The Kindness of Strangers - Sex Stories

The Kindness of Strangers

... my underpants, two loads of semen deposited into them.

'I didn't ask you to... you shouldn't have gone into my room!' I stated, more embarrassed than angry.

'Oh, Honey,' she frowned. 'It's alright. It's natural. I HAVE lived with men before you know,' she directly alluded to my shorts. Was she trying to humiliate me? 'Just. I thought the tissues would be handier.'

I was aghast. Mortified. Embarrassed.

'Seriously? Is this you trying to be a mother?' I questioned.

'What?' She looked genuinely taken aback.

'Ten years, you didn't give a shit about me,' I declared. 'You think we're besties now or something, just because you do my laundry!?' I didn't mean it. Even as I said it, I hated the way it came out. But shame overrode sentiment and at that moment it was either fight or flight.

'Oliver I...' She looked shocked and equally distraught.

'Forget about it,' I shook my head. 'I have a meeting with student services tomorrow about the accommodation. I should be out of here by next weekend. I'll leave earlier if you want,' I stated, and could see the hurt I'd caused her. 'No,' her voice broke as she spoke. 'No that's not what I... I'll stay out of your room,' she barely whispered, and I could see her eyes welling with tears.

Again, I felt like a complete dick.

I left the house and entered the garage and with my face still burning placed the broken vase on the workbench. What had just happened? She'd looked at the table and window and put two and two ...

... together. Her mind had immediately gone to my cum encrusted shorts. We'd essentially discussed me jerking off! What mother and son did that!? Despite the shame and embarrassment, a spontaneous chuckle came out of me, and I was shocked at my ability to find mirth in the situation. And then came the regret. I hadn't spoken to anyone like that before, going totally against my nature, and immediately I wanted to go back in and apologize. There had been some truth in it though, I quickly reasoned. What interest had she taken in me over the years? How could we just fall back into the role of loving mother and son overnight? The answer was, we couldn't. Or at least it wouldn't come easy.

I found the glue and looked at the broken segments of the vase laid out before me, a metaphor for our relationship if ever there was one, before carefully beginning to put the pieces back together.

*

I never really got a chance to make up for my behavior that evening. Well to be honest, I was just too embarrassed to bring it up again and I managed to avoid her for much of the night anyway. Monday morning, however, our paths inevitably crossed as we hurried to be ready for our respective destinations.

Memories of my childhood once more came flooding back and I reflected on how little events had changed. Competing for the one bathroom. Jostling in the small kitchen preparing breakfast. One thing differed starkly from the past, however, and that was my awareness of Mom's appearance. Had she ...