A Model Mother

by Robert Lubrican

  Erica gave us a calculating look.

  "Some people say there's something going on between you two."

  "They do?" asked Mom.

  "It's none of my business," said Erica. "But he's a good guy. Of course, if you are involved with him, you already know that."

  "I do," said my mother. I think it was just an automatic response, but Erica's eyebrows went up.

  "You dog," she said, looking at me. "I'm going to dance some more. See you later."

  This is how a rumor, spread by the three stooges, can gain traction, and new "evidence" of a relationship be discovered. Erica was just as much of a rumor monger as the rest of us. All she had to do was whisper, "He really is doing her!" to three or four people, and by the time the night was over, everybody was convinced I fucked my mother … I mean Jennifer Hart.

  Maureen Gaskill knew how to have fun. I'll give her that. And she knew how to share that fun. The line dancing soon involved more people than the dance floor would hold, but that was okay. The people who weren't dancing drank, and that made Mickey happy. My mother got dragged onto the floor and taught - despite her pleas that she wasn't a dancer - how to do the steps. An hour later, she looked like a natural. I got taught, too. When we weren't dancing, we tended to stand or sit together. It wasn't to show we were a "couple". It was just natural, I think. But it reinforced the idea that we were a couple.

  Phil forgave me, because Maureen Gaskill teased him all night long, and then left the bar with him. They were both weaving. I went outside and snagged her keys, telling them I'd call a cab. I didn't have to. One turned and came up the street and I flagged it down. Word had gotten around that fares could be had that night at Kelsey's. I was somewhat astonished to see, as the cab pulled away, that Phil had a lip-lock on the best looking woman he'd ever gone out with.

  Note of interest. When I later asked him how his night went, Phil was uncharacteristically circumspect about it. I knew he didn't get shot down. He wasn't acting like that. I suspect she told him if he wanted another shot at her, she'd better not hear any lurid details of how he spent the night. All I got out of him was that he did spend the night. I had other information, but we'll get to that later.

  And, of course, I went home with Jennifer.

  It occurred to me, as we went into the house together, that it was now imperative that nobody in my class ever find out where I lived. That hadn't mattered before. People knew I lived at home. Fire science isn't the kind of crowd that has study groups. Sometimes people hang out in dorm rooms, but it's more to talk and drink than study. So it wasn't likely I had to worry about anyone wanting to come to my house for a study session. But still, if anybody did, it would turn into a full-blown scandal.

  My mom turned around and hugged me. That wasn't unusual. She'd hugged me a thousand times over the years. But this time I felt her soft breasts crush against my chest, and smelled her hair. She'd drunk a lot more than I had, mainly because guys kept wanting to buy her drinks. At least until the word got around she was "mine" and that nobody else had a chance.

  "I can't believe I did that," she sighed into my neck.

  "Did you have fun?"

  "I had a blast," she sighed. "I missed so much."

  "I have a feeling you'll always be welcome at Kelsey's," I said.

  She pulled away, without releasing me with her hands. Her eyes were round.

  "Bobby! People think we have sex together!"

  "You can thank the three stooges for that rumor," I said.

  "Who?"

  "Phil, Don and Jerry," I said.

  Her eyes lost focus as her mind went somewhere else.

  "Maureen is going to be very naughty tonight."

  "She is?"

  " Shhhhh," said my mom, putting a fingertip to her lush lips. "It's a secret!"

  "With Phil?" I asked. I felt her loins bump against mine.

  "She might find out if he's lying or not," she said.

  "Lying about what?"

  "You know," she said. She leaned to whisper right in my ear. "His ginormous pecker!"

  "I think maybe you're ready for bed," I said.

  "I think so too," she sighed.

  I herded her towards her bedroom. I didn't want her to stumble and fall. When we got there I got conflicting signals about how tipsy she was. She turned and looked at me.

  "Are you going to put me to bed tonight … like last week?"

  I had been in a fluctuating state of arousal all night. Just watching her dance gave me a hardon, as her breasts bounced gently under her blouse, or she turned and her perfect ass in those tight jeans came into view. I'd also had some drinks, and maybe that lowered my inhibitions.

