Helping Mom Changed My Life

No sexual thoughts or activity in under 18 year old is mentioned.

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A day before my 12th birthday, Mom and Dad knocked on my door. I wasn't very busy and asked them to come in. Mom's eyes were red. She stood by Dad and waited for him to talk.

"Son," he started, "I have good news and bad news. The good ones, we bought you 2 large presents for your important birthday: Mom wanted to buy you a kid-safe smartwatch, and I thought you'd rather have a virtual reality headset. After a short discussion, and especially because of the bad news to follow, we elected to buy both."

"Guys, thank you very much. These sound awesome! What is the bad news?"

"...we are getting a divorce..."

"What?! Why?"

Dad said, "For quite some time we weren't getting along as well as before, and the most logical solution was to separate. Most of the afternoons and evenings you were out with your friends, and neither of us wished to involve you in our issues, so you weren't aware of our fights. Well, Mom and I plan to separate amicably with each one getting half our wealth. You will stay with Mom, and I'll be moving temporarily to a rented apartment. I'll be happy to talk to you on the phone whenever you feel like it, and you can visit me if you wish."

"Mom, are you sure? Is this something you want as well?" She gazed at me with pleading eyes but didn't speak.

I turned to Dad, "Did you try marriage counseling?"

He hugged my shoulder, "Hank, your question shows you are maturing fast. However, it's too late for that now."

I was in total shock. I called and canceled the next day's birthday party I was supposed to be in with 5 of my closest friends and stayed in my room heartbroken.

The following day, Dad gathered some stuff in 2 large suitcases and left. Half an hour later, I went to the bathroom and passed by Mom's closed-door bedroom. I heard her cry.

I knocked on the door. She whimpered, "Not now honey; I'll talk to you later."

I opened her door and saw her sitting on the bed, looking at one of our old photo albums and sobbing.

I sat by her side, "Mom, don't cry. We'll manage. You'll see."

She hugged me, "Honey, I love you so... It just breaks my heart..."

"Shall I make you a hot tea with lemon and add your favorite cookies?"

She smiled through her tears, "You are such a good boy. Yes, thank you."

Tea was one of the few things I knew how to prepare in the kitchen. Within ten minutes, I brought everything on a tray.

As she sipped the tea, I couldn't resist asking, "Since I was in the dark, can you tell me why the separation?"

Her eyes began tearing again, "You don't want to know."

"Mom, I do."

"Here is the reason." Next, she pulled a picture and handed it to me. It was a photo of a young, smiley girl with a huge rack.

"Who is she?"

"Her name is Petra, and for the last 2 years, she was your father's assistant and mistress."

"What?!... When did you find out?"

"About a year ago. I confronted him about her. He claimed he loved me and promised to leave her, so I didn't make a scene. About a month ago, Petra called me and asked to talk to Dad. I wanted to know what this was about, and she said they renewed their relationship. Dad was looking for the right opportunity to leave us, and that day she found out she was pregnant, so leaving became more urgent. I got the call on the weekend when you were at your uncle's house. Dad and I had a major fight, but it was obvious Dad wanted to move with her, so there was nothing I could do about it. Our divorce papers were filed, and he hopes to marry 'Miss Boobies' before his child is born."

"What a jerk... Do you think he really loves her?"

"I doubt he loves any person but himself. However, she is younger and much bustier than me."

...

Here is the place to tell you about my family. Mom started dating Dad when she was in junior high. They married when she was 20, and I was born a year later. Dad was a vice president at Chase-Morgan and earned good money. He was always very busy at work and often visited VIP clients after hours, so I rarely saw him at home. In fact, I don't recall ever having a serious discussion with him about any subject.

Mom was a part time nurse at the local hospital and alternated as needed between morning and evening shifts. Unlike him, Mom was warm, approachable, and always ready to help, whether it was homework, conflicts at school, or driving me to after-school activities. I especially remember her sleeping with me in my bed when I was 8 years old and very sick. I didn't want her to get ill too, and told her to go to her room, but she refused. That night I woke up with severe headache, major cough, and a high fever. She carried me to the tub, made me take 2 Tylenol, put a compress on my forehead, and waited outside the door until I came out. She slept in my bed another night, 'to be on the safe side,' as she called it. She fed me chicken soup, hot tea, and various tablets until I felt better. She was amazing!

