I came home early from my summer job at the landscaping company, feeling tired, dirty, and, as usual, more than a little depressed. I was eighteen years old and still coming home to my mother's house each night. Not that she minded—we had lived together, just me and her, for most of my life. My first year away at school had been tough on her, and I knew she liked having me around, at least for the summer.
What bothered me more, I guess, was that unlike every other guy I knew, I didn't have anywhere else to be that night. The guys at work were nice enough, and would sometime ask me to parties. But parties meant girls, and when it came to girls, I was still clueless. I may as well have still been a kid, the way I felt around them. Even if they tried to talk to me, I'd clam up, and the whole thing would just turn awkward fast. "Just relax," the work buddies would say. "You ain't so bad looking. Just be cool and they'll talk to you."
But talking wasn't the problem. What scared me was what came next. The sex stuff... as if I could even imagine getting that far. It wasn't that I didn't think about it constantly—I just really had no clue how to make it happen.
It's like, as a guy, you're just supposed to hit a certain age and magically know how to do all this amazing sex stuff with a woman, every time, and always at your smoothest. The guys I knew all seemed to know it all—or at least talked like they did. I thought the sexiest thing in the world would be to get a girl naked and make her feel good. But damned if I knew how. I felt clueless, and that made me not even want to try
I guess I was brooding about all of this, as usual, when I walked into the house and down the hallway. My mom's bedroom door was open. I walked past, toward my room, and was about to say hi, when I caught a glimpse of something unusual. I stepped back, quietly, and looked into her doorway.
My mother was standing at the foot of her bed, in front of her full-length mirror, with her eyes closed. She was in a pair of tight black panties and a matching bra... and nothing else. I'd seen her walk around half-naked before, but never like this. The bra was black around the straps, but the rest was see-through, like some kind of fine, lacy mesh stretched across her fat tits.
My mother has never been a small woman, but she's always been shapely, and, truth be told, I've always loved the way she was built. More than once I've sneaked a peek at her gorgeous, pale cleavage peeking out from her blouse in the morning, and then felt terrible for looking. (But not so terrible that I didn't end up humping on my own pillow all night, picturing those amazing tits brushing against me over and over in my mind.) And standing there, as she was, in the bedroom, the magnitude of her curves became all the more apparent. The bra barely contained her—her breasts hung wide and heavy against her, and from where I was standing I could just barely make out the shapes of her huge nipples pressing out against the fabric. Her back was a flawless soft line, dipping in at the waist and then spreading out, at both sides, into a luxurious spread of hips. The skin indented slightly where the panties started, and her round, wide ass cheeks pressed out against the back of them like a pair of sculpted soft globes. There was a hint of fat along the backs of her thighs—just enough to make you realize, just by looking, how soft they must really be—but otherwise the effect was of someone at once comfortable and solid. In other words, the way a woman should be. I saw the way the panties bunched slightly in the crack of her ass and thought, "This is so wrong." But I didn't look away, and I realized, with a mix of shock and excitement, that my cock was getting rock hard and warm against my thigh.
With one hand she was tracing the shape of her own breast through the fabric of the bra. And the other, I realized, was hidden from my view, at the front of her panties, moving in slow circles. She opened her eyes, looked up at her reflection, then saw me in the mirror and gasped out loud.
"Oh God!" she said, and threw both hands over her tits. As if that covered anything.
"Christ!" I said, at the same moment, and stumbled back past the doorway.
She scurried to the door, slammed it shut, then yelled at me through the wood. "Why didn't you tell me you were home?"
"I was going to..."
"What the hell's wrong with you?"
"I didn't know..."
"What were you doing, watching me like that?"
"What were you doing, mom?"
"None of your business," she said, way too quickly. "I was doing... adult things."
"I'm an adult, mom."
The doorknob twisted and she came out with a robe wrapped around herself. "I didn't think of it that way," she said, looking me up and down. "But I guess maybe you are."
"I'm sorry," I said.
"You should be," she huffed. Her ears were bright red.
"But I'm glad I saw it." It came out before I could even think about it.
She glared straight at me. "What did you say?"
"I'm sorry," I mumbled. "But you... you looked good."
She seemed taken aback. "I... I did?" she asked, quietly.
"Yeah," I said. "Even though I wasn't supposed to be watching. You just looked so good." I stared at my feet, suddenly conscious of myself.
"Oh," she said, half surprised and half sighing. "Look at you right now. You really are just a sweet boy, aren't you?"
I wanted to walk away to my room, but I was too mortified to move.
She stepped closer and put her hand on my face. "Mama's sweet boy," she said and shook her head, smiling. She lifted herself up to kiss me on the cheek, and I felt the familiar sensation of her tits pressed against my chest. But this time, she held herself there, and let the robe fall open around her.
"Did you really like what you saw?" she whispered, in my ear.
"Yeah. I really did."
"Oh yeah?" Her voice was different now. A breathy register I'd never heard before. "Did you like seeing your mama in the bedroom like that?"
"Yes," I said, barely able to breathe.
"Oh God," she said. "It's so wrong."
'What is?"
"Can you keep a secret?" she asked, seriously.
"You know I can."
"Are you sure? I mean, can I really trust you?"
"I'm your son, mom. Who can you trust more than me?"
"You're so right," she said, and squeezed me slowly. Then she took a step back, stared me straight in the eye, and said, "How would you like to be Mama's sweet boy tonight?"
"Oh my god," I said, nearly hyperventilating.
She jumped back. "You're right. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."
