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It was one of those coincidences that only happen when stars are lined up on a very specific plane. There is no other way to explain it. I was at the back of our house, squeezed next to the air conditioner unit, doing something which wasn’t really that important, when I heard my mother’s voice coming through the small window in my parent’s bathroom. Window was slightly open and I could hear my mother’s muffled voice as she spoke to someone over her cellular phone.
It was an amazing coincidence. She just happened to have her phone with her while using the toilet, which was a rare thing in itself, and I just happened to be within earshot to hear what she was saying.
I really didn’t want to hear her conversation but there are certain words that one just can’t ignore, even if one tries to, especially when the words are coming from one’s mother’s mouth. My ears perked up when I heard my mother say: “You know, I don’t even know anymore what a dick feels like. It’s been that long.”
At first, I didn’t believe that I even heard it right. Out of shear curiosity, I held my breath and listened carefully while trying very hard not to make any sound.
There was a long pause as she just listened to someone on the other side, with occasional “huh”, “yeah”, and “I know” breaking the silence. Finally she spoke at length: “You know, I have tried all that, but it’s no use. We’ve reached a point where sex is not a part of our routine.”
Holy shit! I exclaimed under my breath. My mother was complaining about her sex life. I didn’t know who it was on the other end, but it must’ve been someone very close to her. That’s why she was talking to that person so openly and comfortably.
Another pause while she just listened. Then she spoke: “I don’t know how to deal with it. Sometimes I am so horny, I can’t even sleep, while he is snoring away like nothing is wrong.”
I had never associated the word “horny” with my mother. I had always seen her in such a clean and wholesome way that I never knew she had sexual urges like…like…well, like me. At the risk of sounding naïve, I honestly never associated sex with mom. She had always been a mother and never just a woman to me.
I know that she and my father slept together, and in the back of my mind I knew they got intimate with each other, but I had just closed my mind to thinking that that intimacy actually meant sex. I never thought of my father “sexing” my mother, where my father actually inserted his dick into her pussy; the dick that she said she didn’t know how it felt any more.
Mother and pussy were two words that were never meant to be together for me. My mother was just a mother, pure and chaste. When her conversation implied that she had a pussy, and that that pussy was craving a dick, well, I didn’t want to hear any more. I even forgot what I was doing, or why I happened to be there. I just wanted to get away from there and be as far away from my mother’s voice as possible.
Later when I saw her in the kitchen, I felt a little uncomfortable at being in her presence. I had this slight sense of guilt at being privy to her dilemma without her knowledge or consent. This guilt made me feel a little different about her. Knowing about her situation somehow made her look a little different as well. I couldn’t really explain it, but the feelings were there nevertheless.
When she came by the sitting room, I couldn’t help but notice her legs. I really didn’t want to but I did. Not only that, but my eyes jumped quickly to the region between her legs, the region where she hadn’t felt a…well…you know! It didn’t help that she was wearing jeans with her T-shirt tucked in. That made the part between her legs very visible—pronounced even! Her words echoed in my ears as I practically stared at her thighs.
She was wearing her favorite jeans and the region where her thighs came together had a bit of a gap, thus highlighting…well…her pussy quite prominently. I had seen her in those jeans before but never did I see that gap through her legs or the triangular shaped contours. In hindsight, I probably didn’t see any contours; only imagined them. It seems quite difficult to have seen them, considering her jeans were made from such thick material, but my mind was seeing her in a different light, to say the least.
I felt a little jarred at being aware of her pussy so much. I had difficulty sleeping that night. After my mother and father retired to their room for the night, I kept imagining her under him, feeling that dick that she said she hadn’t felt in a long time. I tried to shake the whole thing off my mind but it kept coming back. I kept seeing the region of her pants with that gap and my father’s dick filling that gap.
I felt very uncomfortable with my thoughts and I couldn’t tell whether it was the fact that I kept seeing my mother’s pussy-region that made me feel uncomfortable or the thoughts of my father fucking her.
