Shepherd's Pie

"Really Mom, stop," I said, assuming the latter. "I don't think we should talk about this anymore."

"Okay, fine," she said. "I wasn't trying to make you uncomfortable. Just tell me one thing. Which part of a woman's body do you like most? Wait, let me guess, you're a leg man, right?"

Now she was pushing it. My best option was to push back.

"Yes, Mom, I'm a leg man," I answered flatly. "There, I said it. Can we drop it now?"

To my amazement, she didn't stop there.

"With or without pantyhose?" she said, pushing me to my wit's end. By then, I was jerking off so hard if she hadn't already gathered the state I was in, she was only seconds from figuring it out.

"Definitely with pantyhose," I said. "Now seriously, stop it. I can't take this anymore."

"So you're really into pantyhose," she said. "I guess that makes sense, considering how often I wear them. I suppose it's good that I found out. Maybe we should reconsider this whole idea. It's bad enough you can't find a girlfriend. I'd hate to do anything that makes you feel even more frustrated."

"Look Mom, for the last time," I said, starting to lose it. "If I really wanted a girlfriend, I'd get one."

"Oh, really?" she said. "And when will that be? When I've already got one foot in the grave? Seriously, Chris, I'm worried about you, especially with this pantyhose fetish I'm just now hearing about. You know I wear them all the time. I certainly don't want you having sexual thoughts about me. Surely, I don't have to tell you how inappropriate that would be."

Of course she didn't. I'd known all along how inappropriate it was. In that moment, I honestly didn't care. By then, I was pummeling my cock with a vengeance, bent on ruining her pantyhose no matter what, dying to soak every thread with a massive wad of thick greasy spunk, purely out of spite.

I closed my eyes, instantly reliving the indelible memories that triggered my fetish in the first place.

I vividly pictured Mom strolling through the house wearing see-through pantyhose with no skirt on. I could see her returning from work in her black fuck-me pumps, the stale odor of damp, sweaty nylon spreading through the air as she took off her shoes and asked me to rub her swollen feet. I could even picture the way she smiled as she walked down the street, hips switching from side to side, pretending not to love how men spun toward the sound of her spiked heels clicking on the sidewalk, only to come home, peel off her pantyhose and carelessly toss them in the hamper, leaving them for me to salvage, as I secretly pulled them out, slid my tongue over the wet spot, and deeply inhaled her strong, musky scent.

My lurid memories pushed me right over the edge. With each violent spurt, I was forced to stifle my urge to groan, watching jets of semen blast into the air, surging from the head of my cock, splattering down, drenching the nylon around my hand, while my mother patiently waited on the other end, with no idea what was happening as I lied there shamelessly enjoying my reckless act, her pantyhose swimming in a pool of cum.

Finally, I managed to collect myself, leading with a heavy sigh.

"Look Mom, I'm sorry," I answered wearily. "You asked me to be honest. I wasn't trying to upset you. Maybe we should just hang up now."

"No," she said, softening her tone. "Don't hang up. I know you were just being honest. I realize that's how I raised you. But before we make such an important decision, I think you should tell me everything. Tell me the truth, Chris. Have you ever fantasized about me?"

As soon as she asked, I instantly knew that I was stuck. On the one hand, by saying no, she'd most likely sense that I was lying, which would only make her angry and potentially spoil any chance of us moving back in together. On the other hand, telling the truth would most likely freak her out so much that she might not speak to me again for months, and that was even worse.

Normally, in situations like this, where I wasn't exactly sure what to do, the first thing I usually did was try to imagine what Mom would do if she was in my position. That's when it hit me that the best way to answer her question was to turn it around and ask her a question of my own.

"I'll be honest," I said, pausing before slyly attempting to redirect. "But first I'd like to hear what you think?"

"What I think?" she said, pausing for a short breath. "I think that all that porn you've been watching is starting to mess with your head. I think if we're going to live together, then you have to promise to find a girlfriend and start living in the real world. Can you do that?"

"Sure Mom, I can do that."

"Good," she said. "I'll see you in the morning. And don't forget to bring back my pantyhose."

