Covid Kills.
That was the word out on the street. I wasn't exactly Out On the Street, I was a sophomore at a reasonably reputable college when this brutally bunk pandemic began.
"They're cancelling NBA Basketball? What the fuck, man?"
I knew it wouldn't be long before my mother called me home at that point. All the work I'd put into studies that semester would get shelved and - the world would fall over. Well, I hadn't quite anticipated the world part but shelving the personal progression I was in, was individually tragic enough. In addition to my studies, I had a bit of a groove going on socially. I don't know what category of "cool" I fall into but I'd been pretty honed in on academics and never made much room for socially farting around in years prior. Wasn't until a few months into college I realized there WAS room for the farting around part. Or rather, fucking around. In College we fuck around. In High School you fart.
I had some pretty good options on my phone to Fuck around with now. And the other thing about College? We're a bunch of horny young adults. Like bunnies in a bush.
"I need you to come home right now. They're sending us all home from work. I'm sending mySELF home from work," my mom would call and demand as anticipated.
"But..." I tried to protest.
"Trust me. The call will come down from your own administration in a handful of days from now but by then you might already have the bug. Get out of there now. I have your flight information ready. Grab a pen."
My mom isn't one to mince words. She's the on-the-ball type. And you have to admire it. A single mother has got to be assertive that way, doing the work of two. She is as meticulous as she is practical.
"Well how long is this gonna last?" I asked, with honest concerns beyond my own freedom.
"As long as it takes," she replied. "This isn't the kind of thing we can control the way we think we'd like to. It's a heathen. Come home."
Home? I mean, to be fair, that's not really my home any more.
Which doesn't mean I hated it. Just. Well. I'd moved on from there. My mother and me had a real good relationship. I gave good effort towards being a team. Pick up the slack at home while she was out there makin' bacon. But. I liked being out on my own. I liked having options on my phone. I liked being a bit of a bunny. I mean, what was I gonna do with my cock for several weeks if this thing went on the way she was saying? That could be a problem.
+++
She squeezed me tight right away.
As if I'd been gone for 20 years.
Which wasn't all that different from any other time I'd return home but there was most definitely a little more urgency in this one. Thing about that is, my mother is also very busty. Dare I call them enormous (you wouldn't; you might just call them canonballs. But from where I stand they've always been as large or bigger than my head so I can go as far as enormous). So when she was smashing me up against her pair, forgive me for being reminded I'm not gonna have my hands on any of those for some unknown quantity of time. Had a backpack of books with me, but no tits to offset my urges in between.
Bunk.
"When do we get tested?" was nearly the first thing out of my mouth. Kinda rude. But I'll remind you I just got yanked out of an environment where that's pretty much what it's all about.
"Nevermind that for now. Come inside with me. You're home."
As much as a taskmaster she is. And meticulous. She also likes to pamper me. Not too much but certainly not too little. We "palled" around at home a lot growing up. Popcorn nights and Cartoons. Board games, Cooking lessons, Paint on Spot on Top, teasing each other about dumb stories here and there. She'd ask me plenty about what interests me and there wasn't any subject too adult (meaning, nothing she would infer was above my head or "impossible" for me to understand). When she'd tuck me in at night I'd end up like a mummy, no breathing room at all and I'd let her do that anyway cuz - you know, I loved her and she liked to. So, she'd suffocate me a little bit often enough but the rest of the time - when we were able to be together, she worked a lot - where I could breathe and be her little buddy, it was good.
She'd attempt to treat me equal in many ways but again, she's the parent; I was the child and I knew that. So it wasn't ever equal. It was Her. And me alongside for the ride. And therefore I was a bit of a loner within our own house.
Well THAT was about to change.
I'd never been... I'm asking a lot of forgiveness here but... STUCK with her in the house this way. Sure there might be an entire Saturday or a Sunday in the past. But both plus all 5 other days of the week? Nope. Never.
It was pretty unnerving.
She didn't know my "new" ways all that well. Not quite able to make the adjustment that I'm my own Man now. I don't need direction all the time. And I don't need all that interference.
