Side Effects 01

"Mom, if you pass me that canister," Stan pointed to a round, tin container with sunflowers on the outside and flour on the inside, "I can put it up here. We don't use it much, so it'll be out of the way."

"I appreciate you helping me reorganize the kitchen. I never liked how your father insisted I keep it, and now's the right time to change all that." She passed him the canister, pressing into him a bit as she did.

Did she just rub herself on me? Stan thought, feeling odd at the encounter. You're being stupid. She's your mom.

Stan huffed. His parents had separated more than a year ago and their divorce had just become final. He was glad his mom was finally taking this step, moving on from that relationship. He'd been worried about her. "Glad to help."

"I know, I know. I should have done this long ago." It was as though she was reading his thoughts.

"Mom, everything in its own time. You're the best one to know when to do things for yourself."

"I hope you don't think I'm trying to trash him in your eyes."

Stan stepped down from the stool he'd used to reach the top cupboard shelf. "Not at all, Mom." Gripping her shoulders, lowering his head just a bit, cocking it to one side, he continued. "You've been a trooper, gone through a lot of stuff, and I've never felt you were trying to diminish my relationship with Dad, such as it is. I'm glad we're making these changes to clean the house of him. It's already feeling fresher, friendlier in here."

"Thanks son." She stepped in close, put her arms around him, gave him a tight squeeze. He tingled when her hips rocked against him. Does she know she's doing that?

She released him, turning away. Just his mom again.

"Are you feeling alright, Mom?" He looked at her, noting her fine facial features. Elvish, he'd always thought. She's a dainty lady. Blonde curls framed her delicate nose and chin, cascading past her shoulders, extending to the tops of her breasts. Bosoms. She's your mom, so they're bosoms. She only came up to his armpits, something he'd teased her about ever since his head had nudged higher than hers. He had always thought she looked amazing with her narrow shoulders, slim waist, and legs. But then, she was his mom, and he knew his impression of her was tainted by the love he had for her. Even though he'd seen age working on her, thickening in her thighs and hips, a small paunch but hardly noticeable, certainly nothing like Dad's beer gut. Too, there were lines around her mouth and by her eyes, and speckles of grey at her temples, but after all, she's approaching forty. Stan hoped he looked as good when he was her age, twenty years from now.

"Yes," she gave him a funny look, as though she was concerned or frightened, but it lasted only a moment. "Why?"

"Oh, nothing." Stan stammered, wanting to take back his question and his thoughts. "I just worry about you. I know you've been stressed lately."

"I'm a big girl, but I appreciate the concern."

"You been taking those pills the doctor gave you? You know, for the anxiety."

"Yes, mother." She gave him a stern look.

Stan dropped the subject. "OK, what next?"

They continued to work, assembling the kitchen how his mother wanted it. That made sense to him. She did most of the work in it, so it should suit her. Stan continued to watch his mother, remembering how she's rubbed against him. He wasn't certain why it stuck in his mind, or why it resulted in that tingle that reverberated through him. Maybe because when it happened, it stirred up some of the same feelings that came when a girlfriend got close to him.

He didn't have a girlfriend right now, having broken up with the last one a month ago. He missed the sex play, but not the mind games she was playing, manipulating him. Thinking about how she would touch him, how she felt, caused a flush of tingles in his crotch, so he turned his mind back to the work they were doing.

"Thanks, Stan," his mother sighed. "I am glad that job's done." She stood, one hand on her hip, glancing around the room. The other hand was in front of her, low, hidden by the waist-high counter that was between them. It moved a little. Is she rubbing herself? The thought rocketed into his brain.

He felt a flush as his concentration focussed on that spot. "Mom, what are you doing?" The words were spoken before he could stop them from spilling out.

"What?" Her head snapped toward him. That hand continued to move. Looking at his face, she must have noticed his stare, because then she looked down. Her hand froze for a moment, then moved behind her in a blur. "Oh," the word barked out, but the rest of her sentence was more controlled, "I guess I'm just a little itchy." Her face flushed, and she didn't meet his eyes. She gave him a weak smile. "I'm sorry. Wasn't thinking."

Seeing how embarrassed she was, Stan let her off the hook with just a squint. "If we're all done, I'm going to watch some TV."

