My Mother Doesn’t Know the Effect She Has on Me

There was only one way to describe Renata: she was a goddess.

She belonged to that kind of people who are magnetic without even trying. And it wasn’t only because she was scandalously beautiful. Nor because her petite yet voluptuous body could unsettle any man. Nor because her red hair and green eyes drew attention in every corner she walked into. It wasn’t even just that she was intelligent, funny, and sharp-tongued when the occasion called for it. There was something else, something impossible to catch in words. An intangible magnetism that left anyone who looked at her for more than two seconds instantly bewitched.

As I said, a goddess. The only problem was that Renata, besides all that, was my mother.

***

My friend Bruno couldn’t take his eyes off her while she made her way through the crowd packed into the concert hall. She was walking toward us with three beers in her hands, trying to get them to us intact, and the idiot was following her with a dumb smile and his mouth slightly open.

—Fuck, man —I elbowed him in the ribs—. Try to be discreet, will you? She’s my mother.

—Yeah, sorry —he said. He snapped out of it, looked at me for a second, and that was all it lasted: one second. Then he was staring at her again—. Your mother is seriously hot.

—Go to hell. Do I say anything about yours?

—Of course not, because mine isn’t hot like yours. If she were, you could say it. But she isn’t, so no.

That was Bruno, all logic and delicacy.

—I’m honestly jealous of you —he insisted, squeezing my shoulder—. At least you had the luck to suck on those tits.

—Look, if you want to suck on something, you can suck me off.

—Thanks, man, what a lovely gesture —Bruno replied, laughing.

—Anything for a friend.

—One beer for you, and one for you —my mother said when she finally made it over to us—. Though for what they charged me, they may as well have served me unicorn blood.

—Thank you so much, Renata —Bruno grabbed his beer by the neck of the bottle—. The next round’s on me.

—Forget it. I don’t want you having to take out a loan before you turn twenty —she laughed and turned to me—. What were you talking about, darling?

—Let Bruno tell you —I replied. Bruno choked on his first sip—. I’m going to the bathroom for a minute before this starts.

I left my mother interrogating him and him sweating, trying to come up with an answer that wouldn’t give him away. I elbowed and shoved my way through to the toilets. When I came out, I stopped in front of the merchandise stand. Among the T-shirts with the cover of the band’s latest album, there was a pretty cool girl design that caught my eye. I thought I could buy one for my mother as a little gift. She and I had the same taste in music, and it wasn’t unusual for us to go to concerts together. That night, besides, she had let Bruno come with us, and it seemed to me I ought to thank her somehow.

I picked up a T-shirt to look at it more closely. The girl working the stand came over.

—A bit small for you, isn’t it? —she said, smiling.

—What? Oh, no, no, it’s not for me. It’s for…

—I know, I was teasing you —she replied, laughing heartily—. It’s for that pretty girl who’s with you, right?

I turned and saw that from there you could see my mother joking around with Bruno. I looked back at the girl at the stand.

—Your older sister? —she asked.

—No… she’s my… How do you know we’re family?

—Well, you look quite a lot alike —she smiled again—. You’ve got a very pretty sister, you know?

—Yes, I know. Next to her, I’m the ugly one in the family. When I was little they locked me in a dungeon and passed my food through a slot so they wouldn’t have to look at me.

—What an exaggeration! —she laughed even harder. Then she added—: Well, if you want the T-shirt for your sister, this size won’t do. It’s an S, and she needs at least an M.

—You think? —I asked, stretching the fabric to see it better—. To me it looks like it could fit her.

—Look —the girl said—, I wear an S, and your sister has quite a bit more than me —she put her hands on her chest and separated them from her body, drawing a volume in the air. Then she blushed a little. And I blushed even more, because she had caught me staring at her tits.

The truth was that she was very pretty. Brunette, with shoulder-length hair framing a sweet face. Her blue, bright eyes above a button nose smiled at the same time as her lips. Definitely, that girl smiled with her eyes.

—Unfortunately, I don’t have any M’s left —she said with a sigh, recovering her professional tone—. I only have the S.

