Paper Walls

So, laying there, already in great torment, I listened to her move down the hall and then shut the door to the bathroom. It was the same every night. The water would come on next, leaving me to contemplate whether I should try to masturbate while she was in the shower. Then I remind myself that she takes incredibly short showers. In. Scrub. Out. Not even enough time to really get going. So, I listen. I hear the water stop, I hear movement coming from the bathroom and I hear the door shut.

She comes closer and closer to my door and then I hear the click and catch of her door. Small rustling noises, and then I hear the soft yield of her mattress as she climbs under the covers.

Then, finally I'm able to close my eyes.

I tried to ignore the pink elephant and go to sleep. Pink Elephant had other ideas. She had forgotten to use the toilet. This, too, was not unusual. Again, the door, and then a pause to make sure I was asleep. This meant that she sleeps naked. I knew this, from previous sweaty-bed detective work. However, such is the nature of my torment that each time I must remind myself.

Finally, she moved. All I could picture was the exquisite form of her tall, shapely backside. I could see in my head what her amazing heart shaped ass looked like as it popped back and forth while she strode confident in her supposed privacy.

When she returned, I could see her big, full breasts bobbing as she walked. Her stomach, tight from years of good care, and the trim, firm legs moving as she stepped. Pink Elephant had fully destroyed my mind. It was rogue and it was going to trample what was left of me, and leave me for the vultures. I knew this. I did.

I lay there, crushing my eyes tight, trying like hell to stop. Long after I heard her truly go to sleep, I was still lying there, wide-awake.

God, I thought. I have to fuck something. Jacking off won't do it. I have to fuck something. I needed to feel that pressure and that wet warmth. I needed to feel the unique sensation of flesh against my body. I needed the smell and the sweat and the many fluids.

I needed, with every ounce of my being to fuck my mother. I needed to put my cock so far up her cunt she'd smell it on her breath. I needed to fuck my mom until I didn't care anymore. That's all.

I woke up early the next morning. It was the first Saturday that I didn't have to work at all that I had managed to get in over two months. Mom was gone already. She had her classes on Saturdays. Three classes starting at seven in the morning. She was gone until 3pm, easy.

I looked at the clock. It was only 8am. I had awoken to the lovely sounds of Norwegian black metal. This is a kind of speed metal cranked up about 90% and consisting of a man gutturally screaming while every member of the band beats their instruments to death as fast as they can. My neighbors are big fans of the "scene".

I sat up. I was naked, as I had begun to sleep that way when I had a devastatingly hard erection.

"Mom?" I yelled. No answer. She was gone. I stood up and plodded naked to the kitchen. I was alone, for at least the next eight hours. It was a first. I grabbed a beer, drank it down, and grabbed another. I stopped in the bathroom to piss. I stood in front of the mirror for a moment.

I was in great shape. I had a trim, hard, thickly muscled body. Not much in the way of definition, but there was a lot of muscle under that pale skin. My arms and face were tanned from driving all day into the sun. My dick was long and thick. It stuck straight up and I cursed its power over my mind. I turned to piss, nearly breaking my cock as I aimed it down to the bowl. Finally, it went down and I could walk normal. For the first time in a day, I had no hard-on.

I took the next beer from the sink edge and went into the living room. I didn'tfeel like getting dressed. I was alone and enjoying it. I sat down to catch some cartoons. I found none.

It was one stupid teen show after another. Where the hell were the superheroes? Where were the dragon fighters? Where was Mr. T? Where were the reasons for little kids to bother getting up on a Saturday when they didn't have to? Finally, to my abundant and child-like glee, I found the crown jewel of all Saturday programming. Hidden away on a small local station, I found THUNDAR THE BARBARIAN. I was beside myself with nostalgic joy.

I watched this, slumped down on the couch, my knees resting against the edge of the coffee table. The beer was helping to make me sleepy. I also realized that my situation was truly getting desperate. The chick from Thundar - the one in the blue suit - was giving me another raging hard-on. I was cursed. However, I was also alone. I could finally relieve myself.

I closed my eyes, smiling at my opportunity and promptly slipped off to sleep.

