Episode 1

really not getting replies…….not happi…

I t was a sunny and warm May afternoon as I sat
staring out the window, trapped in my senior
chemistry class with little hope of sneaking out
early. Only one week of school remaining and
then I’ll be free.
Graduation! I’ve looked forward to this day for … well
since I can remember, and it’s almost here. I just have
to get through finals, and while I am a pretty good
student, it has been difficult, if not impossible of late
keeping my mind on studies. It seems I am
daydreaming more and more. Mostly dreaming about
how I am going to spend my last summer before I
head off to college. But I’m also thinking about my
mom. I wonder how she is going to get along without
me. I’ve been the man of the house since my dad left
almost five years ago and now I will be leaving her
too. The thought is so depressing that it has nearly
ruined my excitement over the end of twelve long
years of school.
Sure, Mom says she’ll be fine. She always says that.
But I know how much she depends on me. Although
she is still young at 37 (I was born when she was 19)
and, if I say so myself “hot”, she doesn’t date or have
a man around, other than me, to fix things and take
care of the car and such. Keeping the house running
is my job and I don’t mind the responsibility. In fact, I
love it. She and I have a very special relationship and
are very close—we are more like friends than mother
and son. We have leaned on each other exclusively
over the past few years; through my adolescence crises
and her more important adult concerns … like how we
were going to pay the bills.
When Dad ran off with his secretary, he left us
nothing, and even worse, Mom was emotionally
crushed and for a long time I hated him for that. He
burst my bubble of a happy family and hurt my mom
terribly. But I don’t hate him anymore. His leaving is
the reason my mother and I grew so close. Since he’s
been gone, I’ve made sure she didn’t miss him. At least
in all the ways a young boy can act as the man of the
house. I learned to fix things, helped with finances by
getting a part time job to pay for clothes and minor
school expenses, and just being there when she needed
someone’s shoulder to cry on. And she did plenty of
that. I have a couple of shirts on which she shed her
tears and, although I should throw them out, they are
still in my closet as a reminder that I never want to
hurt her like that. Oh, and yes I’m just a little
embarrassed to say that I also have a couple pair of
her panties hidden in my dresser that I stole from the
hamper.
As I said, my mother is hot, and if you haven’t guessed
already, I have a major crush on her. She is gorgeous
and not just because I say so. All of my buddies say
she is by far the hottest and coolest mom of any they
know. She’s about five-six with large round eyes that
change from an aqua blue to sky blue depending on
the outfit she is wearing, and they twinkle like stars.
She keeps her dyed red hair at shoulder length and
curled under stylishly. Her figure is perfect, but I will
tell you more about that in a moment. At 37 she easily
passes for her late 20’s. Some say we could pass for
brother and sister; and of course she loves it when I
tell her that.
On her 37th birthday I surprised her with a birthstone
ring and necklace. She had no idea that I was getting
her anything, but I had saved up my extra spending
money—seven hundred dollars—and spent it all. I
know she liked the necklace and ring because she said
so when we saw it at a jewelry store at the mall one
afternoon. I worked hard to save up the money and
purchasing the ring and necklace was probably the
most exciting moment of my life up to that time. I had
it specially wrapped at the store in pretty paper with a
red bow.
When I gave it too her she began to cry. For a moment
I thought I had made a big mistake. But her tears
were tears of joy. She said I shouldn’t have spent so
much money but she loved it and loved me. That
statement alone made it all worth it. She said she was
going to wear the ring always. I was surprised when
she put it on her left ring finger where she used to
wear a wedding band. That was special to me as well.
I guess it is time to admit that I have been fantasizing
about my mom a lot lately. Recently I actually got the
nerve to spy on her. I had resisted the incredible
sexual hormones raging in me until I accidentally saw
her undressing in her bedroom. I went to her room to
ask if she needed anything before I went to bed. Her
door was opened just a crack. Before I could knock, I
saw her standing near her vanity. I had seen her in
her nightgowns and such and she had seen me in my
underwear plenty of times, but this was the first time I
had seen her totally naked. I still have the image of
her slim waist and tapered hips with the smooth
perfect white skin of her ass burned into my memory
bank. I don’t think I have ever seen a more perfect
ass.
When she bent over to pick up her panties my heart
almost jumped out of my chest when I realized that I
could see the lips of her p---y between her slightly
spread thighs. And, incredibly, she didn’t have a speck
of pubic hair, none—baby smooth. The inner lips were
pale pink and hung between the smooth shaven outer
lips like the delicate petals of a rose … a gorgeous pink
rose with the petals shimmering with morning dew.
