Girls Together

by

Tamara Segunda

 

I knew something was really wrong even before my mother stepped through the front door. It was just 9:00, less than two hours since she'd left on a date with her boyfriend, Jerry the jerk.

I had turned ten years old a little over a month before, and even though my mom called me the man of the house, she still left me with a sitter; tonight it was Sonia Castro, a 15-year old neighbor of ours. Every other time my mom had gone out with Jerry, she'd always come home after I was asleep.

This time I was sitting on the floor in front of the TV in my pajamas when she came in with a big smile on her face and greeted Sonia and me loudly.

"Hi guys! Jerry and I decided to have an early night, so it looks like everyone will get a good rest instead of staying up late."

"Mrs. Parks!" Sonia was as surprised to see her as I was.

"Sonia honey, I know you gave up your evening to stay with Corey, so don't worry; I'm paying you for the full eight hours."

They argued for a while, with Sonia protesting that it wasn't necessary to pay her for time not worked, and my mom insisting just as strongly that she deserved the full amount. Finally Mom won, and Sonia left. During all that time I'd just sat there on the floor watching her. Even with the big smile and her cheerful tone, I could tell that Mom had been crying, and you didn't have to be a wizard to know that Jerry was the cause of it.

Jerry. How can you call a fat, old (50!) bald guy who smells like rotten onions a boy friend? From the first time she went out with him, I thought my mom was crazy. She was pretty old herself -- 32, but I thought she was still beautiful. She wasn't exactly skinny but you wouldn't call her fat, either. She has light brown hair that reaches almost halfway down her back, but she only lets it down when she's getting ready for bed. When she's up and dressed, she does something with pins so her hair is sort of piled up on top of her head, or on weekends she puts it in a ponytail. Anyway, lots of guys at school have told me, "Gee, your mom is pretty," so you can see it's not just me bragging about her.

My mom had met Jerry last winter when a woman in a Jeep Cherokee ran into our Corolla in the parking garage at Mom's work. Jerry was the insurance guy for the woman (though he always made sure to remind everybody he was the _owner_ of the agency). Somehow he talked my mom into going out with him. Now this might make you think my mom isn't very nice (even though she really is), but I think she mostly started dating Jerry because she thought he might help her with our money problems. We've been divorced from my dad for over seven years (he lives in Seattle now), and even with the child support checks he sent most months, Mom sometimes had trouble paying all the bills.

Jerry drove a new Cadillac Catera and lived all by himself in a fancy condo on Wilshire Boulevard. When he took my mom out to dinner, it wasn't to any place that served Happy Meals. Once when I mentioned to my mom that Jerry smelled bad, she laughed and said it was probably the smell of money. I know he was married at least once before, but I don't think he had any kids. I don't think he liked kids much -- at least he didn't like me. The feeling was mutual.

After Sonia left, mom sent me to bed right away, but I was still awake when she came into my room a few minutes later and sat down on my bed to give me my goodnight kiss.

"What happened, Mom? Really."

She put this expression on her face that I call make-believe mad, when she wants you to know she's not really angry. "How did you get so smart? Did you inherit my woman's intuition?"

"Not so smart, but I can tell when you've been crying."

She took a deep breath, and began to shake her head slowly even before she spoke. "It didn't work out, Cupcake. I guess Jerry and I have broken up."

Normally I might've complained about being called Cupcake -- one of her names for me for as long as I could remember -- but her voice was shaking and I sure didn't want to do anything to make her feel worse. Still, I was definitely curious. "Why? What happened? The way you acted, it seemed like you were going to get married to him."

It was true. This was supposed to be some kind of "big" date tonight. Mom had brought home a pretty black dress that she had put on layaway a while back. She'd spent most of the day (and most of her paycheck, probably) at the beauty salon that day. And that evening, just before Jerry came, she called me into her bedroom to zip up her dress. She said, "Wish me luck, Darling; I think tonight just might be the night." I didn't say anything, 'cause I was pretty sure she meant that she thought Jerry was going to pop the question, and I was afraid she was right. Now it was pretty clear that whatever happened wasn't what my mom was expecting.

"Oh, he asked me to marry him all right -- but on his terms. Have you ever heard of something called a pre-nuptial agreement?"

"A what?" I asked.

