Family Business

Her hand went to the groin of his brown tweed pants, obviously finding him hard. There was no real surprise on his behalf when she raised her dress and climbed upon his lap. The sex perfunctory, almost without passion as she seemingly brought herself to orgasm. "Did you cum?" The woman asked him and I shifted uncomfortably in my seat thankful the relative darkness of the cinema obscured my blushing face.

Onscreen the actress stroked her son to climax. Nothing was shown of course but the implication was graphic nonetheless. The movie was pretty bad, the subject matter uncomfortable at best, but it didn't prevent me from getting an erection, and considering the circumstances that fact alone was embarrassing to say the least.

The scene ended and from the corner of my eye I attempted to look at my mother seated next to me in the theatre. Was she as uncomfortable as me, I wondered? How could she not? An onscreen mother and son engaged in an incestuous relationship. The movie poster suggested nothing of the sort. Julianne Moore, that Eddie...something guy from, I don't know...stuff! It had looked so legit.

The strange thought arose in my mind. Did Mom know? She certainly hadn't acted as if she had I recalled from our conversation in the foyer, surveying the posters and session times to decide upon what we'd see. My cock was in a terrible position, desperately needing to be re-adjusted and ever so casually I moved a hand down from the armrest to my groin. Did Mom's gaze follow? I delayed moving my hard-on despite the urgent need in case she suspected something. What? I reasoned. That I was going to get out my cock and masturbate in a semi crowded theatre to mother and son incest?

I scoffed at my thought process and moved my dick to a far more comfortable position just as Mom leaned into my ear. Oh no! I thought. She's seen it. She's noticed how turned on I'd become by the film and was about to chastise me. An entirely different scenario entered my head. No. She wants to touch it. The movie awakened something in her and she wants to fuck me. Jerk me off me just as had been done in the movie. Mere milliseconds passed as my brain predicted the future. I should learn to never listen to my brain.

"Can you pass the popcorn?" Mom breathed into my ear, coming up with a third scenario that I hadn't even fathomed. Idiot.

"Oh, yeah," I whispered back, passing the box across from the opposite armrest to her.

She hadn't seen my erection. Probably hadn't even noticed my hand go down to move it. And why? Because she was a normal person, not a sexually frustrated twenty one year old obsessing about fake onscreen relationships. I bet Mom hadn't equated the characters in the movie to our own relationship at all.

Or had she?

Losing interest in the plot I ran my own fantasies through my head. That old chestnut of putting a hole in the bottom of the popcorn box; inserting my cock. Mom's hand reaching in and finding my dick. Hard. Hard for her. Jesus. What was I thinking? One, (well, a few) scenes of incest in a film and now I'm fantasising about my own mother. Cut it out Lincoln, I told myself. But the feeling of her breath beside my ear remained. The goosebumps it had given me. I placed my left arm back up on the armrest and it connected with hers. She didn't pull away. My hard-on remained.

*

"Well that was..." Mom tried to critique the movie as we walked back to the car in the Tuesday night darkness.

"Yeah, I know," I understood her difficulty, thankful it hadn't been me that had ultimately decided to choose the film.

"I mean it was Julianne Moore," Mom added. "I thought it might have been good."

"Oh well, we'll know better next time," I concluded, thinking it wise to put the film in our past. Possibly to never mention it again!

"There might not be able to be a 'next time,' for a while," Mom stated and I looked at her out of curiosity.

"What are you talking about?"

"The salon," she began. "The new owners are making an announcement tomorrow. There's going to be changes apparently."

"What does that mean?" I asked as we came to our car, Mom stopping on the driver's side and looking across to me before we entered.

"I can only think job cuts," she admitted. "Maybe less hours at best."

"What? They cant get rid of you, you've been there forever," I acknowledged. "Anyway, I'm bringing in pretty good money at the moment, there's no need to stop movie night."

She smiled as we entered the car. "I'm not having my son pay for me like a date," she laughed and considering that we'd just sat through two hours of mom/son incest, the words hung heavy in the interior of the vehicle.

In future I would choose my own words more carefully but in an attempt to be, I don't know, funny? Carefree? Non-plussed? I responded quicker than I should've.

"Hey, I wouldn't expect you to sleep with me or anything!" I stated and immediately felt my face redden.

