Wait! What the fuck was going on? Why was I looking at Mom and appraising her as I would some college chick? I was mentally tabulating her assets and was ready to assign her a number? This isn’t right!
I saw the old flower bed and attacked it with my pick and also with a damn fury. I need to think properly. Straighten up and fly right, dumbshit.
Although, since I had already calculated a number, I might as well share it: 9.5.
Now, you may say that’s a damn high number for a mid-forties woman. Well, fuck you. And the horse you rode in on. Mom was rather statuesque at five foot nine. And she had curves, and they were tight. And her frame, while not tiny like a starving model, was very pleasing. Her boobs were… big. I don’t fucking know how big. Is the cup size that important? I guess a ‘D’. Probably more. Double that. Or more. They seemed to be freestyle inside her shirt which now looked like a halter top. But the best part was her face. Good chin with no hang-downs or doubles going on. Nice skin as she kept out of the sun for the most part. She kept her teeth white, which makes one younger looking. But the best parts were her eyes and her smile. When she smiled at you, it wasn’t all fakey shit, her eyes lit up and you knew she was smiling at you and that meant something.
Mom called to me, and smiled at me as I turned around. It was that great smile, too.
“Easy tiger, you don’t have to do it all in one minute, you know!”
We got the flats out and the topsoil and worked the ground together. We used to do this a lot, especially moving around like we did. We usually got some half-crappy house so Mom always wanted to plant flowers to make it look nice. As an old man of 21, I find it very therapeutic to plant and make things grow. We chatted about all kinds of stuff, until she brought up a funny subject out of the blue.
“So Travis,” she began. “Speaking of masturbation…” she let that hang there.
I raised my head up from the shovel and looked over at her. She was sitting on her knees with her legs tucked under her. Her breasts jiggled as she tried to break open a plant flat.
“I didn’t know we were speaking of masturbation?” I said. Or asked. Kind of both.
“I just wanted to let you know that you were the winner.” She said.
“I’m the winner? Of masturbation?”
“Oh yeah, you beat your brother by a mile.”
I laughed out loud at that one.
“Are you sure? How do you know?”
“A mother knows. Crusty socks, crusty old T-shirts, kleenex in the bedroom garbage can… a mother knows!” There was that smile again, with the twinkly eyes.
“Well, Sam always was a bit of a pussy!” Not really true. Sam was a tough guy and played college football. But still, he wasn’t much with the ladies.
“It just made me a bit nervous, I thought maybe you were going to turn into a sex freak or something.”
“Well, how do you think I felt, mom!” We laughed again. “Like you said, Sam was pretty, uh, well not much of a sex drive. I felt like a maniac compared to him. I mean, morning, noon, afternoon, night time… wait… why am I telling you all this? Goddammit!” somehow she tricked me into talking about my whack off activities.