Moving In with Mom Pt. 05Moving In with Mom Pt. 05


I must have replayed the video a dozen times just in the first hour or so of taking it. I didn’t think I could cum 3 times in a row, within a couple hours, but I managed it. The sight of my mom’s perfect little tits on the screen, the memory of the way they felt in my mouth, the soft, almost purring sound of the occasional sleeping moan from her lips – it was like a full dose of maximum-strength Spanish Fly mainlined right into me. Video go on, cock go up, hand go down. Fuck.

And then, through an act of will, I put it away. Tucked it and the other stuff I had recorded of her away into a hidden folder on my hard drive. I didn’t want to become obsessed; I have, in the past, become fixated on women that I fancied, and started to fold my entire world around them. There was no way that could happen this time, no way I could allow it to happen. It mean, it was my mom, for fuck’s sake. I couldn’t treat her like a potential mate or partner. Just…my mom. Right?

So I put it away and went about my regular life. I threw myself into work, picking up extra shifts to make more money while I had a chance to, since I wasn’t paying any bills, really. In the evening, I slept, at night, I worked, during the day I tried to make myself industrious around the house – doing chores, making sure everything was ship-shape, running errands for her when I was asked – I was a model son.

She noticed, for sure. At first, it was little jokes and mild jabs and barbs. “Where was this son as a teenager?” and “You’re finally applying what I tried to teach you”. Little shit like that, but when you’ve lived with my mother, you learn to let things like that slide off without notice. I just continued working, both at work, and at home, without ever realizing just how much I was suppressing.

I was avoiding her, of course. Her, and the entire situation. I justified it with being *around* her, in her presence, but never actually *with* her. Never really engaging with her – no conversation, no interaction, just keeping myself occupied, so I could avoid thinking Beylikdüzü Escort about what I’d invited into my head all too willingly. Suppression, for sure. I didn’t watch any of her ‘content’ for a solid month – hell, I barely watched or read any porn for that entire time. I burned off the energy, that jittery sexual frustration with work, like a monk in a monastery, scrubbing floors and washing cars and mowing lawns.

In the process, I started to see her in a different way; more as a person, a woman, rather than just a mother. I started to realize how much of a layabout my father kind of was, and how much she had really put into the house and home when we were younger. I started to genuinely feel good that when she got home from work, she would find her kitchen floor swept and mopped, her front walk cleared, and her hedges trimmed. I kind of felt like I was giving back to her for what she had done for me – not only taking me in again, making sure I was all right, but also the intensely erotic few moments she’d unwittingly offered up in the past couple months. It wasn’t guilt – I had nothing to feel guilty about. I hadn’t done anything to harm her.

I also came to realize how much work she had to put in around the house to maintain it all by herself; not just basic cleanup after herself, like dishes and sweeping floors. I mean cleaning gutters and changing HVAC air filters and all the ‘hidden’ house-maintenance stuff that you don’t usually think about before you buy a house. I kind of grew to respect her, and I kind of understood why she could get bitchy sometimes. I’d get bitchy too if I felt like people were expecting me to get everything done without much help.

I didn’t really see her during that time – our schedules were completely at odds. When she slept, I was working. When she was working, I was at home. And when she was at home, I was asleep. The graveyard shift is a back-to-front way of living. Now, I could have arranged it so that I was asleep during the day, while she was at Beylikdüzü Escort Bayan work, but I’ve never liked working and then coming home to go to bed. It makes the last hour or two of work endless. I’d rather get up, take my shower, and head to the job, and then have my whole day ahead of me when I got off. Plus, being awake during the daylight hours means that if I had to go to the bank or something, they would be open. And I was my manager’s go-to guy – when someone was late, I’d stay over, or if somebody called off, or had to come in late, I was the one she called. So my mom and I were very seldom home at the same time. On the off day I was awake at home when she wasn’t working, she was out running errands, or talking to her friends on the phone, or doing housework.

So I barely saw her for a moment, maybe a little more. Pass-bys when I was heading out to work, just before she fell asleep, or coming in from work to pass her heading to the job (she’s a customer service cashier at a major grocery store chain, on the day shift). I got a little mini-fridge and a hot plate for my room, so I almost never needed to leave it except to go to work. I was almost entirely insulating myself from…everything. I only ever left to go to work, or to run errands. All my friends had mostly fallen away, dealing with college or their own lives, and I’ve never been a party type. Even now, I was still nursing some wounds from my ex-. So I had almost entirely turned inward.

She had a set weekend, Saturday and Sunday, while my days off tended to be more fluid. In the pursuit of avoidance, I had told my manager that I was open to work weekends, which the other employees naturally took full advantage of, so my days off tended to be more toward the middle of the week, and not always back-to-back. The only people I saw on the regular were my customers and the cashiers at the store.

Then there was a bit of a turnaround – my manager gave me a Saturday night/Sunday morning off. I looked at the schedule, a Escort Beylikdüzü vague sense of forboding coming over me. This was going to be…tricky. I was going to be off all night Saturday, when she would stay up later since she didn’t work the next morning, and all of the day Sunday, while she was home. Bank would be closed. A lot of places would be closed. I could go to the store, but I couldn’t stay there 6 or 7 hours. I didn’t really have any friends to call up and hang out with. No romantic prospects.

As the week progressed, my anxiety began to well up, rising until I clocked out on Saturday morning. I headed home, and pulled up into the driveway, moving to creep into the house. I peeked into the front window, and surprisingly, mom wasn’t on the couch. It was only around 8am, so I wasn’t sure what was going on. Her car was in the garage, so she was almost certainly home. Weird.

I let myself in, glancing around and heading almost directly to my bedroom. No sign of her. A soft sigh of relief escaped me, and I almost missed the note taped to me bedroom door. It read:

“Ian. I stayed the night over at Pam’s place last night – I know you’ve been working a lot, both at home and at work lately, and I thought I might let you have the house for awhile, to yourself. Pam and I are going to go shopping later, and I’ll be home around six or so, but only so I can get ready for us to go out tonight. Might be home midnight-ish, if I don’t stay at Pam’s again. Love, Mom.”

Well, this was one for the books. I’d have the house to myself during the day – which wasn’t unusual – but also for at least a while tonight. Maybe all night, if she stayed at Pam’s again. I have to admit, my feelings were…conflicted. I liked the idea of not being trapped in my bedroom for a night, but not having her around seemed somehow not-quite-right. But since she was out for the moment, I allowed myself a bit of relaxation. I broke out the video of her I had taken, and let myself take my time to enjoy it, replaying it over and over, until I had squirted about three times in the space of four hours or so. By the time she got back home around six (I assume), I was fast asleep, crashed in my room, balls drained, snoring away.

(Questions, comments please email through my profile. Sorry, guys, not a lot of sexy stuff in this installment. But I have plans. Promise! )

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