"Pre-nuptial agreement. It's a contract that two people sign before they get married. Most people don't need them, but rich guys love them -- at least rich guys who are worried that their girlfriend is after their money. Jerry wanted to marry me -- as long as I wouldn't ask him for anything. Oh, he said he'd support me, but he would hold the purse strings, and he would decide how much of an "allowance" I could have. Corey, it was so humiliating...." She wasn't sobbing. Her voice didn't even sound like she was crying, but she couldn't control the tears that were running down her cheeks.

"Please don't cry, Mom. I'm glad you aren't getting married. Jerry is a God damn son of a bitch!"

At that, her eyebrows shot up, but so did the corners of her mouth. In an instant, she was on me, her arms around me, pulling me tightly to her. "Oh, Corey, my little lover, you are so sweet -- even if I should wash your mouth out with soap." She was actually giggling as she said it, so I knew I was in no danger.

"I love you, Mom. You could get somebody a lot better than Jerry."

"Well, I've got you, don't I? So I guess I already have someone better." Then, grasping my shoulders, she held me at arms length, looking me straight in the eyes. "Look Cupcake, I really need someone to cuddle with tonight. Would you sleep with me?"

"You mean in your bed? With you?"

"Well, I didn't think we'd sleep on the floor." She was grinning when she said it, but then, almost immediately, I saw the concern flicker across her face. "But it's okay if you don't want to. I'll survive if you'd rather not."

"No, no. It's fine." Actually, it was more than fine; it was like an answer to a prayer. When I was little, Mom often asked me to sleep with her, and just as often I would ask her if we could sleep together, using any excuse I could think of. Up until I was seven, or maybe almost eight, she never said no. Then, one day she just stopped letting me. I don't know if it was her idea or if someone told her she shouldn't sleep with a boy my age, but all of a sudden she had decided that I was a "big boy" and was supposed to always sleep in my own bed. After she told me that a couple of times, I never asked her again. And after that, if I even thought about it, I would get real embarrassed. Like I did something bad.

Without another word, I was out of my bed and down the hall. Minutes later, I was comfortably ensconced in Mom's big queen bed with the down comforter tucked under my chin waiting for her to finish her shower. Then, the bathroom door opened and my mom emerged wearing my favorite brownish-white (I think they call it "cream color" -- gross) nightgown. She didn't speak, but crawled into bed beside me, and turned off the lamp.

In the dark, she found my face and quickly kissed me five times on the mouth, with each kiss a little wetter than the last. Then, she pulled me to her, my back held tightly against her front -- like spoons in the silverware drawer. The feeling of her hot breath in my ear made me shudder as she whispered to me, "Night-night, my darling."

At that moment, I felt like I was in the best place in the whole wide world, and I was wrapped in the most luxurious blanket imaginable -- the warmth of my own mother. At my back, I could feel the squish of her boobies pressing into me, and the silky sensation of her nightgown felt like heaven, even through the barrier of my cotton pajamas. I wished the feeling could go on forever, and I decided that I would stay awake all night long, so I could enjoy this unexpected treat. But even before I could complete the thought, I fell asleep.

The next thing I knew, the room was filled with the gray light of an overcast morning. I ducked my head under the covers to escape the chill and was met with the heavy, damp fragrance that I knew, even then, came from the place between my mother's legs. I had turned over during the night and was facing her now, so I snuggled in close to her with my head bent to better drink in her woman smell that, to me, was better than any perfume she could ever wear.

Just then, a prolonged but subdued sound introduced another kind of smell to my little cave as Mom farted. Almost instantly she lifted the covers from my head with an embarrassed laugh, "Ohmigod Corey! Are you awake? What must you think of your mother who would do such a thing? I hope you're not too grossed out."

"It's not gross, Mom; I like it."

"Stop it, Corey! You're not serious!"

"Yes I am. I love you, and I love all your smells."

"All my smells?" She had leaned backed for a better look at me, and was staring at me like she thought I was crazy. Then, as if someone had just explained a joke to her, she smiled and made a mock grimace. "Good God, I seem to have spawned a little pervert." Then pulling the covers back over my head, she held me tightly while she released another long, noisy fart and immediately burst into gales of laughter. She kept me trapped there for just a second or two, and then, throwing back the covers, she jumped from the bed and dashed into her bathroom.

As soon as she was gone, I immediately moved into the space she had vacated and basked in the warmth she'd left behind. I still hadn't gone to the bathroom myself, so I guess that's why I sprang a boner. Still, I didn't have to go that bad, so I just lay there for a long time, rubbing myself to make the nice feelings stay. I was just on the verge of napping when I heard her muffled voice calling from the bathroom.