Next day I felt quite upset. My body language was quite noticeable, bakırköy türbanlı escort as even she asked me if I was feeling okay. She was wearing the same jeans but with a different, rather formfitting, T-shirt. For the first time in my adult life, I also noticed breasts on my mother. I couldn’t believe she had such nice—and big—breasts. My breath came in such a strong burst at that realization that I felt a little disoriented.
For the rest of the day, my mind kept jumping from that gap between her legs to those breasts, those nice—and big—breasts of hers. I kept hearing her words about not knowing anymore what a dick felt like and how she felt horny at times.
I have to admit that the transition from seeing her as just a mother to seeing her as a woman, with breasts and other female parts, was too much. It was like a veil had been lifted and where there was only fog before, I saw a clear picture of a woman. I may have had certain thoughts buried deep in my psyche that jumped to the top of my mind when she mentioned her being horny. She became someone different and someone new to me. Where I would have had trouble looking at her breasts and the gap between her legs before, it became easy with each passing day to not only look, but to admire even, what I saw. I don’t know if she noticed the change, but many a times I could have been caught easily.
One late night as I was watching TV, I heard my mother’s footsteps in the kitchen. I had expected her to be sleeping by then, but she wasn’t. She came to where I was, with a glass of juice in her hand.
“Can I watch some TV with you?” She asked as she sat on the smaller sofa, which was placed perpendicular to the big one where I was sitting. She was wearing a nightie, which meant that she had gone to bed and then gotten up.
“Can’t sleep?” I asked, as I remembered what she had said during her phone conversation about being so horny that she couldn’t sleep. I wondered if that was her condition at that time; if she was really horny while she came to watch TV. My body tensed up at the realization that I was in the presence of a woman who may be in a state of arousal.
As she sat there, sipping her drink, she seemed in no hurry to finish it and get back to her bed. I stole a few quick glances while her eyes were on the television. Her breasts were big and nice, as I had noticed before, but this time I also noticed how nice her legs were. Her nightie was long enough to reach slightly above her knees, but as she sat on the sofa, it pulled up some and revealed a bit of her thighs.
May be it was late into the night, maybe the movie on TV was having an effect on me, but I liked the look of her thighs. They looked quite sexy. That was the word that came to my mind as we both sat there and watched TV, or in my case, at least tried to watch it. All I could see were her thighs and the thought that she may be horny kept running through my head.
She sat there for quite a while. Eventually, she got up, exclaiming: “Well, I better go. It’s late.”
I said nothing. After she got up, she came to me to say good night. Usually our good night is just a quick peck on the lips, as it was that night: a dry, light, and barely noticeable kiss. But, this time it had more significance for me because of all the other variables zooming in my brain. She was wearing a pleasant smelling perfume, which only exacerbated the situation. I felt quite warm.
As I watched her turn away to go to her room, I noticed how the silky, soft material of her nightgown was following the contours of her curves. It was hugging the rise and fall of her butt, along with a slight dip between her two cheeks. That view completed her transition in my mind from a mother to a rather attractive woman.
My mother is an attractive woman, I kept repeating to myself. Yet, she wasn’t getting any! My father had a desirable woman in his bed every night, yet he didn’t get the urge to do anything to her. I couldn’t figure that out.
I also couldn’t figure out why my mother had become desirable all of a sudden. Well, it wasn’t that sudden, but the fact that I was thinking of my mother as a desirable woman has to have some significance. Why was I finding her desirable? I know that it started with my awareness of her sexual desires, but I was her son after all, and that shouldn’t have mattered much. Her desires were for someone else, not for me; definitely not for me.
The only thing that I could think of was my own desires, and the awakening of my desires for her. Why was I then desiring her? Was I desiring her? I can’t say. The fact that she was horny sometimes and the fact that she was not fulfilled sexually, made me feel something for her. Knowing that she was looking for sex but she couldn’t get it from my father, put this thought in my mind that maybe I could help her. Her being my mother was a tremendous block and I couldn’t really, openly, think of that happening, but there was somewhere bakırköy ucuz escort in the back of my mind the thought, that at least I could entertain the idea. Being a man, that possibility, even if it was a fleeting one, made her desirable to me and that, as I’ve said before, was significant.
