“You Go First” 05: Mom said – {Don’s been bad, and Mom needs to straighten him out.}

Dad left the house at 7:00 a.m. Saturday morning for his regular golf date. He played most weeks, with the same three guys. They’d break for lunch and play the back nine, and he wouldn’t come back until late in the afternoon. I was awakened by the opening and closing of the garage door, and I lay in bed for a while, thinking about the fun I had Friday in Mom and Dad’s large bed with Jake. At about 7:30 my mother stuck her head in and asked if she could come in.

I had a desk and a chair in my room, but instead of sitting at the desk Mom gestured for me to scootch over and then sat on the edge of the bed, gathering her bath robe tightly around herself as she sat. I waited for her to say something, but she remained silent for an awkward amount of time.

“Is everything OK, Mom? I said.

She still didn’t say anything for a few seconds, and just when I was about to get really creeped out she sighed deeply and said, “I think we have a really serious problem, Don, and I don’t know what to do about it. I don’t even know how to talk about it.”

OK, now I was creeped out. “Mom, what’s bothering you? Is there anything I can do to help?”

“I don’t know if you can help, Don,” she said. “Jesus, I don’t know if anybody can help. We have to talk about something really, really awkward. I’ll go first.” After another few seconds she seemed to make up her mind about whatever it was, and she stood up and faced the bed. She stared at me intently, took a deep breath, and shrugged her shoulders. Her bathrobe fell to her feet and she stood there wearing the black brassiere and the lacy nightie that I had put back into her dresser drawer after wearing them myself the day before.


“I know that in my bedroom yesterday you fooled around with my underwear. I found these in the wrong drawer last night, and folded incorrectly. I’ve read that young men are fascinated by women’s underwear. I think you owe me an apology for messing around with my brassiere and nightie. There are cum stains on them, too. I assume that’s yours. You did keep an eye on that electrician yesterday, right? So we know it isn’t his splooge all over my nightie, is it?”

I knew that if Mom was using strong language like this, I must be in deep shit. Thank God she didn’t know the truth about my sexual activities. She just thought I was a creepy teenage laundry bandit, whacking off in her undies or something. She was furious, but maybe my real secrets were safe. The fear that my mother would find out I’m a submissive cock-sucker gave me a terrible ache in my guts.

I was having a hard time thinking of what to say. For two reasons. The left side of my brain was telling me: ‘Quick, make up a story about playing with her nightie yesterday. Admit to being a jerk-off boy, and she’ll never know about me sucking Jake and John’s cocks. What story can I make up right now, on the spot, to keep my shameful secret?’

The right side of my brain was having a different conversation with me: ‘Mom’s got awesome tits and a really cute landing strip over her pussy. How can an old lady be so fucking hot? Her boobs are gorgeous. Does she even *know* that I can see her pubes through those panties? Her nipples are as hard as rocks, too. Is she like getting off on flashing me?’

I had never before had even a stray sexual thought about my mother. But here she was right in front of me, in my bedroom, half-naked, and wanting to talk about kinky sex?

I had no way of knowing that Mom had watched Jake pound my ass yesterday in her bed. On the other hand, it seemed very believable, even probable, that I had indeed blown my cover and mishandled her underwear so carelessly yesterday that she knew about that. So I was blind to Mom’s real agenda this morning, which was to straighten her sissy gay son out.

My mother sat back down on my bed, closer to me this time, and started to explain to me that it was normal for young men to find ladies’ underwear fascinating. She mentioned masturbation, and how everyday things can be fetish objects. She didn’t really let me say much, just kept going on and on about how a normal young man could be sexually excited by a brassiere, or scanty panties. A young, virgin, man who was channeling his unformed sexual impulses towards women, which were normal, into strange compulsions about panties and bras, which was a “fetish”. But still OK.

So far, so good, I thought. Not only can I cop a plea to the lesser charge of being a panty-perv, but Mom seemed perfectly OK with that. The left side of my brain was relaxing a bit.

I was sitting up against the headboard, and Mom was sitting on the right side of my bed, facing the door. To talk to me, she had turned her upper body to her right, and her right hand was on top of my right thigh. Of course there was a sheet and a blanket between her hand and my leg, but she moved her hand as she spoke, lightly stroking my thigh, and I felt myself getting more and more aroused. The right side of my brain was going to pop a woody. And, what the actual fuck, Mom seemed to be fine with *that*, too.

I’d become erect almost as soon as I glimpsed my mother in her negligee. She continued to touch me as she prattled on about the differences between people who are transsexual, transvestites, she-male, bi-sexual, trans-whatever, and gay. Mom talked and talked, not expecting me to say anything. Her hand kept moving lightly on my thigh.

“Most men who cross-dress call themselves ‘TVs’ and aren’t gay at all,” Mom said. “They arouse themselves with women’s clothes, but then they seek sexual satisfaction with women.” The back of her fingers brushed against my erection through the sheet. Again and again, as she talked, the back of Mom’s hand rubbed my cock under the thin blanket. ‘Seeking sexual satisfaction,’ as she put it, was starting to sound OK to me.

“Sex can be so confusing when you’re single, Don. A lot of youngsters experiment with bisexuality before they get married. There’s even a whole lesbian thing about how common it is in college for girls to be ‘LUGs’, lesbian until graduation.”

The thought of a sorority house full of carpet munchers made my erection throb against her hand. Didn’t Mom know what all this dirty talk was doing to me? And, by the way, didn’t she know her hand was now rubbing my cock through the sheet?

“So if my lacy underwear makes you excited, Don, that’s really OK. But you may *not* be messy if you are going to play in my drawers. I don’t want to be tidying up after you and I absolutely won’t tolerate you ejaculating into my intimate clothing. I am your Mother after all, and my expensive things can’t be your, what do they call it? Your cumrag.”

