Unexpected Love with Mom【1】

Chapter 1

In an ordinary high school, a teenage boy stood there with a miserable look on his face.

My name is Steve. I’m eighteen, five-foot-six, a junior. Right now I was cursing out my homeroom teacher in my head for the eight-hundredth time. All I did was smoke one cigarette in the bathroom, and the bastard had to call Mom to come pick me up for a full day of “reflection” at home.

I looked like I’d lost the will to live. If you asked me who I loved most and who I feared most in this world, the answer was the same person: Mom. Especially Mom when she was pissed.

A moment later the door opened and a woman walked in. I turned to look at her. Mom was wearing a black tailored suit jacket and a knee-length pencil skirt that hugged every curve. Her body was full and long—heavy, ripe tits, a narrow waist, and an ass that filled out the fabric completely. Below the hem of the skirt, two long legs sheathed in sheer nude pantyhose stepped forward on black high heels. High nose, thin lips, arched brows, light makeup, dark hair pulled back into a neat bun. Her eyes were deep and sharp. Even angry, Mom looked like pure class. A real beauty.

“Mom…” I called out weakly.

“Steve!”

Mom’s face was pure fury. She strode straight at me. Ignoring the teacher standing right there, she started slapping me hard with both hands, the blows landing wherever they could while she snarled:

“You actually learned how to smoke?!”

“If I don’t teach you a proper lesson today, I’m not your Mom!”

It stung. Mom was really pissed. I threw my arms up over my head and started begging, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Mom, lighter—please, lighter!”

Mom didn’t ease up. She hit harder. She even lifted one long, pantyhose-clad leg and kicked me solidly in the thigh. Only when the dazed teacher finally stepped in and asked her to stop did Mom pull back. Still, she shot me a glare that promised worse and hissed, “We’ll settle this properly when we get home.” Then she exchanged a few stiff polite words with the teacher, grabbed me by the arm, and marched me out to the car.

That was my Mom—Merida. She never wasted time. Never held back.

In the passenger seat I rubbed the sore spots Mom had left on me and forced a careful smile.

“Mom, I know I screwed up. Don’t be mad anymore, okay?”

Mom kept her eyes on the road while she tore into me. “Look at yourself. Day after day screwing around, barely studying, and now you’re picking up these filthy habits. You’ve completely embarrassed me!”

“Mom, I was just curious. The guys who smoke looked cool, like real men. I tried it once on impulse. I swear, never again. I promise.”

“You never copy the good things, only the garbage. What, you think you’re some triad tough guy now? Cigarette hanging out of your mouth playing big shot, talking about ‘manliness.’ A real man takes responsibility. Right now your only responsibility is studying—not wasting your brain on this shit.”

Great. Mom had switched fully into lecture mode. I’d heard the same speech dozens of times, but with her still seething I kept nodding and murmuring agreement like a good son.

Mom didn’t stop talking the entire drive. Only when we pulled up in front of our building and got out did she press her long, pale fingers to her forehead and sigh, voice softer but still edged with frustration. “Son… when are you ever going to listen?”

I stepped close, took Mom’s hand, and swung it gently. “I always listen to Mom.”

Once we were inside, Mom’s anger finally cooled enough that she ordered me to my room to do homework. I pulled out my workbook, forced myself through two problems, then gave up. Phone confiscated—only allowed on weekends—so I was bored out of my skull. From the kitchen came the sound of oil sizzling. My stomach growled.

I walked out to the kitchen.

Mom had changed into a loose white lounge set. Her back was to me as she stirred the pan, humming under her breath in that soft, clear voice. Even in the baggy clothes, Mom’s ass stretched the fabric tight, the full round shape impossible to hide. You could tell exactly how good Mom’s body still was.

I kept my steps quiet and came up right behind her. “Mom, what are we eating tonight?”

Mom’s hand jerked hard on the spatula—I’d startled her. She spun around, eyes flashing.

“You walk like a damn ghost now?”

She set the spatula down and pinched my ear hard between her fingers.

“Ow—ow—Mom, I was just thirsty, came out for water. I’m going right back.”

“Drink and get your ass back in that room. Don’t come out again until I call you for dinner.”

“Okay, okay. Can you let go first? I can’t leave if you’re still holding on.”

Back in my room I rubbed my burning ear, mouth twisted. Why the hell did I have to go poke at Mom when she was still in a mood?

Homework was out of the question. I sat in the chair and let my mind wander. My hand drifted slowly down between my legs.

Ever since starting high school I’d gotten more and more curious about women’s bodies, more hungry for them. Freshman year I’d dated once, lost my virginity, but it hadn’t felt like much. A teenage girl like Cady couldn’t touch the pull of a real mature woman—not even close. So when I watched porn or read dirty stories, I always went for the older, fuller types. Plenty of them were mother-son scenarios.

