The Single Mothers Club Ch. 01

The Single Mothers Club

Chapter 1: Step-Moms and Other Mothers

Growing up, I'd never noticed the moms in my neighborhood. They were formless, blurred figures passing out snacks, disembodied voices calling my friends home at sundown. They were faceless, nameless, just part of that featureless sea of adult faces that surrounded us back then.

The summer of my father's funeral, everything changed. I met a group of moms who were anything but faceless, who taught me so much about what it means to grow up and be a part of the world. They also taught me a lot about myself, about sex, about the many ways to please a lover.

When I think back to that summer, I remember the clothes; my cheap black suit at the funeral, my step-mom's black dress clinging to her curves in the chill June wind, and then a rainbow of clothing, of tight yoga pants, of bright summer dresses, of tan shoulders above a halter top, of bras unclasped, of panties soaked, of zippers unzipped, and clothing wrinkled and torn and stained.

This was the summer my father died. It was the summer I graduated from college. It was the summer I moved back home. It was the summer I first had anal sex, public sex, a threesome. It was the summer I met the Single Mothers Club.

...

I showed up to my father's funeral a mess. I was unshaven, in a wrinkly cheap black suit I'd found at a thrift store on the drive over. I'd parked too far from the cemetery and had to walk a half-mile in uncomfortable shoes, constantly checking my phone for text messages. I was at the end of an ugly break-up with Cecily, a girl I'd met during my sophomore year in college and who I'd thought I'd loved.

By the time I reached my father's grave, I could already hear the service underway. The few relatives who were there gave me dark looks. A dozen folding chairs had been set up in the grass near the plot, and the only available seat was next to my step-mother, who held her twins on her lap.

I decided to stand.

The truth is, I'd never had an easy relationship with my father. My mother died of cancer when I was in kindergarten, and I don't think my dad had ever really figured out how to raise a kid on his own. By the time I was in high school, I was effectively raising myself, cooking my own meals, and studying as hard as I could so that I could escape my hometown and go to college. My dad and I saw each other on weekends, but our lives were separate.

So I was pretty shocked when my dad remarried. Especially when I found out his fiance was a twenty-three-year-old web designer named Ashley, half my father's age, and pregnant with twins.

Those last two years of high school, I became a free babysitter, watching after my squirming little step-siblings while my father and his new bride vanished into the bedroom for "date nights." As I fed, changed, and put to bed Kit and Kat, I could hear my father and step-mom fucking like prom dates through our apartment's cheap walls.

I wouldn't say I hated Ashley, but the day I left for college was the last time I'd seen her.

And now my father was dead, and there was my step-mom, with the twins in her lap. We were in Colma, just south of San Francisco, in a vast cemetery with a view of the bay. It was June, but the horizon was covered by a wall of fog, which breathed a cold wind over the low hills.

The priest droned on, half his words stolen by the wind, and then my father's casket was lowered into the ground. The guests all stood and lined up to throw soil into the grave.

I followed Ashley, who held the hands of Kit and Kat. Ashley wore a sleek black dress and heels. Her long brown hair was pinned up under a black brimmed hat that kept the overcast sun from her face. A gust of wind seemed to push us towards the open grave. The wind pinned Ashley's dress against her as she walked ahead of me. I saw, intermittently revealed by each gust, her slim waist, round but firm ass, and long legs accentuated by her heels. Her graceful neck was pale above the dark dress, caressed by loosened curls of dark hair.

My thoughts of Ashley seemed all a jumble. When I was in high school, I had been such a jerk to her. I of course refused to call her "Mom," and when I did speak to her it was usually through monosyllabic grunts. I saw her as a parasite on my dad, as an unwanted intruder in our house.

Now, though, with he wind pressing Ashley's black dress against her body, she looked more like a woman to me. I felt my heart stirring as her dress caught onto one firm cheek of her ass. For a moment, I imagined closing in behind her, and kissing the spot of bare pale flesh at the back of her neck. I shook my head.

Ashley was 29 now, and a young widow. I felt my resentments softening as I thought about her life alone with the twins. I knew such loneliness.

As I threw a handful of soil onto my father's casket, I made the old man a promise. This summer I would make sure Ashley was taken care of.

We returned to the flat in San Francisco for the reception. By then, the fog had thickened, and the weak sunlight through the sheets of mist cast a dim, gloomy pall on the plates of snacks and plastic cups of wine.

