The Grand Strategy Ch. 06

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The new semester started like a marathon, with the crowded runners all trying to get a step ahead, and bumping and jostling. I said before that it was like putting your mouth on a firehose, and it was. We had hundreds of pages of reading a night, writing to do, and there was not a spare minute. Literally. Not a spare minute. I would fall asleep at night with a book in my hand or my fingers on the keyboard, and wake up in the morning to finish whatever it was I fell asleep with. I didn’t have time for anything extra-curricular. I had called Carol, Bridget, Aunt Ellie, and Mary, dear Mary, to explain, and each of them was completely understanding.

But Mom. I didn’t even try to explain to her. I wanted to be with her every minute and, whenever my mind wandered, it was to her.

We established a pattern. Mom and I would text throughout the day and, when I could get a minute, I would call her, just to chat. She knew the pressure I was under. But Saturdays were for us. I made sure of that. Where before I would have buried myself in a cocoon and tried to avoid her and Dad at all costs, now I hungered for our time together. And that was Saturdays, and sometimes Sundays.

The first Saturday after classes resumed, I was too swamped to do anything but text her to say I would not be able to visit that weekend.

“Oh, Honey. I was looking forward to seeing you. Are you okay? You do whatever you have to do. I’ll be here waiting for you when you can come.”

Hmmm. I liked that. She didn’t say, “We’ll be here waiting for you…” She said, “I’ll be here waiting for you.” I liked that. I texted back.

“There’s an incentive. Let me try to get caught up this week, and I hope I can come next weekend. Will that be okay?”

“Of course, Silly Billy. Just let me know.”

So I did. I worked my ass off to get ahead of the curve. I was inspired. I may have been an average student before, but now I was inspired. I had to get enough ahead so I could have time with Mom. Sometimes I laughed at it. I’d look around the lecture hall when we were all together, over a hundred of us, and I’d wonder: How many guys in here are busting their asses so they can get time to try and fuck their Mothers?

Because that was my goal. I wanted to fuck her. She wanted my love. I knew what I wanted. She knew what she wanted. At some point, maybe the two would come together.

So, the next Saturday I made a point of texting her early in the morning to ask if I could come for supper. She replied enthusiastically, and I studied hard so I could have the time. When it came time to get ready, I was as nervous as when I was dressing to go to Mary’s house for dinner. I finally settled on the khaki pants and oxford shirt, again – my wardrobe was limited – and with a text to Mom that I was on the way, headed out.

When I got there, she was waiting for me at the back door, just as the previous time. I don’t know how long she had been standing there, but the door opened as I walked up the sidewalk from the driveway.

“Get in here, Mister! Where have you been?” She grabbed my hand and pulled me through the doorway, then put my hand around her back and leaned in to hug me. This time there was no preliminary hug. We went straight for the kiss and, I have to say, it was passionate. You might wonder how a kiss without tongue or anything can be so passionate but, for me, it was. As we ended the kiss, she leaned back, took my hands to hold them, and said, “Let me look at you.”

Well, I wanted to look at her, too. She had on black yoga pants (yeah, remember those from Mary?) and a light blue vee-neck sweater. The sweater set off her hair perfectly, and her eyeliner, I noted, was the same color. Had she dressed especially for me? We usually were pretty casual around the house in the evening, but she was anything but dressed casually. She was hot. I looked at her, up and down, and she could tell its effect by the look bahis firmalar─▒ on my face.

I pulled her in for another kiss, and this time I let my tongue flick against her lower lip and tentatively explore her slightly open mouth. She was hesitant, but her tongue joined the play, very tentatively, but it was there, nonetheless.

My God! I was passionately kissing my Mother, and she was responding. I don’t know if you have ever gotten a first kiss from your Mother like that, but I hope you have or that you do in the future. It was mind-shattering. I cannot adequately describe it. The first kiss from your Mom like that is the one kiss that you will remember the rest of your life. It’s like your first kiss ever, but on steroids.

Our hands were clasped between us. I released mine, and reached up to hold her face as I kissed her. My tongue getting more bold, and being met with some boldness of hers, was enough to make me almost explode. I moved my right hand from her cheek and cupped the back of her head. She put her arms around my neck, and pulled tightly me into her. If she couldn’t feel my dick, then I don’t know. She had to feel it, pulsing between us.

Long before I wanted it to end, she pulled away, suddenly seeming shy or, maybe, even a little upset with me.