I woke up, blinking in the bright sun. The clock over the dead TV read 12:05. Perfect. I still had plenty of time. I looked down and saw that my cock was still hard. It had to be a record, I thought to myself. It lay long and flat against my belly. I snorted a laugh at the monstrous nature of my dick's ambition.

I turned my head to work out a kink in my neck and nearly screamed. On the counter that separated the kitchen from the small dining area, sat my mother's purse. She only had one. It wasn't there that morning.

I sat forward, hand on my head, elbows on my knees and tried to think.

The TV. Oh, sweet Lord, the TV. It was on when I fell asleep.

The beer. THE BEER. It was in my hand, and as I sat there feeling the floor drop away from me and the walls became distant specks in my mind, I pictured mom seeing me, raging, asleep, and bending over me to take the beer from my hand and setting it on the table. She was right there. Oh, Lord. I wanted to die.

Why did she come home? She never came home! Oh, this wasn't supposed to happen.

I heard her bedroom door open. I grabbed the red and black afghan from the chair and wrapped it around my waist. I had just closed it around me when she came out of the hall.

"Hi, sweetie," she said. She smiled and walked into the kitchen as thought nothing had happened. She looked me right in the eyes and never blushed, or even acted oddly.

I just stood there. My mouth was surely open, and my eyes were undoubtedly the size of half-dollars. I couldn't think where to begin. So I started with a little of everything.

"Mom - I don't know why - I never do that when - I'm sorry I - I - I - " She stopped me with a hand on my shoulder. She smiled and waved it off with a flick of her slender wrist.

"Sweetie, don't get all worked up over it. I know you're probably embarrassed, but I don't want you to worry about it. Look. You're an adult and I'm and adult. I understand, Paul. Really. Relax. Breathe." She smiled and kissed me on the cheek as she went back to the kitchen.

"Would you like some lunch?" she asked me. I just nodded. I walked to my room, clutching the blanket around my waist. She was just being nice. That was all I could think. There was no talking myself out of the situation. I was furious with myself. If I had just put on a pair of shorts - fine. But I had to play Mr. Natural and do what I did.

I pulled on a pair of pants and a t-shirt. I sat down on the bed and just put my head in my hands and sat there until I could bear to face her. I heard her putting plates on the counter. I figured that I might as well get it over with.

I ran my hands through my hair and walked out. I came into the kitchen and she was putting the finishing touches on the sandwiches she was making.

"You think I'm awful, don't you." I blurted out. I was immediately sorry I said it. I didn't want to think about it, let alone bring it up, but I did.

Mom just looked at me over the sandwiches. She sighed and pulled a stool around to sit on the kitchen side of the counter. I pulled up a stool and she slid a plate over to me. She looked at me a moment and then finally said something.

"Paul, I want you to put this out of your mind. I know that you don't have any female companionship." The phrase "female companionship" sounded as if she'd been going over this in her head. "I know it must be difficult for you. You should be out there, having fun. I know, I know. You told me that it didn't matter to you. You're a wonderful son, a fine man, and a very transparent liar." She smiled, making it all a little better.

"As for this place, I know it isn't that great as far as privacy. But, you've said it yourself a thousand times, this is where we live, and you're right." We finished our sandwiches and she cleared the plates.

"Now, I want to clear something up, Paul. I want you to listen very carefully." She walked into the living room as we talked. We sat down as she chose her words.

"I am you're mother and you are my son. I watched you grow up, and I tried my best to bring you up right. We've had a wonderful relationship so far. I never want that to change." I nodded my agreement, but was uncertain where it was going.

"I think you're old enough that maybe we can be friends when we need to be. Sometimes that's important as well. When - IF you're having...problems, then I want you to feel free to take care of them.

"I don't understand." I really didn't. I suppose my brain was blocking out my reference to the thing that had so hampered me over the last few months. It just didn't register as a possibility.

"I mean, if a situation should present itself - a situation such as this morning - if you should need to ...relieve a situation, I want you to feel free to do so. I don't want to be the reason for so much obvious discomfort. I especially don't want to be the reason you can't feel free to do what you have to do after everything you've done for our small family. It's because of you that we've made it. You understand?"

I wanted to die. Right there, right then. I couldn't feel my feet. Odd thing to go numb, but it always happened when I was extremely embarrassed. I could feel myself shutting down. I don't know how long I sat there with the same blank look on my face.