The outer lips were puffy flesh colored m----s and
seemed to strain to contain her longer inner lips.
I watched with mounting guilt and excitement as she
sat down and began to sensuously rub cream on her
large but still firm breasts. She rubbed the cream over
the upper portion of her breasts and then moved
down, pausing to work it into the impossibly hard
nipples until they were shiny and slick.
Then she poured more onto her hands and placed the
palms under the two large orbs and lifted and kneaded
the flesh. I thought I heard a sigh of pleasure, but it
might have come from my own lips.
I stood transfixed, my eyes as wide as saucers as I
watched her. This might sound naive coming from an
eighteen year old boy, but it was at that moment that I
knew that I loved my mother; but not like a son. I also
realized that no woman would ever entirely take her
place in my heart. I know some would say it is just
adolescent fantasy, or more specifically sexual fantasy,
and that a lot of kids fantasize about their mothers or
their high school teacher etc., but that wasn’t me. I
never had a crush on a teacher, or any other older
woman for that matter.
I remember how excited I was that day; so excited that
I had to take my swollen c--k out of my pants or risk
cumming in my underwear. I fought hard not to
c----x, not only because I felt guilty, but also because
I wanted the chills of excitement running through me
to last. I wanted to watch her forever. When she stood
up and stretched her arms over her head, I couldn’t
hold out any longer.
My c-m hit the door so hard that I swore she heard
the splat. My knees almost buckled as I fought to
remain conscious. Of all the times I had masturbated
in my life, and there have been plenty, this was by far
the best one. It left me feeling drained and dizzy.
When I opened my eyes I saw my mother sitting on
her stool again, looking into the mirror with an odd
smile on her face. I was petrified that she had seen
me, so I scurried away like a roach in the kitchen
when the lights come on.
I felt very guilty for a long time about that night, but
not guilty enough not to do it again and again. From
that point on, I took every opportunity to spy on my
mother. I took big risks too. I put a small strip of
rubber on the frame of the bathroom and bedroom
doors so that they wouldn’t shut all the way. She
asked me many times to fix them, but somehow I
never got around it. Then, almost every night I would
slip down the dark hallway to watch as she undresses
for her bath or sits at her vanity to perform her
nightly ritual before she goes to bed. Sometimes, if I
am very lucky, I see her doing naughty things, on the
bed or in the bathtub. At that point I lose control and
I stoke my c--k with a pair of her panties until I
c----x.
Did I say what gorgeous breasts she has? I know I
would never grow tired of looking at those beautiful
t--s. Even when she is dressed I often find myself
staring at them … so round and soft with a sexy giggle
as she moves. Sometimes she catches me looking, but
she never seems angry. More recently, when she sees
me staring, she just shakes her head and smiles like
she did when I was a little boy and got caught raiding
the cookie jar.
“Jerry Moss, can you finish the formula on the board
for the rest of the class?”
I was suddenly awakened from my daydream. “I … uh
… I uh …”
The teacher stared at me and waited. The rest of the
class broke out in gales of laughter. My face turned
three shades of red. “I wasn’t paying attention,” I
admitted.
“Well, at least you admit it. You had better listen up
because this is going to be on the final,” Mr. Henson
pointed out. “And that goes for the rest of you
seniors.” To my great relief, that brought the still
snickering students back around and took the focus off
me.

To. be cont.

omotolani hope all is well……..u a boss ooo

episode 2

A fter the final bell, I walked outside to feel the
warmth of the late-spring sun on my face.
There was a gentle breeze and several
passing puffy white clouds cast a brief
shadow across the sidewalk … spring fever
had me tightly in its grip. As I walked unhurriedly
down the sidewalk I looked up.
A wide smile came to my face when I saw my mother
waiting at the curb for me. She was driving my old
door-less and topless Jeep that she had helped me
purchase for my eighteenth birthday. I had eyed that
vehicle at old Mr. Jenkins used car lot for quite some
time. It had sat there for months as I tried to save the
two thousand dollars to buy it before someone else
did. However, the present to my mom for her birthday
had totally depleted my funds. When she said she
would help me purchase it, I was so incredibly excited.
I put in a lot of extra hours at the pizza joint, but
without her help I could never have afforded it. Now I
am the envy of all my friends. When I don’t take the
Jeep to school—due to a shortage of gas money, Mom
will drive it and thankfully fill the tank. She says
driving the Jeep makes her feel young. Her car is a
ten-year-old minivan she got before my dad left. Some
days, like today, she comes to pick me up from school
when she has a day off or can get off early from work.