“Go and say hello to your Father. He’s in the den.” Then she turned and went into the kitchen. That was it. Just “Go and say hello to your Father…” Was she angry? Was she disappointed? My heart sank at the thought that I might have screwed this up. But she responded to me, didn’t she? Didn’t that mean something? I didn’t know.

But you can rest assured that I watched her ass as she walked away from me to the kitchen. How could I not have fully appreciated that ass before? Oh, yeah, I was always focused on it, but damn. That was a fine ass. The yoga pants formed it perfectly, and emphasized every crease of her butt.

When she reached the kitchen she turned to see me standing frozen, staring at her ass. She motioned impatiently toward the den, and mouthed, “Go!”

Whew. Busted twice in a one minute period. First I over-kissed her, if that’s a word, then I got caught perving on her ass.

I went in to see Dad, and we talked for awhile. I don’t even remember what we talked about, for my mind was focused on Mom. When it became clear he would rather get back to the game, I went into the kitchen. Mom was standing at the sink, with her hands holding the edge of it. Her posture was stiff. I walked up to her, put my hands around her to rest on her little belly, and hugged her from behind. She put her hands on mine, and leaned her head back on my chest.

“You have to keep that from happening again when your Father is here. What if he had walked in and seen us? You have to be the strong one.”

My heart leapt. She had not said, “That can’t happen again, ever.” She had said, “…when your Father is here.” She had said, “You have to be the strong one.” Did that mean she was the weak one? Did that mean her desire had overcome her?

I bent my head down and, since her head was leaned back onto my chest, I bent down and kissed her neck, right in front of her clavicle. “I’ll be careful, Mom. No one can ever know. I’ll never do anything to hurt you.”

She sighed, squeezed my hands, and I said, “I love you so much.” She pulled my hands from her stomach, turned around, pushed me out of the way, and walked to the refrigerator.

“Get those rolls out of the oven, Honey, and I’ll get the butter.” Matter of fact, all business, no funny stuff Mom was back. Her demeanor was so normal that I wondered if the last five minutes had happened at all. How could she be so passionate, apparently, one minute and then the next minute be so matter-of-fact? I was standing there with my hard dick and my heart aflutter, and she was bustling around like nothing had happened between us.

She flapped her hands at ka├žak iddaa me. “Scoot, Dude! Get it on the table.”

I scooted.

Dinner was good, and the mood was upbeat. I feared that Mom might be a little subdued and standoffish, but she wasn’t. She was practically ebullient. She made jokes, laughed, and Dad and I were right along with her. We had fun together, and it was so much fun that I can’t even remember what we had to eat. I do remember that Mom was radiant. My mind kept wandering, though, and several times Mom or Dad had to get my attention to repeat what they had said.

“Bill. Where on earth is your mind tonight?,” Dad asked, after he had to jolt me out of my revery the second time in five minutes.

“I’m just preoccupied with school, I guess. They give us so many cases that we have to memorize that I wonder if my brain can hold it all. They give us reading at night, and woe be to the one who cannot answer a question about a specific case the next day. Maybe I should be a truck driver.”

Mom and Dad both laughed. What I had told them was not the truth. The truth was that I could not get my mind away from that first real kiss with Mom. She actually let me have some tongue action with her. Surely she knew how that would affect me. Surely she wouldn’t have done it if she didn’t have at least a little of the same feelings and desires I had. I kept going to what she had said. “You have to be the strong one.” What the hell? My uber-strong, always Ms Business Mom, not the strong one? She was always the strong one. There was never any question in our family who was in charge. Mom was always, always in charge. What she said, went. She was the planner. She was the organizer. When she made her mind up to do something, or to have Dad or I do something, it got done. Period. As Dad and I both knew, it was futile to try and resist her decision on anything.

I couldn’t help but think to myself as I looked at her, chattering away and acting perfectly normal, “You know, if Mom decided she wanted to fuck me, or anyone, that’s the way it would be.” I wondered if Mom had ever fucked anyone else since she married Dad. I couldn’t imagine it, but then a couple of weeks ago I couldn’t have imagined her letting me slip my tongue in her mouth while we kissed in the foyer.

“So which case are you reviewing in your mind right now, Bill?” Mom reached over and pinched my cheek, like she had always done to get my attention.

Damn. I didn’t have a case in mind. What I had in mind was my Mother, giving me a blowjob.

“I guess Hawkins v. McGee, the Hairy Hands case.” That was a case that was taught in many first year law schools, and had even featured in the movie, Paper Chase. I couldn’t think of a better one. I recounted the case to them, and explained how it illustrated the principle of expectancy, the heart of contract law. When their eyes started to glaze over, I laughed. “See what I’m telling you? Boring, and we must have dozens of them like that. Hell, hundreds of them.”

