My Mom Uses Me

It was 1995 and I was eighteen. Your typical stay at home introvert, living with his divorced mother. I had a job at a restaurant; Randall’s, you can look it up. It’s closed now, but back in the day it was a pretty nice spot to eat and have a drink. I gave Mom a hundred or so a month to stay there, putting the rest into savings, except for my “fun cash” for when I hung out with my friends.

I was your typical long-haired headbanger wearing metal t-shirts. Grunge was taking over my rock and metal, but some of it wasn’t too bad. Kurt was dead and we were all still feeling it. What can I say, it was the 90’s.

I was a pretty good kid, got into mischief but not enough that the cops were called, or if they were, I was never caught. My friends and I, that is.

My Mom was a chubby girl, about 5’5″, A little over 200lbs, not too shabby in looks as far as middle-aged women go. It also helped that she had a nice pair of 34 DD’s. She never had too much luck with the guys, or should I say, the good guys, couple sleeze-balls here and there. Now that I look back on it, maybe it runs in the family, because I haven’t had much luck with women either.

My Mom had a back injury when I was little, and always seemed to keep aggravating it every couple of years. Slips, trips and falls, just sleeping wrong or pulling a muscle lifting something too heavy. She had started seeing a chiropractor, but that relief only lasted for a little while, and she couldn’t afford to see the chiropractor more than once a month.

Enter the good son, and the massage.

So I had been giving my Mom massages for a while now. She would come home from a hard day at work – or I would come home from work – and she would would be in sweats and a tee relaxing on the couch, reading one of her romance novels with Fabio on the cover.

Today I was the one coming home from work. Mom was on the couch reading. The stereo was on playing a Dolly Parton record, my mom was a country loving gal.

“Donny dear, can you give me a massage? It was really rough at work today.” She said, resting her open book on her ample bosom.

“Sure Mom, no problem,” I said.

“Wonderful!” She chirped. She placed a bookmark to save her page and set the book down on the coffee table.

Then she assumed the position. The coffee table was fitted with cushions on either end with the table in the middle. It was over one of these cushions she would lay. Her knees on the floor, her ample bottom on full display. Her arms crossed under her head to rest. Her breasts mashed into the cushion.

“Um,” I swallowed. She seemed to wiggle her bottom in anticipation. “Let me quick change out of my work clothes. I smell like burgers and fries.”

“Okay,” she said, almost dreamily as her head rested in her crossed arms.

I went to my room and shucked my clothes. I threw on my own sweatpants and a tee, and headed back into the living room. It was just another massage after all. Boy was I wrong.

The first thing I noticed is that her knees were apart and the sweatpants were snug against her cleft, accentuating her plump pussy. I took a deep breath to steady myself and walked over to the end of the coffee table perpendicular to my mothers back, and went to my knees. Like taking communion.