In the following years we became more than mother and child; we became friends. When I turned 16, I got my driver's license, and on occasion drove her to the health club where she exercised 3 times a week. I tried to help in other ways too. On evenings she was at work in the hospital, I did the shopping, cleaning, and my laundry. Our bond strengthened when I was a senior in high school.

One afternoon, 2 weeks before my 18th birthday, I got a phone call from Mom, "Honey, I need a favor."

"Mom, anything."

"Come, pick me up from the health club, and take me to the emergency room."

I drove faster than Lewis Hamilton ever dreamed of driving. I was fortunate the police were not around. I found her lying on a stretcher with a few people around.

"Are you hurt? Can you sit? If not, I'll call an ambulance."

She struggled to sit on a chair as she extended her left leg, grimacing with pain. I helped her to the car and took her to the hospital. On the way she told me what happened. She was using one of the instruments when it suddenly broke. She was shoved backward and then fell on the floor. Her symptoms were in the back, buttocks, and upper left leg.

In the hospital, the team recognized Mom and prioritized her tests. X-rays of her backside from the middle of her back down to her left knee were performed first. The radiologist could not rule out a hair crack in the femur, but all other bones were intact. I was not allowed into the examining room, but was told by Mom later that she had hematoma in the middle of her back and significant, yet mostly superficial bruises in the other areas.

We drove home 4 hours later, relieved no major damage occurred. Mom checked her e-mails and found a message from the health center manager, saying they would cover all health costs and talk to us about further compensation.

It was becoming late. I asked Mom if she needed help, and she smiled, "No thanks, Hank. You are an angel."

I smiled, "I am no angel. I just wanted to ensure you'll be OK for my birthday, otherwise I won't get a present."

She giggled, "Liar, liar, pants on fire. Even though you are reluctant to say it out loud, I know you love me and genuinely care about my well being."

"Mom, I'll never admit it."

She kissed my cheek, "I know honey, that's why I never force you to say it."

In the following 2 weeks, I helped my mother put on her shoes, zip her dress, replace her bandages, put compresses on her achy places, and several times, with my eyes closed, soap & scrub parts of her back that she couldn't reach.

On the afternoon of my birthday, I noticed Mom grimacing when she walked from her room to the kitchen. I inquired what the issue was, and she replied that since the event at the health center, sometimes her back and butt muscles acted up. Initially, everything hurt superficially, but lately, the pains felt deeper, in her muscles. I told her I'd stay with her, but she said not to worry; some pain meds usually worked well. I didn't believe her, and waited to see if she improved before leaving the house. Ten minutes before I was supposed to drive away, she did some yoga poses to prove she was OK. I half-believed her, but since she was determined I'd celebrate with my friends, with heavy heart, I did drive to the party. I stayed there for 2 hours, avoided the (Illegal?) alcoholic drinks, and then told everybody Mom needed me. My friends already knew about her health center scare, and the party was over early. When I returned, the door to Mom's room was closed, and it was dark under it. It was clear she went to sleep. I went to my room and shortly after fell asleep as well.

...

In the next days to weeks, the skin lesions have significantly improved. Bandages and compresses were no longer needed. However, Mom had more muscle pains that limited her ability to do the exercises she used to do prior to the accident. At the hospital, she was limited in the kind of physical work she was allowed to do and was using more of her analgesics to reduce her pain.

One day, I was fed up seeing her suffering and, with her sitting by me, we called an orthopod she knew, to ask for advice. He was polite and said that occasionally, traumas cause deeper tissue damage. Frequently it is not recognized until later, because it cannot be seen with X-rays, but the injury causes small scars, which lead to adhesions, thus the progressive pain. His recommendation was to begin light massage therapy and then deep-tissue massage of the affected areas.

Following his advice, I went online and read about the different types of massages, especially the deep-tissue one. My mother began seeing a masseur who, on occasion, used to work on other employees, but was inexplicably let go a year earlier. After the first session, she liked his soothing touch and chose to continue seeing him.

I was relieved Mom found the right treatment and expected her to return to her prior self soon.

