Triangled up in Blue

The following story concerns a love triangle between a mother, her son and his mother's best friend. All characters are over the age of eighteen. This is the second chapter.

In the final five weeks before she moved to Florida Dottie and I made love with an urgency and frequency that exceeded even our earliest days together. When we weren't making love Dottie kept bringing up Mother. She was determined to do her part in making us a couple and promised to put the thought of sharing a marriage bed with me into her head. I was skeptical that Dottie would ever be able to broach the subject.

For my own part, I began to see my mother differently. I had always been protective towards her but ever since Dottie told me about the shopping lists of vibrators and sex toys I saw her as someone with desires. Here was a fifty year old woman who had spent the past twenty years -- the prime of her womanhood -- in a near cloistered state. She must be starving for a man just to hold her, stroke her hair, I thought. I'd always been an affectionate son but not in the ways she truly needed. I also began to look at her eating binges differently; that she was a sensuous woman whose seemingly insatiable appetite for sweets was an attempt to satisfy her sexual urges. The way she ravaged a large bowl of Chunky Monkey ice cream with whipped cream and chocolate sauce only suggested what she might do if she ever again had a man in her bed.

One night I watched from the hallway as Mother sat in front of the television and went to work on a large tub of chocolate pudding. Absently, she scooped spoonfuls of pudding into her mouth as she read the latest issue of Redbook. Only I knew it wasn't Redbook that had her undivided attention. Earlier that night while she was taking a shower I opened the drawer to her nightstand. Alongside the various vibrators and sex toys was the copy of Redbook. Strange place to keep the magazine, I thought. I picked it up and found another hidden inside, a thin glossy called Twinks. I flipped through the pages. It was gay porn, the type marketed to those attracted to thin young men with soft, almost feminine features. It was softcore; pictures of shirtless twinks in tiny nylon gym shorts ogling each other with the occasional shot of two boyish males stealing a kiss behind a cabana as their tiny penises poked against their Speedos. The final third of the publication was devoted to pictures of bare-chested twinks advertising phone sex. I felt the blood rush to my head as my cock stiffened against my jeans and my embarrassingly girlish nipples poked against my white t-shirt. I was aroused not by the pictures but the realization that the models in the magazines all bore a physical resemblance to me. At twenty-five my frame was still whip thin and my features had not yet hardened. Bartenders asked for my id whenever I ordered drinks. The magazine began to shake in my hands as I thought about my mother masturbating to models in one of the few porn niches I'd ever stand a chance of breaking into. Could it be that I was my mother's type?

Unaware that I was standing in the darkened hallway, Mother set the open magazine on the coffee table and went to work on the pudding. Every so often, after a particularly large spoonful, she would lean her head back and close her eyes. Her face was flush, the expression almost ecstatic. She started shoveling one spoonful after another into her mouth as fast as she could swallow, the chocolate running down the sides of her mouth. It felt strangely erotic lurking in the dark as I watched my mother devour a tub of chocolate pudding, like I'd stumbled onto a private moment. Her binges were always something she tried to keep secret and I was overcome with this strange desire to be the only one in the whole world she trusted enough to indulge herself in front of. I wanted to be the one who fed her, the one who brought home the forbidden treats that gave her so much pleasure. I wanted to put spoonfuls of chocolate into her mouth as I rubbed her belly and thighs, their ever-expanding mass a testimony of our pleasure and devotion.

Mother finished off the tub of pudding, wiping her brow and the sides of her cheeks as she examined the tub for anything she might have missed. She leaned backwards, slipped one hand underneath her robe and went to work on the area between her legs. With her other hand she rubbed her belly absently before tweaking her nipples.

I reached underneath my pajama bottoms and stroked my erect member as I watched my Mother pleasure herself. Her rhythm was languid, more like she was trying to maintain an aroused state instead of bringing herself to climax. After a few minutes her hands stopped moving and she seemed to be drifting off to sleep.

