Chapter 1
The pleasant scent of baking cookies wafted from the oven, waking Decker from a daydream. He flicked on the oven light and peeked through the oven window. Wait until Mom sees this, he thought gleefully.
Humming a cheery tune, he pulled out his batch of chocolate chip treats and left the baking tin to cool on the living room coffee table. At least something went right today, he thought, and settled back into his phone.
Before long, Mom made her appearance. He could hear her barking into her phone and fumbling with keys on the front porch. His timing had been perfect.
The front lock clicked and the door burst open, followed by his mother Suzanne --a whirlwind of legal pads, laptop cases, and long, gesticulating arms. Overloaded as always, she pinched her phone between her shoulder and cheek, a stream of workplace babble poured from her mouth.
"And then the developers have a look and suddenly it can’t be done! We've had our specs settled since the fifth! If they need more time they'll have to come up with it themselves…"
Decker rolled his eyes and felt heat in his cheeks as a familiar wave of disappointment overtook him. Mom’s work arguments always went on forever, and it was impossible to get her to focus on anything until they finished. I can't believe I skipped Adventure Time for this. Gradually he roused himself and stood, psyching himself up to fight the losing battle for her attention.
Mom blew into the living room, unceremoniously dumped her work papers onto the coffee table, and plopped onto the couch. Her work conversation didn’t seem to be going well, but at least it was burbling to an end.
"That's on _engineering_ Lisa, not me. Let's put a pin in this and circle back tomorrow? Bye." Sweet silence descended upon the room.
Shifting from foot to foot, Decker went from lamely waiting for her to finish her call to lamely waiting for her to look up from her phone. He willed her to notice the freshly baked chocolate chip cookies cooling next to her on the coffee table.
"Mom! Mo-om?! Check out the table."
Nothing.
"Mom?"
"Ssssshht!"
Decker peeked over the kitchen counter into the living room. He could see his mother's long gangly frame slung along the couch, her head resting on the padded armrest. Mom’s battle with work had moved to text--the sound of her tapping thumbs filled the room.
Waiting for his mother to finish, Decker couldn't help but notice her outfit. Mom was more dressy than usual today--hair in a loose bun, a nice yellow blouse, and a tight brown blazer that reminded him of the working women he saw on old tv shows when he was younger.
His position also gave him an easy look down her top: he tried and failed not to notice how well her bony elbows and tight blouse framed her cleavage. Mom probably had a pretty ample chest (not that he’d ever noticed--gross!), and the few blouse buttons she’d left open partially revealed a deep cleft between her pale boobs. It didn’t help that she was holding her phone over her head and texting frantically. Staring at her breasts, Decker was briefly mesmerized by a dancing sliver of white--the lacy part of her bra top jiggling.
He was enjoying the show a bit too much when Suzanne finished messaging and set her phone down with an exhausted sigh, snapping her son out of his entranced peeping.
"Decky, honey? What were you saying?"
"I made you something!"
“What did you make me, sweetheart?”
“Check it out mom, look!”
Suzanne pinched the bridge of her nose and exhaled her frustration up to the ceiling.
"Mommy doesn't have time for guessing games today, honey. Please, just tell me what it is?"
Like an article he'd read too many times, it was obvious where this was going: Pleasant evening murdered by bad day at work, read more on A6. Cheery playfulness had gotten him nowhere, it was time for the direct approach.
“Don’t talk to me like I’m a little kid! Look!” Decker strode over to the coffee table, peeled a cookie off the baking sheet, and held it out to her. Suzanne regarded her homecoming gift with suspicion, and her hands stayed at her sides. Decker waited. Seconds passed, and Suzanne still made no move to accept the cookie. Decker felt like he’d brought a pair of old socks to show and tell.
"Tada." he offered, weakly.
Suzanne broke the impasse by making a face.
"Now honey, you know I’m gluten free."
Jeez Louise, who had peed in her corn flakes? Decker gritted his teeth, and played his trump card.
“Don’t worry Mom, they’re GF cookies! Look!”
He fetched the box of mix from the kitchen table and shook it at her. While reading it's assurances, Suzanne peeled her own fresh cookie off the baking sheet and nibbled.
“Wow-wow sweetheart--these are great!” she smiled at him, and Decker exhaled sharply. Having finally overcome her defenses, he couldn't help but smile.
“To what do I owe these treasures, mister?”
“Well it's just that.. You're the best mom in the world and you work so hard and--”
"Decker sweetie, boys your age are terrible liars. Now out with it.."
No time to chicken out now.
"There was a girl. Ah, at. school."
Attempting to say her name brought him right back to that horrible conversation at the lunch table. Decker’s breathing hitched and he hung his head. After that conversation, the truth was he'd wanted a girl (any girl!) to smile for him and be happy to see him, and pay attention to him. Even if that girl was his boring old Mom.