She patted my knee and went off to straighten the kitchen. We didn't talk about it the rest of the night.

A week later, mom and I were watching TV. It was another exciting Friday night. Dinner was done and we were both doing our usual. She was reading, I was trying to find a good talking heads show on cable. My week had been particularly full and I was only home long enough to eat and sleep.

Despite my mom's little talk about fixing certain situations, I hadn't been able to do it while she was there. I just couldn't. We all build certain walls of behavior and that was one of mine. No jacking while mom can either hear me, see me, or knows for a fact that I'm doing it.

My mad dashes through the cable line up had landed on one of those idiot channels that show bikini movies on the weekend. It was nothing all that risqué, but it was all I needed. After a gaggle of thong wearing asses ran by on the screen, I was at full staff.

I tried to make it go away. Mom was reading, so she didn't notice. My hand tried unsuccessfully to push it down. Even though I know that will only make it worse, I tried. It made it worse. I exhaled loudly in frustration. I looked over to mom to see if she'd noticed. She was locked in to her book. She was wearing her short t-shirt and a pair of shorts that gapped around the cuffs. I saw skin and straps that drove me over the edge.

I got up and waddled/walked to the bathroom. I was on a mission. My balls felt like sand bags in my shorts. I shut the door, flipped on the light, and dropped my pants. My cock popped up and slapped me in the belly. I grabbed mom's hand lotion, squeezed a bit into my hand and started to jack back and forth like a baboon on speed. It felt like I was in another world. Pure pleasure.

Then, as I was furiously attacking my cock, I stopped. I just couldn't stay into it. She was right out there. She was listening. She wanted to make sure I could do it. I couldn't. I just couldn't. I looked in the mirror. There I stood, half naked, pants and shorts down around my knees, and my big stupid cock just sticking up covered in hand crème. The only good thing was the depressing nature of it all made my dick go down some. Some. I took a towel and cleaned myself up.

I stuffed the Captain back in my pants and left the bathroom. I went to the kitchen. I grabbed two beers. The first was gone before I made it to the hallway. The second was more than half empty by the time I'd slumped back into the couch in defeat.

I stared past the TV at the wall. I did this for about five minutes before she said something.

"You're going to have to get over this whole thing, or else you'll snap." She held her book in her hand and fixed her reading glasses on her perfect nose.

"What?"

"I know what you just tried to do, Paul."

"I -"

"And I know you didn't make anything better," she said, pointing to the big bulge in my pants. I lamely tried to cover it with my hand.

"Are you embarrassed, son, or do you just not know how to do it?" Oh, God, I thought. She's serious. She really thinks I can't masturbate. I just wondered, Why can't I die?

"I'm just...I can't...I'm embarrassed because you know what I'm doing. I can't do it with you here."

"I'd leave, Paul, but I can't go running off every time you get a boner."

"Oh, God, I didn't mean for you to do that! I wouldn't even - Oh, just let me die. Please?"

"Paul, you don't need to be anymore embarrassed about that than about using the toilet."

"That's different. It just is."

"And I always thought it was the same parts." She smiled and I laughed, burning a little nervous energy.

"I'm fine mom," I said, suddenly feeling wiped out. "Don't worry about it."

"Well, I do worry about it. I'm your mother and I will always worry. I hate that you're feeling this way. I want to help."

"Last Saturday, when you came home early. Did - did you see me?"

"Tough to miss, sweetheart."

I mumbled something about asking Satan to take me right then.

"Don't be ashamed, Paul. It's your body. You should be proud of it. It's beautiful." She sounded concerned. "I think the problem is," she continued, " that we've created a few barriers over the years. I swore that when I had kids I'd never do what my parents did to me. I guess it's pretty normal to do, really. Well, it stops now."

She stood up. She pulled her shirt over her head, revealing her magnificent, large, bra covered breasts. She reached around, unhooked her bra, and suddenly I was staring at the two most perfect, most alluring, and most forbidden tits I'd ever seen. I was stunned. My mouth didn't know how to make words. Then she bent over, slid her shorts and panties down at the same time, and flicked them away with her foot. She stood there, arms slightly raised and pointing straight out from her sides with palms raised. Ta-fucking-da.