I normally stay up late; a habit left over from my college days. The fact that I work the second shift at a local store meant that the habit became chronic. I usually spend time working on my computer, but ever since my newly acquired knowledge about my mother, and especially after that warmth I had recently felt, I found myself veering a lot towards the TV. I often found myself in the living room, subconsciously hoping to feel warm again.
It took a while for my mom to notice my new routine. At first, she would only show up by chance and then sit a while with me watching something or other. Soon enough though, she started to join me on regular basis. She never sat too long though, but long enough to have some meaningful company. I guess she needed someone to acknowledge her presence.
Her wishes of goodnight were sometimes verbal while other times she gave me a peck before leaving. The initial warmth that I had felt, kind of withered away as I became used to her pecks. There was no substance or any special meanings to those pecks. They were just a polite formality; a formality that I didn’t much care for.
I decided to go back to my old routine and spend time with my computer. Besides, late night TV wasn’t as exciting as I remembered it to be. Only thing is, she wasn’t aware of my decision to change back to my original routine. She noticed my absence from the living room on the very first day and came to check on me.
“Are you not watching any TV tonight?”
“No, I just wanted to finish this project.” I made an excuse.
“Oh!” She seemed a bit disappointed; at least that’s what I thought.
There wasn’t much else to say, but she didn’t want to leave yet, so she sat on the foot of my bed and started to flip through a magazine that I had on my table. I pretended to be busy, so she flipped quietly. After a long while, I heard her put the magazine away and get up. “I guess I’ll turn in.”
I turned my chair towards her and said: “I am almost done. If you want, we can go to the TV room soon.”
“No, that’s okay. You carry on.” She replied as she came towards me.
Now this part also has some significance.
I may have been reading too much when I thought she seemed a bit disappointed at my absence from the TV room, but when she came to give me a goodnight kiss, there was some determination in her body language. I am very sure of that. It was as if she was making a point by making sure that there was a goodnight kiss and not just a verbal greeting.
I leaned forward and waited for her to kiss me goodnight. Usually she just bends a little and touches my lips with hers. Her hands are usually held on her sides. That night, she actually put her right hand on my left shoulder as she kissed me. I decided not to make much of that gesture and excused it by reasoning that I was sitting on a chair instead of a sofa, thus causing her to place her hand on my shoulder for balance, but that kiss felt slightly different than usual, there was no doubt about that.
It was just a hunch but I felt that she had been looking forward to our being together, to watching TV for a while, with someone to keep her company. She had become accustomed to our late night get-togethers and missed it when I wasn’t there. I noticed her disappointment in her kiss—maybe.
It was then that the idea came to my mind.
If it was possible for her to make the kiss feel different, then was it possible for me to make it different as well, in another way.
The more I thought about it, the more excited I felt about the prospect. Ever since I had heard her mention about her being horny, there was a slight fire that I felt burning in my brain, which I also felt in my body whenever she was around during those late nights. I knew from her cellphone conversation that sometimes she felt so sexually aroused that she couldn’t sleep. I assumed that some of the late nights that she spent with me, she must have been in that state, not necessarily because of me, but in that state nevertheless.
Assuming that she was in that state when she was with me, then would she look at me with desire, as I found myself looking at her? Was there then a similar fire in her heart, as there was one in mine? Was it possible to indirectly stoke that fire and make her at least feel different about me, as I was feeling different about her? Can I make here entertain the idea that may be I offered her some possibilities, even though it was just an idea and nothing more?
There was no way for me to find these things out, I mean where does one even begin. Many times I thought I sensed a certain agitation in her, but almost always it was just başakşehir escort a hunch. There was really no way to be certain. There was no way to even get a hint about how she felt.