Rather than say all that, however, he chickened out.
“I had a bad day is all--and I thought I'd make cookies at home, try to concentrate.”
"Unh huh... Bad day, how?"
At least, that’s what he expected. He silently waited for the obvious follow-up question.
It never came. Looking up from his shoes, Decker could see his mother's attention sliding back to her phone on the table. With the evening’s last chance at honest-to-God parental support slipping away he pressed on.
“This girl. She, ah.” He stared at his shoes again, briefly reliving the conversation.
“...she and I are through.”
He raised his head just in time to see the dam break. Mom was back on her phone, thumb scrolling away.
When he'd been much younger he'd fallen on the playground and run to her crying. He’d expected Mommy to “kiss it better”, or something, anything. “That's the world for you, Decky.” she'd said with a knowing chuckle. Even as a child he’d recognized how callous that response had been. It stunned him enough that he’d stopped crying and felt embarrassed that he’d run to her for comfort in the first place. Nearly a decade later and he'd never stopped making the same mistake.
He felt a full blown temper tantrum bubbling up, and was just about to give in to his frustration when he noticed it.
Someone had written on the cookie sheet, beneath where one of the cookies had been peeled off. Not written exactly, more like inscribed in a fancy cursive print.
"No way, Jose", Decker mumbled to himself.
Suzanne, still laying on the couch and lost in her phone, didn't notice her son's surprised murmur, nor the way he peered down at the cookie sheet. Decker got down on his knees and squinted at what was clearly a message.
Every young man has lots of needs,
Whether he knows them or not!
From the tops of their crowns to the soles of their shoes,
Their bodies are growing a lot!
So when little man requires assistance,
But his grasp is blocked by mental resistance,
Family steps up with blind persistence,
And a gift he won't soon forget:
Insensible needs, unconsciously met.
He couldn’t figure out how it could have gotten there--the aluminum sheet had been smooth when he’d started baking. Kneeling by the coffee table, Decker looked up from the mysterious message. He blankly stared at the couch while he turned the poem over and over in his mind.
Mom was still in office mode, intently scrolling on her phone with one hand, nibbling Decker's cookie with the other.
From his vantage point by the head of the couch, he again felt his eyes fall to the dark line of his mother's cleavage. He wasn't in the habit of perving out on his own mother (again, gross!), but he had been noticing her that way a fair amount lately. Usually he cut it out as soon as he realized what he was doing. This time however, Decker's brain was occupied by his mystery poem, so he didn't look away. His head tilted to the side as he muttered the poem under his breath.
Without looking up from her phone, Mom murmured some kind of casual offer, which he missed.
"What?"
"I said-- you'll get a crick if you keep craning your neck that way. May I?"
Mom's cookie hand put the treat down and began tugging at the top fastened button on her blouse. A few more tugs down the front, and her overburdened top sprung open.
Decker gawked as his mother's massive, bra-clad breasts tumbled into view. Somehow, the rest of her didn't seem to notice--Mom kept right on reading work emails. Decker compensated by noticing enough for both of them: her long neck propped up on the armrest, the faded ridge of shadow along her clavicle, and (most of all) the slight jiggle as her plump breasts settled heavily to either side of her chest. Despite having a tall, skinny frame, Mom's tits were huge!
Decker had seen his mother's bras before--hung above the bathtub to dry, casually strewn about the floor of her bedroom. Usually they didn't merit much interest.
This was different. Mom was laying on her back, serving up her lacy cups for his enjoyment! Decker felt an involuntary tightening in his briefs, a signal of his new appreciation for lingerie. The bottom third of Mom’s domes were covered by opaque white. Just above he could make out her dark red areolae thinly covered by a band of transparent white lace. The rest of her tightly packed boob mass spilled out and over: rounded fleshy tops pancaking up towards her collarbone.
Decker’s view was staggering, but Mom's rebellious hand hadn't finished. Lefty (and its accompanying arm) deftly crossed under her bust and lifted, plumping her opulent cleavage. Suzanne’s arm gently wiggled, causing her tits to wobble obscenely within the lace brassiere.
Still staring at her phone, Mom idly asked. "Is that better, sweetie?"
Equal parts panic and confusion overtook Decker.
“Jeez, Mom! I wasn’t looking at--at that!”
Suzanne made an exasperated sound with her nose. “Looking at what, Decker? Please let me concentrate--I need to read this email in peace.”
“But, but you’re...you’re, like practically naked!”
“Ssssshht!" Suzanne’s head whipped around to face Decker’s, her eyes wide with anger.
“Young man, I asked you to pipe down. Now if you keep this up I will send you to your room for the rest of the night!”
Avoiding his mother’s glare, Decker returned his eyes to her wobbling and jostling chest. Her arm continued its hospitable shaking and plumping, unbothered by its host’s temper.
