Waking Up to Ellen

"Michael! What are you doing!" yelled his mom, extracting his hand from under her dress.

***

The rest of the week felt almost normal, under the circumstances. Michael went to school, his parents went to work, they all came together for an evening meal, and then they went their separate ways, sitting in their respective rooms doing whatever they chose to do. He had never noticed that this was their routine until his mom's blistered feet shook things up. But this was how every day had been for years. He was beginning to have an inkling about the nature of the look his father had given his mother when they both thought she was asleep.

Dinner was where the change in the family dynamic was most noticeable. Ellen and Michael had always carried the conversations at the dinner table. Whether the topic was work or school, world events or family happenings, talking with his mom had always been a highlight of his day. Now, a palpable silence had settled at the table, like an unwanted and repugnant guest, reminding him of his monumental failure.

Michael struggled out of bed Saturday morning, groggy but resolved. Three sleepless nights and two tortuous days had led him to a single conclusion: He would have to own up to everything that he had done and had been feeling since Monday night. In retrospect, it seemed obvious. He should have done this Wednesday night, but, in the face of her fury, he had only blurted out nonsensical excuses and empty apologies. Now he just needed to create a moment alone with his mother to confess his sins.

It was a mixed blessing when his father announced that he was going to work on the yard after breakfast. Michael knew he was expected to join his dad in raking, mowing, trimming, weeding and the other necessary maintenance before the decent fall weather ended, and he despised yardwork, but if he could lag behind for a few minutes it might give him the opening he needed to begin the healing process with his mom. So, when his dad threw on his jacket and boots and made for the door, Michael gave him a quick, "Right behind you dad," and headed towards the kitchen where his mom was cleaning up the remnants of breakfast.

He stood in the doorway watching his mom and mustered his courage. He found himself marveling at how pretty she was and how gracefully she moved, even in her unmistakable sadness. He shook his head to chase away that chain of thoughts and braced himself for whatever would come next.

"Mom, can we talk?"

She didn't stop in her work. "What do you want to talk about?"

"I just want to say that I'm sorry."

The bowl she had been rinsing crashed into the sink causing them both to jump. "You're sorry?" Her tone was stinging.

"Yeah." He had thought through everything he wanted to say, memorizing all the salient points but, facing her now, all of it had evaporated. His speech became a stream of consciousness babble. "I mean, when you came home Monday night, you looked so beautiful and alive, and I'd never seen you like that before, and I wanted to be a part of that. But then, your feet, and I wanted to take care of you like you've always done for me. And when I dried your legs, I mean, mom, your legs are great and I couldn't stop looking at them. So, when I had the opportunity to see them again on Tuesday, and you were lying in bed, well, for a while you weren't my mom, you were this sexy and desirable woman, and I'm a guy and I wanted to be your guy. I couldn't stop thinking about you all day on Wednesday, I wanted to see you so badly. Then I remembered how great it was to be little and have my head on your lap and I wanted to be that close again but when I touched your legs I lost control and, well, I took advantage of you, and I'm sorry."

Ellen stared at her son for a moment, mouth agape. "I'm not sure I heard all of that right, but I think I got the gist, and, Michael," she took a deep breath, "you aren't the one who needs to apologize. I saw the looks you were giving me, and it made me feel desired, and maybe a little bit sexy too, and I should have put a stop to it then. But I liked the way you made me feel, and I let it go too far. I'm sorry if I hurt you, sweetie." She was crying now but smiling brightly through the tears.

"I just needed to know you didn't hate me," he said looking at the floor.

"Oh, Michael, I could never hate you," she said grabbing him by the ears and gently pulling his head up to kiss his forehead. Then, looking bemused, she turned his head side to side and quietly said, "Oops."

"What?"

"You've got pancake batter in your ears."

"Mom!"

Laughing she marked his cheeks and chin as he tried to duck her sticky hands.

"Mom! Dad's expecting me in the yard!"

"Oh, fine, get out there and do the yardwork," she said shooing him away.

He was nearly to the door when she called out, "Michael?"

"Yeah mom?"

"I love you."

"I love you too."

***

Sunday morning Michael was greeted by the unusual sound of his dad whistling. He paused and looked up from his phone when Michael came into the room, gave a quick, "Hey Mike!" and then jogged down the basement stairs.