It was just a private kink, a fantasy. In my head Mom was still the most beautiful, most magnetic mature woman alive… and I told myself I would never actually let those thoughts touch her.

I stroked myself for a while to the vague image of some other woman, but it felt hollow. Mom was right here in the apartment. I stopped, slumped over the desk, and started fiddling with my pen just to kill time. A minute later the door pushed open. Mom saw me zoning out again and, still irritated, smacked the back of my head.

Chapter 2

At the dinner table Mom had made three dishes and a soup. Because I’d pissed her off again earlier, her face stayed ice-cold and the whole meal felt frozen solid.

I tried to thaw the silence. I picked up a piece of braised pork rib, chewed it like a food critic, and kept letting out soft “mmm” sounds. When Mom’s expression didn’t change at all, I made the noises louder, one after another.

Mom finally set down her chopsticks and glared at me. “What the hell are you ‘mmm’-ing about? Can you eat quietly for once?”

I put on a wounded look. “Isn’t it because Mom’s cooking is too good? I can’t help it.”

“Is this the first time you’ve eaten my food? How come you never thought it was this delicious before?”

Mom shot me a cold glance and went back to eating.

“Maybe… maybe Mom’s cooking just keeps getting better.”

“So you’re saying it used to be bad?”

Mom latched onto the slip right away. The question shut me up completely. I sat there going “uh… uh…” without managing a single full sentence.

Mom watched me squirm, then suddenly let out a short “pfft” of laughter. The second she realized she’d broken her stern image, she wiped the smile off and scolded me again:

“Always running that slick mouth. What kind of son are you?”

Inside I rolled my eyes at how much Mom cared about her image, but on the outside I kept the obedient grin.

“Mother is right to scold me. This humble son won’t dare again.”

…

After dinner Mom changed back into her business suit and switched the nude pantyhose for black ones. Right before she left she told me:

“I’m working overtime tonight. Might be late. Wash the dishes and then do your homework. If you get hungry, cook some noodles yourself or order takeout.”

She slipped on her high heels, opened the door, and was gone. The apartment was mine alone. The second Mom left I threw my head back and let out a loud “whoo!” After washing the dishes I collapsed on the couch, trying to figure out how to kill the hours.

Normally my only entertainment at home was phone and computer. Phone confiscated, computer locked. Suddenly I had nothing. Boredom drove me to the fridge for a Coke. I stretched out on the couch and turned on the TV.

Some popular workplace romance drama was on. The female lead was a sharp career woman—exactly my type. She was wearing a business suit just like Mom, and that alone made my mind drift straight to Mom. Mom was a client manager at one of the city’s banks, a real professional. But comparing face, body, and presence… the actress didn’t even come close. Maybe because in my head, no one could match Mom’s aura.

I watched a little longer. The actress in that tight suit was starting to look better and better. Two full weeks without release had left a restless heat under my skin. My hand slid down, wrapped around my already-hard cock, and started stroking.

I kept at it for a long time. No orgasm—just a growing need to piss. I stopped, went to the bathroom, and took care of it.

On the way back I passed the washing machine by the bathroom door and caught sight of the nude pantyhose Mom had changed out of earlier. She must have been in a hurry and forgotten to wash them. A bold idea flashed through my head—use Mom’s pantyhose to get off.

I immediately shook my head.

No. How could I even think that? Those were Mom’s pantyhose. If I jerked off with them, didn’t that mean I was thinking about Mom in a way I shouldn’t? I slapped myself hard across the face and scrambled for an excuse: I just like pantyhose. That doesn’t mean I want Mom. The reason I always stare at Mom’s legs when she’s wearing them is because of the stockings, nothing else.

Right. Just the pantyhose. Nothing to do with Mom herself. After talking myself into it, I reached into the machine with shaking hands and pulled the soft pair out, holding them in my palms.

My heart kicked into high gear. First time I’d ever touched Mom’s pantyhose. The fabric was silky and a little cool. For a second I wondered what they felt like stretched over Mom’s skin. The thought appeared and I shoved it away hard.

I only like the stockings. I repeated it over and over in my head. Then I lifted the pantyhose to my face, pressed them over my nose, and dragged in a deep breath.

“Hah…”

A faint clean scent clung to them. One inhale and blood flooded straight to my cock, making it swell thicker and harder. I went straight back to the couch, wrapped the pantyhose around my dick, and started stroking hard. In my mind the career woman from the TV drama was suddenly under me:

Her suit still on, skirt shoved up around her waist. Black-stockinged legs spread wide on either side of my hips. I’d torn a hole in the crotch of the pantyhose, pushed the black panties aside, and exposed pink pussy lips. My thick dark cock was slamming in and out of her, the contrast filthy and sharp. Her brows were furrowed, one hand clamped over her mouth as she moaned, the other fisting the sheets like she was struggling to take it.