"Uh, sure. That's a good idea." She turned and headed down the hallway that led to her bedroom.

What's up? Stan wondered. She always says I watch too much TV.

Later, Mom joined him in the living room. Stan was watching The Slicker Club, a sitcom about a group of millennials struggling with their view of how their families should treat them. He found it only mildly amusing, but two of the actresses stimulated his imagination and libido as he fantasized how he would service them if given the opportunity. In his mind, they would come to amazing, life-changing orgasms because of his tongue, fingers, and cock. Today, he had managed to reward himself with a painful erection. When his mom came in, he had to shift his posture to ensure his hard-on wasn't visible.

"I don't know how you can watch this show." His mom sighed as she settled onto the far end of the couch. Dad's chair was the only other seating in the room, but neither used it much. To Stan, it felt like some sort of violation. Dad had been so insistent on no one else sitting in it. "I have it shaped to my ass. Don't go spoiling that." Twice, Stan had sat in it, bounced up and down, trying to erase that aspect of his father from the house. His mom wasn't the only one who had suffered.

Dad hadn't been cruel, more mean and demeaning, but Stan still maintained contact. He didn't miss him now that he wasn't here.

"It has its moments. Makes me laugh." Stan had to say something, so she didn't know his real reason. He would slink away to his bedroom and take care of his stimulation later. As they watched the antics on the screen, Stan heard his mom laughing, too.

She sat with her knees pulled up to her chest, her arms trapped between them. Feeling a vibration in the couch, Stan glanced toward her. Is she rubbing herself again? He was certain she was doing that with her elbow. She was focussed on the TV, but there was a strange look on her face. Stan thought she looked frightened, lonely.

"Are you alright, Mom?"

She jerked her head toward him as though she had forgotten he was in the room, and his words startled her. She sat up straight, lowering her feet to the floor, putting her hands on her thighs. "Yes. What do you mean?" Her words sounded strong, but her face was flushed. Stan knew she was embarrassed.

His concern overrode his own bashfulness, and he said, "Well, to tell the truth, that's not the first time I've seen you rubbing yourself down there. Are you itchy or something?" He did feel justified since she had commented a time or two when he had been giving himself a little attention when his junk needed scratching or was in an uncomfortable position.

She blossomed a darker shade of red and turned away from him. "I don't know what you mean." Then she paused a moment, staring at something on the far wall before turning back to him. Her face softened. "I don't know what's wrong with me." Tears welled in her eyes and her jaw quivered. Her next words came in a rush as though she was afraid if she didn't blurt them, they'd stick and never come out. "These past few days, I've found myself needing to rub against things." Her eyes grew wide, and her mouth pulled into an 'O' as though she'd shocked herself by speaking. "I can't talk about this with my son."

"Why not Mom. We've always been open with each other."

"But this is different. It's," again she paused, her eyes flicking here and there, then back at him, "you know." She glanced down, then up. "The sex thing." She hissed the words.

"We talk about sex all the time."

"But not like this."

"Because its you? Mom, if you're feeing horny. Its no big deal."

She cringed at his words as though he'd struck her. Is she this embarrassed to talk about her own sexual needs?

"Only partly that." She looked away before continuing. "It's never been so intense."

Stan sat up, leaned toward her. "How long has it been like that?"

"Oh, I don't know. A few days, I guess."

"Maybe its something to do with your new medication? You've been taking that these past few days. Right?"

"Do you think so?"

"Could be. Seems to me heard about it or read it somewhere." He considered his next words before giving them voice. "Why don't you just go rub one out? That's what I'd do." They had talked about things like this before, but it was always him dealing with his issues.

"You think I haven't tried that? Just leaves me feeling incomplete, worse."

"Hornier?" Stan struggled to keep a smile from creeping across his face. He wasn't finding this funny so much as he was feeling good about her being in the position he had been before. "Look, Mom. Maybe you need to find a boyfriend. Someone to help you with those issues."

"Are you kidding? I'm not ready for that. I don't have the energy for a relationship right now."

"Then how about a f..." He stopped himself before saying fuck. He was twenty, but still didn't swear in front of his mom. "Sex friend."

"A fuck buddy?" Again, her head snapped toward him. Stan was shocked. It was the first time he ever heard her use such a harsh word. "I could never use someone like that."

