteen years it had just been me and my mom living in the house, and I'd like to think that if the police had a lineup of women suspected of being my mother then I'd be able to pick her out accurately ninety-nine times out of a hundred. This, clearly, was the hundredth lineup. My brain took in the woman before me and whatever synapses were supposed to recognise my mother were off having a break somewhere. I even opened my mouth, ready to apologize for barging in on this complete stranger in my kitchen. Luckily for my reputation as a reliable witness I didn't quite manage to say the words, partly because I realized that it was the stranger who had some explaining to do, not me, and partly because at that moment she glanced over her shoulder.

Have you ever successfully looked at one of those magic eye puzzles that looks like a pile of iron filings until you squint and cross your eyes, and then out of nowhere it looks like a giraffe forever more, to the point where you can't not see the giraffe no matter how hard you try? I'll assume the answer is yes. Well this was like that. On the other side of the kitchen to me was some hitherto unglimpsed stranger with an admittedly fine body. Then she looked at me and it was, predictably enough with hindsight, my mother. My brain acted as if it had known all along, noticing the way she was standing, the colour of her hair, her height and a hundred other minor details. But I knew it was bullshitting.

"Hey, sweetheart," said my mom, smiling at me before turning back to the sizzling pan in front of her. "Did you have a good day?"

"Yeah, thanks," I said, staring shamelessly at mom's body. Since her shopping trip the previous day mom seemed to have an entirely new wardrobe of clothes designed to showcase her body. If she was trying to get me worked up then I had to say her plan was a total success, as my increasingly uncomfortable jeans attested. I belatedly remembered that after mom had sent me that photo of herself in nothing but a bra I'd come straight-ish home intending to repay her for last night's teasing and ravage her on the spot. Yet here I was getting all distracted by how damn good she looked. Honestly, it was hard being me.

"I'm glad you're back," she went on, still with her back to me. "I could use some help with my new phone. Also with dinner, but I assume you'd rather play with my phone than chop carrots."

I'll be honest, I was barely listening to mom. The more I gazed at her the hornier I got. I drank in the slight shimmy of her ass as she stirred what smelled like onions in the pan. I devoured the curve of her breast just visible from my angle as her top clung to her body far tighter than her usual loose jumpers did. And speaking of tight clothing my jeans had gone from uncomfortably tight to borderline painful as my erection demanded to see whatever I was seeing. Mom was saying something about apps that I barely heard as I quietly slipped off my jeans and underwear, leaving me bottomless. I then padded across the kitchen, sneaking up on my mom like a really horny ninja.

"I tried looking on the internet, but wasn't really sure what to search for. I figured you'd- oh, hello," was mom's last comment on phones for the time being as I arrived behind her, flipped up the back of her skirt and nestled my cock between her panty-clad ass cheeks. With that taken care of I wrapped my arms around her, resting one hand on her stomach while I brought the other one up to her breasts and started squeezing one gently. Mom moaned quietly before whispering "I guess you found something you'd rather play with than my phone huh?"

I grunted something affirmative before busying my lips on mom's neck, gently kissing in small patterns under her ear. She moaned and tilted her neck giving me better access, which I made the most of. Glancing down I could see that she was still distractedly stirring the contents of the pan (the beginnings of a bolognese for those interested in that kind of thing). Even more mouth watering to me was mom's cleavage which heaved below my eyes as she breathed ever more unsteadily.

"What about dinner?" she asked, though the word dinner was more of a gasp as I dropped my hands to her ass to shove her panties down to her mid thigh. That done I returned one hand to her breast and quickly located her clit with the fingertips of my other hand.

"It can wait," I assured her as I began rocking my hips, sliding my cock up and down between her ass cheeks while my hands busied themselves on her tits and clit.

"Are you sure?" she asked. "I was just about to- to sauce," she said, sounding like someone who had no idea what they were saying. Apparently she had some idea though, as she dropped the wooden spoon she'd been stirring with and took a death grip on a waiting jar of tomato sauce. I was pretty sure this wasn't the part of the cooking process where the sauce went in so felt safe in ignoring her.

"It can wait," I whispered again into her ear before accelerating my fingertip on her clit. She groaned in response and shook against me.

"Should stop, should make dinner," she murmured, though the way she pushed back against my cock with her hips and shoved my hand on her clit further down until my fingers touched her entrance told me that she wasn't entirely serious about this. As I curled one finger into her pussy she let out a long, low moan, and grasped both her hands on the sauce jar like she was drowning and it was a life preserver.