Mom laughed in response but it seemed to be more out of impulse than actual humour and unfortunately didn't say another word as we drove from the parking lot.

The silence was becoming uncomfortable and I reached for the radio to provide a distraction, another minute going by before either of us spoke.

"It WAS a bad film wasn't it!?" She stated and her comment told me she'd equated my retort to the movie. She was thinking about us, them.

"Hey you picked it," I challenged and she again laughed.

"Hmm, I did didn't I?" She admitted. "I read a review that said it was ok," she added, justifying her decision and it told me a whole lot more than I assume she cared to relay.

So she must have know there was an incestuous relationship between a mother and her son as a plot line. What review would leave that out, seriously? Again I began with the fantasies. Mom was 48 (I think.). Was it wrong to not know my Mom's age for certain, I wondered? Nevertheless, not dissimilar to the woman in the film. As attractive. Well I certainly thought so. I mean up until that minute I hadn't been looking at her as an object of desire but now I thought of it, she would definitely be considered good looking. She was single and as far as I knew wasn't looking for that to change. My father had turned her off relationships, I knew, and couldn't blame her, and certainly showed me how not to treat a woman you supposedly love.

We stopped at the lights and intimating I was looking at something out the drivers side window, I instead looked at Mom. Her hair tied back in a ponytail, still in the white loose pants and matching shirt from work, a jacket thrown over the top. She was, 'average' I figured. I reasoned she'd not look out of place in a library, long fitting grey skirt, possibly over black, no, tan pantyhose. A white silk blouse maybe? Pearls. Black rimmed glasses and hair tied back as it was. I imagined her below me. Smiling up at me as I came upon her face, over her glasses. Jesus Christ, I almost gasped as I felt my cock once again stirring. Mom looked across to me before the lights changed and caught me staring at her, my eyes immediately darting away like the guilty party I was.

She said nothing.

*

I wouldn't say I hated myself for it, but I definitely felt ashamed at what I pictured that night as I masturbated myself to sleep. Stepping into the shower with her and offering to wash her back. It was all so innocent, the by-play between us in my mind. So natural that I found myself with her under the flow of water. My hands travelled her body, soaping her ass, her breasts. In my mind her pubic bone was hirsute, my fingers delving between her legs. She took me in her hand and as I wanked myself in bed, it was her that brought me to orgasm. Kissing me. Licking from her fingers the cum she'd extracted. Forcing me downwards to taste her.

As I came upon my stomach I immediately banished the fantasy from my head. So unhealthy I thought. It wasn't in anyones interest to let this impossibility nurture. It was the real world, not some fiction. Enough with the incest already, I told myself. And deemed to obey.

That lasted a day.

*

She arrived home from work after me which wasn't usual, certainly not without forewarning and I'd taken it upon myself to prepare a meal for us in the time being. Nothing fancy but she seemed suitably impressed by the aromas in the house when she finally entered the kitchen.

"Something smells yummy, sorry I'm late," she unnecessarily apologised as she lumped a large plastic bag upon the as yet unset table. "We had that meeting."

Her demeanour didn't give anything away as to how it had gone but I was prepared for both good or bad outcomes.

"Yeah, I've got you sorted," I walked to the the bench near to her and gestured to the two bottles of alcohol. "You've got the sparkling if it's good news," I touched the Napa Valley white before picking up the bottle of bourbon. "And this if it ain't!"

"Oh you!" She laughed and touched my forearm before removing the large jacket she wore over her uniform. "Actually it's a bit of each. Probably keep them both at the ready. God you might have to carry me to bed tonight," she added and I immediately thought of the connotations. Did she as well?

I turned back to my dinner prep to avoid her seeing me blush but she followed me to the stove.

"That smells good," she acknowledged and lifted the lid on the sauce I'd fashioned, fanning the steam toward herself. I took the opportunity to stir as she held the lid, before I ran my finger over the back of the spoon and went to taste.

"Oh me first," Mom proposed and drew my hand towards her face. This was a 'first!' My hand held at the wrist, she parted her lips and allowed my index finger to enter her mouth, her tongue contacting my skin. The sensation was unlike any I'd known before then as her lips closed around the end of my digit, essentially sucking on the tip of my finger.