"Why's dad in such a good mood?"

"I told him as a reward for his hard work in the yard yesterday, he could watch as many games as he wants today, so long as he stays in the rec room and out of my way."

"Why, what are you going to be doing today?" Michael had an uneasy feeling.

"Not me, we," she replied with a smirk.

"Okay, what are we going to be doing today?" he asked slowly.

"Today is Fall Day!" she said, twirling with her arms raised to show off her outfit which consisted of a red flannel shirt, baggy jeans and sheepskin boots. "So, go get dressed and start pulling the bins down from the shelves in the garage, but don't bring them in until you've wiped them down!"

Groaning, Michael lurched back upstairs to throw on his work clothes. "Where's my reward?" he muttered to no one.

"You'll get that later," his mom replied, batting her eyelashes and smiling sweetly when he turned to look at her.

Suddenly there was much more pep in his step.

'Fall Day' was the day his mother redecorated the main parts of the house for the season. Throw pillows, rugs, blankets, drapes, knick-knacks, candles, and more all changed to feel more fall-like. She said it made the house feel cozier through the winter and had been doing it since before Michael had been born. As the fall items came out of the garage, the spring collection, as Michael called it, was boxed and put back into the garage. And in between there was a lot of cleaning that had to be done to both 'collections' and the house in general. Michael was in charge of moving the full bins in and out of the garage, unpacking the heavy items and moving furniture; while his mom cleaned, packed away the spring items, and found a place for everything he brought in. He was soon dusty and sweaty but was able to keep his spirits up mainly because it seemed that every time he brought something in for his mom, she was bending over a bin or on her hands and knees cleaning. Purposeful or not, the views of his mom's lovely posterior kept him moving.

By lunchtime both he and his mom were ready for a break. He brought in the last of the bins, and announced, "This is it!"

"Oh, thank goodness," she replied. "I made us some sandwiches, would you take a couple down to your dad, and maybe a beer or two, while I clean up a bit?"

"Sure mom." He watched her walk towards the stairs, certain there was a little more sway to her hips than usual, then grabbed the sandwiches, four beers, a small cooler and some ice, and headed downstairs. His dad was in his recliner, but sat up to take the plate when Michael came in.

"Thanks Mike!" then, looking at the cooler, "Are those all for me?"

"Mom thought you might like a couple, I brought some extras just in case," Michael said smiling.

"I hope she's not working you too hard."

"It's been okay so far but there's a lot left to do," he replied, feigning exasperation, and hoping his ruse would keep his dad downstairs a little longer.

"Well, you can always hide down here with me." he said with a wink.

"I'll keep that in mind," Michael said and headed back to the stairs. "See you later, dad."

Michael had just finished setting out lunch for himself and his mom when he heard her voice from around the corner. "Did you bring your dad the sandwiches?"

"Yeah, and the beers," he answered, turning.

Ellen's head peeked around the corner, then, looking equal parts anxious and shy, she stepped into the doorway.

Michael nearly began to hyperventilate. "Wow, mom, just...wow!" he managed between ragged breaths.

Ellen smiled broadly, glad to have such an appreciative audience, then raised her arms and spun around for the second time that day, stopping with her back to Michael and looking at him over her shoulder. She was still wearing the flannel shirt but the buttons had been undone and the loose ends tied tightly just below her breasts, exposing her tummy and a very cute belly button. She had traded the jeans for a pair of low-rise khaki shorts that hugged her hips and accentuated her ass. Michael was in awe. "I've been feeling your eyes burning into my backside all morning so I thought you might like a different view." She gave her ass a wiggle, reinforcing that it was okay to look, then turned and walked to the table and sat down, watching his face as she went.

After a couple minutes, when he still hadn't reattached his jaw from where it had landed on the floor or made any move to sit down himself, she chided him, "Oh, c'mon Michael, you're embarrassing me. I can't be all that!"

Her voice seemed to break the spell long enough for him to sit across from her. "Mom, you're all that and more. I mean, I've always known you were pretty, but I think most guys think their moms are pretty at some level. But how could I have possibly been so blind as to not see just how incredibly beautiful and sexy you are? I don't have the words, mom, I just don't. I could learn a dozen different languages and still not express what I'm feeling properly."