"Oh, god." I was babbling. I started to leave. I averted my eyes as if she was making them bleed. She sat down, repeating my name over and over to get my attention.

"Look, Paul. Look. It's nothing bad. It's just a body. Yes, it's designed to attract sexual attention, but that's just part of it. It's just my skin. You always knew I had breasts. You always knew I had a body under my clothes. The same skin that covers my face and arms covers my breasts. Calm down and look. I want you to understand that there's nothing wrong with the body, or with sex. If you need to look until you get it, then look."

I start to get up again.

"No, Paul. Stay. Stay here until you get this. I didn't know you had such a problem with this. We're family. You came out of my body. Calm down and look." I was freaking out. I couldn't think where to look. The safe place would have been her face, but I couldn't bring myself to look her in the eyes. She was almost angry about how I was reacting.

"Okay, look." She reached down and pulled her plump pussy lips apart. Warm, pink flesh gaped at me from between her painted fingernails. "It's just a part of my body, Paul. There are over three billion of them on the planet. What do you call it? Pussy, cunt, cooter, coochie? I've heard them all. Life didn't start with you, young man, and you should remember that the next time you think this is all so shocking.

"You've got a dick. I've got tits. You've got balls, I've got a pussy. Do you get it yet? The body is beautiful, exciting and erotic, but it's also nothing special." She sat down, crossed her arms over her perfect, massive tits, and waited.

Like a religious epiphany, it all happened. Suddenly, I saw the gorgeous woman in front of me, but then, for the first time in a long while, I just saw mom. More skin and body parts - but the same skin. It was like a door opening after sticking for years. Fresh air replacing stale, musty air.

"Okay," I said.

Two weeks later, Things were a little different. Mom didn't wait until I was asleep to walk naked to and from the bathroom. She strode down the hall as though she was the only one there. She came out in the morning, clad only in panties and nylons while she grabbed more coffee.

I was feeling more comfortable as well. She knocked on the door when I was in the shower. She was running late and had to use the bathroom. I said for her to come in. It was odd at first. I couldn't hear her over the water as she sat down and pissed in the bowl. But she could see me through the cheap shower curtain. She finished, told me to flush it when I was out and said she'd see me later. This was, for me, a gigantic step.

After the first week, she was spending more and more time completely naked. She sat comfortably on the couch; book in hand, glasses on her face, and nothing on. No underwear, and not even a sock. I still stole the occasion glance, but I was getting used to it. I didn't stare any more than if she'd had a tight shirt and shorts. And if I did happen to look for more than a second, she didn't say anything. She knew she was pretty, and it was just looking.

Saturday night, two weeks after the incident of her early arrival, we were watching television. I had a magazine and she had a book. Occasionally, we would glance up to see what was going on, but mostly, we listened. Mom was naked, as was her new usual. Maybe it had been lurking under the surface, but she took to our new "clothing optional" apartment like a fish to water.

More surprisingly, I had begun to venture into her crazy world of nudity. It had taken some time, but I finally did it. I was sitting on the couch, reading, listening, occasionally glancing at the tube and all the while, wearing nothing. Naked as could be. The more embarrassing aspect for me was the obvious display of my sexual frustration. I was at least half-hard all the time. That, I could deal with. At least then, it hung down and stayed there. When I would pop full wood, it sat right up and was impossible to conceal.

Finally, I was sitting there, fully nude and watching TV with my hot, naked mom, and I was fine.

In a strange way, it helped me. Being a little more free with our bodies, it wasn't eating at me all the time. Before, just the act of concealing my arousal was enough to make me obsess on sex for hours at a time. So, this had helped. Sort of.

We were watching a TV edit version of OUT OF SIGHT. This has, to my consternation, one of the most vague, non-linear, and amazingly sexy love scenes I've ever watched. This means that although it was network, they didn't have to cut anything. In seconds, I was hard as a son of a bitch. There was no hiding it. It was flat on my belly and that was that.

I put everything I had into that one act of self-pleasure. Mom sat not three feet from me in her chair. My hand grasped my dick and I pulled it down to begin lightly fondling it. A squeeze at the base and then a slow stroke to the nearly purple head as my thumb flicked over it.