Then, as with almost any sexual encounters, things progressed. The obvious start of this was that even though I was not looking at her, she knew I had become aware that she was observing me. She made sure I would know by making her presence more obvious from shuffling her feet outside my room. In fact, it might be that this was her intent even the first time I realized she was there. All that it took now was for me to turn toward her as I was reaching the end. Maybe she would turn away, but maybe she would continue to watch, and my fantasy would be complete.
And she did continue to watch. She looked with her Marilyn Monroe smile, her eyes glinting, her head cocked a bit to the side, and her mouth slightly open, like at the start of an “Oooh, oooh” that could be married to an orgasm or to seeing a man exposing his engorged cock. She was seeing me just as she did all of the men. And with admiration and pleasant surprise as I came to my release. So now my routine became not only maturbating with the door open, but having it open was the sign for her to come by and watch me.
Mom didn’t stay on the other side of the door for long. When she and I knew we were in this mode, she came in closer, until I was coming right in front of her, with her looking down at the tip of my penis as I squirted out. Women have told me that ejacuation is not as erotic for them as men make it out to be, but for my mother it seemed to be a never-ending source of excitement. With her so close to me, I had to do it – I pushed against her to cum on her. My cum hit her blouse and rolled down onto her skirt. She didn’t move away. After the three or four squirts, she rubbed her blouse. It worked more into the fabric, she smelled her hand, and said we would have to be more careful and control where I was “squirting that thing.”
The operative word in this was “we”. From then on she took my hand and helped “direct” my penis as I came off. And directing it started earlier and earlier in the act, and went from doing this by moving up and down with my hand to taking the shaft of my penis, near its base under where I was rubbing. And this then went to helping me rub, and then to her taking over. Mom now had gone from an observer, which of course is bad enough, to engaging in a sex act with me: a hand job, though at the time I didn’t know that that was a thing. I thought what she was doing was a new and special act.
Summer was half over, and it was only a month before I was out of the house. And with my going to college, we both knew that this would come to a close. I didn’t know what this meant for Mom. She didn’t show any signs of being turned on from all of this herself, and if she had to find a sexual release, she was doing it afterwards quietly behind a door that did stay closed. Nor was she being overtly sexual outside of our brief periods in my room.
But I started to sense that she had to complete the act. That, as I know it now, she could not let me go without having become a sex goddess to me. The manifestation of this, the point where it was clear things were moving in this direction, was that she kept her nightgown on longer into the day. My complicacy was that I gave the door-ajar signal while she still had it on. I wanted to do it while she was still in her nightgown because with her nightgown, there really was only that sheer sheet of fabric between my cum hitting her clothes and hitting her body.