I grabbed her thighs, drove my hips forward, and fucked her cunt without mercy.

“Slower… slower…”

“Ah… nn… lighter… ah…”

She kept moaning. That sweet sound only made me pound harder.

I felt myself getting close. More blood surged into my cock, stretching it even thicker. Then the woman’s face in the fantasy started to blur… and slowly resolved into someone else.

“Son… fuck… fuck me…”

“Hurry… son… fuck me harder…”

The woman under me was Mom. Heat exploded through my body. My heart hammered. Pleasure spiked so sharp my vision went white. Thick white ropes of cum pulsed out, soaking the pantyhose wrapped around my cock.

“Hah…”

I panted hard, slowly coming down. My dick softened. The second clarity returned, guilt and self-disgust crashed over me. I’d just fantasized about Mom. Only the last few seconds, but the image was crystal clear—Mom with her legs spread, begging me to fuck her.

Slap!

I hit myself again and kept muttering excuses: No. It wasn’t real. I just get off on women who look like Mom. I don’t actually want to fuck Mom. And Mom would never spread her legs and beg for it—that doesn’t match her pride at all. No matter how hard I tried to convince myself, the sick feeling in my chest wouldn’t leave.

I couldn’t sit with it. The pantyhose were covered in cum. I had to wash them before Mom got home or she’d kill me. I went to the bathroom, scrubbed the fabric hard under the water several times, wrung it out, and put it back in the machine. Still nervous, I shut off the TV and retreated to my room.

Guilt and fear kept looping in my head. I forced myself to open the workbook and write. Eventually drowsiness dragged me under and I fell into a restless sleep.

Chapter 3

“I told you to do your homework, and all you do is wander around or fall asleep. Do you treat everything I say like background noise?”

I jerked awake. Mom was already home, hands on her hips, face full of anger right beside the bed. I sat up and tried to look wronged.

“I was working the whole time. I just got too tired and rested my head for a minute. Look at the problems I finished if you don’t believe me.”

Mom’s suspicious eyes flicked over the open workbook. Seeing the pages actually filled, her expression shifted, a little awkward. Probably didn’t want to lose face, so she pinched my ear hard and scolded:

“Talking back now, are you? We still haven’t settled yesterday’s shit!”

Great. In the face of absolute force, every excuse turned to dust.

I kept my mouth shut and didn’t struggle against Mom’s grip on my ear. After a few seconds she let go. Maybe she felt she’d gone a little too far, because she cleared her throat and said more quietly:

“I told you to find something to eat if you got hungry, but you never listen. I still have to worry about you. I boiled a bowl of noodles. Go eat and then sleep.”

I knew better than to push my luck. Mom had already softened her tone, so I took the exit she offered. I grinned up at her.

“Yes, ma’am.”

I stood up. Instant pins-and-needles shot through both feet. My legs buckled and I pitched forward. Mom gasped at the same moment I crashed into her. Softness filled my hands. A clean, familiar scent flooded my nose.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Mom’s sharp voice snapped me back. I realized my hands were pressed squarely against Mom’s tits. Before I could even savor the weight and warmth, she shoved me away with clear disgust.

“Acting like a little kid. Always so clumsy.”

“Heh… feet went numb. Completely numb.”

While I ate the egg noodles Mom had cooked, the memory of that soft pressure kept looping through my head. Guilt rose again, but I couldn’t stop replaying it.

Damn… if only I could marry Mom in this lifetime. The thought hit me hard and left me hollow. I knew it was impossible—ethics, law, everything forbade it. If Mom ever found out, she’d break my legs without hesitation.

“Finish eating and go to sleep. I’m going to rest.”

Mom walked out of the bathroom in a white bathrobe. Damp hair hung in loose strands around her face. Her skin looked like polished jade, smooth and luminous. The elegant line of her collarbones stood out clearly above the robe. Her tits pushed the fabric high, a deep valley of cleavage visible at the neckline. Her legs were full, long, and flushed pink from the heat, faint steam still rising from her body.

I froze. The sight of Mom fresh from the bath punched straight into my chest. She was too fucking beautiful. Guilt made me duck my head and shovel noodles into my mouth. Mom gave me two puzzled looks, then disappeared into her bedroom.

The next day I went to school as usual, but my head stayed somewhere else—stuck on the image of Mom in that bathrobe.

“Steve! What are you spacing out for?”

A piece of chalk bounced off my skull. Math teacher Jasper.

“You just got sent home yesterday and already forgot the lesson? Midterms are next week. Can you put even a little effort into studying? Your attitude is getting worse by the day. Want me to call your Mom in for a talk?”

