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Special Batter

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Sometimes crazy things happen. The events I’ll tell you about here happened last summer. I’ll warn you up front that there isn’t much sex in this tale, but it’s what happened. And just for the record, everyone talked about here was 18+ when events took place.

Last year I was a graduating senior in high school. An only child, I lived at home with an only parent – my dad having gone off to other pastures years ago. I was and am a pretty typical teenager, with a somewhat athletic body but more apt to play video games than sports. I had an on and off girlfriend April throughout most of high school. Even though we were “off” as our senior years drew to a close, we arranged to go to grad night together as sort of a final thing before we both headed off in different directions.

My mom was and is a pretty cool chick. Not quite a hippy type, but at the very least a free spirit. In my years growing up she had always been very comfortable to talk openly with me about nearly anything. I remember the time she talked to me about weed. She told me about how she had smoked some in her youth, but gave me some non-preachy and balanced grown up perspective on the it. I told her honestly that I had not tried it, but I would have been very comfortable telling her honestly if I had.

SENIOR YEAR: September

In the first month of my senior year during an “on” time with April we ended up having one of those open conversations, but this time about sex. Unlike my lack of exposure to weed, I did have experience with sex and I felt totally at ease discussing it with her. Many parents would have been at least a little beet uncomfortable in that situation, but my mom was thoroughly chill. A already knew that she wanted to make sure I was using condoms and wasn’t going to make her a grandma that young in her life. But she was also interested just to talk to me about how I felt about it… how was I coping with being in a sexual relationship? How was the gf coping with it? I think we talked for nearly 3 hours that evening. She seemed pleased/amused by my take on sex and maybe a little wistful thinking about it as a single person herself without an active dating life that I knew of.

Toward the end of the talk she probed for more details about some the things we did. I think she was curious about what my gf was willing to do and where she drew the line. I was not in the least bit hesitant to be open about it with my mom, but at the same time I think I reveled in making her work for it. She would ask an open-ended question and I would answer honestly, but not completely. She would look at me with a wry smile trying to read me. I’d smile back as if to challenge her to ask more directly. I think my mom liked a challenge like that.

With the half smile and a twinkle in her eyes, she asked me “so are there things you like to do that she doesn’t like?”

“Mmmmm… ” I answered, absently smiling and looking off into space as if recalling. “Yeah, for sure”, looking back at mom with a challenging smirk.

“So, I’m thinking… probably no anal?”, raising an eyebrow as if to say ‘there, take that!’

I laughed and said, “No, her ass is still virgin as far as I know.” Smiling at her, thinking ‘back atcha.’

Thoughtfully, she responded “Ok then… No ass fucking…” making eye contact to see if I reacted. I just smiled. “April strikes me as a girl who doesn’t mind giving a good BJ. Hmmm?”

“Yep, BJs are in the good category for her.” Smile never wavering, I narrowed my eyes just a bit to signal that she was getting warmer.

“But she might not be a swallower.” Raised eyebrow, looking for my reaction. “Yep, I’m gonna say she doesn’t like to finish a BJ that way?”

“You’re sort of right.” That made her smile more. “She’s done it. More than a few times. But it’s not her favorite thing to do.”

“A lot of girls don’t like that”, she said thoughtfully. Perhaps recalling some of her own exploits. Then, looking back at me with a smirk, “Of course, some girls love it.”

“Did you love it?”, I asked, genuinely curious.

Again with the thoughtful look off into space, “Yep. I did.” She looked lost in thought for a few seconds. Then looking back to me with the half smile and a coy raise of one eyebrow, “I definitely did.”

The conversation tamed out after that, but it had been a nice talk. I did not have any kind of incestuous feelings about mom, but I did get kind of a charge out of talking to her about sex that way.

SENIOR YEAR: November – March

In the months that followed, it became a bit of a routine for her to tease me about it. One night after coming home from a date, she looked up at me from the couch in the living room and asked “have a good time?” I nodded affirmatively but perhaps a little unenthusiastically. “Mmmm, no swallowing I guess?”

It was an unexpected comment and made me laugh. “Nope,” I said with a dramatic sigh. “She enjoyed dinner but didn’t want the desert.”

Mom smiled and lamented, “Awww, so sad,” before turning escort buca back to the TV. I went upstairs and to bed in amusement. Truth was, I didn’t really care that much whether April swallowed after a blow job but mom sure seemed to have a fascination with it and it had somehow become a regular teasing thing between us. Maybe she just liked to be able to talk about that kind of thing with someone. Or maybe it was a little bit titillating for her. Not sure.

