Mom's Touch But Don't Look Policy:>Ep1

Everyone in this story is over the age of 18. Enjoy!

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All in succession, my perfectly crafted life collapsed.

First, the coronavirus hit and closed my college. Then they instituted shelter-at-home. I found myself trapped in the house, with no one else around except my mom.

The last straw came a few days after that. I was finally getting settled back into my boyhood bedroom when I got a call from Cassie, my college girlfriend. She wanted to FaceTime, and I assumed it was time for our inaugural session of hot and heavy virtual sex. I took off my pants, then turned on the screen.

Cassie was there, but she was fully dressed and looking glum.

"I just can't do it," she said, "If we're apart like this, I don't know how we can stay together." The pretty brunette did look upset, at least. Even if her logic made little sense. Everyone was stuck inside. It's not like we were in a long-distance relationship where I could be out dating, and she would never know. I was home with my mom, for fuck's sake.

"I can't," Cassie repeated, "I'm sorry. When it's over, when we're back in school, we can try again."

She clicked off the screen. I pulled my jeans back on, sheepish and sad. Cassie and I had been dating for nearly six months. I didn't think I was going to marry the girl, but I didn't see us breaking up anytime soon, either. Having her dump me out of nowhere like that left me feeling low.

That night at dinner, I barely had any appetite. I pushed my food around my plate like a lazy cat chasing after a mouse. Never quite getting to the kill. "What's wrong?" Mom asked. I turned her way, and, for a moment, I got caught in her huge, blue eyes.

I could admit my mom was very pretty. She had honey blonde hair and a warm, sunny face. Her tomboy-esque outfits -- she always wore flannel shirts with white, ribbed tank tops and high-waisted Mom jeans -- only made her look cuter. My high school friends had all foundered after her. I knew that at least two of the guys in our group had only hung out with me because it meant they got glances of my mom. Even some of the dates I'd brought home had faltered when they saw my mother.

fine," I said, the standard evasive

me," Mom said, "You used to confide in

when I was younger. We both loved reading books and seeing plays. She would take

We stopped spending time together. Gave up going out as Mom and son. I ended up hanging out with my dad through most of high school, which came with its own unique set

after high school, and one

over to where Dad would usually be sitting with us at our small, round kitchen table. I was used to him interceding on my behalf. Unfortunately, Dad had been travelling overseas when the virus hit and wasn't coming home

me back to the moment. The truth was, I wanted to tell someone. Needed to. And, with no one else

I said, barely even

"What happened?" Mom asked.

words caught in my throat before spilling over. "She said she didn't think we could be together through quarantine," I said. "Well, that's fucking stupid," Mom

I wasn't used to Mom taking my side, and I really

saw the look on my face, realized what she'd said, and blushed. "Sorry, your old

not old, Mom," I said, reflexive. A smile

I was a college mishap (during the final performance of the university's spring play, Mom would say wistfully, like that was a detail I needed to know). While I'm sure it was

"Cassie," I said.

if she's that superficial, she's doing you a favor. You deserve

my turn to blush. Like I said, I wasn't used to getting

and do the dishes. We stood in front of the sink, her arms elbow-deep in soapy water, while I held the tiny dish towel to dry. At one point, our hips bumped, and I glanced over at Mom's body. Like I said, I was her son. I didn't have a 'thing' for my mom. But that didn't mean I couldn't see her for what she was: a thoroughly gorgeous woman with a sweet face and a hot, tight body. I guess, in that way, it's like appreciating a painting at the MFA. I

and, pointedly, stepped away.

on your own paper, mister," Mom said

the stereotypical

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