“Don’t, Mr. Jasper. I was wrong. I’ll focus. I’ll do better on the exam.”

A whole week passed and I still couldn’t shake the memory of Mom’s body. Every time I saw her I felt so guilty I couldn’t even meet her eyes. Mom started thinking I’d done something new to hide, and kept questioning me until I swore up and down I hadn’t messed up again.

The day after the monthly exams I came home and found Dad was back. He worked as a department head at a listed company in the neighboring city. Because of the job he only made it home once every month or two.

“Son’s home.”

Dad sat on the couch, set his phone down, and greeted me. I answered and walked inside. Mom was cooking in the kitchen. When she saw me she spoke in a surprisingly gentle voice—rare for her.

“Put your bag down and wash your hands. Dinner’s ready. I made spicy chicken for you today.”

I knew it was because Dad was home. Mom and Dad never looked especially affectionate, but they treated each other with quiet respect. After this long apart, of course she missed him a little.

Seeing Mom in a better mood only made the guilt heavier. I’d been having those unspeakable thoughts about her. If Mom ever found out, how disappointed would she be?

I sighed, carried my backpack into my room, and closed the door.

At the table the three of us sat around a full spread of dishes. Everyone else seemed cheerful. I stayed quiet. The reason was obvious…

“What’s wrong, son? You look down today.”

Dad set his chopsticks down and asked. Mom stopped eating too and gave me a puzzled sideways glance, probably surprised that the usual chatterbox had gone silent. I felt even more depressed. I didn’t know what to say, so I just shook my head.

“Nothing. Probably just exam stress.”

Mom opened her mouth like she wanted to say something, but her phone suddenly rang. She picked it up, brows drawing together, shot me a quick look, and answered.

“Hello, Mr. Jasper.”

“Mm. Mm.”

“I don’t let him use the phone or computer during the week.”

Listening to Mom’s voice and watching her face turn colder by the second, I knew I was fucked. I kept my head down and shoveled rice as fast as I could.

“Mm. Mm.”

“I’m busy with work, and his father works out of town, so there’s not much time to watch him.”

“Thank you for taking the trouble.”

“Mm.”

“All right, Mr. Jasper. Goodbye.”

The atmosphere dropped to freezing in an instant. Dad started to speak, but Mom’s glare shut him up. She stared at me with a face like ice, breathing a little faster. I didn’t dare look at Mom. I just kept pushing rice into my mouth.

“Eat, eat, eat! Is eating the only thing you know how to do? Look at yourself right now!”

Mom’s voice was pure fury. I avoided her eyes, set the bowl down, and muttered under my breath:

“Man is iron, rice is steel… skip a meal and you’ll feel it.”

A hard slap landed on the back of my head. I yelped and shut up completely.

“Look at your ranking! You’ve dropped past two hundred in the whole grade. Keep this up and you’ll be lucky to scrape into a third-tier college—if you even get that far!”

“You kept telling me you’d study hard, study hard. Is this what ‘studying hard’ looks like?”

“And you’ve already picked up those filthy habits. Smoking got you caught. Who knows how many other things you’ve done that nobody’s caught yet!”

Mom was dredging up every old and new sin at once. Inside I cursed, but on the outside I kept the pitiful, repentant expression of a son who knew he’d fucked up.

After a long tirade Mom’s mouth must have gone dry. She stood up to pour a glass of water. The silence that followed was thick. Dad cleared his throat twice and tried to smooth things over.

“Honey, don’t get so worked up. A third-tier school is still a bachelor’s degree. And boys make mistakes when they’re young—it’s normal. As long as he corrects them, it’s fine. Come on, let’s just eat.”

Dad’s words landed like a match on gasoline. Mom’s temper flared hotter.

“Rhys, is that what a parent is supposed to say? ‘Boys make mistakes, it’s normal’? You call this a small mistake? So by that logic your own mistakes are normal too?”

“Hey, how did this suddenly become about me? What did I do wrong?”

“Right, right, you’ve never done anything wrong. All these years, when have you ever disciplined our son? When have you ever taken care of this house? Now that I’m the one teaching him you suddenly have opinions? Where was all this concern before?”

“Your temper really hasn’t changed one bit. Fine, fine, whatever you say.” Dad realized he couldn’t win and simply checked out, refusing to engage further.

“Two of a kind!” Mom snorted coldly, stormed into the bedroom, and slammed the door hard enough to make the whole apartment shake.

Chapter 4

After a long stretch of awkward silence, Dad picked up a piece of meat and put it in my bowl, forcing a wry smile.

“Your Mom’s always been like this. She’s only hard on you because she cares.”