—Never mind —I put the T-shirt back on the pile—. Thanks anyway.

—You’re welcome! —she smiled at me again. She turned around to help a couple, but then immediately turned back to me—. Hey! —and when I looked at her, she added—: Your sister is very pretty, but you’re not the ugly brother by a long shot.

At that moment the hall lights went out and the band came onstage. A collective roar filled everything. I could have gone back to talk to her, but with that kind of noise it would have been pointless, so I elbowed my way back to my mother and Bruno. She was lifting her beer and bringing her free hand to her mouth to whistle.

—What? —she said in my ear while she gave me another elbow—. Have you already stopped flirting with that cute girl at the stand? —she ruffled my hair, took a swig of beer, winked at me, and turned her attention back to the stage.

I couldn’t blame the girl for mistaking my mother for my sister. Seeing her jumping around like crazy in the front row, in her tight jeans, a T-shirt that barely covered her navel, a short leather jacket, and her red mane tied back in a high ponytail, she didn’t look like a woman approaching forty-two. Not even close. No one would have guessed she was over thirty, because she had always looked far younger than she was. She didn’t look like anyone’s mother. What she could very easily have passed for, though, was the older sister of a nineteen-year-old idiot. And that idiot, in this case, was me.

***

—What? —Bruno asked—. The second to last before we go home?

We came out of the concert hoarse and wrecked, but happy. We got to the car and my mother opened the driver’s door.

—No second to last, nothing —she said—. Tomorrow I have to be in the studio first thing, and I’m shattered. Besides, I think I’m taking two very handsome young men who have class tomorrow. Or not?

—Renata… —Bruno protested—. Don’t be such a killjoy. I promise we’re going to a place that plays music from your era.

—Listen, kid. The band we saw tonight was already old when I started listening to them. Don’t go thinking you invented gunpowder. And on top of that you just called me old, so now you’re definitely going straight home.

—No, no, that’s not what I meant… —Bruno had turned red—. Besides, tomorrow’s Friday, and first thing…

—Bruno, first thing we have class with the Colonel —I cut in—. And she doesn’t forgive a thing.

—The Colonel?

—Yeah —Bruno explained to my mother—, she’s a teacher with a temper and legs like…

—A little out of place, don’t you think, boys? —my mother warned us, though she was cracking up.

—To bed, and class tomorrow, man. With the Colonel it’s best not to mess around. I’m not letting her drag down my grade on the last evaluation over something stupid.

—That’s my boy —my mother said, ruffling my hair again—. But the swearing was unnecessary.

—Sorry, Mom.

—Bootlicker —Bruno muttered.

—Survival instinct —I clarified.

We dropped Bruno off at his place and finally got home. I went into the bathroom to brush my teeth and pee, and when I came out, my mother was in the kitchen.

The boots, jacket, and jeans were lying rumpled on the floor. She was leaning against the counter, fiddling with something. She was only wearing the short T-shirt and a black lace thong with wine-colored trim.

I swallowed.

My mother and I had always been incredibly close. There were days when she seemed more like an older friend than my mother. We did a ton of things together, talked about anything, understood each other effortlessly. And since I was little, I had gotten used to seeing her in all kinds of situations. In the shower. Topless on the beach. Walking around the house in little clothing in summer.

But for the past couple of years, something inside me had changed. And I was sure she had the slightest idea of the effect she had on me. She was still leaning slightly over the counter, so that her ass, crowned by that thong, swayed just a little with every movement. The fabric sank between her cheeks, revealing those two tight, white, perfect half-moons, and the little triangle of lace barely covered her cunt, the slit faintly outlined beneath the sweat-damp concert fabric. She turned a bit to reach the tea tin, and I saw that beneath the T-shirt her erect nipples were showing, thick, pushing against the fabric like two hard little stones. She had also taken off her bra and her tits were hanging free, heavy, firm, with that round, full shape they had always had.

Frozen like an idiot in the doorway, I couldn’t stop looking at her. I felt my cock start to swell inside my pants, pushing against the zipper, throbbing with every surge of blood. It was hard as a rock in seconds, and I couldn’t do anything to stop it.