Mom reached over and rubbed the top of my hand. “You’ll do fine, Honey. Just keep working at it. Anything good is worth the work you have to put in to get it, you know that. Now, elbows off the table.”

So off my mind went off on a tangent again. What did she mean? Was she talking about us? Was she talking about law school, or about us? Why did she have to revert to Bossy Mom, telling me to get my elbows off the table? What would it be like to fuck her? “Touch me there. Lick that. Suck on my tits. Rub your tongue over my nipples. Don’t use your teeth. Faster, faster…” I laughed.

“At least you’ve still got your sense of humor,” Dad said. “If you can still laugh at it, then it can’t be all bad.”

After dinner we went into the den and Dad put another game on. He was immersed in it immediately, while Mom and I snuggled on the couch the way we had before, Mom on my right side and each of us turned toward ka├žak bahis the middle so that our knees almost touched. As Mom and I talked I couldn’t help it, my eyes kept darting to the vee of her sweater and to her breasts, to see if I could note any nipple action. My eyes kept darting to the camel toe her pussy made in those tight yoga pants.

Mom snapped her fingers at me and, when I looked up at her, she mouthed silently, “Bad boy. Behave yourself. He’s right there,” flicking her eyes toward Dad.

I chuckled, and in an exaggerated way mouthed silently back to her, “OoooKayy,” and that got a laugh from her. I reached over to take her left hand, and she pulled it away.

“Bill, there’s a chill in here. Get the blanket so I can put it over me,” she said in a louder voice.

I jumped up to get a blanket out of the blanket basket, and handed it to her. After I sat back down, this time moving close enough to her that our knees touched, she spread the blanket over our laps and reached for my right hand. She squeezed it and rested both our hands on her ankle. After holding hands awhile, like shy teen-agers hiding any affectionate touches from their parents, I released her hand and rested my hand on her ankle. She put her hand back on top of mine, and interlaced her fingers with mine. This time, I didn’t restrict myself to her ankle, but gently rubbed up her leg to her calf, gently squeezing as I went. Her hand was still on top of mine, but she didn’t prevent me from touching her calf.

That might sound like much to you. “Wow. So he got his hand on her calf. Big deal.” But to me it was a big deal. We were keeping it hidden under the blanket, so she knew clearly that it was a forbidden touch. She didn’t stop me, so she either liked it or was willing to let me enjoy it, even if she didn’t like it. It was a lover’s touch – innocent enough on the surface, but with volumes of hidden meaning for what might come.

After awhile, Dad yawned, Mom yawned, and then I faked a yawn. Mom and Dad may have been tired and yawning legitimately, but I was so excited that a yawn was the last thing that would have come out of me.

“Time to trot off to bed, I guess,” Dad said.

I hoped Mom would let him go to bed and stay alone with me, but she answered, “Yes, the night may still be young, but we’re not. OK, Bill, time for you to scoot back to your apartment. When can you come back?”

They stood up, so I did too. “How about next weekend? That okay?”

Dad started to walk upstairs, and Mom took my arm to walk me to the back door. “Sure, Honey,” she said loudly enough for Dad to hear. “We’ll have the soup on.”

As we neared the corner to turn to the foyer at the back door, Mom glanced to her right to make sure Dad was continuing up the stairs. As soon as he topped the stairs and turned to go into their bedroom, she pulled me around the corner and put her arms around my waist. Wasting no time, I bent to kiss her lips and this time I didn’t hesitate to use a little tongue. I gently sucked at her lower lip, and then flicked my tongue along her lip and into her mouth. She met my tongue with hers. Although there was not the spit-swapping passion I wanted from the kiss, it was definitely passionate and besides, it was Mom. Jeebus. I was kissing Mom.

She put her hands on my chest, rubbed them against it, and then pushed me away.

“Can’t take too long, Honey. He’ll wonder where I am,” she whispered as she looked into my eyes.

I leaned forward, pulled her to me, and kissed her forehead. “I love you, Mom. I do.”

“I know you do, Honey. I love this change in you.” Then, with a stronger voice she said, “I love you, too. You know that, don’t you?”

I kissed her forehead again, took her hand and squeezed it. “Of course I do, Mom,” and I left.

As I drove to my apartment, my head was swimming with the memory of those kisses. If we never went any farther, if I never got to make love to her, those kisses might be enough. The forbidden aspect of kissing her like that, and her responding, was not lost on me. I kept saying, out loud as I was driving, “My God. Mom kissed me!”

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