Unspoken Pleasure (erotica)

"We can't even go to the store to get a new one," Mom said, pouting. It was the first time I'd seen her treat our quarantine as anything but a fun adventure. "We can order a TV off Amazon," I said. "And I think the Wal-Mart in Danbury is open. We could go tomorrow."

"No, I know," Mom said. "Honesty this isn't so bad it's just frustrating. I want to be able to see my friends, go to a play, eat at a restaurant, any of it."

I noticed she hadn't mentioned having Dad back on her list of things she was missing.

"Being stuck in the house is hard," Mom said.

"You mean with me," I said.

Mom reached over and tousled my light brown hair. It was slightly curly, and I hated it. "Honey, you're the only good thing that's come out of this stupid virus." I smiled, despite myself.

"Darn, I was really looking forward to watching our movie tonight," Mom said.

"There's always Dad's 'man cave," I said, giving those last words the disdain they deserved.

Mom sucked in her breath like I'd kicked her in the shins. "Your father doesn't like me going in there," she said.

"So what?" I said, "He's not here and we want to watch our movie. What's he going to do about it, exactly?"

Mom looked at me with new eyes, like I'd said something that surprised her.

"You're right," Mom said, "Let's do this thing."

She made popcorn while I went down to the basement. Dad had set up his little sanctum really well. It was probably the nicest room in the house. Most of our furniture was old and tired, but Dad had filled his space with a fancy leather love seat, a massive 75" television, and thumping surround sound. It was a small area, not much room, but he'd turned it into his cozy hideaway.

I sat on the couch and set up the entertainment center. It was this whole complicated thing, which was probably one of the reasons that Mom treated it like a landmine. But I knew how to work it from my high school days of watching the Bruins with Dad.

I got everything going, then leaned back on the couch. Mom came down with the popcorn and sat next to me. By the nature of the furniture here, we had to sit closer. Hip to hip.

This time, we'd chosen to watch Forgetting Sarah Marshall. It was one of Mom's favorites.

"I used to watch a lot of these movies when you were young," Mom said, "It was my way of giving myself a break."

"Come on, I wasn't that bad," I said.

"You were an easy baby," Mom said, patting my leg, "But that's like saying it was an easy hike across the Sahara. Even the effortless ones feel impossible. Especially for a young girl. I was still in college when I had you. My friends were back in school, doing wild stuff. I was at home being a mom. Sure, I was twenty, but it was still hard."

"I'm sorry," I said.

"Oh, don't apologize, sweetie," Mom said, "You didn't do anything wrong. But sometimes, after I'd put you to bed and your father was already passed out, I'd rent a bunch of these movies and marathon them. I don't know, I guess it made me feel like I could be young. At least for a little bit."

"That makes sense," I said, "But I still feel bad. Like I stole your life."

"Mom leaned over and kissed me on the cheek, "Oh honey, you made my life."

We pushed play. Ten minutes later, Jason Segel was walking around with his dick flopping out. Again, Mom gave me a pointed look. Seeing those kinds of scenes with her still made me uncomfortable.

But as the movie moved on, I started to experience a different kind of discomfort. It was cold in that basement. I wrapped my arms around my chest.

"Your father always complains about the cold," Mom said, "But I can't let him bring a space heater down here because of all the other electronics. I'm worried he'll blow something out and burn the house down."

"It's fine," I said, "My fault for wearing short sleeves."

"You could get changed," Mom said.

"Nah," I said. Getting off the couch seemed like a lot of effort in that moment.

"I think there's a blanket here," Mom said. She reached over and pulled a heavy blanket from behind the couch. She put it over both our laps, then restarted the movie.

There were a few more dirty scenes. The tantric sex one, for example. Once again, my body responded. Especially under the blanket where it was comfy and warm. I felt myself stiffen at some point and it never went away.

Then we got to the scene where Sarah decides she wants Peter back and they're in the bed together. It's supposed to be an uncomfortable scene, but something about it set me off.

"Do you want my mouth?" Kristin Bell asked, and my cock tried to skyrocket through my shorts.

"I forgot about this scene," Mom mumbled to herself.

Then, for some reason, she glanced down and clearly, obviously, saw that I was pitching a tent. She made a little squeak, then quickly turned away. There was a moment of protracted silence. The sounds of the movie weirdly muted by the pounding in my chest. My head.

"It must be hard," Mom said. I nearly fell out of my seat. "That is, I mean, it must be difficult for you to be all alone with just your mom in the house. You know, no outlet for the feelings and desires that come with being a boy your age." "Oh," I said, "Yes. Sometimes."

"It's perfectly natural," Mom said, "To have, um, urges."

I stared over at her, my eyes widening so fast I feared they'd explode. I tried to answer, but the words wouldn't come.

"I have them too," Mom said, "It's biological. And with your father not in the house. I mean, you can't see it, but sometimes I react, too."

Instinctively, I looked down at Mom's chest. Her nipples really were poking out from her white, ribbed tank top. Mom saw me looking and pulled her flannel tighter, clearing her throat.

"In any case, it's nothing to be ashamed of," Mom said.

"Thanks," I said. At some point we'd paused the movie, so I reached for the remote to turn it back on. Anything to change the subject.

"Do you need to, you know, take a break?" Mom asked.

"Mooooom!"

"I understand if you do," Mom said. She rested her hand on my leg, over the blanket. "You shouldn't feel bad about it at all."

"I'm fine," I said, my voice quavering. Mom nodded. But she kept her hand on my leg.

I pushed play on the remote and we finished the movie. When it was over, I stayed on the couch. My erection was still obvious. I knew Mom was aware of it, but I didn't want to stand up and have her see me for sure. "Want to watch something else?" I asked.

"Sure," Mom said, "Pick something."

"I think I'm kind of movied out," I said, switching over to cable. I flipped the channels to something banal and meaningless -- some show where they redid houses -- and willed my dick to go down.

Mom sat back and sighed. She took her hand off my leg and I thought that was the end of it. Then I felt a touch on my thigh.

On my bare thigh.

Mom had slipped her hand under the blanket. I was only wearing mesh shorts, and Mom's hand was touching my skin. Lightly stroking my leg hair. I looked over at her, but she was staring forward, as if entranced by the TV show. She slid her hand upward. On top of my shorts. Slowly tracing. Until, finally, her palm rested on my cloth-covered cock.