There were only ten or so people at the apartment. My father had never been a popular man. They were huddled in groups of two or three, talking in low voices.

A few minutes in, Ashley approached me. Kit and Kat trailed behind her, Kit holding onto the hem of Ashley's dress. I tried not to think of the curves I had seen revealed beneath the black fabric. Ashley gave me a wary look, then closed in for a tight hug.

"It's good to see you, Ansel. It's been so long," she said, her lips near my ear.

Ashley was a good head shorter than me, but I'd never really noticed it. Thinking of her as my step-mom had granted her fictional height in my mind. Now as I wrapped my arms around her and squeezed her back, I could feel her breasts pressed against me. Her hair, now let down into looping curls around her neck and shoulders, smelled of soil and berries.

I let go, a little hesitantly. This was the closest I'd come to a woman since my breakup with Cecily. I felt a little shaky from her smell, how close she was standing. She had to tilt her head back a bit to look into my eyes, and I noticed that Kit's hold of her dress had pulled it down a little, revealing some cleavage. Her breasts were round and pale, scattered with freckles. I tried not to look.

"Can you help me with something?" Ashley asked, her deep brown eyes searching mine. I took a breath and nodded.

Ashley passed Kit's hand over to mine. "Can you watch the twins? I need to talk with the guests."

I laughed. "Sure, I'm used to it."

Ashley paused for a moment, taking in my reply. I could tell she wasn't sure if I was being genuine or sarcastic. But my smile reassured her, and she smiled back. Her eyes were tired, the skin dark and puffy, but when she smiled it was as if the sun had broken through the fog. Ashley had a long, oval face below her thick locks of dark brown hair; her lips were full and when she smiled a dimple appeared on her left cheek. She had what I would call soulful eyes, darker than most, which would suddenly catch the light and reveal flecks of gold.

"Thank you, Ansel. Again, I'm so glad you're here."

Ashley left her hand on my arm for a long moment, keeping her eyes locked with mine. Suddenly she leaned in and gave me a small kiss at the corner of my mouth. She turned and left. I could still feel the ghost of her fingers, her kiss.

'She's family,' I thought to myself. 'That's why she's being so nice to you.'

But was that it?

I had grown a lot in college. I was now a little over six feet tall, and the last few years of biking, swimming, and the free campus gym had packed a healthy amount of muscle onto my frame. I knew what a family smile looked like, and I also knew how a woman looked when she was interested. I'd seen that look on Cecily when we first met, and Cecily had accused many other girls of foisting that look upon me during our rocky relationship.

Ashley's long, searching gaze had bordered on the familial and flirtatious.

I felt my heart pounding. I shook my head, and looked down at the twins. "Do you want to draw some pictures?"

...

The twins, now six, didn't last long. By dinner they were asleep in their tiny beds.

I spent the rest of the evening chatting with the few remaining guests, then cleaning up. I kept an eye out for Ashley. I saw her smiling at the guests, listening attentively to their long-winded stories about my father. But when the guests walked away, I saw that smile fall. I saw exhaustion and sadness cloud her features.

I could still feel the warmth of Ashley's touch on my arm, the kiss at the corner of my lips. I tried to put it out of my mind, and instead focused on wrapping up the food, recycling the plastic cups, sweeping up crumbs.

Once all the guests left, Ashley and I sat on the couch, picking at leftovers and drinking lukewarm wine.

Ashley was leaning against me, her head on my shoulder. Idly, her fingers traced down my forearm and found my hand. As she put her fingers through mine, she sighed. "Oh Ansel, what am I going to do? My mom is coming to take the twins for a while, but she won't be here for another week. I'm expected back at work, and your father was the one to watch the kids until summer camp starts."

The smell of Ashley was in my nose. There was the saltiness of her exhaustion, her tears, followed by the berry scent of her shampoo, and a deeper muskiness that smelled like sheets after a long night's sleep.

"I could stick around a while," I said. "I can watch the twins while you're at work."

Ashley stifled a sob. "God, that would be so helpful," she said. She tightened her grip on my hand. I looked down at her, and she lifted her chin. Our faces were close, and her dark brown eyes searched out my own. "Your father would be so proud of you."

I smiled, suddenly reminded that my father was dead, and his widow was pressed up next to me.

"Why don't you go to bed," I suggested, "and I'll finish cleaning up."