I nodded. Of course I knew Mom was looking out for me. What worried me more was whether she was still truly angry. The exam scores had been terrible, and on top of the smoking incident that got me sent home, she had every reason to be disappointed.

I forced down a couple of bites, but my appetite was gone. Afraid Mom would stay hungry, I filled a bowl and carried it to her bedroom door. I knocked. No answer. I turned the handle and pushed the door open.

Mom sat on the edge of the bed, face still cold, clearly still pissed. I set the bowl in front of her and put on my most apologetic expression.

“Mom, I know I messed up. Please eat something first.”

Mom gave me a sideways look.

“Now you remember to care about me? Where was all this concern when you were pissing me off?”

“You’re just being petty,” I muttered under my breath.

“What did you just say? Looking for another beating?” Mom raised her hand like she was about to slap me. I quickly switched to a placating grin.

“Yes, yes, I want Mom to hit me again. But if Mom doesn’t eat, you won’t have the strength. Eat first, then you can hit me as much as you want.”

Mom’s anger eased a little, but she still seemed unwilling to climb down right away. Her voice softened.

“Put the bowl there for now. I need to talk to you.”

I did as she said and stood obediently by the bed. Mom sighed and pressed her fingers to her forehead.

“Can you tell Mom what’s been going through your head lately? Why have your grades crashed so hard?”

I sneaked a glance at her. Mom was wearing a black trench coat over a tight high-necked knit sweater that made her already full tits look even heavier and higher. Jeans hugged her long, fleshy legs and the wide curve of her hips with zero bone showing through. One leg was crossed over the other, the tip of her right foot swinging lazily in the air. A pair of little-bear slippers dangled from her toes like they were about to fall off. The whole picture—beautiful, commanding, and a little lazy—was dangerously attractive.

I wanted to tell Mom that lately the only thing in my head was her. But that was a secret that could never leave my mouth.

“Uh… I don’t know. I’ve just been feeling wiped out. Always sleepy.”

“Wiped out?”

Mom’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. The look made me nervous.

“Have you been staying up late behind my back, playing with something?”

“No way. You already took my phone, my computer, even the comics. You’ve checked my room. There’s nothing left to play with.”

Seeing the sincere way I waved my hands, Mom seemed to accept she might have been wrong. After a short silence her tone turned strange.

“You… do you… have a girlfriend?”

I blinked, then understood.

“So that’s what this long detour was about. You could’ve just asked me straight.”

“Don’t change the subject. Answer the question.”

“Well…” I dragged the word out, pretending to be mysterious. Mom leaned in, curious. “Actually, no.”

“Really no?”

“Really no.”

Mom still looked doubtful, so I raised my right hand.

“I swear, if I’m lying, may I never have kids.”

“Pei! What kind of nonsense is that?” Mom shot to her feet and slapped my hand down. I caught her wrist and swung it playfully.

“Mom, I really was just tired. I didn’t bomb the exam on purpose…”

Mom rolled her eyes, pulled her hand free, and pretended to be disgusted.

“Still acting like a little kid. Fine, fine, I believe you.”

“Mom’s the best. I’ll always be Mom’s little kid.” I kept the cheeky grin going.

“Stop the sweet talk!”

Mom scolded me once and I shut up. Silence settled over the room. Maybe she felt she’d been too harsh earlier, because a flicker of discomfort crossed her face.

“Steve.”

Mom’s voice was quieter now.

“Yeah?”

“Mom’s temper might not be as good as it used to be, and I’ve been stricter with you. But it’s only because I want better for you. You understand that, right?”

“Of course I do. But…”

“But what?”

Since Mom had given me an opening, I couldn’t resist pushing it a little further with a joke.

“But Mom’s temper was never exactly mild before either.”

After leaving Mom’s room I rubbed the fresh lump on my head and cursed myself. Why the hell did I have to say that?

Dad was washing dishes in the kitchen. When he saw me come out he looked over his shoulder.

“How’d it go? Is your Mom still mad?”

“You know me. I’ve got a system for handling women. A few sentences and I had Mom laughing again.”

I was talking complete shit. Dad just chuckled. I walked over and took the bowl from his hands.

“Go rest. I’ll finish these.”

…

The weekend I’d been waiting for finally arrived. Mom took me to Elle’s place for dinner. Elle was Mom’s closest friend; our families ate together often.

At the door Mom knocked. A gentle-looking woman opened it. After a quick greeting Mom shot me a pointed look.

“Aren’t you going to say hello?”

“Oh—hi, Elle. You look even prettier. I almost didn’t recognize you.”

Elle covered her mouth and laughed.

“This boy’s tongue is pure sugar.”

Mom gave me a flat stare and led me inside. On the living-room couch a little girl named Judy was watching cartoons—Elle’s daughter.