I lingered there for a few minutes watching Mother as she lay there with her eyes closed. She looked beautiful, her full lips glossy in the soft light. Despite never leaving the apartment, Mother took care of her appearance. She applied makeup each morning and a hairdresser visited the apartment every two weeks. The way her long, dark tresses cascaded past her shoulders as she reclined on the sofa reminded me of a Baroque portrait of some Italian or Spanish noble woman in a state of repose.

Ignoring an erection that threatened to poke a hole in my pajama bottoms I went into the living room and sat beside my mother on the couch. Her eyes opened.

"Hey, David. Trouble sleeping?"

"Little bit," I said.

I leaned up against Mother, resting my head on her shoulder as I feigned sleepiness. She eyed my erection for a moment then turned her head away as if she hadn't seen it. Likewise, I made no indication that I'd noticed the magazine on the coffee table was open to a picture of some bare-chested twink, though I chided myself for not having the foresight to remove my t-shirt.

There was a big dab of chocolate pudding on the front of her robe just over her left breast. I reached towards the pudding. Mother jolted when I made contact with her pliant boob and began scooping the chocolate pudding with my fingers.

"Missed a bite," I said, holding my chocolate covered fingers in front of her mouth.

Mother hesitated for a moment then sucked the pudding from my fingertips. She snuck a furtive glance at my hard on. I reached across her generous belly and rested my head just above her bosom. While Dottie's flesh had some substance to it my mother's body was almost feathery in comparison. The layer of padding that insulated her every curve seemed to envelop my hand as I embraced the area where her belly overlapped her waist. The softness was inviting. I snuggled up, my erect member pressing against her spongy thighs. I was tempted to reach inside of her robe and caress her bare flesh but that seemed too bold a move. Instead, I closed my eyes as my mother reached across my back and pulled me close. Her embrace tightened and she turned towards me, my hard on resting upon her lap as it poked against her tummy. I figured mother was drifting off to sleep and was unaware of my state of arousal. But when I opened my eyes she was staring directly at my dick, her mouth open and the tip of her tongue touching her moistened lips.

Our eyes met. For a brief moment it felt like Mother was going to kiss me. Then, in an instant, she caught hold of herself, patted me on the shoulder and released me from her grasp.

"It's time to get to bed," she said as she stood up.

The following evening I told Dottie about the entire episode. When I mentioned the twink porn she laughed.

"Alice and her twinks," she said. "A couple years back one of the linemen at the phone company got caught with a stash of gay porn. I grabbed some of the magazines and gave them to her. She took a liking to the smooth young boys in Speedos and wrestling gear."

"Those the type of guys that turn her on?"

"It isn't just the twinks but the whole frottage thing."

"Frottage?" I asked. The word sounded like some kind of French entrée.

"Frottage is a type of gay sex that doesn't involve penetration. Two guys massage and caress each other with their penises until they cum all over themselves."

"Never heard of it before," I said.

"I didn't either until your mother started with her gay porn," Dottie said. "The thought of some twink exploring her ass, thighs and tummy with his magic wand is what gets her wet down there. You must have really gotten her worked up last night. This morning she asked if I could find her some videos. I told her to ask you."

"Really? What did she say?"

"At first she told me there was no way she could ever ask you to do something like that," Dottie said. "I told her to stop being silly, that there was no reason she couldn't be open about those sort of things with you. After a while she agreed that you were grown up enough to handle a little girl talk from your mom."

In the weeks leading up to Dottie's move Mother didn't send me on any sex toy or porn runs. She was, however, a little less secretive about her reading habits, forgoing the Redbook as she perused her porn magazines. Dottie suggested I start leaving little treats for mother to find in her bedstand drawer when she was retrieving her vibrator and gay porn; bags of Lindor white chocolate truffles or small boxes of Godiva chocolates. Mother never said anything about it but she no longer made any attempt to hide the fact that she was reading porn in the living room.

One night I stood next to the sofa and looked over Mother's shoulder. She was staring at a picture of two bare-chested twinks frolicking on a picnic blanket underneath a shade tree.

"What do you think they've got in that picnic basket? A cucumber perhaps?" I asked. Mother giggled.

