Sometimes I think back, and I still can't believe what I'd done. It was only a year ago now. Back then, my son Johnny, well he was a little bit of the quieter type. I always summed it up to my more aggressively enthusiastic attitude. I was told at times I could be 'a bit much' (ha!). It's likely that I only got away with it because most of the tops I own are a size too small. And maybe I don't use a lot of top buttons...or wear a lot of bras... Ok so maybe I'm a little too proud of what's underneath the shirt...so I don't know, maybe being a bubbly show-off made him quiet?
I mean regardless of why, it really was always my favorite thing about the kid. It made things like making him cringe or blush so damn easy. Something I would encourage any good mom to do. Even if just to torture them and see that adorable face they make.
Seeing them smile slightly and avert their eyes while turning all red. Just adorably cute. (And, because I'm 'a bit much', also sweetly flattering). I was going to miss that when it's gone. My shy, sweet boy was eventually going to grow up enough to no longer cringe when I make a sex joke or blush when he see's my nipples poking through my top.
But as it turned out, some girls kind of like them shy boys! Maybe I would've too had I known they existed prior to raising Johnny. Maybe a little more submissive. More attentive and malleable. I've gotta say though it's not the type of man that existed when I was still actively dating. I was a small-town gal. Everyone was so much stricter about their gender roles back then. All the guys wanted to do was fuck you silly, and all the girls wanted to do was to be a good toy so they could get hitched. Which is basically how it played out for me.
My luck. I mean if I'm being completely honest with myself the objectification actually worked for me back then. The toy part was never a problem given the look I'd cultivated. It was the getting hitched part that was less my thing. But hey! It resulted in me having Johnny. Probably worth the detox from promiscuous sex.
Besides. Toys are a thing. I'd found my 'house mom' alternative.
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So, before that night, I would have said he was just a sweet and docile kind of kid. Sort of innocent. I never would have expected to find out what I did. But something was different that night. If I'd had any wherewithal I would've checked for a full moon.
It wasn't exactly like I was on high alert or anything though. I'd known Johnny was out. And presumedly on a date given how long it took me to help him choose an outfit. I wish he'd just open up to me and tell me about these things. He's just so shy with me these days. Such is the life of a mom I guess. I think I'll just keep gently nudging him. I know he kind of likes how I poke and prod at him anyway.
So, while he was gone, I took advantage of my time alone! I made myself a cold martini, lit some candles, and put on something to make me feel special. See tonight was an anniversary for me. Well, a former, anniversary. Putting on something risqué was really just foreplay. Just a sort of ritualistic formality at this point given I'd started this little tradition 10 long years ago.
I would get the best booze, order the best new toys, and commence in a night of some of the most intense self pleasure anyone would be lucky enough to see. All dressed up in my own little gift for myself. A tight black babydoll with entirely too much cleavage. I'll admit the narcissist in me. I do love to love me. And I do look damn fine in the right lingerie.
So there I sat, the light from the T.V. illuminating the couch. Sipping my fifth martini, sitting on the edge of frustration with my back flat against the couch cushion, my knees lifted, heels against my butt and arms between my knees. I flared out my elbows to stretch my legs and allow myself a better view of my cleavage. Sometimes it made me sad that I didn't allow myself more opportunities to share it.
The narcissist in me was showing.
I can't be blamed for being distracted though. Because the new toy I bought, was a complete...fucking...dud. See my position, on top of being a more relaxed squat and a good way to stretch out my legs, was also a way for me to better grind into the toy that was pulsing inside of me. It was meant to pulse in response to sound, which I'd had queued up with a somewhat extreme porno. Because hey, ten years is a long time to not get a little extreme with ways to get off, right?
But this thing didn't want to listen! Two minutes on, ten minutes off. One minute on. Two minutes off. Over and over pushing me to the edge of orgasm and cutting out before release. How's a girl supposed to get off that way?
And I know, I know, why not get more toys and fix it? Maybe take it out? Well first of all, once you work a sizable vibrating toy inside of you, you usually don't plan on taking it out until you've cum a couple times. This was truer then ever this time given I'd opted for a vibrating butt plug rather than something for my pussy. The toy pressing deep in my ass may be a little inconsistent, but the feeling of being filled up was something that still gave me all the right flashbacks to my sluttier single days.
On top of all that, this thing took so long to set up that now I'm running the risk of having my son walk in on me. So pulling out all my old friends from anniversaries past probably wouldn't be a good move if it means my son walking in and seeing his mom spit roasting herself between two dildo's while watching a gangbang on the living room T.V. Though if I'm honest, the reaction would be precious.
"Mom! Is that entire dick in your mouth!?" or "Oh my god Mom, I didn't realize how sexy you are!"
Okay...maybe he wouldn't say that...but at any rate, the buzzing hadn't responded to the songs that were playing for about 15 minutes now, and I'd assumed that was that. So I sipped my Martini and watched the Kardashians. Basically just for fashion ideas and to do some positive self speak.
Like: 'I'm smarter than them', 'My ass is shaped way better than that', 'My tits are way bigger than hers!'
And that was when I heard someone, or more than one someone come in. I'll admit I was slightly taken aback when I heard a faint giggling sound coming from the front door.
"Did my baby boy bring himself a girl home?" I thought to myself.
It was all very cutesy. I was naïve. I was a mom. I was also a mom that knew her son. He was going to be nervous to introduce her to me. There's no doubt. You know he really was a sweetheart. He'll be so well trained for whoever would be so lucky to get their hands on him. He really is a good boy.
So, I tried to make it easy on them! I couldn't bare the thought of my sweet shy boy fumbling around all nervous to introduce his cute new girl to his cute old mom. So, I took the initiative! I grabbed the small silk robe laying next to me, put down my Martini (or what was left of it) and left the Kardashians playing to swing around the corner for a quick hello. I just thought it would be nice. Maybe make it easier on them.
When I turned the corner into the dark kitchen I was met with a high pitched, and rather stunted, "hi, Ms. Kim!".
The voice was friendly and cute. I responded with an exuberant "please, just Kim!" before flicking on the kitchen light.
She had found her way through the door, and into the kitchen, where she stood leaning onto the overhang of our island bar. I'm bad with height, but I know I skew tall, and with us standing at opposite sides of the island we both managed to reach a similar height. The dead giveaway being that the bar was at a perfect height for my boobs to sit comfortably onto the bar-top when standing, which was exactly how this young thing was presenting herself to me.
It was always a great spot to stand and lean when I really needed to get my point across. Given the sheer size of this girl's chest, and her position at the bar, I was only re-affirmed of the effectiveness of my seductive little move.