I never mind my mom showing up at school like some
kids do. Most of them would be horrified if their
parents came to school for any reason. Not me. I love
for my friends to see my mom. I am so proud of her.
Not only is she gorgeous, but she’s smart too. When I
was young she earned her teaching credentials and
taught school for almost ten years. But Dad wanted
her to be a “stay at home mom”, so she quit. I think
she misses teaching a lot. Then when Dad left, she
applied for a teaching job, but due to budget cuts at
the state level, none were available. To make ends
meet, she took a job at a large marketing firm as a low
level administrative assistant. After only a couple years
she became a senior marketing executive. She says
that she was just in the right place at the right time,
but I know better. She earned everything she has
gotten.
My mom has worked hard for her success, but she
says dressing professionally, and just a little sexy, is
important too. She does both in a stylish way. Under
her business suits she wears pretty blouses with lace
and frills and not the man-ish shirts that some
businesswomen chose to wear. Some of Mom’s tops are
cut low in front, exposing just a hint of her cleavage
under the lace fringe. She said she wears those when
she needs to make a good impression on some of her
male clients. I know it works on me.
And now here she was waiting at the curb for me. I
waved to a couple of my guy friends, who happened to
be staring at my mother, and rushed over and hopped
into the passenger side of the Jeep.
“How was school?” she asked.
“Boring,” I replied as I leaned over and kissed her on
the lips. I like kissing her on the lips. Her lips are
always moist and she has started wearing lipstick with
subtle flavors. Actually that’s how we first started
kissing on the lips. She told me one day that she was
wearing a new lipstick with flavor. I surprised her by
kissing her on the lips to taste it. From then on we
have always kissed on the lips, and when she has that
lipstick on it is a game for me to guess the flavor. I
guessed Strawberry today.
“Nope,” she said just a tad flustered it seemed.
“Let me try again.” Before she could protest I leaned
close and kissed her a second time, letting my lips
linger on hers for a moment longer then the first time.
She pulled away and said, “Jerry, not here. Your
friends might see.”
“I don’t care if they do.”
“I do,” she said firmly, but I could see a twinkle in her
eye.
“All right, but you have to let me try again when we
get home.”
She didn’t answer, but instead changed the subject.
“There’s only another week of school left. Are you
ready for your finals?”
“Yeah, I know this stuff. Besides, I could flunk the
final in almost every class and still get a ‘B’.”
“Well, don’t do anything that would jeopardize the
scholarship.”
“You know I wouldn’t do that.”
She looked thoughtful and as if she didn’t hear me
said, “I could probably scrape up enough to get you
through for a couple of years, but I’d rather use that
money for other things.”
“Like that nice vacation you promised me if I got the
scholarship?” I said, as if I needed to remind her.
“That’s already set up and mostly paid for.”
My ears perked up. “Paid for? Where are we going?”
“That’s a surprise.”
“Ah, Mom, come on, you can’t leave me hanging like
this.”
“Sorry, after finals.”
“D--n,” I said, but smiled. She smiled back and my
heart fluttered.
I had been so excited to see her there to give me a ride
home that I hadn’t noticed what she was wearing. It
was a warm day so she had on a pair of white short
shorts that left most of her thighs uncovered. On top
was a tight jersey that hugged her breasts like a second
skin. She did have on a bra, but it was one of those
natural ones that gave only a tad of support … she
didn’t need any more than that. I could see her hard
nipples poking through. I wondered if the kiss had
caused that. It certainly wasn’t because the weather
was cold. I was pretty sure she wouldn’t have worn
that outfit if she had to get out of the car for any
reason. She apologized for her outfit and said she was
working around the house and had been running late
so she didn’t have time to change. I didn’t mind at all.
She saw me staring at her hardened nipples and
blushed before starting the Jeep and quickly pulling
away from the curb.
It was Friday and we typically rented a video and
ordered pizza in. She had taken the day off and spent
it lying in the warm sun adding to her already nice
tan. She had been visiting a tanning salon for a few
weeks so I figured our vacation was going to be
somewhere with a beach and lots of sun. That was fine
with me. We both like the sailing, skin diving, and
snorkeling.
“What are we going to rent tonight?” she asked.
“We had a chick flick last week. I want something that
has lots of shooting and things blowing up,” I replied
with a laugh.
Mom sighed. “Okay, but not another Bruce Willis
thing.”
“You know you love those movies,” I joked.