"I think these guys are cuter than the models in Playgirl," she said. "Much more innocent looking."

I shrugged my shoulders then asked where she got the magazines.

"Dottie gets them for me."

"Guess you're going to have to go to the magazine stand yourself after she moves," I said.

"Either that or send you."

I took the magazine from her hands and flipped through the pages.

"You won't have to send me," I said. "These models look enough like me that I could give you a live show right here in the living room."

"I might take you up on it," Mother said. "What are we going to do when Dottie's gone?"

The question lingered as I sat on the couch, snuggled up against my mother and handed over the magazine. She flipped through the pages, pausing at a shot of two twinks sitting across from each other on a bed. Each was wearing a silky woman's robe and matching panties. Their boners strained against the lacy nylon briefs as they kissed. My own cock, concealed by a robe, stiffened against my pajama bottoms. I shifted a bit, allowing it to press against my mother's waist. My stomach tingled as I felt her panties through the pale blue cotton gown. But what really gave away my state of arousal was my bare chest that was visible beneath the loosely tied robe. My titties had hardened to the point where they looked like the tiny breasts of a flat chested woman about to nurse a newborn.

"So the gay boys turn you on too?" Mother asked.

My face went flush. I stammered a bit and denied it. Mother met my gaze for a moment, then turned the page of the magazine. The next series of photos featured the same two models exploring their slender torsos, first with their hands then with their tongues. The far page had an overhead shot of the panty clad twinks laying side by side entwined in each other's legs, the more girlish of the two licking his boyfriend's nipples. As I leaned over to get a better look my cock slid across Mother's abdomen, resting in the crease produced by the layer of soft flesh that spilled over the band of her panties.

"Well, I doubt your fat old mom's what got you all worked up," she said. She placed her hand inside my robe and tweaked my nipple playfully. It sent a quiver that started in my chest and traveled throughout my loins. "It's okay if you want to look at sissy porn with me. You're twenty-five years old. The state can't take you away."

She flipped the page once again, this time to a full page spread. I stared at the photo of the sissies making love, their expression a combination of adoration and ecstasy. One was lying on his back as his boyfriend straddled him. The bottom boy held both of their thin penises in his hand. The photo captured two parallel streams of cum floating through the air. From the corner of my eye I saw mother's thick nipples poking against her gown like a couple of pegs. I gasped. Mother looked down at her own bosom.

"It looks like we get worked up over the same things in the same way," she said.

Mother set the magazine face down on the coffee table, then turned towards me. She brushed the hair away from my eyes then traced a path from my cheek down to the soft flesh underneath my chin.

"It's been a long time since I've touched a boy," she said. "Not since your father. He was pretty like you."

I jerked my head at the mention of my father.

"Pretty?"

"Yes, your father was beautiful," she said. "As soft and smooth as a woman. Guess I've always fallen for the 'girly men' as Arnold Schwarzenegger says."

It was the first time we'd spoken of my father since I was in high school.

"Why did he leave?" I asked

"Much rather be with the boys," Mother said. "Last I heard he was living as a woman out in California."

"He had a sex change?"

"I have no idea," Mother said.

I sat in silence, letting what I'd just learned about my father sink in. I had no memories of the man and always suspected that Mother knew very little about his background.

"How did you meet?" I asked.

"We met in the laundry room down in the basement. He'd come in off the street to get warm. He was squatting in one of the abandoned buildings with a bunch of trannies and hustlers."

"And you took him in?"

"Yes. He was irresistible with those shaved eyebrows and mascara. Not quite female but not male either. More like a little sissy playing with his mother's make up. God, I adored him."

"Did he love you?"

"Like a sister," she said. There was a tinge of wearied sadness in her voice. She removed her hands from my body and folded them in her lap. She peered off in the direction of the far wall.

"Being a fag hag is a sad and lonely life," she said. "You cherish whatever love they can give you and try not to think about the inevitable. When he left I promised myself I would never share a man like that again." She looked directly in my eyes. "And I mean that."

