Mom Builds me up Part 1

I opened the front door of our modest apartment, tossed by backpack carelessly on the ground, and made my way to my bedroom, all but slamming the door behind me. I flopped down on the bed and buried my head in my pillow. I was completely exhausted and frustrated by another long day at school.

It’s not that I am a bad student and struggling academically. That’s all fine actually. School comes pretty easy to me. And it’s not for a lack of friends either. While not the most popular boy in school, I had a great group of friends that I knew appreciated me. It was something else that I had tried to hide for so long, and now I wasn’t sure if I could keep hiding it. I hated my body. I felt too skinny, unattractive, and not masculine. No matter the attention I got, or positive feedback I heard, I knew deep down I would be a lonely loser my whole life because my body just wasn’t attractive. And now that we were swimming at school, there was no way to hide it.

“What’s wrong, Josh,” mom said, coming out of the kitchen. She had obviously had heard me making an angry ruckus as I came home.

“Nothing,” I muttered unconvincingly.

This was my second problem actually. Mom, as loving as she was, was one person I felt I could never talk to about this. She just wouldn’t get it. How I knew she wouldn’t get it – because of her job. My mom was a stripper at a high-end club. How could someone like that be able to help someone like me?

I had known for a few years now. Growing up, I just knew that mom worked a lot at night and that it was a secret place I couldn’t visit. When it came to ‘Bring your parent to school’ day, where mom would have to talk about her job, she would always just say she worked for an entertainment company doing customer service. Thinking back, she wasn’t lying about the “service” part for sure. Sometimes mom would have very good-looking colleagues come home from work with her and I thought nothing of it. It wasn’t until about three years ago that I learned the truth. And mom was the one to tell me.

One day, she had sat me down at the dining table and told me about her job. She explained that business had been going well and as she got more popular and I turned 18, there was a chance someone would find out and tell me before she could tell me herself. I was shocked as I had avoided thinking of my mom as a sexual being all together. I finally took a real look at her at that time and realized she really was a MILF. She had long, wavy red hair that was often tied in a messy bun at the top of her head. She had a graceful long neck and perfectly clear pale skin. That day she was wearing a normal t-shirt that was cut off to just a bit below her ample C cup tits. She wore a comically short skirt that barely covered her ass and reminded me of an anime school girl. I am actually pretty sure that is what she google searched to find it. Looking back on it now, you’d think I was the most dense kid in the world to not realize something was up.

Since I was pretty young, my mom had dressed pretty openly at home. Of course none of my friends knew. I did not want to deal with them spreading rumors about her all over school. Around them, she at least made some effort to cover up. But on normal days when it was just us, she felt free to dress as she wished. Which was usually pretty skimpy. It’s just who she is. After she told me, it took me a while to not feel weird about it. Especially since I was in the prime ‘jerk-off any chance I get’ time of my life. But like all things, you get used to it and it stops even being that notable.

“Well, you must be starved,” she said, heading back into the kitchen and returning with a pot of pasta and a plate to serve me at the table. She was dressed today in a tight t-shirt that left barely anything to the imagination about her big natural tits. Try as I might, sometimes I couldn’t totally block out her blatant sexuality. Just cuz she was my mom, doesn’t mean she wasn’t hot. Her tits jiggled as she made her way to the table.

“How was school?” she asked.

“Fine,” I said, again unable to hide my obvious anguish, especially as I did not even bother looking up from my plate.

Mom sat down across from me. “Josh, I can tell something is wrong. Maybe I can help?”

“It’s no big deal. I’m fine,” I replied. I did want to tell her, but there’s no way she could help. I really felt that she of all people wouldn’t be able to understand what it’s like to not feel comfortable in your own skin.

“OK, but I am here if you want to talk about it,” she said, somewhat sadly. We made idle chit chat and then settled in on the couch to watch TV. I had my feet up on the coffee table, and she had her legs resting on mine. I looked over and could see far up her thigh owing to her tiny booty shorts that had ridden up. Each time I glanced at her I could see she was looking back at me with concern.

After some time, I excused myself to go to bed. She immediately stood up and gave me a hug.

“I know I am your old mom and you think I won’t get your problems. But I love you, and would do anything to help you get through whatever it is.”

I hugged her back and let myself enjoy her love and support for that moment. I was also just a tiny bit aware of the feeling of her tits against me. “I know mom. Thank you. Love you too.”

I stayed in my room the rest of night and just dicked around online.