Her kiss did betray some of her feelings, but they had nothing to do with what I wanted to know. Sure she may have been disappointed when I wasn’t there to be with her, but that was a psychological issue. She liked my company and she could feel disappointed even when her son was not there to be with her. I wanted her to be disappointed for some other reason. Maybe, in a platonic sort of way, I was fulfilling a need, not as a son, but as a man. I wanted to know that. I wanted to feel that there was some possibility of a physical need being filled, even if we were to never act on it.
Now, all of a sudden, I saw an opportunity to at least “test the waters”, so to speak. If I could, somehow, make my kiss feel different to her, give her a hint of some sort, make her feel something different, stroke even one nerve in a way a man—and not a son—would, then at least I could measure the possibility of something.
I thought about it for a long, long while that night and worked out the details of how I could introduce some substance to our goodnight pecks.
As I looked at the prospect from different angles, my excitement started to reach a fever pitch. On the one hand, I felt very stimulated by the thoughts of what would happen when I were to carry out my plan. On the other, I felt a great fear of my plan backfiring on me. She could react either in a positive way, giving me a response that would stoke the fire a little more, or in a negative way, thus permanently closing all doors on any possibility that may never have existed.
The plan was very simple. I was taking my cue from her subtle reaction and wanted to sort of experiment with it in my own way. It may even sound stupid but I felt that my plan provided me that one needle in this humongous haystack that I was looking for.
All of our goodnight kisses usually were dry, light, and barely noticeable touches of the lips, as I mentioned before. What if—I asked myself repeatedly—what if they were not so dry? I couldn’t really press my lips onto hers, as that would be against the social norms, but what if my lips were not dry? What if she were to feel the wetness? How would she react then? Would she react then?!
The more I planned for it to happen, the more agitated I became. So much so that I couldn’t sleep that night, just wondering about the possible reactions I would get from her.
I made sure I was in front of that TV the following night. She came, as I had expected that she would come and probably be a little excited to see me there. She didn’t show it though, which made me think twice about my plan, but I stuck to it. As usual, we watched TV for a while and then she finally said: “Well, I better go. It’s late.”
“Ok.” I replied as I quickly licked my lips.
She wasn’t looking at me when I did that. I licked again a couple of times to make sure they were fairly wet. I didn’t want to be slobbering, but I wanted them to be wet enough for her to feel the wetness. I then braced myself for her reaction.
My heart was pounding as she made her way to my sofa. I leaned a little forward to make it easy for her to reach my lips. I had to breathe through my mouth to steady myself. I felt my lips getting dry as a result. I don’t know if she noticed when I darted my tongue out again quickly to wet them once more, just before our contact.
I actually closed my eyes when her lips touched mine. My face was flush and burning hot with excitement. I even held my breath so she wouldn’t feel it on her face with so much force.
The wetness on my lips enhanced the sensation of our touch. It was not our usual, barely noticeable, touching of the lips. That touch was quite noticeable to me, as I am sure it must have been to her.
She whispered good night and turned around to go to her room. There was no noticeable reaction from her, even though I am sure she went away with some of my wetness. There was nothing out of the ordinary that I could put my finger on. It seemed like our kiss was just a routine kiss to her. There was nothing different. I had wanted it to be different, hoping for her to notice the difference, but she didn’t. It was now my turn to feel disappointed. As high as I had felt before, I hit an even harder low.
I had expected either a positive or a negative reaction. As I lay in my bed that night, I felt tired, emotionally exhausted, and very disappointed. I would have settled easily for a negative reaction. I didn’t know how to respond to a “no reaction”. While I moped in bed, trying to fall asleep, I couldn’t help but notice a slight erection that I had developed due to my excitement, despite the disappointment.
My disappointment stayed with me throughout the next day. There was also a lot of guilt and a lot of shame that accompanied it. What I had done was wrong, somehow, and I felt bad for having done it. When the time came for our so called get-together the following night, I almost didn’t go. I probably would have stayed in my room, if it wasn’t for the fact that I didn’t want her to come to my room. It seemed more sensible just to go out into the TV room and face whatever music that I had made for myself.
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