* * *

The next morning, Mom showed up right on schedule, in a form-fitting, black, V-neck sweater, fairly low cut, with her first initial, L for Lauren, dangling from a silver necklace which failed to keep me from noticing the cleavage swelling over her plunging neckline. Her blue skinny jeans sat low on her shapely hips, hugging every curve under skin-tight denim, leading down, just as promised, to her brand new, high-heeled, black leather sandals, with thin straps spanning over her naked feet.

Looking down at the cuff of her jeans, the first thing I noticed was the disturbing absence of pantyhose I'd been expecting. Naturally, I was disappointed, especially after spending my whole night tossing and turning in anticipation of seeing them the next morning.

My first instinct was to say something about it. Then, I remembered how concerned she was talking about my fetish. So the last thing I wanted to do was call any undue attention to it right away.

We stood there enjoying a warm hug, when my roommate, Jimmy, promptly emerged from his room. The grin on his face told me he liked what he saw, as Mom reached over and greeted him with a polite handshake. For a few minutes, she and Jimmy stood there making small talk, until Mom finally excused herself, turning to ask if she could speak to me in my room.

I led her back to my bedroom and there she explained that she'd accidentally put a run in her last pair of pantyhose with a sheer heel and toe. Fortunately, I'd remembered to rinse out the pair I'd taken from her dresser. So I promptly fished them from the pile of laundry thrown on my bed and handed them right over. She then asked if I would give her a moment to put them on. So I quickly stepped out and waited for her out in the hallway.

She must have been hurrying too much to realize that I'd purposely left the door slightly ajar. I stood there peering through the narrow crack, knowing it was wrong, yet still unable to tear my eyes from watching her undress.

With her back turned, I stood there watching as she reached down and pulled off one shoe at a time, enjoying the lovely sight of denim smothering her tight round butt. I then heard the sound as she yanked down her zipper, then continued watching as her hands went up to her sides. She hooked her thumbs into the narrow waistband and promptly began squirming and wiggling her hips side to side. I fully expected to see panties, or at least a G-string, resisting the urge to gasp as she peeled down the jeans, revealing her naked ass. My dick instantly started to swell. Then she bent over, folding at the waist, presenting me with a clear view of her outer pussy lips, smooth, pink, and fully-shaved.

I worried that Jimmy would walk by and see me standing there at any moment. Still, my incredible fortune was too good to pass up, as I stood there watching and waiting to see even more.

I gulped with anticipation as she wisely removed the jewelry from her fingers, then reached over and lifted her pantyhose off the bed. Within seconds, her nimble fingers rolled up the first leg. She then lifted her left foot, then reached down and slid the ring of nylon over her sharply pointed toes. She then carefully slid the delicate fabric up to her slightly bended knee. She set down her left foot, then steadily raised the other, pointing her toes once again as she slowly eased her right foot inside the opposite sleeve, leaving me breathless as she patiently slid the pantyhose over her knees, drawing the nylon inch by inch over her supple thighs, and finally squirming to squeeze her shapely hips under the straining waistband, making one final adjustment to line up the stitching along her narrow butt crack, where her high-toned asscheeks, under a wondrous layer of tan, glossy, sheer-to-waist pantyhose, shimmered like a pair of half-moons.

I could have stood there watching forever, but my instincts told me to quit while I was ahead, knowing she could turn around and catch me at any moment.

I went back to the living room to find Jimmy rolling a joint, which I'd come to expect as part of his morning routine. The night before, he and I had sat down for a long talk where I'd delicately broken the news to him that I was moving out. To my surprise, Jimmy took it in stride, explaining that he had already been planning to move in with his girlfriend in a few weeks anyway. Fortunately, there were no hard feelings between us, especially when I stopped to consider who my new roommate was soon to be.

Moments later, my lovely mother finally returned from my room, smiling cheerfully, as I looked down grinning over the sight of pantyhose covering her pretty feet. I promptly turned and hurried toward the door, hoping to shield my raging hard-on from her view. We left my apartment and set out to find our new place, quickly escaping so Mom could avoid Jimmy staring at her ass, and practically cumming in his pants.

We made our way down to the car, where Mom got in behind the wheel and turned on the local eighties station. The song on the radio thankfully managed to calm my erection as I road beside her, shifting my focus toward the highly ironic lyrics.

