- Holding mood and time for her
- Holding mood and time for her – 2
This is a new story called “Holding mood and time for her” let’s begin…. I was in my second year of college attending school out of state when word reached me that my father had died. It had been totally unexpected and a major shock to my mother and younger sister along with myself. Busy as I’d been away at school it had been almost an entire year since I’d even seen them.
My sister Miya had just recently graduated from high school and like me had been planning on attending school out of state. All that had changed now with the death of our father. miya and mom had always been close, a bonding that had in fact left me feeling a little jealous of their relationship. I hadn’t had the same type of closeness and affection with my own father, feeling much closer to my mother than I ever had with him, but not even close to the same level than miya and mom had shared and known together.
Miya had already decided to remain at home, keeping mom company and offering whatever love and support that she could as opposed to moving away and attending school elsewhere. And though finances wouldn’t leave mom in any real desperate situation, I couldn’t in all good conscience see myself remaining where I was either, and thus made preparations to return home and attend the same local university that my sister miya would be attending in the fall.
Needless to say my unexpected homecoming was a mixed blessing under the circumstances. I was delighted of course to finally see them again. Miya, much to my surprise, changed dramatically in the short time since I had seen her last. Mother too had changed, looking a little more haggard perhaps than I remembered, but still wonderfully attractive even through all that. In many ways, the two of them could have passed for sisters.
Miya had the grace and natural beauty of youth of course, long dark hair which fell way past her shoulders, a sculpted body which she had kept in shape through her participation in the women’s basketball team that she played for in school. Mom, as I said, looked like a slightly older version of my sister, her hair the same color, though shoulder length, same matching pair of brown, almost golden colored eyes, and within an inch of one another in height, nearly reaching six feet.
It had been difficult two weeks after returning home, getting through the funeral, then sorting through what seemed like a mountain of personal items, not to mention the paperwork, most of which we boxed up to donate and give away to charities after first selecting a few personal keepsakes for ourselves.
It was understandable then that none of us had been in much of a good mood during this time, nor had I seen my own mother smile in so long that I began to wonder if she ever would again. When she finally did, it had come about most unexpectedly, and had caused me the greatest amount of embarrassment I had ever known. Looking back on it now, I was of course mortified, but later came to view the “incident” as we recalled it, as the major turning point in each one of our lives.
Crisis, hardship and stress can have a funny effect on people, and can very often lead us into dealing with it in a myriad of strange ways. Well, maybe for me anyway. That’s how I dealt with it, doing something that I’m not sure most, if many would approve of or view as very appropriate or morally acceptable. I jerked off. A lot.
It wasn’t about being horny, or in general had anything to do with sex at all. It was simply my way of relieving the stress, dealing with all the hardship and sadness that had smothered the atmosphere inside the house like a wool blanket on a hot summer’s day.
I had left behind friends, one girl in particular. And though we’d just started getting close, and had become intimate, we hadn’t gotten to the point where either one of us was ready or prepared to discuss any long-term commitments together. Still…leaving all that behind had been difficult enough, and one more stress factor that I now carried on my shoulders.
Another of course was mom now looking at me, and even referring to me as “The man of the house now,” which carried with it far more responsibility than I was at the moment prepared to accept.
Miya had left earlier that morning for the part-time job she had taken in order to save up a bit of money for school. Mom had left a short time later needing to do a few errands, leaving me alone at home with time on my hands, though I was glad for the downtime to myself.
I had promised to take the last of the things we’d planned on giving away, having just finished loading them up in the back of dad’s truck when I went back inside the house to pee before leaving. Like I said, I was stressed at having to do that, and decided to do the one thing that had been bringing me some temporary relief. With everyone gone and out of the house, I wasn’t at all concerned about getting caught, especially as I knew it wouldn’t take me very long to cum. This wasn’t one of those long drawn out masturbatory sessions I’d enjoyed with myself in the past.
This was just about stroking myself off to a climax, a fast quick one…and then be on my way again. I’d stepped into the bathroom intending to pee first, which I did, without closing the door. I then proceeded to stand there fisting myself pointing my hard stiff cock directly at the toilet. I stood thinking about nothing really, no lusty images, and no thoughts of fantasy coming to mind.
Just the simple concentration of sensation in getting myself off. So absorbed in this, I hadn’t heard the unexpected return of my mother who’d left only minutes ago. She had left her wallet sitting on the dresser in her bedroom, remembering she had done so, and then returning in order to retrieve it.
She had reached the upper landing of the stairs without me having heard her. As she headed down the hallway towards her bedroom, she naturally passed by the open door where I currently stood, still stroking myself, eyes closed, and completely oblivious to her presence. Her peripheral vision had alerted her to the fact I was in there, and she had slowed thinking at first I was perhaps just brushing my hair or washing my hands perhaps, but then stunned into immobility at the realization of what it was that I was doing.
Her timing couldn’t have been any more perfect, or worse, depending on how you looked at it I guess, for it was at that precise moment I felt the first surge of my spunk leap from my prick and begin squirting into the toilet bowl below me. I had leaned forward, one hand on the wall in front of me for support, aiming my now exploding cock directly and purposely towards the bowl. At first, mom again thought I actually was peeing, and nearly spoke, reminding me to close the bathroom door when I used the bathroom,
even if I didn’t think anyone was home. Which is when she swallowed whatever words she was about to say, her surprise at realizing what it was I was doing, likewise freezing her in place with the shock and uncertainty of how to respond to it. Especially as I stood there squirting spurt after spurt down inside the bowl as she stood there watching me.
Even then, I wasn’t aware she was standing there, until I heard her gasp, and the sound of footsteps hurrying down the hall to her bedroom. Even as I fumbled to shove my prick back inside my pants, I heard the sound of her bedroom door opening, and then closing rather quickly.
“Fuck!” I said to myself, embarrassed, mortified, and now confused more than ever as to what to say to her about it, if anything. I decided to say nothing, hoping for the best in the event she might pretend nothing at all had happened, which is what I decided to do unless she did otherwise. I flushed the toilet, watched my cum-curdles swim down through the whirlpool making sure they all entirely disappeared and left no tangible trace of what I’d just done, and headed back down stairs to the truck.
Needless to say, I fretted and worried about it the entire time I was gone, trying to come up with some reasonable justification for my behavior without coming up with one, and then sheepishly returning home a while later knowing I would have to face my mother.
Not too surprisingly, she didn’t say a thing when I came into the kitchen. She stood putting away the few groceries she’d gone to pick up.
“Can I help?” I asked, wondering if that might trigger any dialogue, which it did, but giving me a sigh of relief in the way that she answered.