In the meantime, I continued my senior year. I was doing quite well in my studies, and managed to enjoy time with friends. Now and then, we met at hastily organized parties, where we invited girls too. All the guys went gaga over who they called 'the hottest girl around.' Her name was Barb, and she looked like Petra, my father's mistress: Bleached long hair, pretty face, huge tits. Her talk and walk were always highly provocative and seductive. I hated her from the first time I saw her. The fact that she reminded me of Petra had something to do with it, but the main reason was different. While I liked to stare at tits, humongous size never did it to me. It reminded me of a cow. I was more attracted to what Meghan Trainor referred to in her famous song as The Bass. A firm, prominent butt was the first place my eyes concentrated on when I ogled a girl. As a result, I chose to watch girls from behind before deciding if they scored high on my desired list. If they passed, I'd gaze at the facial features. The most important thing was her lips. They had to be full, what I called Angelina Jolie type. If the 2 parameters were present and the breasts did not obnoxiously protrude, the girl was on my IT list. In fact, I saw a girl who fit that description. She was a year younger, and unfortunately, was already dating somebody.

In summary, due to my strict criteria and lack of suitable candidates, I did not date anybody. When my friends realized I wasn't impressed by Barb, they joked I must be gay. I laughed with them, but deep inside, I knew it wasn't true.

...

Two weeks after starting her massage sessions, Mom came back home earlier than usual and seemed furious. I interrogated her. She closed her room door in my face and I heard her crying inside. I was curious to know what happened, but was also concerned about her. I barged in, took her in my arms, and begged her to tell me everything.

She blurted, "I noticed that every time the jerk massaged me, he was standing in the same area, and his face pointed 45 degrees to my right. Initially, I thought it was because I needed him to focus on my left side. However, today I chose to lie down with my head where my legs were the other times. He stood in the same place as before, and his eyes often glanced in the same direction. I didn't understand why he looked in that area, so I stood up, moved a couple of books, and found a small video camera that recorded everything. I slapped him and left the place."

I said, "His behavior explains why he was fired. We'll deal with him later, but first we have to find you another masseuse or masseur."

"Not interested. Nobody I don't know will ever touch my bare body again."

Mom was too angry to talk sense to her, so I didn't try, but in the days that followed, she started suffering once again from nagging pains in her butt and back.

I loved my mother and couldn't take any more. One evening, when she could hardly sit down, I said, "Mom, you are the love of my life. I cannot tolerate seeing you like this. Either we find somebody else to massage you, or I do it myself, but the current situation is unacceptable. If you refuse, I'll leave the house; I simply cannot watch you constantly suffer."

She eyed me and mumbled, "Honey, you are too busy to waste your precious time on me. Eventually I'll feel better."

"No, you won't. You are a nurse, and you know without massages your symptoms won't improve. Stop being stubborn."

"Honey, as I said before: No more strangers. If you really want to spend time helping me, we can try it. However, if I notice a decline in your scores at school, I'll stop it immediately."

"Deal!"

...

I had never massaged anybody before. As I mentioned, I've read some of the techniques on the internet and even watched a few YouTube videos displaying how to do it. I bought full-bodied olive oil and avocado oil with the hope one of these will do. I placed the single bed in the middle of the guest room, covered it with a cotton sheet, and put on top 2 large, soft, warm towels. Lastly, I placed a large bowl of hot water on the side with several extra smaller towels, a thermos filled with hot green tea, and a glass with cold water. I also raised the room temperature to 72 degrees.

When I thought I was ready, I told Mom to get in, undress, lay on her tummy, and then cover her buttocks with one of the smaller towels. I exited the room, wore the scrubs I bought the day before at TJ Maxx, and waited for her to let me know when she was ready. Ten minutes passed, and I heard Mom calling me. She placed a small pillow under her head and was facing me with only a small towel covering her ass.

I had never before seen her body like that. She always wore a long loose robe, which successfully hid her body parts. The skin on her back was devoid of wrinkles, and the faint definition of her muscles could be seen.

I came forward, placed my palms in the hot water to warm them, dried the hands, and then spread olive oil on them. I touched her lower back tenderly to ensure my hands weren't too hot or too cold. Mom gasped, but then murmured, "Honey, your hands feel good."

