She looked calmly surprised. Like that had never entered her mind. "Oh. Well. Okay." She picked up another box and squatted down to put it under the sink. I looked away so I wouldn't get so horny that I'd just grab her and forget propriety.
"What does it matter?" I asked while swallowing down my lust.
"Come on, you go out with your guy friends once a week and the rest of the time you're here with me." She stretched to put a bag of chips on the top cabinet shelf so I came up behind her and did it for her.
"What's wrong with being here with you?" I said in a lusty tone. Fuck my voice.
She got down from her tiptoes, accidentally bumping her ass against my cock. "Because I'm your mother. You're supposed to be out making my grandchildren." I could hear the smile in her voice. "Besides, don't your friends think you're a pussy for hanging out with me all the time?"
If only she knew how many times they'd complained that I got to spend the week with my hot mom.
"Who cares what they think?" I said while leaning closer to breathe in her scent. I could feel her body stiffen. I'd never been this forward with her before.
"Move." I was so busy reveling in being close to her that I didn't notice what she'd said until she said it again. "MOVE." She elbowed me in the stomach and stomped out of the room.
The next day, she avoided me. I cooked our meals, as usual, but she ate in her room instead of with me. Mom can cook, she just lets me do it because I love cooking for her. My lasagna didn't cheer either of us up. She was upset because her son had been forward with her, and I was upset because I'd messed up with the woman I loved.
Jake, knowing nothing about our problems, arrived home for a five day weekend from college. I didn't return his hello as he walked into the kitchen and threw his bag on the floor.
"Hey, bro, what's up?" He grinned and grabbed a plate to get some dinner, knowing it would be good since I made it. He sat down opposite of me and tucked in. I was moving my fork around on my plate, making it look like I was at least interested in my food, when he noticed Mom wasn't there. It was an unspoken rule in our house that we ate dinner together. He nodded his head towards her chair.
"Where's Mom? She on a date?"
"No," I answered sassily, as if that would never happen. "We umm….had a fight."
"Oh." One word. Mom and I never fought. Jake knew that. "Bout time, little bro. You follow her around like a lost puppy, dude."
"No I DON'T," I said, indignant. "She's my best friend. What the fuck is wrong with that?" I shoved a bite of food into my mouth and chewed it angrily, my appetite suddenly back.
"Geez, chill. Touchy much?"
I stood up in rage. "I'M NOT TOUCHY!"
"What are you boys yelling about?" Mom stood in the doorway with her dishes, her anger plain on her face. She hated when people yelled. In fact, I'd never heard her raise her voice. Ever. Until yesterday.
Jake stood up, holding his empty plate. "Nothing, Mom." He shot me a look and went for seconds.
I hung my head as Mom put her dishes in the sink and started washing them. Jake ignored her general direction, as usual, while inhaling his seconds.
Sometimes I wondered if he resented her for something. He never looked at her unless he had to. I stole every opportunity I could to stare at her. Which is what I found myself doing just them while she stood away from me in the kitchen. I admired her beautiful body, the way her arms jiggled as she worked, the serene look on her face when she turned to set a dish down on the drying rack. Hello, boner.
"Oww!" Jake kicked my leg. I rubbed it and shot him a look. His face was indiscernible, but one thing was clear. He could see I'd popped one for mom because I forgot to sit back down. Fucking hell. I left the room, red as a cherry.
Half an hour later, I was lounging in my bed, tracing my penis through my sweatpants, when Jake walked in uninvited. I threw a pillow over my waist and sat up, but he'd seen what I was doing.
"Dude," he said while grabbing my desk chair and sitting down in it with his arms resting on the back. "Dude" was his customary greeting for me. Jake was a jock, something neither I nor Mom could understand. We were artists. He thought differently than we did. I waited for him to say what was on his mind, but he just broke out into a chuckle. One of those, "Oh god suddenly everything makes sense about you," kind of laughs. When he stopped, he looked me dead in the eyes, as serious as I'd ever seen him and said, "You're in love with Mom."
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