"Corey! Would you get some toilet paper out of the hall closet and bring it to me please?"

"Okay. Coming." The bedroom was quite chilly and my lightweight pajamas weren't much protection, so I didn't waste any time running to the linen closet and grabbing two fresh rolls of tissue and running back to Mom's bathroom. I tapped on the door, prepared to hand the supplies through a crack, but instead she called out to me.

"Just bring it in, Dear. I can't very well get up."

To my surprise, the bathroom was very warm -- overheated, really. Mother was sitting on the toilet with her nightgown hiked up around her hips. Her arms were folded in front of her and she was leaning forward, I guess to preserve her modesty.

"I wouldn't have asked you to come in here while I was doing my business, but you say you don't mind the fumes, so I'm taking you at your word." She looked both amused and doubtful, as if waiting for me to complain.

Her knees were pressed together, but with her nightgown hiked up, her legs were exposed from her bare feet almost to her hips. I set one of the rolls of tissue on the shelf just next to the toilet, tore the wrapper off the other roll, and handed it to Mom. As I dropped the wrapper into the wastebasket next to the toilet, my eyes were suddenly riveted to the shadowy dark place where her thighs came together. It was partially covered by her nightgown, and shrouded in shadow from the toilet seat, but there was a darker portion that, if I could only have seen it clearly, I knew would be revealed as a patch of soft, dark hair. The mysterious place that my Mother always referred to as, "down there."

Suddenly my mouth went bone dry. The heated air was rich with the smell of her bowel movement, my eyes were fastened to her secret place, and I gradually became aware that my stiff penis was beginning to poke its head out of the fly in my pajama bottoms. What I had told her earlier was the simple truth: I loved all of her smells. I don't know why; I think other people's farts and their poop and stuff smells gross. For some reason, though, I've never minded the way my own smelled, and don't ask me why, but when I smell my mom's, it seems like it almost always makes me get a boner.

"Thanks, Cupcake," she chuckled. "This the second time you've saved my life in just few hours. Now get out of here and let me take care of business."

That day was Sunday, which is usually kind of a boring day. This one might even have been a little more than usual. After her shower, Mom spent most of the morning in bed with the Sunday Times. I watched TV, but there's not much worth watching on Sunday morning, unless you're in to church shows -- which we are not. Anyway, I made some scrambled eggs and toast and took a plate in to Mom along with a fresh cup of coffee. It was no big deal. When you're the only kid of a single working mom, either you learn how to work the stove, or else you spend a lot of time being hungry.

"Mmmm! I thought I smelled something good."

"Well we're out of bacon, but eggs and toast are better than nothing."

"Much better, Corey. Some day you're going to make some lucky girl a wonderful wife." It was an old joke, and I don't know why, but it still made me blush every time she said it.

I rolled my eyes a little, just because that's sort of what was expected, then I sat down next to her on the bed. "So how are you feeling? About Jerry and all, I mean."

"Much better, thank you! If I still have any qualms, they mostly have to do with me being angry with myself."

"Why? You didn't do anything wrong."

"Oh, yes I did, Cupcake. I was all ready to walk down the aisle with someone I not only didn't love, but didn't even like -- just for his money. Ya know what that makes your mother?"

"I know what you're thinking, but it's not true. Everybody does things that they think will make their life better. That's all you were doing. I'm glad you didn't go through with it, but if you did, Jerry would have got a lot more than he ever could have paid."

That was a mouthful for me, but by the time I paused, out of breath, her smile was back. She nearly spilled her plate when she leaned over to hug me. "You little shit! I don't know where you learned it, but you sure know how to make a gal feel good. Did I remember to tell you that I really enjoyed having you to cuddle with last night? You were just what the doctor ordered."

"Good. I liked it, too. A lot."

"You did, huh? Want to do it again tonight?"

"Again? Tonight? Would it be okay?" She'd caught me by surprise, and I must have sounded doubtful. For sure I had that embarrassed feeling I told you about.

"What do you mean, 'okay'? Are you starting to feel funny about it?"

"Course not, Mom. But..."

"Oh Corey, I'm making your uncomfortable! Let's just forget I mentioned it."

"No, Mom, I really want to, but you know -- I'm a boy and you're a girl."

"Because you're a boy? Not because I'm your mom?" Now she just looked puzzled.