"Well, how about..." Again, Stan paused, weighing the wisdom of saying what he was thinking. "a vibrator?"

She gave him a quick glance, then giggled. "Wore the batteries out." She hid her face with a hand, peeked a smile around it.

"Mom. You dog." Stan laughed. He felt a closeness with her now that she was sharing a part of her, she never had before. "Well, how can I help? I can't think of anything else."

"Well." She paused, her eyes darting around again. Stan knew she was trying to say something but was uncertain if she should. In a small voice, she continued. "Maybe you could...," she flicked her eyes down.

It wasn't until her eyes moved back to him that Stan thought he understood. The idea was preposterous, but he had to find out for certain. "You want me to rub one out for you?"

"Well, just on the outside?" She bit her lower lip. "I think it might help, be enough." Then she stood up. "What am I saying? Of course not." She rushed toward her bedroom.

Stan rushed after her. "Wait Mom. I don't think that's so terrible." He'd only had a few moments to consider her proposal, but masturbating his mom, as she'd suggested, didn't seem any worse than giving her a back rub. "It really wouldn't be different from the back scratches you've given me a hundred times."

She paused, still in the living room but almost in the hallway. "You think so? You wouldn't think less of me?"

"Why would I do that? You are just a woman, feeling woman feelings. It wouldn't really be like sex or anything."

She turned around and, in that moment, Stan felt an erection building. He denied those feelings. This is my mom, but the pressure continued to build. It's just that I never get to really help her, that's all, he justified. I used to get boners sometimes when I was young, and mom bathed me. They didn't mean nothing, and neither does this.

"If you think it would help and not bother you." She moved back into the room.

Stan returned to the couch, and she followed him, sat down beside him. "How do we start?" she asked.

"How about like this?" Stan put his hand on her inner thigh. If she was going to back out, it would be now, and he wanted to give her that opportunity. He wanted to make sure she wasn't going to have any regrets.

She bit her lower lip and shifted her hips forward a bit. His hand was now pressing against her crotch. The erection pressed hard in his pants. Needing to adjust it to make it more comfortable, he shifted his weight onto one hip. He pressed his hand firmer against her.

"Maybe we shouldn't do this." Her voice was low, and she pulled away but remained on the couch.

"Mom. We're not doing anything wrong. Just scratching an itch." She relaxed, moved against his hand again.

"It does feel nice." She pressed against him.

"Alright. Good. Let me do this." He crammed the edge of his hand against her, his thumb pointing up her stomach, his fingers between her legs. She moaned, pressing back.

Stan moved his hand in and out, applying and releasing the pressure. She closed her eyes, lifted herself a little, making it easier for him to move his hand. Pushing down with his thumb as he lifted his hand, he pictured it stimulating her clitoris.

"Is that good, Mom?"

"Uh huh." She spoke from deep in her throat. "Call me Beth."

"What?"

"If we are going to do this, call me Beth." The words puffed out of her. "But only while we're doing it."

Ok, sure. Ah, Beth." Her name sounded funny on his tongue.

As though him speaking her name gave her some sort of permission, she moaned out a long, "Ahhh," grinding against his hand. She lifted herself up and down, her hips rocking. "Oh, yes. Put your arm in there."

Stan shifted so she was riding against his forearm. His cock was rock hard in his pants as he thought about what he was doing for his mother. He would take care of that issue later. For now, he needed to concentrate to bring her the relief she was looking for. Her thrusts became more urgent. He moved his arm in time with her grinding to put pressure on her clit. Her efforts grew more frantic, her breath rushing in and out in great pants.

And then she was pressing against him, her arms around his shoulders, her body turning more toward him. She tucked her head tight against his ceaseless "Yeses," hissing out of her. Shudders racked her, and she ground herself against him so hard it generated enough heat that it felt like an arm burn his father would sometimes give him. Is she orgasming? He wondered.

He looked at her face. She was sweating, her features tense and sharp. Her eyes were closed. He breath came in gasps. Yes, I'm pretty sure she is. And, with that thought, Stan felt a flood of emotion for this woman, and he was thankful he could help her reach this state of bliss.

"Oh, god, Stan." The words puffed in his ear. "That was intense. I hope you don't think poorly of me."

"Mom, I love you. I'm glad to help you out."