  "Do you want me to?" I asked.

  She lowered her lashes.

  "I think I do," she said.

  I didn't argue. I didn't think about the moral issues, or potential consequences. I just went to her and got her naked. She stood there, not helping in any way. I had to manipulate her arms to get her blouse off. I had to tug and pull repeatedly to get her tight jeans down, taking care not to pull her panties down with them, this time. She did put her hands on my head as I knelt, lifting each foot to let me remove the jeans leg from it. I stood back up and reached around her to fumble with the clasp of her bra, which was white and utilitarian. She didn't flinch as I removed it, sliding the straps down her arms. she didn’t cover her breasts, or complain when I just stood there and stared at her breasts.

  "You're so beautiful," I whispered.

  She did reach, finally, to pull my hands to her hips. Her intent was obvious. I was supposed to remove her panties.

  I knelt. In ultra-slow motion I dragged them down. The gusset seemed glued to those bulging pussy lips and I sensed a flood of aroma coming off of her that the panties had muted. I didn't know enough to know it was the scent of a turned-on woman, of a woman who had been turned on a lot of the night. All I knew was that it smelled wonderful.

  We went through the same drill, with her hands on my head as I removed the panties from her feet. She spread her feet apart and stood, as if she was worried about weaving and needed a little extra stability.

  I couldn't help it. I leaned forward and kissed her abdomen just above her mons. It wasn't a sexual kiss, exactly. She was my mom, and there was a little of just giving-your-mom-a-peck in it. But she was so much more than my mom at that moment. She was a woman, a beautiful woman, a woman many men wanted to be with like this. But I was the one who was with her.

  To be honest, I didn't think about kissing her anywhere else. Not then. As I stood up and my eyes passed over her stiff nipples, I wondered what they'd feel like in my mouth, but I didn't try to do that, either. It just didn't feel right.

  To my astonishment, when our eyes met, she leaned forward and kissed my lips. It was no "motherly" kiss. Far from it. There was passion in that kiss, the kind of passion that invites more passion. Yet, when she pulled back, it was suddenly gone. It had happened and it had been fantastic, but it had also been enough.

  "I love you," she said.

  "I love you, too," I replied.

  "I know, and that means more to me than you'll ever know," she said.

  Then she got in bed and pulled the covers up and I knew it was time to leave.

  I confess I didn't pull up porn on the internet that night, as I jerked off.

  I thought about her.

  ******

  The next morning I got up first. I knew how to make pancakes, too, so I did that. I was frying the first one when she shuffled in. She was wearing her silk kimono again.

  "My head hurts," she said.

  "That comes from drinking beer after you drink bourbon," I said.

  "I drank too much last night," she moaned.

  "Live and learn," I said.

  Suddenly she was alert.

  "Are you okay, honey?"

  "I'm great," I said. "Are you okay?"

  "I'm fine, if you’re fine," she said. "I was afraid I did something wrong last night."
/>   "All I did was kiss my mother good night," I said. It didn't take a genius to figure out what she was worried about.

  "Good," she said. "Can we talk about it?"

  "Do you want to talk about it?"

  "Yes."

  "Okay. Do I need to turn the skillet off?"

  "I don't think so."

  "Okay, shoot."

  It was quiet for a while. I looked at her, but then looked back at the pancake.

  "I liked it," she said.

  "Okay."

  "I'm pretty sure I'm not supposed to like it," she said.

  "Maybe you could be more specific?"

  "I like posing for you … naked," she said. "And I liked kissing you. And I liked it when you put me to bed. I like all of it. Is something wrong with me?"

  I turned the skillet off. I put the pancake on a plate and left it for later. We had a microwave. I sat down and reached for her hands.

  "If there's something wrong with you, then it's wrong with me, too," I said.

  "Wow," she said, her eyes wide. "Really?"

  "Yup."

  "Last night, at the bar … when I heard the whispers about … us. I can't describe how that made me feel," she sighed.