"Well, maybe a little, but mostly 'cause I'm a boy. Heather Wheatley sleeps with her mom all the time. They only got a one-bedroom apartment, but it's okay because they're both girls. That's all." I wasn't sure what I meant; maybe I was just looking for reassurance, but my voice trailed off, and my cheeks felt like they were on fire.

When I looked up, she had her arms folded and she was looking at me with a mixture of concern and amusement.

"I know exactly what you mean, Darling. That does pose a problem." That pretty much ended our talk, as Mom got up and went in to take her shower.

The rest of that Sunday, for me at least, was even more miserable than Sundays usually are. It was late June and school was out for at least the next two months. I didn't have a lot of friends, and my very best friend, Dennis Walker, had left three days ago to spend the summer with his dad in Illinois. There was nothing on TV, and Mom was off running the errands she missed doing Saturday -- the dry cleaners, the mall, groceries. I was left at home with nothing to do but think about my own stupidity.

What I'd really wanted was for Mom to tell me that it was okay for us to sleep together. I think I was looking for a way to keep it going for more than just a couple of nights. Instead, she had called my bluff and messed everything up.

For the rest of the day, I thought of almost nothing else. For some reason, I couldn't seem to keep my hands off my privates. My, uh, penis felt funny. Not a boner exactly, but it seemed swollen and heavy, and I was constantly aware of it. I spent so much time sitting on the toilet in the bathroom that evening that Mom asked if I had diarrhea.

At 9:30, half an hour before my normal summer bedtime, Mom turned off the TV and patted the couch next to her, signaling me to come up from my usual spot on the floor of the family room. As I sat down next to her, she put her arm around my shoulders and pulled me close.

"Lover, I've been thinking about what you said this morning about us not sleeping together because you're a boy and I'm a girl."

I just looked up at her and waited for her to continue, which after a few seconds, she did. "But I really need to have you with me -- at least for a few days. And maybe I misread you, but I thought you wanted to sleep with me, as well."

My heart leapt up with hope as it looked like she was reversing course and would allow me into her bed after all. "Oh Mom, I do want to. I --"

"So I've been thinking about how we could avoid the guilt trip of a big boy sleeping with his mom, and this afternoon I suddenly saw the answer."

"Yeah?" At this point I had no clue what she was talking about.

"If we were both girls, everyone would think it was perfectly normal for us to share a bed, so I thought, 'what if Corey would just pretend to be a girl at night?' No one would see us anyway, but it would help us to feel better about it, like there was really nothing wrong with it. And besides, it could be fun. What do you think?"

I was stunned. I was thrilled that she seemed to still want to let me sleep with her, but for the rest of it, she might as well have been speaking Chinese. "Pretend to be a girl? At night? What do you mean?"

"Well, I love having my own little boy, but at night, when we go to bed, I'd just pretend you were my daughter. We could cuddle up and be girls together."

"That's all?"

"Well, that's what I'd do. You'd have to pretend to be my daughter. You know, dress like a girl. And as you learn more, if you wanted to, we could try other stuff. Oh, Corey, it could be so much fun!"

Of all that she said, only one phrase jumped out at me. "Dress like a girl? You mean like wear a dress and stuff?"

"No, silly, of course not," she giggled. "You wouldn't wear a dress to bed."

"Well, then what--?"

"You'd wear a nightgown, like me."

"A nightgown? All I have is pajamas." None of this was computing, but I still had hopes that it might end up okay. That is, with me in her bed.

"No, dear. I got you a nightie when I was out shopping today. Would you like to try it on? Come on, let's get you undressed."

I was -- what's the word? -- stunned. I'm sure I must have looked like a zombie as Mom led me by the hand into her bedroom. There, lying on her bed was a pink thing -- a girl's nightgown -- in the same kind of slippery silky material that Mom's gowns were made of. In a twinkling, Mom had stripped off my t-shirt, helped to take off my sneakers and socks, and pulled down my jeans so I could step out of them. Before I knew what was happening, I was left standing there in just my boxers.

"Hands up!" she ordered, picking up the filmy nightgown.

As if in a trance, I obeyed her, and Mom slipped the gown over my head and extended arms, allowing it to drop like an opening parachute around my body. As the folds of the gown floated down around me, it was as if it were connected to a high voltage line. The fabric was cool and smooth and like nothing I'd ever worn before. Everywhere that it touched my body there was a separate little electrical shock of exquisite pleasure.