Blushing deeply, Ellen took his hand across the table. "You don't need words, Michael, I can see it in your eyes, and feel it in your touch... Wait a minute, are you shaking?"

"Yeah, I guess I am." It was his turn to blush. "Mom," he said taking a deep breath, "you have no idea how much I want to kiss you right now."

Ellen brushed some stray hair behind her ear with her free hand and looked at her plate. "Maybe that can be your reward for today," she said quietly.

He sat up straighter in his chair. "You mean this outfit wasn't it?"

She laughed. "No, I did this because I wanted to feel sexy."

Michael wanted to shout, 'Fuck yeah!', but instead dove into the sandwiches in front of him.

"Michael, what are you doing!"

Around a mouthful of bread and cheese he managed to say, "Let's eat so we can finish Fall Day!"

Together they made quick work of the remaining tasks, and Michael began to question his desire to finish early. His mom, it seemed, enjoyed finding reason to bend over whenever he was near, giving him glimpses down her shirt or letting him ogle her well-formed ass. When the last of the tchotchkes were placed on the shelf, he found himself momentarily disappointed. His mom, on the other hand, was ecstatic.

"I think that was record time!" she said surveying the room with her hands on her hips. Michael, as usual, was standing behind her enjoying the view. She smiled back at him and rocked her hips slowly. "I should have dressed like this years ago, think of all the things we could have accomplished."

Feeling strangely bold, he took a couple steps forward and put his hands on top of hers. "Well, you can make up for it and dress like this every day going forward."

"You wouldn't get tired of it?"

"Never."

She pulled one hand from under his and reached up to stroke his jaw. "I think you mean that." She then twisted around so they were facing each other, shivering slightly as his hand drifted across her bare stomach as she did so. Her own hand drifted further up and began playing with the hair behind his ear.

Michael started to lean in when she abruptly pulled back and put her hand on his chest. "How many girls have you kissed?" she asked looking serious.

Taken by surprise, it took him a moment to answer. "Three. Well, four, but the first one doesn't count."

"Why wouldn't she count?"

"Because it was Carrie," he answered sheepishly.

"Carrie?! Your sister?!" The mood had definitely been broken. "Why would you kiss Carrie?"

"It was before either of us really started dating, and neither of us wanted to feel awkward about kissing once we did."

"And here I thought you guys did nothing but fight." Ellen reached up again and pulled his head down so that his forehead rested lightly against hers. "Sooo, if you've only kissed four girls, then there are still some things I can teach you?" she whispered.

"Most definitely."

With that she tilted her head back from his, opened her mouth a tiny bit, and pulled him in for the kiss. It started gentle, almost playful, as they brushed their lips lightly together. Then Michael took her lower lip between his, tugged softly and briefly ran his tongue across it before letting it go. Ellen reciprocated, alternating between nibbling and wetting his lips with her tongue. Then their tongues met and began to dance, and the kiss became more urgent. Ellen melted into the strong arms that now enveloped her. One hand was between her shoulders, holding her firmly to his chest. The other was tenderly exploring the bare expanse of skin just above her waistband. She knew it must be difficult for him not to push things further and explore a little lower, given how much he clearly adored her ass, and she appreciated his restraint. Just the same, she reluctantly broke the kiss and rested her head on his shoulder.

"Mmmm, I thought you said there were still things I could teach you?" she said breathlessly.

"Maybe all the time I've spent reading up on it is paying off," he teased.

She laughed and lightly slapped his chest. "Will you do something for me?" she asked looking up at him.

"Anything," he said earnestly.

"Sit on the couch. I'll be right back," and she padded off quietly towards the basement.

A few moments later she returned looking pleased. "He's still engrossed in the game." Grabbing a blanket, she came around to where Michael was sitting. "The other night, you said you'd sit in my lap any time I wanted, right?"

"Well, yeah, I mean I'd probably crush you but if it's what you want..."

"No, you'd definitely crush me, but I still want to cuddle with you like that, sooo, can I sit in your lap?" she asked smiling broadly.