Ashley bit her lower lip, and placed her other pale hand on my cheek. "I really appreciate this, Ansel."

She stood and walked down the hall. I sat on the couch a while, waiting for my erection to subside.

...

I finished cleaning the apartment. My old room had been turned into a guest room, but I found clean sheets and blankets in the closet and made up the bed. I propped up the pillow and for a while sat there, scrolling my dating apps to see if I recognized anyone back in San Francisco.

I heard a noise coming from Ashley's room. I turned off my phone, realizing Ashley was sobbing.

I stood, shirtless in PJ bottoms, and walked to her bedroom door. The sobbing was louder now. I knocked gently. "Ashley, are you okay?"

"Ansel," came the choked reply.

I opened the door. Ashley lay on her side, the sheets bunched in her arms, crying into her hands. She wore a long blue pajama top with little white buttons. One of her white, pale legs was exposed, wrapped around the bunched blankets.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

"I miss him so much," she sobbed. "Ansel, will you just hold me for a while?"

I took a deep breath and crawled into the bed. Ashley's back was turned to me, so I eased myself against her, then looped my arm around, being careful to find a safe space between her breasts and thighs.

She held onto my arm, tight, and continued to cry. I could feel her back spasming against my chest. I just laid there, holding this beautiful woman, letting her cry for my lost father.

I awoke early, with the birds chirping outside the window. I hadn't moved all night. My arms were wrapped around my step-mom, my nose buried in her hair. I took a deep breath in.

Ashley murmured in her sleep and adjusted her body, pressing against me. I felt her ass press into my crotch, and I suddenly realized I'd woken with a full hard-on.

"Mmm..." Ashley sighed, wiggling her hips against me. Her pajama top had ridden up in the night, and she had kicked the tangled sheets to the bottom of the bed. I could see a pair of white panties and her flat belly. She continued to move her ass against my erection, which now seemed to throb with every beat of my heart.

I held my breath, and raised my head to look at her face. Ashley was still asleep, breathing deeply. And yet some subconscious part of her mind was awake, responding to what she felt pressed against her back. She smiled in her sleep and arched her back, pressing her ass cheeks even harder into me. She reached up, and her hand traced along the back of my neck and gripped my hair. Before I could move, her other hand gripped mine and started raising it towards her tits. My fingers started to move over the firm underside of her breast. Ashley moaned again.

My mind cast wildly for a way out of this. If I woke her, Ashley would think I was purposefully groping her. But if I let her continue her subconscious moves, I might as well be taking advantage of her!

Ashley continued to shift her ass against my hard cock. I started to have flashbacks to all the mornings Cecily and I had fucked, starting half-asleep just like this. I remembered being barely awake, and Cecily sliding my cock into her wet pussy. I remembered thrusting drowsily against her while massaging her breasts, pinching her nipples, cumming hard, then falling asleep again, still inside her.

Slowly, ever so slowly, I started to pull myself away from Ashley. Though her grip on my neck and hand momentarily tightened, I was able to gently free myself. She stirred, took anther deep breath, then quieted.

I eased myself off the bed. My cock pressed out against my pajamas, straining to be free. I tiptoed from Ashley's room and back to my own.

I laid down on my own bed, trying to catch my breath. What had just happened was so wrong- my own step-mom grinding against my erection, my hands on her breasts- and yet... Ashley, after all, wasn't that much older than me. If she weren't my step-mom...

I tried to relax. I tried to urge my erection down. But it stayed there, hard as a rock. Finally, I couldn't help it. My mind filled with images of what had just happened, what could have happened, I pulled my cock from my pajamas and started stroking. Almost instantaneously, I came, barely pulling a wad of tissues to my swollen head in time.

...

I found Ashley in the kitchen, scrambling eggs for the twins. She gave me a wry, unreadable smile. "Hey sleepy, want some breakfast?"

"You need to sit near me!" said Kit, motioning to a chair by his side.

"No, sit near me!" screamed Kat.

I laughed. "I'll sit between you both."

Ashely served up scrambled eggs, as well as leftover bagels from the previous day's reception. She didn't look at me, though I couldn't tell if she was actively avoiding my gaze. Did she know what had happened this morning?