Still wearing my work attire, I was aware my business pants wouldn't hide much and I willed myself to not get hard as I watched her face. Her eyes went from mine to look up to the left as if contemplating before she allowed my finger to leave her mouth.

"Mmm," she sighed. "Oregano?"

I nodded, confirming her taste buds and as she replaced the lid, watched her head back to the plastic bag on the table.

"Might need to open a bottle of red as well to go with it," she laughed. "Oh God, don't let me out on the town, I'd be anybody's!" She joked.

I tasted the sauce myself. The finger that had seconds before been in my mother's mouth, pressed to my own lips. Upon my own tongue. One degree of separation between our mouths. Almost kissing.

I heard the rustle of the bag and after turning the heat on the water for the pasta focussed again on Mom.

"So the good news is I'm not being laid off," she stated and I headed across to the table opposite her. "But they ARE cutting hours."

"Well that sucks," I empathised, pulling out a chair and sitting, hiding my groin in case anything else untoward happened. Why would it? I asked myself. If I hadn't seen that movie would any of these thoughts be running through my head? Would I have been so worked up by what was probably an innocent taste of food from my finger?

"Totally," she agreed. "And I noticed it's only mine and Monica's."

My mother's friend Monica had been at the salon probably as long as Mom. Of similar age, if not older, I immediately saw a pattern.

"They want the younger staff!" I deduced and Mom nodded agreement.

"They didn't come out and say it of course but we could tell by their spiel it's the direction they're headed," Mom explained. "Younger staff, younger clientele, they're changing the entire operation."

"That's bullshit," I defended. "You and Mon have all the experience."

"Which is why they're not getting rid of us totally, I assume," Mom reasoned. "They've changed the name, started playing loud music and this..." Mom placed her hands in the bag and began to draw out its contents. "New uniforms!" She stated.

What she pulled out was starkly white and I could see the nature of the clothing. In direct contrast to the current uniform my mother wore to work, baggy white, sometimes pink nurses scrubs-like outfits, what she held up looked like leggings and tank tops.

"Oh God look at these," Mom presented the leggings. "I'll barely even fit in them," she added.

I held off saying anything as I imagined her wearing the clothing, thankful I was indeed hidden by the table. "I feel for Monica," Mom continued.

Not having seen Mom's colleague for some time, her words however assured me she hadn't lost any weight, always being large around the breasts and rear.

She emptied the bag of most of its contents and spread the four pairs of leggings and similar number of tops upon its surface before looking up at me. "I'll try them on after dinner. You'll let me know if I look stupid won't you?" She made a grimaced expression before looking back at the bag. "They want us to wear these!" She withdrew two pairs of high heels from the bag and placed them down on the plastic. "Imagine. Working in them all day! I should be thanking them for reducing my hours."

The water had come to a boil and I left her to put on the pasta before letting my eyes drift back. One foot in a heel, she already looked alluring, what would I see post dinner? It couldn't come soon enough.

*

"Don't laugh," Mom commanded as she rounded the doorframe and entered the lounge room, her appearance demanding my full attention though I didn't really know where to look. I wanted to admire her legs, lengthened by the four inch heels. I ached to ogle her groin, her ass as she turned, and stare at her breasts almost bulging from the minuscule top, but I somehow controlled myself and looked squarely in her eyes. "Well, what do you think?" She added.

I'd made the decision to change clothes myself after dinner and was now regretting my choice as my dick spoke for me, miming its approval by swelling in my sweat pants.

"Your silence speaks volumes," Mom proclaimed and attempted to see her reflection in the glass doors separating us from the kitchen. It was the diversion I needed as I adjusted the growing erection in my pants.

"No it's not like that," I assured her, finally finding my voice. "It's just different is all!"

She turned back to me, her eyebrows raised expectantly.

"You look good," I offered, not wanting to admit to my mother I thought she looked hot. "I mean you don't look stupid," I foolishly followed up and her face dropped.

"Oh great, so somewhere between stupid and good, is that it?" She good-naturedly responded. "Better bring me the bourbon," she laughed.

"No all I mean is you can pull it off Mom," I added, wondering if she noticed the possible double entendre?

"Oh, ok," she seemed pleased. "Well, and I know this is gross, but what about my underwear?"

The question came out of the blue and I was totally unready for it.