“Well, the last one where he jumped off the bridge
onto the wing of the jet fighter was a little over the
top.”
“You mean people don’t do that?” I said facetiously.
“Not normal people.”
“Okay, I’ll get something that’s not too violent. I’ll give
you one of my famous foot massages while we watch,”
I offered.
“Mmmm,” she said. “It’s been too long since you last
gave me a foot massage.”
We stopped at Blockbuster and I picked up “The
Bourne Supremacy.” A little less violent then the
Bruce Willis movies, I figured. I had seen it at the
theater a few months earlier.
When we arrived home and walked into the house, I
stopped my mother by grabbing her arm. She turned
and looked at me with surprise. “Lipstick,” I said. She
had forgotten. I hadn’t.
I leaned forward and touched my lips to hers. I was
close enough that I could feel her soft breasts touch my
chest. My heart began to pound as I tried to hold my
breathing steady. Her lips were opened just a bit. The
kiss only lasted a few seconds, but in that time I
moved my lips across hers, under the pretext of
making sure I got a good taste of her lipstick. When I
pulled back, I was almost trembling. When I looked at
my mom, I saw that her eyes were closed. Her lips
were open and I could see that she was breathing
more rapidly. Her nipples were hard again. I suddenly
wondered if my mother was feeling the same stirrings
that I had been feeling for so long. That was too much
to ask, I thought.
“Raspberry,” I whispered, almost breathlessly.
Mom opened her eyes as if she had forgotten what we
were doing. Her face flushed as a pink blush came to
her cheeks. She looked confused for a moment. “Uh …
uh … nope, not raspberry.”
“I guess I’ll have to try again later,” I said. I figured it
would be going to far if I tried to kiss her again, as
much as I wanted to at that moment.
“Uh … yes,” she said, still a little flustered. “I have
some things to do now.”
“I’ll order the pizza at 6 and we’ll watch the movie at
seven,” I said.
“Okay,” she returned, taking a deep breath before
turning and heading upstairs.
We busied ourselves around the house for the next
couple of hours. A while later I saw my mom pass my
room on her way to take her bath. I waited a few
minutes and then crept down the hall. I peeked into
the bathroom from the darken hallway just in time to
see her bend over to step into the steaming tub. I
hadn’t seen her for a week or so and I was surprised
to see how tanned she was. In fact, she was tanned all
over. There were no bathing suit marks either upper
or lower. I watched as she sat in the tub and washed,
but I didn’t pull my c--k out of my pants. I wanted to
wait. Our Friday nights together were always fodder
for my masturbatory fantasies. While nothing sexual
had happened in the past, we typically sat close
together and I would often put my arm over her
shoulder and let her lean into me. That was enough to
make me excited. We always kept the lights off, which
gave me the protection to hide my seemingly ever-
present erection.
I broke away from watching my mother when I saw
her look toward the door. I went to my room and took
my shower and loaded the movie into the DVD player
downstairs. The pizza was steaming and sitting on the
coffee table, along with a bottle of chilled red wine,
when my mother finally came down. She smiled when
she saw the wine and two glasses. She usually let me
have a couple glasses as long as I wasn’t going out
afterward. I never went out after our Friday night
movie. I had no interest in going out with the boys or
even a girlfriend when I could spend the evening with
my mother.
I had on a pair of boxer shorts and no shirt. I often
ran around in my underwear; after all they were
almost like swim trunks anyway. Mom was wearing a
robe and her hair was wet. I couldn’t tell if she had
anything on underneath the robe. My imagination ran
wild with the possibility that she was naked.
“I had to wash my hair after being at the salon. It was
all greasy. I need to dry it before we start watching
the movie, okay?”
“Sure. Let me do it,” I said, reaching for the blow
dryer she had in her hand.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I’d love to,” I said, quickly plugging the dryer into a
wall outlet. “Here sit on the floor between my legs,” I
said as I sat on the sofa and spread my legs.
“Wow, this is special treatment.”
“It is. So are you going to tell me where we are going
on vacation?”
My mother giggled and said, “Ah, so that’s what this is
all about.” She reached over and poured two glasses of
wine and sat back, handing me one. “I knew there was
a method to your madness.”
“Do you think I’m that shallow to resort to such
trickery?”
She turned and looked up at me with a smile and said,
“Yes, you would.”
I took a quick gulp of wine and sat the glass down on
the coffee table. “Okay, you’re right,” I laughed. “Now
tell me.”
“Nope, after finals. And that’s final.”