I wanted her to get used to my touch, and in the beginning, moved gently along her backside, up and down, and then from the center, laterally. Her breathing returned to normal, and she closed her eyes. I began kneading her back muscles using my palms and fingers, attempting to search for knots despite not knowing how they felt. I didn't feel any particular denser areas and moved to deepen the massage using my knuckles and my elbows. Mom started moaning and whispered, "Hank, you have magical hands. Are you sure you haven't done this before on one of your never-seen girls?"

I giggled, "Funny. You are my only girl. And no, I haven't massaged anybody before. I learned everything from Dr. Google."

She sighed, "I love the way you do it..."

Her skin was smooth and glistened with the oil on top. I liked rubbing her back. When I finished with the lower back, I said, "I am done with the back. What do you wish to do with your behind?"

She mumbled, "Take off the towel and do it too."

I removed the towel and saw her ass cheeks. I tried to hold myself. Her tushie was perfect! The cheeks were large, bubbly, and firm. With trembling fingers, I began rubbing the oil on her butt. While the skin was smooth and flawless, underneath, the muscles suggested she used them regularly in her exercise routines. The crack valley was narrow and exactly the way I had seen the ideal one in my dreams. To think I was looking for the perfect ass in school when it was right here, at home, hit me like a brick.

My pecker jolted. I blushed and continued massaging her butt cheeks slowly. I added more olive oil and smeared it on both cheeks. I noticed 2 drops invaded her crack and were moving slowly down toward her anus. It was too late to remove them, and I continued working her cheeks.

Within half a minute, I noticed Mom's breathing rate increased, and her legs separated mildly. I ignored it and moved to her upper left leg. The thigh muscles were stiff in my hands. I rubbed the area with my elbows, attempting to soften it. Mom groaned, and her thighs separated further. From the place I stood, I could see her cunt folds with her thick bush hair. My cock engorged immediately, and strained the front of my pants. Luckily, Mom's face was not in my direction, and her eyes were closed.

I cursed myself for ogling Mom's privates. I shut my eyes and continued massaging her upper leg blindly. I could hear her respiration turn labored and her soft moans. She muttered, "Honey, your hands are marvelous. I haven't felt that good and... excited in a long time."

Without thinking, I said, "Me too, Mom." As I finished the sentence, I realized what I said and was ready to bury myself in shame. Mom just chuckled, "Yes, sometimes a good massage has that effect."

I continued for another 10 minutes with my eyes closed and concentrated on how to prepare for the next math test that was supposed to take place 2 weeks later. It helped, and when her left hip muscles softened, my organ shrank enough to be less noticeable.

I covered Mom's butt with the towel, placed the cold water and tea thermos by her head, and left the room. I returned a few minutes later and saw Mom covered in her long robe and a strange smile on her face. She looked at me and said, "Hank, your hands worked my body like a violin. It was VERY pleasant, so if someday you care to do it again, I'll be happy to accept."

I didn't want to seem TOO eager to do it, so the next day I found an excuse to be out of the house. The following afternoon, I said nonchalantly that I'd be available if she was in the mood for a massage. She grinned, "By all means, honey."

I prepared everything, wore my scrubs and made the tea, and then called her to undress. Mom was on her tummy like before, but this time, her buttocks were not covered, and she blurted, "It's nice and warm in the room, and you've already seen my derriere, so no need for the extra towel."

I didn't say anything and began spreading the oil. I stood in front of her head and started from her shoulders. Then I thoroughly did her back. I continued south and rubbed her firm ass cheeks nice and slow, feeling my member reacting again. By now Mom was groaning loudly, and each time I was kneading the muscles, it seemed as if she was pushing her butt into my hands. Gradually, her thighs began slowly to spread. When I moved to her left thigh, her vulva was exposed to my eyes. My face was close enough to see her labia were moist, and the aroma of her sex penetrated my nostrils. The odor was sharp and intoxicating. I stopped for a moment, sniffed the air and then continued massaging her upper hip. I did it with both hands, moving up from just above the knee toward her ass. When my right palm reached the inside of her upper left thigh, Mom parted her legs widely. I ogled her drenched cunt lips, and since both butt cheeks separated, I even saw her cute little puckered hole. In a short time, my pole was at full mast.