It was a spectacle. It was a marvel.

It was torture.

—Oh, Lucas, darling —she turned when she noticed me—. I’m making myself some tea before bed. Do you want one?

—No, no, thanks —I stammered, trying not to let it show that I was watching her like a psychopath, or that my dick was about to burst through my jeans—. I’m going to bed. Good night.

I went over to kiss her on the cheek, and as I did she brushed my arm with a breast. The full, soft, warm tit pressed for a second against my bicep, and I felt the hard nipple perfectly through the fabric. A shiver ran from my stomach straight down to my balls. She kissed me back, stroked my face with the back of her hand. Her hair smelled wonderful, like a mix of jasmine and concert smoke that stuck to my nose.

—Sleep well, sweetheart —she murmured without quite letting go of me—. I had a really good time with you today.

—Me too, Mom —I said, and my voice came out rougher than I intended.

I didn’t know whether she noticed. She only smiled that half-smile of hers and went back to focusing on the steaming mug. I forced myself to turn away before my eyes kept roaming over her, before she looked up and noticed the obscene bulge showing between my legs, before she read everything on my face.

I locked myself in my room and leaned against the door with my heart racing. Through the wall I could hear the clink of the spoon against the porcelain, her barefoot steps on the tiles, the rustle of clothing as she moved. Every sound drew an image I shouldn’t have been drawing: the thong sinking between her cheeks, the nipples outlined under the thin fabric, the loose tits beneath the T-shirt.

I collapsed onto the bed and closed my eyes. It was useless. I had her burned into the dark: leaning over the counter, nipples pressing under the thin cloth, the black lace hugging her hips, that round ass swaying. I knew it was wrong. I knew it was the most forbidden thing a son could feel. And yet I couldn’t turn it off. My cock throbbed inside my jeans, hard, swollen, demanding that I do something with it.

I unbuckled my belt quietly, lowered the zipper, and freed my cock with one pull. It was stiff, the tip shiny, with a thick drop of precum already sliding down my glans. I grabbed the base, squeezing hard, and started jerking off slowly, dragging out each stroke up and down, imagining it was her hand wrapped around my cock. I imagined the smell of her hair as she bent over, her tongue slipping between her lips, her green eyes locked on mine just before she took it all into her mouth.

I imagined her kneeling in front of me, still wearing the black lace thong and the short T-shirt pulled up to her neck, her tits out, her erect nipples pointed at me. I imagined her spitting on my glans, sucking me with that mouth of full lips, taking me slowly at first and then faster and faster, that green gaze fixed on mine. I pumped with my fist clenched, gripping myself, moving up and down the whole length of my shaft, breathing in short gasps and biting my lip so I wouldn’t let out a single moan.

I imagined her then bending over the counter just as I’d seen her, but without the thong. With her cunt red and wet, swollen, glossy, waiting for me. I imagined her spreading her ass cheeks with her hands, offering me her ass and her pussy at the same time, while she looked back over her shoulder with that half-smile of hers and whispered, “come on, darling, shove it all the way in.” I imagined driving into her in one thrust, feeling the hot, tight walls of her cunt close around my cock, feeling her firm ass bounce against my stomach every time I hammered into her.

My hand was moving faster and faster. I imagined fucking her from behind, grabbing her red ponytail, yanking her hair while I pounded her to pieces against the counter. I imagined her tits swinging with every thrust, her hard nipples dragging against the cold marble. I imagined her muffled moans, her voice calling me “son” between gasps, asking for more, asking me to push it in harder, to not stop.

I felt my balls tighten, felt my cum start surging up through my cock. I clenched my teeth, arched my back against the mattress, and came in thick, hot waves that splattered my stomach, my chest, my hand. Stream after stream of semen, while I kept imagining it: my mother’s cunt squeezing me, milking me, swallowing every last drop of my load.

Afterward I lay there in the dim light, breathing in ragged pulls, my cock still hard and dripping over my stomach, guilt settling slowly in my chest, listening as, on the other side of the hallway, my mother turned off the kitchen light without suspecting a thing.