"I'm sorry, what?" I stammered.

"My panties, can you see them?"

It gave me license to look directly at her groin, accentuated as she grasped the waist of the leggings and pulled them up, hugging her pubic bulge.

"I, um," I ridiculously stumbled over my words, feeling my face flushing.

"Just..." even Mom paused, possibly only then realizing she was asking her son to look directly at her pussy and describe what he saw. "...can you see what color they are?"

"Black," I instantly replied and she groaned in response.

"Bummer," she remarked. "I was hoping they'd be opaque. Looks like I'll need to go underwear shopping."

She again turned her head to look at her rear in the glass reflection, pushing her bottom out provocatively and I ran my eyes over her breasts. I'd not really complimented her and I wished more than anything to do so without being overly lecherous. "I like the top," I stated, her gaze heading back in my direction. "I mean, with the black bra underneath." (Was I actually talking about my mother's bra?)

"Really?" She questioned. "I probably wouldn't wear this, black bra under a white top. Bit trashy don't you think?"

"I don't know, makes you look kinda like a biker chick," I added. "It's hot," I confessed and again immediately felt my face redden at the admission.

"'Hot!'" Mom raised her eyebrows, a smirk developing as she saw me begin to squirm.

"I mean 'it's' hot, not you. Well you are but not..I mean I don't think you're hot...not like that. You look good!" I was babbling and wanted to crawl under the cushions and die, Mom seemingly taking my breakdown in her stride.

"I thought I was the one drinking tonight," she laughed as she indeed lifted her wine glass from the coffee table and took a sip, eyeing me almost suspiciously over the rim. She placed the glass back down and concentrated on her shoes. "I don't know how I'll wear these all day," she stated. "Might have to pay you to give me a foot rub each night," she proposed as she turned and left the room.

I wasn't afforded the opportunity to respond to that morsel and probably better that I didn't. Who knows what trouble my mouth may've gotten me into. She wasn't serious was she? No. Of course she wasn't.

*

She was late again. History repeating itself as her heels tapped along the hallway and entered the kitchen just as I was finishing cooking dinner.

"Ooh, fish. Yum," she acknowledged as she placed a shopping bag upon one of the chairs and approached the sink to wash her hands.

"So how'd you go?" I enquired as I handed her the tea towel over my shoulder to dry her hands. She wore the leggings and tank top, a tight denim jacket on top.

"Good," she headed back to her shopping bag and I let my eyes drift down to her ass. "Five new pairs of panties and three new bras!" She proudly proclaimed.

"What!?" I replied, mystified. "I meant how'd you go at work?"

It was finally her turn to blush, cheeks turning crimson as she was in the process of removing her jacket.

"Oh! Oh it was horrible," she placed her jacket over the back of a chair before stretching her arms behind herself. It was then I noticed she wasn't wearing the black bra. Not only that, she wasn't wearing any bra. Her action accentuated her bust, breasts straining against the tight white polyester. Her nipples stood out clearly, even their darker shadow amid the paler skin. I knew I should drag my eyes away but some magnetic force kept me focussed for the longest duration possible, taking in their unfettered majesty lest the opportunity should never once more arise.

The sizzling fish saved me and I directed my gaze to it as I felt her eyes fall upon me. "Oh yeah, how bad?" I asked and she came across the kitchen to beside me as if purposely providing me the ability to maintain vision of her.

"The new owners, they just don't know what they're doing. And we're right, they're trying to force out Monica and I."

"Yeah, how so?" I asked as I flipped the fish.

"Monica was forced to do just pedicures all day!" Mom elaborated. "Do you know how taxing that can be?"

I shook my head. "What about you?"

"Facials."

"I'm sorry?"

"Facials all day," she added.

"That doesn't sound so bad."

"Oh no? Have you ever given a middle aged woman a facial?" Mom asked and we both immediately realized what she said, a few seconds of silence following as I debated my answer.

'No, but I'd love to.' Was what I wanted to say but Mom prevented my mouth from selling me down the river.

"Actually don't answer that," she stopped herself from laughing as she touched my forearm before heading back to the table. "Trust me, it gets boring," she concluded.

I had preheated plates in the oven and as I began to plate up, Mom set the table.

"So how were the shoes?" I asked as we sat down across from each other, surprised she still wore them.