I wondered if this was some sort of veiled reference to Dottie and me. Or maybe my reaction to the twink porn had convinced my mother that I was gay. I had no idea what she suspected.

Mother gazed at the erection tenting my pajama bottoms.

"I think you need to go to your room and take care of that," she said. She grabbed the magazine from the coffee table and handed it to me.

I looked into Mother's eyes. Talking about my father had changed the mood. What seemed inevitable just a few minutes ago now seemed impossible. The opportunity had passed. I had to say something to bring things back on track.

"There's no reason why I can't take care of it out here. You seem to like that."

"I do," she said. "But I meant what I said about never sharing a man like that again."

Mother stood up from the couch and headed towards her bedroom. I sat there with the magazine in my hand wondering whether I should get dressed and head over to Dottie's or go into my room and wank. I now realized that keeping my relationship with Dottie a secret had allowed Mother to imagine all sorts of things about my sex life. She never once asked where I was going or who I was with on the nights I went out after dinner. I'd always assumed she believed I had a girlfriend. But now I realized the reason she never asked about my personal life was because she suspected sexual preferences I was afraid of divulging.

The next night Dottie I caught a movie. On the way back to her place I told her I was considering telling Mother about the two of us. Dottie asked why in the world I would ever do that.

"Because Mother is convinced I'm gay!"

Dottie slapped the dashboard and laughed.

"David, if I didn't have firsthand experience to the contrary I'd think that too."

"Really?"

"Hate to be the one to break it to you but that's the way you come across. You had no father figure growing up so it really isn't your fault. You were raised by two single women and never showed much interest in sports or scouts, two activities that would have at least provided some male role models."

"So how am I supposed to get Mother to think I'm straight?

"Are you kidding? If she stops thinking you are gay she isn't going to look at gay porn with you. Right now she thinks it is something the two of you can share. A perfect position to be in."

"But if she thinks the porn is what is turning me on the only thing she'll ever do is send me into my room with a magazine. She told me she is never going to share a man the way she did with my father."

"So you don't let her think she has to share you," Dottie said. "Once I move you won't be coming here anymore. If you start staying home every night she will think you broke up with a boyfriend and now she can have you all to herself."

"But we're never going to have sex if she thinks I'm gay. It's going to be looking at naked gay boys together before she sends me to my room to jerk off by myself.

"Geez, David, do I have to spell it out for you? Your mother is only attracted to gay and effeminate men. The only chance you have with her is to be exactly what she wants. She and your father made you and he was just about the gayest man I ever met."

"Did you know him?"

"Not that well," Dottie said. "When she started letting him stay with her I didn't approve and kept my distance. He was a prostitute and I figured it was only a matter of time before he stole everything he could from her. That never happened and, to his credit, he always treated your mother well. He was the love of her life. But after you were born he turned into a real coward. I'll never forgive him for running off like that. I don't care if you are wearing boxers or panties. If you are man enough to make a baby you ought to be man enough to take care of it. I'm sorry, in my book being gay is not a free pass to walk out on a woman and a baby."

We drove the rest of the way in silence as I thought about my upbringing. My earliest memories were of Mother, Dottie and myself, an unconventional family if there ever was one. It wasn't until I was old enough to go to school that I learned that I even had a father. Still, I never felt out of place. In the neighborhood where we lived Mother and I were hardly the only ones without a man in the house. The notion that my father had done something cowardly by leaving was something I hadn't considered. The other kids in the neighborhood at least knew who their father was even if child support and visits were irregular. My father was a mystery to me. But the only sort of deprivation I ever felt was when it came to my identity. As I grew older his absence underscored how little I knew about myself and who I came from.

Dottie must have sensed my discomfort with the conversation we had. When we parked behind the building she reached for my arm before I could open up the door.

"David, you've grown up to be a wonderful man," Dottie said. "Never think for a moment that just because you don't play sports or push others around that you are not a man. You are masculine in the ways that count. You know how to make a woman feel cherished and safe. You live up to your responsibilities. Once your mother makes you her partner she is going to realize just how blessed she is to have a son like you."