"Well, this goes beyond house chores." They both laughed. She continued to hold him, and he hugged her back. After a few minutes, he pulled his arm from between her legs. She held it for a moment, squeezing it with her thighs, then released it. "Are you okay with all this?" She sat back with a sigh.

"Totally. Let me know if you need it again."

She waved her hand in front of her face. "I think I'll be good for a while."

Stan stood, adjusting his clothes so his erection wouldn't show. He didn't want her to think he was a perv or a pig. "I got a few things to do."

She gave him a long glance, and he was afraid to move before she looked away. He noticed her eyes dropped to the front of his pants before flicking to one side. It was his turn to flush. He headed to his room.

For the next few days, Stan had a hard time not letting his memory of stimulating his mom creep into his thoughts. It was just a back scratch. He told himself over and over. That didn't work, and he found himself jerking off several times a day. You can't think about your mom like that, he thought when darker thoughts of his mom seeped into his fantasies. She's your mom.

Then he was in the living room again, watching his show, picturing his favourite actresses in various stages of undress. Then he noticed they both had his mom's face, her shape, it was her breasts he was gazing at, feeling, squeezing. Stop that, screamed in his head and the fantasy women returned to their younger selves.

"Stop what?" His mom was standing just inside the living room, behind him.

Glad the back of the couch was between them, hiding his stimulation, he looked at her. Had he spoken out loud? Must have. "Oh, just the show. They're so stupid."

She came into the room, stood near him. She sucked her lower lip into her mouth, twisted her body. Stan knew she wanted to say something but was shy.

"Has that urge come back, Mom?" Stan tried to make it sound as casual as possible.

She flushed, and he knew he was right. He felt himself break out in a light sweat and admitted he had been hoping for this.

"Is that ok?" She squinted at him.

"Sure, Mom. Er, Beth. Happy to." He sat himself up, straighter, pulling his ass deeper into the couch, making room for her.

Instead of sitting beside him as he'd expected, she straddled one of his legs. "Is this ok?"

"Sure, sure, ah, Beth. Whatever you like." He placed his hands on her knees, feeling nervous, uncertain how to proceed. He didn't need to. She began grinding her crotch against his thigh, pressing down. She sighed, closed her eyes. She moved slow, tipping her pelvis forward, then back as she slid closer, then away.

"Can I help more?" Uncertain what to do, he decided to just be direct.

"This feels so good." She steadied herself by placing her hands on his shoulders.

He rubbed her thighs, tracing his thumbs up the inside of her legs. After three slow rubs, he pressed his thumbs into her crotch, where he imagined the top of her vulva to be. He watched her face. Her head lay back, her mouth opening a little. She gasped. He pressed harder as her hips slid forward.

"Ah, yes," she hissed.

"You like that?"

Her head moved forward, and she smiled at him. "You know I do."

"More?"

"God, yes."

Stan moved his hand, placing the flat of his fingers against her crotch, sliding it toward her ass. His other hand moved behind her. He needed some leverage to press harder against her pussy. Her hips pressed back, grinding against his hand. He was fully aware how hard his cock was. She worked away at his hand and leg.

After a few minutes, a cramp developed in his fingers from their position and the effort he was putting into it. He shifted his hand to ease the muscles.

"I'm hurting you." She stood a bit, taking some of the pressure off his hand, but kept up the motion.

"It's ok, Beth."

"It's taking longer than last time."

"I don't think so. You want to try it that way? Along my arm?"

"No, that actually burned a bit. This feels nicer." She shifted back, ground herself against his knee. She gasped again, sliding down, then back up and over. On the next stroke, she worked her pelvis hard against his knee. "Ohhh."

Stan placed both hands on her ass, pressing when she pressed, relaxing when she moved back. As she continued to ride his leg, he slid his hands up her back, then down to her hips, up, then down to her buttocks. He felt her movement grow more urgent, firmer, quicker. He knew she was approaching climax, and he wanted to help her enjoy that more. He also became more aware of just how hard he was, how stimulated despite his not wanting to me.

When her breath was panting and her thrusts even more vigorous, uneven, he slid his hands up her back then around to her chest and he cupped her breasts.

"No," she moaned, then shivered, her hips rocking less, pressing more, grinding. She pressed tighter to him. "Yes, yes."