  "If it makes it any easier, I had a boner about half the night, just from looking at you," I said. “I get them when you're posing too.” This was so sudden, this opening of our hearts to each other, but it also felt so right … so normal. We'd always been able to talk about pretty much anything. Except my father, of course.

  "So you get erections for … your mother," she whispered.

  "I get erections for a beautiful woman who happens to be my mother," I said. "Wait!" I said.

  "What?"

  "Last night I got erections for a woman named Jennifer Hart," I said. "Jennifer Hart is not my mother. She's my hot, former babysitter."

  "That was so silly," she said.

  "That was so necessary," I said. "People know my last name is Jenkins."

  "Yes," said Mom. She looked at me. "How can I feel this way about my own son?"

  "Maybe you don't. Maybe you feel this way about a hot, fire science student," I tried. "You know, like Mrs. Gaskill."

  "Nice try," she said. "This can't be normal."

  "I don't know. Like I said, Freud made a whole career out of sons wanting their mothers and mothers wanting their sons."

  "Bobby, I almost took you to bed last night!" she snapped.

  "I wish you'd told me that before I left the room," I teased.

  "This isn't funny," she said.

  "Do you know what I did when I went to my room?"

  "What?"

  "I jerked off like a crazed monkey," I said.

  Instead of looking horrified, she looked … interested.

  "Really?"

  "Uh huh. Like I said, whatever's wrong with you is wrong with me, too."

  "What are we going to do?" she moaned.

  "What do you want to do?" I asked.

  I got a very direct look.

  "I can't do what I want to do," she said, evenly.

  "Okay then," I said. "Don't."

  "What am I supposed to do?" she moaned.

  "Think about it, I guess," I said.

  "Will you?"

  "I can't help but," I said.

  And that was it for that morning. She had a house to show and she went to do that. I had homework, so I got that out of the way. The rest of the day was normal as pie.

  The next week was normal, too. We didn't talk about … things … anymore, and Friday morning, when I got up, she was already gone.

  Art Lab also seemed normal, if getting an erection for your posing mother is normal. She looked at me, but no more than she looked at the other artists. Some people had finished the rough work and were working on getting paint on the canvas. I had stuck with pencil and was thinking about using some charcoal.

  Only Phil was waiting for us afterwards, and the way Maureen greeted him made it clear he wasn't being a nuisance. They wanted to go to Kelsey's again. This time I determined not to drink too much.

  Apparently my mother was being careful, too. Nobody was buying her drinks that night, because the word had gotten around she was my girlfriend. That said, three non-regulars sent her a drink, hoping she'd abandon the kids and come sit with them. At one point we were dancing a slow song and she whispered in my ear.

  "You're hard. I can feel it."

  "Nothing's changed on that front," I replied.

  "I still can't do what I want to," she moaned.

  My dick flexed in my pants. Maybe something snapped inside me. Maybe I just went for broke. I don't know.

  "Who would know if you did?" I asked, quietly.

  She wasn't put off. We'd already gone too far, said too much, to back down now.

  "You would know," she said.

  "I don't spread rumors, like my friends," I said.

  She wouldn't talk anymore, and we left shortly afterwards.

  When we got home, she went to her bedroom and came back out wearing her silk kimono. She got out the bottle of sour mash I had taken away from her two weeks before. This time she just poured two fingers in a tumbler and sat on the couch.

  "I don't know what to do," she said.

  "Look," I said. "I know why I feel the way I do. Maybe if we look at why you feel the way you do, it will help understand all this."

  "How do you feel?" she asked, her voice thick.

  To show her I just stripped to my boxers and let her see the tent in them. It wasn't fighting fair, but then all is fair in love and war, right?

  "Make me a grilled cheese sandwich," she said.

  I blinked. I show her my junk and she gets hungry for a grilled cheese sandwich?

  I went to the kitchen and got out the fixin's. When the pan was hot, I spread some safflower oil in it.

  "You know I always use a pat of real butter," she said, suddenly standing beside me.