Her hand felt like magic to me, but it was literally superficial pleasure. Mom’s hand rubbing on my dick was wonderful, but it was on me, not in me. I couldn’t help but compare Mom’s soft sexual caress today, which was thrilling, with the exquisite sensations I had the day before, when Jake’s big shaft pushed in and out of my ass pussy and banged my prostate, rearranging my insides, making me ‘Donna’.

Mom fell silent, leaned forward, and picked up her robe from the floor. I assumed our crazy, pointless, boner-making conversation was ending. I was kind of disappointed, because it was nice to be with my beautiful, almost-naked mother while talking about all sorts of sex and having my cock rubbed.

But Mom didn’t get up. She reached into the pocket of her robe and took out a ruby-red pair of very sexy underpants. She turned back to me and said, “These are my gift to you, son. You don’t have to raid my lingerie anymore. You can have your own panties.”

She put them, in her hand, directly onto the blanket covering my crotch, and lightly grabbed my erection. Moving her hand gently up and down, she said “You might want to wear these sometime when you’re alone in the house. Wearing beautiful panties won’t make you gay, darling.”

I stared at her, stunned and silent, as I felt the cum rising from my hot balls as she jerked me off in my own bed. Who was this woman?

“Or,” she said, “You could masturbate holding them against your penis, like this….” And mom drew down the blanket the few inches needed to expose my naked hard-on. With her hand holding the panties she took a firm grip on my dick. “Some straight men love the feel of naughty panties on their penises when they masturbate,” she said, while pumping my dick gently. “That doesn’t make them gay. I shouldn’t tell you this, but I sometimes do this for your father,” she said, while continuing to pump my erection.

Christ, *that* was a picture I would never get out of my head. My middle-aged mother whacking off my dad’s dick with her panties? I wondered briefly what Dad’s cock looked like. How big was he? I’d never seen him naked. And why would she be beating his meat? They’re married, right? They can have regular sex anytime they want. Fuck, isn’t that the point of getting married, that a guy never has to masturbate again?

Now, looking back from years later, I know where all this “You’re not gay” crap was coming from. She’d seen me fucked senseless by Jake, but couldn’t bring herself to speak of it to me. She knew darned well that I’d been a greedy bottom-boy for my buddy. But she desperately hoped Jake and I were just kids experimenting with same-sex activities. Gay until graduation. She hoped she could redirect my sexuality towards being a straight TV, or something less deviant than a faggy sissy boy for larger cocks. She was going to reclaim her son in the name of women everywhere.

All the while, she teased my cock and said softly “You’re not gay, darling. Men love sexy underthings that belong to women. That doesn’t make them less of a man.”

“Mom,” I said softly to her, unsure of where this conversation would go, “Mom, I worry sometimes. I think I’m too small. You know, down there. I think my penis is too small.”

“Nonsense, honey. You’re all man, I can tell. Maybe some boys are bigger than you, but you’re fine. You’re about the same size as Daddy, and we don’t think he needs to be bigger. Why are you worried about that?”

Her mind kept replaying the images from yesterday, what she saw on the nanny-cam. As she spoke to me and fondled my modest equipment, the image she couldn’t erase from her mind was of my crotch splayed open wide, with Jake’s hips heaving and thrusting his substantial cock in and out of her son’s grasping asshole. She redoubled her effort to please me, palming my small, almost hairless nut sack, her middle finger tickling my taint.

She loved me unconditionally, but my own Mom now knew my shameful secret – how thin and short my cock is. I shamefully realized that even my Mom knew I was never going to have the equipment to really please a woman. I was too old to be a boy anymore, but I was too small to be a real man, too. My mother got a faraway look in her eyes for a moment and whispered, “Are your friends bigger, sweetheart? Have you ever seen your friends naked? Is Jake’s penis much bigger than yours?”

“Mom,” I stammered, “I think I’m going to cum.”

“Try to hold it, darling. Don’t ejaculate yet. Wait for Mommy to tell you when to cum. Don’t cum while you’re thinking about other boys’ longer cocks. Try to cum thinking about sexy women. Think about me.”

She stopped stroking my throbbing penis for a second and took off her brassiere. She leaned forward and placed it gently on my chest and smiled at me. “Here, honey, this will help. Think about a woman. Think about her breasts when you squirt.”

Making me think about her tits when I cum was going to be some kind of victory over the gay men out there in the world who would want to use her son as a cum dump. She swayed from side to side to make her beautiful big breasts swing in front of my face. Her hand then resumed pumping my cock.

I reached up with my hands and rubbed Mom’s bra back and forth over my chest. The material was so slinky, and I remembered how it had driven Jake crazy yesterday when he grasped my non-existent breasts.

“It’s normal to play with your nipples, son,” Mom told me. Men’s nipples are almost as sensitive as a woman’s. That doesn’t make you a sissy.”

Again with the sissy talk, I thought to myself. Does she suspect I’m a fag? She reached up with her left hand and tweaked her own protruding nipples, still hard and aroused. First one, then the other. Her tits were the most beautiful things I’d ever seen. Watching her play with her nipples while I fondled my own, and she pumped my swollen dick was too much for me.

“You’re making me cum, Mom,” I moaned as I completely lost control and shot my load all over my abs and chest. My mother kept working my cock inside the panties held in her hand, as my ejaculation tapered off and I stopped whimpering.

“See, Donny, I told you you’re not gay. I made you cum.”

She got up slowly, licked my cum from her hand, and walked towards the doorway, holding her robe, wearing only those skimpy panties. I imagined that she was proud of herself for pulling me back from the brink of total fagginess.

My mother left my room with, unbeknownst to me, one nagging thought in her mind. ‘That Jake boy had a real cock on him. Maybe to straighten out Donnie I need to straighten out Jake.’