Receipts For Mommy - Sex Stories

Receipts For Mommy

“Ok, that should be everything, right?” mom questions dropping off the last box,

“Yup,” I answer back as I put down my box, cracking my back afterwards, “Thanks again for helping me move, mom. You’re amazing.”

“Well, what kind of a mother bird would I be if I didn’t help my baby bird soar? Not a very good one.”

“Ha-ha, I guess you have a point there.”

“I always have a point, Taylor. You know this. Now, are you sure you don’t need any help with putting your stuff away? Because, I assure you, I have no issue with helping.”

“Mom, I already told you, what you’ve done is plenty. I’ve got this. Don’t worry your head about it, ok? Plus, I already have a system I have planned. You don’t know where everything will be put, relocated seven different times, thrown randomly out of frustration for not having a clue to where to put them, to finally being settled where it’ll be forgotten until auction time at garage sales.”

Mom snickers at my remark. I can’t even join in because I’m just too impressed with myself. All of that was just off the top of my head. I love my brain.

“Well, I wouldn’t wanna impose on your significant portion of your ten year plan,” she responds sarcastically,

“Hardy har-har,” I respond, “Laugh it up until you’re in line for one of my stuff and get rejected. Remember this day when that happens.”

“Dreading it right now. Well, you don’t need mommy holding your hand anymore. I’ll just get out of your hair. Remember to call in exactly twenty ...

... minutes. That’s when I get home. Alright, love you.”

“Wait, mom!” I interject, stopping her in her tracks, “Moving my stuff here wasn’t exactly a trip to the store. I can see how exhausted you are. Why not take a load off here? I’ll get us some refreshments and we can just hang out for the night.”

“Aw,” she retorts, “Is this your way of telling me you don’t want me to go yet? Oh, it’s like preschool all over again.”

“Hilarious. Now, sit. Your feet have gotta be killing you.”

She complies, sitting on the sofa, as I go to my kitchen for a couple of bottles of soda. I return to the living room, handing her a bottle before sitting down right beside her.

“So,” I start, cracking open my bottle, “This is finally it. After just twenty-two years, I’m finally out on my own.”

“I know,” she responds after taking a sip, “It feels like just yesterday I was teaching you how to walk. And look at you now: good career, good house, it’s just crazy to put into perspective and think about. I’m so proud of you.”

Nothing can compare to those five words. Especially from a parent.

“Thanks mom,” I reply, “But I can’t take all the credit. I mean, none of it would’ve happened if I was never born. You’re literally the best thing that could’ve happened to me.”

She embraces me in a hug as we exchange “I love you”s. I really do love my mom. She’s the best. She’s always there when I need her, whether it be for venting about boys, picking me up when I get ditched by shitty “friends”, ...