  "That's your thing," I said. "I'm different."

  "It's interesting that you said that," she said. "You are different. You're not like other men I've known."

  "You raised me to be different," I pointed out.

  "I did," she said. "And you are. And that's very attractive."

  "Attractive is good," I said.

  She went behind me and pressed the front of her kimono to my back.

  "I'm still not sure I should be this attracted, though," she said.

  That was when she slid her hands into the front of my boxers, and gripped my erection firmly.

  Chapter Four

  "Hoooo boy," I breathed. Her right hand was exploring, moving along the length of my cock. Her left hand cupped my balls and hefted them.

  "Am I freaking you out?" she asked in my ear.

  "I'm about to have an accident," I gasped.

  Her hand gripped tight around my penis. I couldn't have cum if my life had depended on it.

  "Let's not be in a hurry," she breathed.

  "I've never done this," I panted. "I don't know what is and isn't a hurry."

  "My baby is a virgin," she moaned.

  "Your baby is … your baby," I gasped. I was worried she was less sober than I thought and I didn't want her to do something she'd hate herself for later.

  "I know, but I can't help it," she moaned. "This is so confusing! I know it's wrong, but I want it so much. All night long all I wanted to do was hold you and kiss you and love you."

  "I get that," I panted. "All night long I was like I am right now, just from watching you."

  "Like this?" She squeezed my prick.

  "Yes!" I gasped.

  "Turn off the stove, Bobby," came her voice in my ear. "I'm not hungry after all."

  "Okay," I whimpered.

  I reached to do that as her hands moved in my shorts.

  "Ohhhh I don't want to let go," she whined.

  "Okay," I whined back at her.

  "But I have to."

  "It's okay," I panted. "I know you're just trying to do the right thing
."

  Her hands slid out of my shorts and I gave a huge sigh. I realized I'd been holding my breath, for the most part. I'd used a little air to say a few words, but the rest had been milling around in my chest, looking for a way out. I felt myself being turned around until I was chest-to-chest with my mother. I could feel her breasts brushing against my chest and her lips were inches from my own.

  "I'm not trying to stop, Bobby," she breathed. "I just had to let go of you so I could do this."

  She knelt and, rather roughly, I thought, jerked my boxers down to my knees. My penis, possibly harder than it had ever been in my whole life, got caught, pulled down painfully, and then popped gleefully out, to slap audibly upwards against my abdomen. When it stopped bobbing it was pointing almost straight up, as if it was staring at both of our faces.

  Except her face wasn't up there anymore. It was right there, next to my little buddy. I could feel her breathing on it.

  "It is bigger than the last time I saw it," she sighed.

  I wanted to laugh. My body even tried to laugh, but that would have required that some of my muscles relax, and every muscle in my body was just as rigid as my cock was.

  "It's beautiful," she breathed.

  She reached for it. The same hand I had roughed in on my easel earlier that night gripped my penis and pulled it downward, until it was pointed at her face. Panic made it further impossible to breathe as I realized I was about to paint my mother in another fashion … outside the art lab. I was about to spurt all over her face.

  "Mom!" I was able to gasp.

  She looked up at me. It was as if there was unspoken communication going on.

  "Of course," she said.

  Then, instead of stopping me, she stroked my penis twice. I felt the sweet pain of ejaculation begin and my arms rose to flap at my sides, like some demented bird.

  She simply leaned forward, opened her mouth, and expertly skinned my foreskin back. Then she sealed the tip of my prick inside as my semen joyfully leapt out into the world. Or her mouth, as it happened. Her cheeks caved in as she sucked gently on my knob, and I heard, rather than saw, her swallow. In the space of less than a minute, I went from virgin to … well, something else. I'd gotten my first blow job … sort of.

  My muscles relaxed suddenly, and I had to catch myself on the edge of the counter to keep from folding up and falling on the floor. My mother looked up at me with her beautiful eyes, in her beautiful face. She was smiling. There was a little white drip of something … of me … at one corner of her mouth. Her fingers came to wipe it off as she stood.