And I also don't need those fucking tits bouncing around from morning until the clock runs out, peppering me for hours about what's not available. She's got a rack that dances around like that. She dresses rather classy but at home she likes to dress that down. Not exactly informal but... well she's not always wearing a bra. Or not the kind you would away from the home. I can't be cooped up in a house with her day after day and not notice that, "Hi, I'm a unicorn! I sometimes bounce from here to there like a honey bear. I'm a cookie jar! But - hands off cuz I'm also your MOMMY!! Be a good boy now."
You want a little more background? She's in her late 30's but you wouldn't know it. Most think she could honestly pass for 29 at times. If she's a MILF (and she might be) then she's the kind you could ask yourself, "But that's not really someone's mother, right?" And that worked against her when it came to parental functions. She had little to no time for unnecessary gatherings but when we had those instances you can't miss, the whispering went on, "There's that fucking harlot with the jumbotrons. Throwing them around again. I'm just trying to be a Mom here. Bitch." Yeah, a fair amount of that. And the Husbands of course would need a bib to keep their chins clean.
Thing about it is, I never saw her bring anyone home. So none of these perspectives on her were fair at all. She worked her ass off. Plain and simple.
Anyway, something close to 2 weeks had gone by and I hadn't had a "release". You know what I'm talking about. I couldn't. Cornering myself in the bathroom again after all these years just felt ridiculous. I'd never had her in the house that much before. And yeah, I could have gone the shower route but - wouldn't that be kinda obvious?
Another problem? I found out in college I kinda prefer to hear a lot of encouragement to enable myself properly these days. Like, audible agreement. You know what I'm getting at? I'd met a few sluts who really wrote the book on that and it just completely bamboozled me how I could ever stroke one off without oral accompaniment before. Brought that whole experience up from a 5 to 10 where explosive orgasms are concerned. And a 5 is being generous, I used to feel kinda humiliated having to handle things myself.
So, fair to say I really did not want to return to that. Here I am, back at home, and now I need to spank it? I'm just a dumb kid in a closet again? And I don't even have a goddamned titty mag on hand. I've only got My Mother!! Who never leaves the house anymore! Yeah, that's not great.
Boners.
Problematic boners began coming on.
Boners in pajamas. Boners in raggedy sweats. Boners in shorts. Boners under the table. Boners under your knuckled hand while trying to hide it. Boners morning, noon, and night.
Finally she just went ahead and addressed the obvious on me.
"Sweetheart? Can you not take care of that somehow?"
Boners while you're bringing Mom the dishes after watching her waddle her busy morning ass around for a challenging 15 minutes or so.
"Sure. I can do them. It's just that you were already here. I'll do them all. No problem."
"No, I meant - well that's nice of you but no, I meant - that," she delicately pointed down at the halfie I was sporting as some indiscriminately appropriate bubbles dribbled off her washing gloves and splat at the cold tile floor.
Boink.
Oh shit. What now?
"I don't mean to be insensitive. I mean, I understand you're stuck in here with me and that's probably not a whole lot of fun day after day but. You know what to do about that. Right?"
Sure, Mom. I'll get right on that. I'll just head up to the toilet now and jack it off while you continue on as if nothing's been noticed. Absolutely. Or, why not just whip it out right here in the kitchen since you're being so bold as to point out my FUCKING FEAR!!
Like, I had no answer for her. I just stood there.
But my boner did not disappear.
Nope.
She's got a huge rack on her. And it looks good somewhat wet with bubbles on top no less. Homely apron worn or otherwise. It had been weeks now. And I could even see some skin.
"Honey? You do what you need to do. I won't question it."
Jesus christ. She can't be that clueless.
I went back to the little round morning table and took a seat. Pretty much sank like when jello pudding found out Bill Cosby is a serial rapist.
She watched me for a little before taking her gloves off and grabbing a seat alongside me. Like I said, clueless - couldn't think to take the chair across the table? I'm still having a problem here.
And she identified that remained true, immediately.
"I'm sure you know how to handle that by now. I'm plenty more than confident of that, actually."