"Every little thing she does is a magic. Everything she do just turns me on..."

We then proceeded to spend the next couple of hours going from one ugly, over-priced apartment to another, before finally stopping at a newly-renovated, second floor walk-up, on a quiet, tree-lined street in Roslindale.

The house was owned by a young, newlywed couple named Joel and Cynthia, who conveniently lived on the first floor. Joel was a successful contractor in the city. Cynthia was a former nurse turned stay-at-home mom who'd recently given birth to their first child. Looking at Cynthia, it was pretty obvious she'd just had a baby, judging by the size of her enormous tits which seemed to account for nearly half her body weight, especially considering how short she was. If I had to guess, I would have said she was easily a G-cup...With a capital G, as in "Goddamn, those are some big tits!"

Compared to Mom, Cynthia was easily three or four inches shorter, as I stood at Mom's side and watched them converse with each other, instantly hitting it off, smiling and hugging like long lost friends when they quickly discovered that Cynthia had graduated from the same high school as my mother, only eight years later.

Cynthia led us up to see the apartment and we couldn't believe our eyes. The place had literally everything we wanted, high ceilings, hardwood floors, with tons of space, including a large eat-in kitchen. As we walked in, on the left was a combination dining and living room area, divided by sliding double doors. On the right was a small office, a small guest bathroom, then the kitchen, followed by a small storage space, with a door to the back porch, and stairs leading up to the attic. The attic had been completely remodeled for new tenants, with two bedrooms, and a large master bath.

Mom and I signed the lease in a matter of days, agreeing to move in by October 1st.

The move itself went fairly smooth. Mom hired movers to handle all the big furniture. Then, on Sunday the 30th, we rented a U-Haul, loaded up everything else, and got it all moved in within a few hours. Sometime around noon, Mom figured I was probably hungry and realized we had no food. I offered to start unpacking while she went out and got us some lunch.

I headed back down to the truck and pulled out a box labeled "Mom's bedroom." I carried the box upstairs, setting it down in her room, where I opened it and start removing the items inside. It was mostly packed with old books and photo albums, until I noticed something buried underneath.

Curiously, I reached down and pulled out an old, dusty, leather-bound journal which I'd never seen before. I stood there alone in the empty room and quietly cracked open the first page.

The first entry was dated November 7th, 2003. If memory served me correctly, it was only six months after my parents' divorce.

The first few entries weren't particularly interesting. She started off talking about leaving the old marketing firm she'd worked at during her marriage. She'd already completed her teaching certification and put in her two-weeks notice. She was clearly still hurting over Dad leaving her for someone else, blaming it mostly on her own ambition when all Dad wanted was someone more traditional and submissive. Personally, I never understood why he felt that way. Still, he did seem much happier with his new trophy wife. So there really was nothing else for Mom to do except move on.

I read through the first five or six pages, when things started to pick up a bit.

November 13, 2003

Something crazy happened today. I made out with Mike Sullivan in the stairwell over by his office. I'm not even sure why I did it. He's almost 10 years younger than me. Plus he's so full of himself, really not my type. He hasn't stop flirting with me ever since he heard I was back on the market, as he put it. It's not like I did anything to encourage him. It wasn't my decision to move the copier outside his office. I love how he always comes over and drops his pen on the floor. It used to make me uncomfortable, but now I just play along. At first, he would drop it and pick it right back up. Now he likes to linger down there and stare at my legs for a while. It's pretty funny to watch. Chris doesn't know it, but I've actually caught him doing the same thing. He must really like my legs. I know he's my son and I should probably say something to him, but he's been through enough lately. The last thing I want to do is embarrass him. I guess he's just at that age. Anyway, I'm not sure what to do about Mike. Kelly and Robin are throwing a goodbye party for me tomorrow night. Mike said he'd be there. I really liked kissing him. I could tell he liked it too. His dick got really hard when he rubbed it against my leg. It felt pretty big too. No wonder he's fucked half the women in the office. He probably thinks I'm next. It's tempting, but I don't know. We'll see...