It was pale pink and made of very sheer nylon tricot. Ballet length, it hung to a point just above my knees. It had little fluttery cap sleeves that only just covered my shoulders, and an oversize lace collar. There was a panel of sheer, almost transparent, organza at the bodice that covered the place where my boobs would be -- if I had any. But all of those details were things that I would learn later. All I knew now was that it felt wonderful.

"Well, what do you think?" Mom asked. "It looks heavenly on you, and you look like a little angel."

If I'd been an old guy I probably would have thought I was having a heart attack. My chest felt like it was being squeezed. I couldn't catch my breath, and I literally could not talk. I wasn't sure if I was going to die of embarrassment or of an overload of pleasure.

"Do you like it or not?" she asked. She sounded apprehensive and I had a sudden vision of her changing her mind again.

"No. I mean yes. It feels really neat." It came out as a whisper, but her answering smile told me she'd heard.

"Good. But don't you think you should take off those underpants?"

I looked down and saw through the translucent fabric of my gown the dark outline of the blue plaid boxers that I still wore. "You mean just wear nothing underneath?" I asked.

"Of course. You didn't wear underwear under your pajamas, did you? Why would a nightie be any different?"

Suddenly feeling a little vulnerable, I tried to reach under the gown to pull down my boxers without exposing myself, but anyone who would have been watching -- and Mom was watching -- would have pretty much seen everything as I lifted the skirt and struggled out of the shorts, which by the way, looked awfully silly next to the delicate nylon gown.

But now a fresh and even more intense shock wave rushed over me as the silky gown caressed my penis, my scrotum, and my bottom. It was probably the fastest boner I ever sprang in my whole life.

"There!" Mom smiled. "Isn't that better? Now jump in bed, and I'll be there in just a few minutes."

I did as she told me and climbed between the cool cotton sheets of her big queen-size bed. Wrapped in the gown, I felt as if I could slide all around the mattress like an ice cube on our slick kitchen table. As I waited in the dim light from the nightstand lamp, I couldn't keep my hands off my body. I loved the way it felt. When I looked down and saw the expanse of sheer organza spread across my chest, I realized that I also loved the way it looked -- the way I looked.

It seemed like only a minute before mom was out of the shower and back in the bedroom wrapped only in a bath sheet. I watched in the dim light as she finished drying herself, and then, dropping the towel to the floor, slid into her nightgown. In the few short seconds that she was uncovered before me, I could see everything -- or at least I imagined that I could: the plump white globes of here breasts, the deep brownish colored circles that surrounded each of her erect nipples, and her places down there, though their details were shrouded in her soft dark fur. And then, in a single motion, she slid into bed and clicked off the bedside light.

With a toss of the comforter, she was alongside me, enfolding me effortlessly in her arms. Her right hand was in the small of my back, and she began to caress me through the sensuous nylon that clung to my body. "Mmmm. You feel nice. So smooth and warm and cuddly. Do you like being my little girl?"

"It really feels good." My voice was vibrating as every nerve in my body quivered in anticipation.

"And we can snuggle up, just like I used to do with my mother. Do you like that?"

"Mmm-hmm." It was all I could manage because Mom was kissing me, her lips closed but very wet against mine. Her hand against my back briefly moved upward, bringing my nightgown with it. Then I felt her warm palm against my bottom, and winced just a little as her fingers spread my cheeks and sought what was between them. She pulled me tight against her breasts and I could feel her stiff, protruding nipples as she squirmed against me. Because of the differences in our heights, my penis, rigid as any bone, pressed into her stomach just below her navel. The parts of her that were covered with fur were just opposite the middle of my thighs. There was no mistaking its location, because it radiated heat like a human furnace, warming my legs. As she held her kiss, I heard a little moan, a soft, high-pitched mewl from somewhere deep inside her. Then, strongly and unmistakably, I caught and breathed the almost palpable smell of her. It was the aroma I loved above all others, and I drank of it as deeply as I could.

Maybe I should've been scared, or embarrassed, or angry that she thought I was such a sissy that I would go along with whatever she said. But I didn't feel any of those things; it all happened too fast. I didn't know then what the days ahead might hold, but I had the distinct feeling that something really important had changed -- or was about to. And then, excited, over-stimulated, and exhausted -- and certainly without willing it -- I slept.

 

 

 

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© 2003 by Tamara Segunda. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, compilation design) may printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.