My own heart leapt and charged each time Ashley came close. She was still in her blue pajama top, though now she wore lose pajama shorts below. She had left the top few buttons of her shirt open, and when she bent down to scrape eggs onto the twins' plates, I could see her breasts free beneath the soft fabric. Suddenly I noticed Ashley was looking right into my eyes. I felt my face blush. Ashley gave me a wry smile, then turned and continued making breakfast.

"Kit, Kat," she said, "your big brother Ansel is going to stick around this whole week."

"Yay!" the twins screamed.

Kit leapt from his chair and landed in my lap. Kat started pulling at my arm. "Let's go play! Let's go play!"

Ashley laughed. "Eat your breakfast, little ones. Then Ansel can start earning his keep!"

...

The next week was a blur of mac n cheese, nap times, tea parties, and stuffed animals. Ashley returned to work during the day. She had used most of her paid leave caring for my dad before he passed. I dressed the twins, fed them, walked them to the park, and straightened up the apartment while they napped. In the evenings, Ashley would return, and I'd walk over to the grocery store, then cook dinner.

It felt a lot like the old days, when the twins were first born. Only my dad was no longer around. And I saw a lot more of Ashley. She gave me some money for the grocery store, plus more for myself. And she showed gratitude in other ways. She left a hand on the back of my neck for a little longer than necessary when she passed by. When telling me a story from work, she'd grab my arm, lean in close. A few times at the dinner table, her foot drifted over to my shin, and she stroked my leg with her toes.

At the end of each night, we'd head to our rooms. I'd read, or scroll mindlessly on my phone. And then, always, I would hear her crying.

This became our nightly routine. I'd knock gently, just like the first time. I'd open the door. I'd lie down in her bed. I'd spoon her. Ashley would grab my hands and wrap my arms tight as her body shook. She would press her back, her legs, her ass into me, until we were like one body shaking with grief. When she finally fell asleep, I would retreat to my own room, and masturbate furiously, the smell of her, the feel of her, filling my mind.

Finally, at the end of the week, Ashley's mom brought over pizza, changed the twins into PJ's, then took them for an extended sleepover. Ashley stood at the window, looking down as her mom packed the sleepy twins into her van and drove away. "She's going to keep them for the summer," she said, her eyes sad and soulful. "Then when school starts they'll come back here. Of course, by then, you'll be gone too."

She turned to me and took my hand in hers. Absentmindedly, she played with my fingers. She wore gray work slacks with a loose white blouse tucked in at her waist. Her hair was down, framing her pale, oval face.

I noticed the apartment was silent. The air still. Our breathing seemed synced.

"Ansel," she said.

"Yes?"

"I'm..." she bit her lower lip, and seemed unable to meet my eyes. "I'm pretty tired... you know, worn out from work. I'm going to take a shower and head to bed early."

"Oh, okay."

She hesitated a moment, then leaned in and kissed me just where she had the first time, at the corner of my mouth. This time, though, she stayed there, her lips pressed against me, her breath soft against my cheek.

Then she broke off, blushing. She turned and left the living room.

From the couch, I heard the shower go on, turn off. I heard the bathroom door open, her bedroom door open, and close. I had my phone on, but I wasn't really looking at it. I was just waiting. Barely breathing.

Then I heard her.

"Ansel?" she called out, quietly.

I walked, quietly, to her door. I heard her again. "Ansel?"

"Yes?"

"Can you... can you hold me again?"

I opened the door. Ashley lay in bed, the sheets pulled up to her neck. Her face was very pale in the dark bedroom.

"I'm still in my clothes," I said.

"That's okay. You can take them off and get into bed with me."

I took a deep breath, realizing that my dick was swollen and almost erect. I turned from her and took off my shirt, my pants. I tried to keep my back to her so she wouldn't see my cock pressing against my boxers. I sat at the edge of the bed, then slid beneath the covers.

"Come here," Ashley said.

Her back was to me as well, just like it had been each night. As I moved towards her, lifting the sheets slightly, I saw her body. She wasn't wearing her pajamas. She wasn't wearing anything at all. Her back was long and pale and beautiful. I could see the curve of her spine, the lift of her ribs. Her smooth, freckled shoulders. The gentle crest of her breast.

"Come here," she said again.

"Are you sure?"

"Just... just hold me. Like you have every night. I want to feel you against me. I need to not be alone."

I eased myself against her, feeling the cool skin of her back against my chest, her long smooth legs against my own. I felt her beautiful ass settle against my crotch.