November 15, 2003

I can't believe I spent $80 dollars on a brand new party dress and that son of a bitch didn't even show up. Oh well, his loss I guess. God knows there were plenty of other guys there who liked it. Never thought I could pull off zebra print. Maybe I'll wear it again next week. It was kind of odd being the center of attention, but I think I could get used to it. I know Robin was pretty jealous. I told her to stop buying me shots. Besides, no one puts stripper poles in a bar full of drunken women expecting nobody to use them. It's not like I was up there flashing my pussy for everyone. I did wear pantyhose. I'm sure Mike would have loved that. I wore them just for him. God, I can't stop thinking about his cock. I really need to get fucked. I should probably invest in a good vibrator. I would have bought one months ago, but I'm just afraid Chris would find it. He's always sneaking into my room. I'm not sure what he's looking for. I hope he's not going through my panty drawer. I'm sure he's learned how to masturbate by now. The last thing I want to find is a huge cum stain on one of my satin thongs. I guess at some point I'll have a talk with him. I just don't enjoy thinking about my son's penis. I really wish his father were here...

I would have kept reading but I knew Mom was on her way back. So I packed everything back inside the box and quietly left the room. I headed back downstairs trying to process all the twisted thoughts scrambling through my mind. Clearly, my mother wasn't as clueless or innocent as I'd always believed. She seemed to enjoy getting attention from younger men. She also knew way more about me than I'd ever realized. The thought of Mom willingly behaving like a slut really got me excited. I stepped out onto the back porch, where I lit up a cigarette, trying to calm myself down.

The view from the back porch overlooked the garden in the backyard. I stood there leaning over the railing, as I looked down and noticed that the curtains were drawn on our new landlord's bedroom window downstairs. In the corner of the room, I spotted an empty rocking chair, next to what looked like the railings on a baby's crib. I flicked my cigarette, then looked back again, when Cynthia appeared carrying the baby in her arms. Even from such a high angle, it was virtually impossible to look down and see anything other than her humongous tits. The image reminded me of those IMAX movies where they show you the Earth from space and you can still see the Himalayas only because they're so fucking big.

I couldn't help grinning at the light blue button up sweater she was wearing. The fabric was stretched out so much it looked like she bought it from Baby Gap. I took another drag of my Marlboro Light, watching as she sat down, only to gasp in disbelief when she started unbuttoning her top.

By then, I was already horny as fuck, as I watched Cynthia reach up and unsnap her bra from the front, letting her left breast flop through the opening of her sweater, before lifting it up and pressing her baby's mouth over her swollen nipple. My whole life I'd never seen anything like it, as she sat there rocking back and forth. I've always preferred legs, but there was no denying the beauty of Cynthia's phenomenal jugs. The size of her breasts reminded me of my days back at the pizza shop, where we laid out the dough until it rose into soft, round, flesh-colored mounds. The longer I watched, the more I found myself jealous of her little boy and the blissful look on his face as he eagerly suckled his mother's tit.

Just when my dick couldn't possibly get any harder, Mom finally returned as I heard her opening the front door. I wasn't about to let her see what I was doing, so I quickly hustled back inside.

I met her in the kitchen where I found her wearing a short, heather gray, New England Patriots T-shirt, with black spandex yoga pants, and a pair of brown fur-lined boots. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail, with no make-up, yet I still wanted to bend her over and completely fuck her brains out.

"How's it going?" she said. "Get much done?"

"Umm, not really," I said. "Went out for a smoke. Figured I'd wait for you."

"That's fine. You must be starving," she said. "I brought you a turkey sandwich, no tomatoes."

"Thanks," I said, looking around at the piles of junk everywhere. "Where should we sit?"

Mom looked around as well. There was only one chair in the kitchen. The rest were all stacked in the dining room.

"Good question," she said. "Why don't you sit here? If I get tired of standing, I can always sit on your lap."

Assuming she was just kidding, I grabbed my sandwich and took a seat, while Mom leaned against the counter and started to eat.

After one bite, she strolled over toward me, walking around in front of the chair, where she then settled down, with one arm draped around my neck and her legs stretched out across my lap.

"So," she said. "This is it. This is our new home. Are you excited?"