The Sno’ Ball Effect
THE SNO’ BALL EFFECT
How things build up between me & mom, until . . .
by Oediplex 8==3~
“God! I’m so horny!” I just came right out and said for everyone to hear. In the airport! Of all places to blurt that out loud. I don’t know what prompted me to be so blunt, in so public a place, but the damage was done, so to speak. I had just gotten in for Christmas vacation from college, a sophomore doing well enough. But I hadn’t gotten laid since summer. After starting in a new school I had transferred to, my social life had been the pits. Thus, my hormones were running rampant. So Mr. ‘Blabber-Mouth’ was speaking from his gonads, rather than with his brains.
What startled me even more than my untimely outburst, was my mother’s unexpected response. She who was Mrs. ‘Not-in-Public-Please’ said, abet sotto voce, “You ain’t the only one . . .” I looked at her. Rather than chide me for my rude remark, she seemed sympathetic, and if I got the gist of her tone, admitting to being in the same condition! Beyond her, I could see dad making towards the baggage claim area, he hadn’t heard, too far away.
My sister, on the other side of me, didn’t react to what our maternal parent had quipped, so I didn’t think she had caught the remark mom had made under her breath. She did say, “Would you like to make an announcement of that on the PA system, big brother?” So she had gotten what I had inadvertently confessed to.
I was unsure if even I was supposed to have even been privy to my mother’s mention of her lack of sex life. But I was sure, that she had spoken the phrase. I wondered about that little statement, all the way home. Had mom meant for me to have gotten a message, or was she even aware that what she had spoken was picked up by her son’s ears?
Anyway, that was the first ‘sno’ flake if you will. The beginning of something that would develop with increasing scope, grow to surprising dimensions, and culminate in an overwhelming, irresistible outcome.
My dad had to go to work the next day, so soon after we got home, he retired to bed. My sister who was only two years younger than me went to her room to IM her pals on the Internet, but mom stayed down in the den with me watching TV. There was some sort of show about housewives, a reality program that chronicled the desperate conditions they dealt with, like the series on Sunday evenings, but with less plot and no humor. One of the ladies bitched about how she was a golf widow and couldn’t remember the last time her spouse had bedded her. Mom nodded her head and said, clearly this time, “Commuter husbands are even worse!”
We were splitting a large bottle of Rhine wine and the mood was very informal tonight. I was still unsure if I was actually meant to be paying attention to these remarks of mom’s, or if I should just politely ignore them. That choice was decided for me when she turned to me, and looked at me for a few minutes during a long commercial and then said, “Well how’s your love life at the new university?
“Between my new classes, and the dorm rules we have to follow; I’m not getting any . . uh, having any chance to be – lucky with the gals there.”
“I though you were in a co-ed dorm building.”
“It is, but every other floor are girls and there is no visiting of the opposite sex after ten o’clock. No possibility for any hanky-panky.”
“You mean no opportunities to fuck.” Mom took another sip of wine, then replenished both our glasses.
“It doesn’t matter what the term you use is, there is no socialization after hours between sexes. If you get caught, there’s an automatic two week suspension. Nobody wants to risk that.”
“Hell! Where there’s a will there’s a way! Your dad and I snuck off to find a good spot, but in winter, we would do it behind the upright piano in the sorority house, and several of the gals would act as lookouts for us.”
“Mom, you naughty girl, you!!”
“Just horny, like every other college kid. Making the most of our every opportunity. Not like now days, Jeez! I tell yah, nothin’ ruins sex like marriage!” She polished off the goblet and poured herself yet more vino. She was feeling no pain, that was for certain!
“So . . . you and dad are . . not intimate as often as you used to be?” This was interesting, mom had seldom been as open about private matters as she was now. Did that mean she finally considered me to be adult enough to discuss these matters, at least within a personal family conversation?
“Ever since the doctor put him on that new blood-pressure medication, things have been zilch in the bedroom. The ‘ball-park’ as we used to term it has been instead, the snore-zone. I have to sleep in the spare bed in your room some evenings, if I want to get any rest at night. You just might have a co-ed dorm at home, if I can’t take you father sawing wood some night.”
“Sure, mom, anytime, of course. I wouldn’t mind.” But then I thought, wait – what if I want to masturbate, that might put a damper on that activity. I mean, you can’t jerk-off with your mother in the next bed.
“Don’t worry, Honey, I won’t intrude on your space, I can always sleep on the couch, I’ll just get a pillow and extra blanket.”
Now I felt bad for her, I didn’t want to have her be on the sofa, comfortable as it was, even so. “Mom, you’re welcome to share my room if you need to. I don’t snore.”
“But I bet you do other things.”
“You mean, other noises?”
“Noo, . . other – things, you know, guy stuff.”
“Eating, reading?” I wasn’t being dense, but I was still a bit naive, when it came to my mother talking openly on sexual matters.
“Silly, beating your meat, masturbating. I bet you do it quite a lot. I remember all the yellow stains on the sheets I had to bleach out, when you were younger. At least now days, you take out the trash-basket, with the sizable pile of tissue you use.”
Okay, I got what she was implying that time.
She was still speaking, “Of course, if you did, it wouldn’t bother me. As long as it was quiet, I would be asleep, or pretend to be, so I didn’t interrupt your . . . train of thought.” She giggled.
