Unspoken Pleasure (erotica)

After Airplane, we stayed old school for a while and watched Mel Brooks movies: Young Frankenstein, Blazing Saddles, History of World Part I, and Spaceballs. Then we moved back into the Abrams Zucker Abrams oeuvre and watched all three Naked Guns.

With the classics out of the way, we shifted to more modern stuff, starting with 40-Year-Old Virgin. This time, when Steve Carrell was walking back and forth with an unflagging erection, it was Mom's turn to give me a funny look. But I didn't say anything. For a movie about having sex, the film wasn't super sexual overall.

The next film we chose, however, was the one that got us in trouble. Actually, it was the whole damn day.

I was settling in for another session of hardcore gaming when Mom knocked on my door. I was in my underwear, and this time, I knew to warn Mom that I wasn't decent. I pulled on some clothes and opened the door. Despite the fact that I was fully dressed, Mom ran her eyes from my feet to my face. She seemed let down, almost like she'd been hoping to catch me half-clothed. Or maybe it was just my outfit. Yes, that made way more sense. "What are you up to?" Mom asked.

I gestured at my PS4 like it was obvious.

"I'm thinking about painting my nails," Mom said.

"OK." I looked at her fingers and they seemed fine. Honestly, I wasn't sure why she was telling me this.

"I can do my hands OK, but then I can't touch anything for a while till they dry."

"You want me to make lunch?" I asked.

"Sure," Mom said, "But I was also hoping to paint my toenails and it's way easier to have someone else do that for me."

"You want me to paint your toenails," I repeated back to her.

"It's not that girlie," Mom said, "Think of is as practice. Your girlfriends will love it if you can do that for them."

I thought that was a bit of stretch, but whatever. It was early spring, but the day was remarkably warm, so we went out to the backyard. Mom set up on a lounge chair and proceeded to paint her fingernails a deep purple. I sat back and chatted with her while she worked.

We talked about school and hockey. For someone who hated sports, Mom sure knew a lot about the game.

"I took you to almost every practice and game, hon," Mom said. I guess she had.

Dad loved me playing hockey and was happy to watch games with me. In most other ways though, he was pretty damn distant. Some of it was work, he was always travelling for some thing or another. Really, we shouldn't have been so surprised that he was caught on another continent when corona hit.

Even when he was home though, Dad wasn't the most supportive person in my life. His idea of a rousing pep talk was a slight grunt and then pointing to the TV to remind me that I was interrupting. He'd never been mean to Mom, exactly. But I'd never seen him be all that affectionate, either. Dad was just... Dad. A weird silent creature that, somehow, had been my safe harbor when my relationship with Mom went rocky for whatever reason.

So, now that I thought about it, of course it had been Mom who was taking me to practices and showing up at games. Because we'd been so cold with each other, I guess it never registered in the moment.

When she was done with her nails, Mom held them up so I could see.

"Very nice," I said, not knowing what else to say.

"Thank you," Mom said, looking gratified. She wiggled her toes at me. "Same color?" I asked.

"Sure," Mom said.

I took the bottle of purple nail polish, then held Mom's bare, petite foot in my lap. I'm not a foot guy, but Mom's tootsies were quite cute. Worse, she rested them right in my crotch. My dick didn't know it was my mother. Instead, it just felt the bare foot of a beautiful woman hovering above it and decided to activate in full.

I did my best to ignore my aching dick, hoping it would go down. But as I began to paint my mother's cute, tiny toes, I felt myself grow even harder.

Mom took back her first foot. She gave me her second. And that's when her heel clearly, unequivocally, grazed my shaft.

"Oh," Mom said, and for a moment I feared she was about to pitch a fit. But then she settled in her seat, ignoring that the contact had ever happened. I set about doing her nails like it was nothing.

"Do you want me to do yours?" Mom asked when I was finished. I couldn't tell if she was kidding or not.

"Uh, that's OK," I said, waving her off.

I got up to go make lunch. We stayed outside in the fresh air and ate our sandwiches. By then, Mom's hands were dry, and she was able to get back to her day. But when I went upstairs to my bedroom, the idea of staying in there seemed boring.

"I think I'm going to take a walk," I told my mom, "We can do that, right? The cops aren't going to hunt me down for leaving the house?"

"I think you'll be fine, honey," Mom said, "Do you want me to come with you?"

"Up to you," I said.

Mom nodded and went back to folding laundry. As I went around the block, I could feel how out of shape I was. Coach would kill me if came back to school like this. I couldn't go to a gym, and we didn't have weights in the house, but I knew I needed to at least be running. It was early enough in the year that I thought there might be a hockey season when we got back. I know, I was a bit naive.

When I came home, I showered and helped Mom make dinner. As we ate, I told her my plan to wake up early and start running.

"That sounds nice," she said, "Would you mind if I joined you? Your old Mom needs to lose all this fat." She pinched her side for emphasis.

"Mom, you're not... You're perfect, OK?" I said, "Truly."

"Tell your father," Mom muttered.

After we cleaned up, Mom went to set up the TV. She pushed the remote, but nothing happened.

"Hmph," she said, frustrated. I did the mansplaining thing and took the remote but, to my embarrassment, I wasn't able to get the damn thing working, either. We spent the next half hour messing around with the electronics, looking on the Internet for solutions, the whole thing. As far as we could tell, the relatively new television had just up and died.