Judy greeted Mom politely, then rolled her eyes at me.

“Judy, why are you being rude to Steve?” Elle didn’t sound angry. Her soft voice always made everything sound kind.

Judy muttered a reluctant hello. The moment the two mothers disappeared into the kitchen she stuck her tongue out at me again.

I ignored it and sat down with the phone game I rarely got to play. Judy crawled across the couch and started poking at the screen.

“Go away. Get lost.” I kept my voice low.

Judy made another face and only got worse, blocking every move until I couldn’t play at all. Annoyance flared.

“If you don’t stop, I’m gonna hit you.”

Judy’s face crumpled instantly. Big eyes filled with tears. Panic hit me. I softened my tone fast.

“Okay, okay, don’t cry. You can play. Here.”

I held the phone out, feeling a little guilty. Judy didn’t take it. Instead the tears spilled over and she let out a full-volume wail.

“Waaah—” I clapped a hand over her mouth, but it was too late. Mom stormed out of the kitchen, face dark.

“Steve, what did you do? Why is Judy crying?”

“I—I didn’t—it’s—”

Mom shoved me aside and crouched to comfort the girl. “Tell me what Steve did to you. Mommy will make him pay.”

Chapter 5

“I wanted to play with Steve’s phone and he wouldn’t give it to me… he even hit me… waaah…”

Judy sobbed against Mom’s chest. Mom’s face grew darker by the second. I rushed to defend myself.

“I didn’t hit her. I just didn’t want to hand over the phone.”

Mom didn’t listen to the explanation, but she also didn’t fully believe I’d actually struck the girl. She stood up and held out her hand.

“Phone. Now.”

I hesitated. Mom saw I wasn’t moving and slapped me twice across the arm. I had no choice. I handed the phone over with pure reluctance.

“There, Judy, good girl. Don’t cry. I’ve already punished Steve. We won’t play with him. Here—Steve’s phone is yours now.”

Mom cradled Judy and soothed her in that soft voice. For some reason a sharp little spark of jealousy cut through me at how gentle Mom was being with her.

The second Mom walked away, Judy stuck her tongue out at me again, looking completely triumphant, and even waved the phone around like a trophy. My teeth itched with the urge to throttle her, but there was nothing I could do. I sat back on the couch and stared at the TV. A few minutes later Judy came after the remote. I snatched the phone off the cushion and shoved it deep into my pocket before she could grab it.

Finally dinner was served. The four of us sat one to a side; Mom faced me directly. Judy only finished a small bowl before she started rolling a glass marble between her fingers. Suddenly the marble slipped, hit the floor, and rolled under the table on my side.

“What are you waiting for? Pick it up for Judy.” Mom’s voice was sharp.

I was used to this routine. I bent down obediently and reached under the table.

The moment my head went under, a perfect view opened up. Because of the way Mom was sitting, a narrow gap showed between her long legs. Through the dim light I could just make out the tops of her thighs wrapped in black pantyhose. The sight hit my nerves like a live wire. I widened my eyes, trying to see more, but the shadows under the table kept everything half-hidden.

My chest felt tight and restless. Guilt over peeking at Mom mixed with pure hunger. The view was too fucking tempting. I pretended the marble was too slippery, nudged it farther toward Mom’s side while muttering “damn thing keeps sliding,” and inched my body closer to her legs.

My back was bent to the limit. From this angle I could just barely see a deep red patch between Mom’s black-stockinged thighs. I knew exactly what it was—Mom’s panties.

My heart slammed against my ribs. I stared hard, trying to burn the image into my brain. After ten long seconds the fear of getting caught forced me to grab the marble and pull back, every inch of me reluctant.

Once I was sitting upright again I didn’t dare look at Mom. I kept my head down and shoveled rice like my life depended on it.

…

After we left Elle’s place, Mom and I walked into a mall. A man in a suit and glasses spotted us and came straight over.

“Merida, what a coincidence.”

There was something oily in the way he greeted her. Mom put on her professional polite smile.

“It is.”

The man’s eyes slid to me, voice turning flattering.

“Is this your little brother? Handsome kid.”

“My son.”

“Oh—sorry. I didn’t realize your son was already this grown.”

Mom’s patience was clearly running thin.

“If there’s nothing else, we’ll be going.”

The man took the hint, mumbled something, and slunk away.

“Mom, who was that?”

“A coworker.”

“Mom, he doesn’t look like a good guy. The way he was looking at you just now wasn’t normal.”

“What do you know?”

I knew. The heat and hunger in that suit’s eyes had been unmistakable. Of course they were. A woman like Mom turned heads wherever she went. Every man wanted her. The thought made me envy—and resent—Dad for being the one who got to marry someone this beautiful.