“D--n,” I said a second before I turned on the hair
dryer. I began to blow dry her hair. I used one hand
to fluff it up as I waggled the dryer over the back and
then the top of her head. She leaned her head back so
that her neck was touching the sofa between my legs
as she sipped her wine. I squeezed my legs together
until I was touching her arms on both sides. I could
feel her warmth through the bathrobe. I could smell
the fresh washed fragrance of her hair and the
lavender soap she had used in her bath. The
combination began to have an effect on me and I felt
myself becoming excited. My c--k began to grow down
the leg of my shorts and was in an uncomfortable
position. I wanted to reach down and move it, but
there was no way to do that without her knowing.
Then suddenly she adjusted the position of her head,
pressing it against my trapped erection. I froze.
“Mmmm,” she murmured, probably as a result of me
running my fingers through her hair. “Maybe you
should be a hairdresser,” she joked.
I had to do something with my erection so I lifted her
head and moved back a bit trying to get more
comfortable. I almost sighed in relief as my erection
flipped upward to a more natural position. I said, “If
all my customers were as sexy as you I would.”
Her response was a murmur of approval. I knew she
liked it when I complimented her. Without a husband
around she probably didn’t hear too many honest
compliments. Certainly not at her highly competitive
work environment where she said backstabbing and
sabotage are the order of the day.
As I worked on her hair, I glanced over her shoulder
and saw that she was resting her nearly empty wine
glass on her bare knee. The robe had slipped off her
legs and had slid to the floor between them. I could
see her thighs, all the way to the top of her hip. The
sight of her tanned thighs was enough to keep my c--k
throbbing in my shorts. I could see goose bumps on
her inner thigh as I put the dryer down and began to
massage her head. I knew there was going to be a wet
spot on the crotch of my underwear, but I was far too
excited to worry about that.
I reached over and filled her wine glass again. Before
she could move I slipped my hands down to her
shoulders and under the top of her robe to rub her
neck.
“Mmmm,” she murmured.
I slowly worked my hands outward and under the
robe until I could massage her shoulders. My hands
moved back and forth, squeezing her soft and warm
flesh, digging my fingers gently into indentation at the
nape of her neck.
“Oh, a hairdresser and masseur,” Mom said.
“Only for you.”
Without my mother realizing it, I began to push the
robe outward until her shoulders were bare. The effect
was to make the robe part down to the belt, which was
tied around her waist. From her neck to the belt the
robe was slightly open, revealing the soft swells of the
inside of her breasts. If my mother realized what she
was exposing, she gave no indication. I moved my
hands sensuously across her shoulders, working hard
to keep her attention from the opened robe. I knew if I
pushed the robe just an inch more on one side or the
other I would be able to see her n----e. With my heart
pounding in my chest I pushed the right side further
down with my little finger. It slipped from her
shoulder and halfway down her arm.
Oh God, there it is, I screamed in my head. I could see
an areola of one n----e, but not the tip. The robe was
hanging on her pencil eraser sized n----e. My hands
were trembling as I waited for it to fall, continuing to
work into her muscles with my fingers. My mother
moved her shoulder as if she was getting a cramp. The
robe slipped lower and suddenly the entire n----e was
visible, including most of her breast. I thought I would
c----x right then. My head was spinning. Yes, I had
seen her breasts plenty of times, but not this close. It
was within reaching distance.
Before I could do anything crazy my mother said,
“Oops,” and casually pulled the robe back over her
bared breast, but fortunately for me she left much of
her cleavage exposed.
When I regained control, I leaned over and turned my
mother’s head toward me. My lips moved down
quickly until they were touching hers. She must have
been stunned because she allowed my lips to remain
on hers for several seconds. I grew bold and pushed
my tongue out and ran it across her lips, before
sinking into her mouth a fraction of an inch. I felt my
c--k lurch and spit pre-c-m juice into my shorts.
Before she could protest, I pulled away and smacked
my lips. “Hmmm, grape,” I said as if I had been tasting
her lipstick.
My mother looked startled and said, “I don’t have
flavored lipstick on.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, must have just been the wine on your
lips” I said as I began to massage her shoulder again as
if nothing had happened.
“Our pizza has gotten cold,” she said and sat forward
before quickly standing up. “I’ll put it in the
microwave.” With that she poured herself another
glass of wine before taking the pizza into the kitchen.
I fell back on the sofa, my heart still thumping in my
chest. My hand was shaking so much that I nearly
spilled my wine as I brought it to my lips. I quickly
downed the glass and poured another.