"Yeah, of course." He wasn't sure where she was going with this, but he liked the idea of snuggling up with her, so he held out his arms and spread his legs a little to give her room to sit.

Lifting the blanket, she turned around and gave her ass a wiggle before scooching it all the way back into his lap. Then, deftly, she swung her legs up and to the side and pulled the blanket up high around them both as he brought his arms down to secure her. This resulted in her head resting against his shoulder, her ass planted firmly in his lap and her feet up on the couch, while one of his arms cradled her back and the other draped over her legs. She wriggled momentarily, seemingly wanting to be even closer to him than she already was, then stopped and said, "Something's not right." Michael worried as her hand went digging under the blankets and found his free hand dangling respectfully away from her side. She grabbed hold of his hand and pulled it in until it was resting firmly on her thigh, just below the hem of her shorts. "Mmmm, that's better," she intoned and gave one last contented wriggle before closing her eyes and settling in.

Michael had, at first, been unhappy about seeing her with the blanket. If she were going to be sitting on his lap, he had hoped to sneak a few glances at her cleavage. Now, snuggled up as they were, he realized this was infinitely better. He relished the intimacy of their cuddle: Her body was warm and soft, her hair smelled of lavender and vanilla, and her thigh was like silk beneath his hand. He lost track of time as he held her, alternating between gently kissing the top of her head and just listening to her breathe. After a while she seemed to fall asleep as her head slipped forward to rest against his jaw and her breathing slowed and deepened.

It hit then, the degree of trust she had placed in him by being so vulnerable and open. He was still a teenager, even if he was possibly the most mature of his friends. It was, in some ways, acceptable for him to be head over heels for an attractive older woman, even if she was his mom. She, on the other hand, was expected to behave as an adult, sensibly and responsibly rebuffing his improperly placed affections, regardless of her own needs and feelings. She stood to lose much more than he in this relationship. Michael was still mulling over the implications of this, when he heard her snort and start awake.

"Did I fall asleep?" she asked into his chest.

"Yeah, I think so."

"What time is it?"

He craned his neck to see the clock across the room. "Three twenty."

"Mmmm. I'm really comfy but I need to get changed and start dinner before your dad comes upstairs."

She didn't make any move to get up, and Michael didn't lessen his grip on her.

She lifted her head and looked into his eyes. "Kiss me again."

It was said as a statement, but Michael could hear the question behind it. She wanted to know that he wanted to kiss her too, that it wasn't a one-sided desire. In answer, he leaned down and kissed her with a passion that made her toes curl. The kiss went on and on but neither tired as they explored different techniques, discovering along the way each other's preferences. Almost without knowing they were doing it, their free hands started to explore as well - her hand roaming his chest and shoulder and sometimes running through his hair to pull his mouth tighter against hers. Simultaneously, his hand stroked and massaged her thigh from her knee to her shorts but always respectfully stopping at the hem. Then there was a moment when her hand pulled away from his chest and disappeared under the blanket. He felt it land on his leg and she pushed up, rolling her hips so that her stomach was nearly against his. Her hand then left his leg, only to grab his hand from her thigh and pull it higher, slipping it under the hem that had stopped him before and onto her panty-clad ass. Then her hand was back on his neck as she slipped her tongue deep into his mouth.

Michael could feel his mother's legs rhythmically pressing together as his hand explored beneath her shorts, his pinky occasionally dipping lasciviously into the valley between her cheeks. On a whim, he gave her ass a playful squeeze, marveling at how it felt in his palm, and she responded by urgently rubbing her hip against his engorged penis. His senses already in overload, her motion nearly made him cum, and he ground harder against her and kneaded her ass again.

She had been feeling his manhood growing against her hip since the kiss had started and now, with his hand stroking and squeezing her ass, she felt it jump beneath her. Knowing he was hard for her, that he wanted her, pushed her over the edge. She broke the kiss, pulling him tightly to her chest, quivering all over and moaning in his ear. "Oh, god! Michael! Oh, oh, oh! Oh my god! Ohhhhhhhh!"

After a few more spasms of pleasure, she went limp in his arms, then started to laugh softly. "Mmmm," she said, cuddling against him again, "Oh, Michael, thank you!"

"Thank you?" he asked.