Why couldn’t I have been born twenty years earlier? Then I could have chased Mom openly, without any of this shame.

We bought two outfits at the mall and went home. The second I lay down on my bed the images started looping again—especially the view under the table today. The itch under my skin grew hotter until it felt like a fire that needed to be put out right now.

Desire pushed me out of bed. I cracked the door open like a thief. Mom had already gone into her room. I slipped over to the washing machine and, just as I’d hoped, found the black pantyhose she’d changed out of earlier.

I stood there fighting myself for a long moment. Then I gritted my teeth, grabbed the pantyhose, and retreated to my room, locking the door behind me. I held the soft fabric to my face like treasure and dragged in a deep breath, then wrapped it around my cock and started stroking hard and fast.

After I came, guilt and regret sat on my chest for a few minutes. Then I sneaked into the bathroom and began washing the cum-soaked pantyhose by hand. Right in the middle of scrubbing, a knock sounded on the door.

“What are you doing in there? You’ve been taking forever.”

“Huh? I… I’m taking a shit. Ate too much today.”

Mom’s voice nearly made me jump out of my skin. I froze, pretending to be on the toilet. Silence stretched for a while. Then Mom’s footsteps returned to the bathroom door.

“You… are you…?”

My heart lurched. Had Mom already noticed the pantyhose were missing from the machine?

When she didn’t finish the question, I forced myself to sound casual.

“What is it?”

“You… never mind. Finish up, clean yourself properly, and go to bed.”

Only after I was sure Mom had walked away did the cold sweat hit. The way she’d spoken, she might already know the pantyhose were gone. So why didn’t she call me out?

Was I overthinking it? My head started to pound. I wrung the pantyhose dry as fast as I could, slipped them back into the machine, and retreated to my room.

The next day Mom kept giving me strange looks—like she wanted to say something but kept holding it back. By dinner the tension was thick enough that I finally couldn’t stand it.

“Mom, what exactly do you want to ask me? You’ve been acting weird all day.”

Mom shot me a glare. A long silence passed before she finally spoke.

“Have you… started feeling… curious about the opposite sex?”

Chapter 6

My heart slammed hard against my ribs. It looked like Mom had already figured out I’d taken her pantyhose. If she ever learned I’d used them to jerk off, I’d be lucky to walk away with skin still attached. Best move right now was to play dumb.

“What do you mean, Mom? Can you say it clearer?”

“You’re seriously going to act stupid with me?”

Mom saw straight through the act. Of course she did. She’d been this age once; she knew exactly what was running through my head.

“Well… yeah… a little…” I watched her face carefully. No big reaction yet, so I kept going.

“But… guys my age being curious about girls is normal, right?”

Mom gave me a flat look.

“Normal my ass. I was wondering why your grades kept tanking. Turns out your head’s full of this garbage.”

“How is it garbage? I’m eighteen. Being a little curious is completely normal. Not being curious would be the weird part. We even cover this stuff in biology class.”

Mom had a college education. I was betting she wouldn’t really come down on me just for that. As for the pantyhose… before I could spiral further, she asked the next question.

“Then… have you… ever secretly taken women’s clothes?”

There it was.

Mom definitely knew I’d taken her pantyhose. My brain raced. Best play was still denial. She’d never actually seen me using them, so that part could never come out of my mouth, no matter what.

“Mom, what kind of person do you think I am? I might be a little curious about girls, but I’m not some total pervert.”

I put on my most righteous face. Mom actually looked thrown for a second. After a long pause she still brought the pantyhose up.

“Then what about the pair I took off yesterday?”

“Pantyhose? What pantyhose?”

“Keep playing dumb and see what happens. You know exactly what I’m talking about.” Mom lifted her chopsticks and rapped me once on the head. Seeing the act wasn’t going to hold, I scrambled for an excuse.

“Oh—oh, that. I just… wanted to help you wash them. Nothing else.”

“Wash them?”

Mom’s expression made it clear she didn’t buy it, but the whole topic was too awkward for her to push harder.

“From now on I wash my own pantyhose. If I catch you near them again, you’re going to regret it.”

“And one more thing.” Mom’s tone shifted. “It’s normal to be curious about the opposite sex at your age, but you need to know where the line is. Some things you can do. Some things you absolutely cannot. Keep that clear in your head.”

“Yeah, yeah.” I nodded like a chicken pecking grain. Inside, a wave of relief hit. As long as Mom had no hard proof, she couldn’t do much more than assume I was just curious about girls.

For the next two weeks I poured more time into studying. Part of it was fear—if the next scores dropped again, Mom wouldn’t go easy. The other part was pure want: I needed to look better in Mom’s eyes.

It felt like when I was little and tried hard so Mom would reward me… no. More like a male showing off, trying to impress a female.