“But, but I wasn’t looking at your boobs.” he mumbled, contrite.
“Looking at what? Decker, I have no idea what my chest has to do with anything, and I don’t have time to guess. Now, please keep still!”
While her left arm corralled and shook her bust, Suzanne turned her face back up to her phone and continued to scroll with her right. “Thank you”, she murmured huffily.
Decker’s mind reeled. Hadn’t she put on her "show" to give him a better view? How could she have forgotten something she’d said minutes ago? Mom never acted like this. It was so … (sexy? exciting?) freaky! Creeping arousal began to crowd out his fear and further muddied the waters. He forced himself to look down and pointedly walked to the other side of the coffee table, his back turned on his mother’s oblivious (but compelling) performance.
He thought back to the inscription on the cookie tin, and turned again to face his mother, this time from further down the couch. He took in a view of her long legs, crossed under a plain wool gray office skirt. Her hem rested just above the shin. She was still on her back, her left arm still slung across her body hugging the underside of her bra. He noticed with relief (and a little disappointment) that the rogue arm had stopped jiggling her bosom.
It didn’t matter anyway, his mother’s idle tit shaking had already given him a painfully stiff erection. In an attempt to cool himself down, he shifted his eyes down until he was intently watching her crossed ankles.
"Oh, I guess that’s a better view then? No problem. May I?"
Surprised, Decker looked back up to his mother’s face, which gave no sign that she was doing anything but reading. She was still definitely engrossed in her phone.
Nonetheless, under her son's still gaze, Suzanne’s left arm reached down and grabbed a fistful of her dress. Balling up more and more of the skirt in her hand, she drew up its hem. Decker’s eyebrows lifted along with her retreating hemline. Once her skirt was more than halfway hiked up Suzanne uncrossed her legs and casually slung one knee over the top of the couch. Her thighs parted widely and gave Decker a clear view of his mother's thick, pale inner thighs and the crotch of her clean white panties.
Decker froze. He’d never seen this far up a woman’s dress before. Through shock his mind again feasted on the sight before him, gulping down every fine detail. He noticed a dark red beauty spot inches above his mother’s left knee. He noticed the way her taut muscles flexed in her inner thighs, making little hollows on either side of her crotch. He faintly registered her left hand reach down and pull aside the white cotton strip of fabric between her legs -- revealing a pair of puffy, compressed labia and a neatly trimmed tangle of pale brown pubic hair.
Decker’s breath caught in his throat. He was at full mast now, dangerously close. Mom’s middle finger lazily combed through her vulva, pulling her fleshy lips apart and revealing the ruby flush of her inner labia. Profoundly fascinated, he stared into his mother’s pink vaginal opening. It’s so...bright, he thought, enchanted.
Meanwhile, Decker’s penis thumped along with his racing heart. The obscenely erotic view of his mother’s pussy, the obliging way she had opened her legs for him. It was all too much for his inexperienced libido. Through the rush of blood in his ears, Decker felt his control start to slip.
“How’s that, pumpkin? Better?” Mom asked.
Aaand.. that.. did it. Decker’s hips jerked on their own as the strongest orgasm of his young life reared up and washed over him. His mouth hung loosely open. His eyes, locked numbly on the pussy stroking finger between Mom’s legs, briefly saw black spots while the powerful climax shook him. He felt his penis twitching, spilling semen into his school pants.
After a short while he settled back down to earth. His panicked eyes flew to his mother’s face. Mom still hadn’t looked up from her phone.
As Decker’s mighty orgasm receded, it left a wake of shame and confusion. His cold, wet crotch added insult to injury. What the hell just happened? he wondered, bewildered. Did that poem do this? I didn’t even say it out loud. What’s going on with mom? How could she not have noticed!? I jizzed my pants! Is she going to be like this forever? This last question upset him deeply, for reasons he couldn’t explain. He shut his eyes and another wave, this time of loneliness, swept over him. He felt untethered, alone. Randomly, his mind flashed back to simpler times and a deep yearning (for what, he also couldn’t explain) bubbled up from within him.
A sudden rush of activity from the couch, and the sound of something plunking onto the coffee table. Startled, Decker opened his eyes with a mix of fear and anticipation.
Mom was sitting upright, poised at the tip of the couch, legs crossed. Her hands folded on her knees and her phone rested on the coffee table. Face down. Besides her blouse hanging open lewdly and her visible bra, there was no hint of the x-rated show she had just put on.
Any hint of work stress was gone. Her usual Mom faces (“The Annoyed Scowl”, or “The Troubled Brow”) were nowhere to be seen, replaced by a pair of inviting, curious eyes. Had Decker known the word, he would have called her expression serene. A light smile played across her lips.
“Aww--you had a bad day at school, honey? Tell momma everything!”