Yikes! Was that a come on, or her just trying to be humorous? “I don’t think that I . . . I mean, if I needed to . . I’d go to the bathroom or down here to the den.”
“Well, what if your sister had to use the toilet, or came down to the family room and discovered you jacking-off? Wouldn’t that be a fine-how-do-you-do? Better you stick it with your old mother, whoops! I mean stick it to your old mom, damn!” she laughed, “Jeez! I meant to say, it’s alright to do it when I’m around, if you have to. You said you were really horny. I wouldn’t want to put out, put you out is what I am trying to say.”
Was she making Freudian slips, or was the wine making her woozy, or was there a more direct message being not so subtly communicated from a frustrated housewife to a randy twenty-year old? I could hardly believe the last, so I decided that it must have been the middle option. Best to play it safe for now, and not play with fire. If I guessed wrong, it would blow up in my face, and could spoil the whole vacation.
I didn’t want to ruin the holidays, because I got hot-to-trot and made a play for mom, when she was not at all meaning that we should . . could . . I didn’t let my imagination go there, right then. Even though, in truth, it had a few times in the past. Mom was definitely a MILF. She would give the TV babes a run for their money in a beauty contest. I copped-out as my folks would have put it – no! not wussed! – I simply bowed out of the conversation gracefully and said, “Well, I’m tired after the trip, so I’m going to hit the sack. If you want to use the spare bed, that’s fine, mom.” I added without thinking, “I won’t jerk-off without you, I mean, with you there, I’d behave.” Damn, she had me doing it now!
She laughed very loudly, and just waved at me as I left. I went up the two flights on our split level, to my room.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The ‘Snow-Ball’ is often a term for a holiday prom at some schools. I was out of school, between terms. However, this holiday dance which mom and I were engaged in, was just beginning. I had to be careful not to step on her toes. On the other hand, if we swayed too close together, she might feel my manhood poking at her. What the fella can’t tell, under that gown, is how damp his partner’s panties are. Wasn’t there something they once called ‘balling the jack’, and wasn’t that sexual innuendo the name of a dance? But who thinks about their mom as their date, or mate, and admits it, even to themselves. I found that I was doing just that, after the chat we had. Ringing in my ears were the words, “You ain’t the only one . . .”.
Sometimes, fortune lends a hand to the inertia of the way things are going to go. In other words, it gives an impetus to how the ball is rolling and pushes it in the direction it was already headed. It might change the direction of events, but didn’t with us. On occasion it sometimes makes things worse – or better, as the case may be. In this circumstance, fate provided the slope the sticky cluster of carnal crystals was beginning to tumble down. In my hasty retreat, from our erotically stimulating dialog, I had left my half-finished glass of spirits down in the den. Never one to waste wine, I went back after it, once I had brushed my teeth and used the toilet. I stopped on the steps, still in the shadows, as I heard an unusual sound.
In all honesty, I knew what it was; but I was surprised that it was coming from the family room. It was coming from my mother. It was my mom, cumming. Or at least it was her diddling herself. As she had said, ‘a fine-how-do-you-do’. Except, I was not about to say ‘how-do-you-do’ to my mom when I knew what she was doing, which was – doing it to herself. While I was partially hidden by the solid railing, I had a clear view of my mother, and her private activity. I should have crept up the stairs, but I was mesmerized by the sight. Her knees were lifted and the hem had been hiked up to her waist. The top of her gown was pulled down and both beautiful tits were exposed to my gaze. One hand was on her right breast, tugging at the nipple.
Even hotter, and more intimately exhibited, was her hairy delta. The ruddy labia, the dark crevice of her slit, there her fingers were rubbing the whole nest of her sex. The middle digit was delving into her hollow, sometimes joined by a second. It was like a porno scene from a video. Only it was live, my mom, and ten times more sizzling than anything I had ever seen. Mother had her eyes half shut, she was moaning with excitement, and oblivious to my being a secret spectator to the revealing of mom’s juicy genitalia, and her auto-erotic manipulations. I was harder than a billy-club and my balls were as blue as a cop’s cap.
I watched as my parent showed me how a female went about self-abuse. She was seriously scratching the itch between her thighs, and pinching the rosettes of her boobs, alternating left and right. Things were speeding up and mom was clearly close to her climax. Her sounds had become higher pitched, rising to a whine, and her panting gasps were getting faster. Now her fingers blurred into her hole, and she stared to vocalize words. I heard, “NO! Oh, no! Noo . . . uh, uuhh, oh God yes, Yes, YES, Baby do it! Do it to me! Fuck me! It’s been so long, I need it, AAHH! YEAH! BABY FUCK MMEEE!” I don’t have to explain that she came. She had a huge cum.
I was awe struck, by her scrunched up sweet face, and the powerful aroma of woman-sex-odor, the way her body contracted, her legs closed and opened involuntarily, and how her hips thrust up as if to take in a man’s big member as it plunged into her center. I wanted to be that male, that pounded into this gorgeous female’s vagina. I was shaken by the urge I had to go down the few steps, and ravage her. Give her the fucking she wanted, needed, desired, deserved. But instead, I beat a hasty retreat once more.
As I withdrew up the stairs, I slipped on a step, my knee caught the edge, I let out the tiniest of oaths, “sshitt!” I kept it in my throat, only the faintest sibilant escaped. I didn’t think she could have heard it, or the thunk of my knee on the carpet covering the stairs.
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