Ever since the day Mom realized I’d taken her pantyhose but didn’t know exactly what I’d done with them, I never found another pair in the washing machine. The little plan in my head died completely. Mom had started guarding herself against me. The realization left an empty ache in my chest—and at the same time made me even more obsessed with her.

No matter what Mom wore at home, I waited until her attention was elsewhere and stared at her tits and ass. The guilt and the rush tangled together. I knew it was fire, but I still couldn’t stop moving closer.

July 7th fell on a weekend. That afternoon I was out wandering the streets with my buddy Dorian.

Eighteen is the age when love starts looking shiny and perfect, and I wasn’t immune. Watching young couples pass by sent a strange ripple through me; I even spaced out staring at them.

“What’s up, Steve? Jealous?” Dorian’s voice was pure shit-eating grin.

“Yeah, I’m jealous. You’re a single dog too—got any room to talk?”

“Tch. If you’re jealous, go get a girlfriend. Didn’t Cady give you a love letter a while back? How’s that going?”

Cady was our class study committee member—pretty, pure-looking. I just felt nothing for her.

“No spark.”

“No spark? Cady’s good-looking, top grades, and she chased you first. You’re seriously not interested?”

Dorian looked like I’d grown a second head. He wasn’t wrong. Plenty of guys in school were openly or secretly into a girl like Cady, yet she liked me. Being chased by someone that pretty gave a small ego boost, but the interest still wasn’t there.

“Don’t tell me… you’re gay?” Dorian put on a fake look of horror. I rolled my eyes and cursed him out.

“You’re the gay one.”

Dorian didn’t care. We always talked shit to each other. He went quiet for a second, then asked in a conspiratorial tone:

“You’ve already got someone you like, don’t you?”

I opened my mouth to say no—then Mom’s image flashed through my head without warning. Mom’s full body. The view under the table. The way her legs looked in those stockings…

Before I realized it we’d stopped in front of a flower stall selling roses. The vendor saw customers and stood up fast, looking us over for a second before putting on his sales smile.

“Gentlemen, buy a rose for your girlfriends?”

“No thanks. Neither of us has one.” Dorian waved him off.

“No girlfriend? Then you must have someone you like. Buy a rose for the girl you’re after!”

The guy clearly didn’t want to lose the sale. Dorian wasn’t interested and tugged my arm to leave.

“Wait. I’ll take one.”

The vendor’s face lit up; he even threw in a compliment.

“Didn’t expect a romantic type. Some girl’s going to be lucky. Twenty each—how many, handsome?”

Twenty for one flower. He was fleecing me.

“Just one.”

He took the transfer with a big grin and handed over a single red rose.

The second we walked away Dorian was already on me.

“Spill it—who’s the girl?”

I ignored him and kept walking with the rose.

“Come on, tell me! Tell me!”

His constant yapping finally got under my skin. I turned and bolted.

Chapter 7

By the time I got home it was already eleven at night. I eased the door open. The living-room light was still on. Mom sat on the couch, head tilted back, asleep.

I moved closer on quiet feet and looked at her carefully. She hadn’t changed out of her work clothes—still in the full business suit. Her arms were crossed over her chest, pushing her already full tits up and making them look even heavier. Below the skirt her legs were sheathed in nude pantyhose, one crossed over the other. The slipper had fallen off her right foot, leaving her pale, delicate sole bare.

Mom’s hair was still pinned up. Her face looked flawless, almost unreal. A faint crease sat between her brows, eyes closed, thin red lips slightly parted. Soft breaths slipped out now and then. Even asleep, Mom carried that distant, untouchable presence—something you were only allowed to look at from far away.

My heart started hammering. I called out softly:

“Mom?”

No answer. I set the rose on the coffee table and stared at her sleeping face, at those thin lips. The itch under my skin turned sharp and restless. I wanted to kiss them. The fear of getting caught—and the line I still couldn’t cross—fought inside me.

Fuck it. If I die, I die. I straightened my back, leaned down slowly until Mom’s elegant face filled my vision. My pulse was racing. Then I pressed a quick, light kiss to her mouth.

It was barely more than a brush—almost no real contact—but the rush hit me so hard I kept licking my own lips afterward, chasing the ghost of the feeling.

A moment later Mom’s brows twitched. I snatched the rose off the table and hid it behind my back.

“What are you standing there for?”

Mom woke up, saw me looming over her, and frowned, already irritated.

“I came home and saw you asleep. I called you but you didn’t answer, so I just… waited for you to wake up.” My voice sounded guilty even to me. I’d just kissed her, after all.

“Is that so?”

Mom straightened her clothes, checked her watch, and launched straight into the lecture.

“Why are you back this late? Do you see what time it is?”

I didn’t care about the scold