Another Friday evening a couple months later I was warming up some dinner in the kitchen and mom asked, “no date tonight?”

“No, we’re sort of ‘off’ at the moment.”

“Aww, sorry to hear that,” she said with some concern. “You ok?”

“Yeah, we’ve been on the rollercoaster long enough that I’ve gotten used to it,” I said without particular sadness. In fact, the ups and downs of the relationship and worn on me and probably on April too. By that point, when we were together it was more because it was comfortable and easy than from either of us being passionate about it.

I brought my dinner into the living room and plopped down to eat while mom watched something on TV. I guess I felt like seeing if she was in one of those sparring moods that night. With a faint mischievous smile, I said “I’ll have to just enjoy my dinner without dessert tonight.” I realize it was a lame thing to say, but I wanted to see if I could provoke a reaction. I put a forkful into my mouth and chewed looking toward the TV. She didn’t say anything, so I glance her way to see the playful half smile that said ‘challenge accepted.’

“So sad,” she said slightly nodding knowingly. “Well, if she doesn’t appreciate the dessert then I suppose it’s no real loss for April.”

“I guess.” I chewed and went back to idly staring at the TV. Then I put my fork on the plate and looked pointedly at my mom and asked, “So what did you like about it?” That took her by surprise. “I’m just curious, “I said,” taking another bite but holding my eye contact with her.

Mom is amazingly unflappable. She cocked her head thoughtfully, “Well… I never really thought about it.” Seemed like she was really thinking about it, not just looking for a playful reply. “I guess it felt extremely intimate.” After a few more thoughtful moments, “and naughty.” She looked at me and smiled. “I guess I liked the naughty feeling of it.”

I continued holding eye contact with her, chewing my food and giving a slight nod. “Interesting.”

“Is it?” she asked. “Is it interesting?”

“Yeah,” I said. I guess it was interesting to me. “It’s interesting to understand how someone would feel about doing that.” Putting another bite in my mouth and looking back toward the TV while suppressing a smile, “Since I’ll probably never experience it.”

“Well, if you ever did you know that I would be perfectly ok with that,” she said like a good open-minded mom.

“Yep, I know” I smiled and glanced back at her. “Still, not too likely at this point.”

A minute or so later she said out of nowhere, “I like the taste.” I stopped chewing and looked at her in some surprise. She continued, “I liked the taste.” She seemed pleased with herself and waiting to see my reaction.

Regaining my composer, “I didn’t think most girls liked the taste. Even the ones who swallow, I thought they just tolerated the taste. …or tried to swallow it without tasting it in the first place.”

“Well,” she said, “then I must be the exception.” Now I was fascinated. I put my plate down and swiveled to face her. “That’s it.”

“No, no, no, that’s not it.” I smiled at her. “Now you have to talk about it.”

“Nothing more to say,” she said. Then after a few beats, added “Well, I could tell you a salacious secret… If you’re interested?”

“Yes, interested, definitely.”

She shifted into a storytelling position and began to tell me. “There was a thing your father used to do. It was before you were born.” She was recalling. Now I was feeling curious to hear, but she suddenly seemed at a loss for how to say it. I raised my eyebrows and shrugged to urge her on.

“Ok, I’ll just tell you. Sometimes… he used to serve it to me…” Momentary pause. “As in, with food.”

“Really?” One of the few times I have felt that surprised with my mom.

“He knew I liked it. As in I really liked it. One day when he was making a salad for dinner, he threatened to add his ‘special sauce’ to the dressing. I think he was saying it just to get a rise out of me, but I called his bluff and said I would love it. He told me he was doubtful, but I told him to serve me his special sauce.” I was incredulous with what I was hearing. From my mom.

“And he did it, and I ate it.” She smiled. “And I loved it.”

“He didn’t—” I started to say, but mom interrupted me immediately, saying “No, no, he stuck with the normal salad dressing for himself. Your father wasn’t kinky like me.” She smiled again. Clearly she was enjoying my dismay.

“After that, randomly buca escort bayan he would add the special sauce to something he made for me and I always enjoyed it.” I suspected she was feeling something sexual as she recalled this. “Those were in the good days. By the time you were born, the pressures of life were turning things around on us and we lost that adventurousness.”

I nodded slowly and remarked, “That’s one of the most surprising things anyone has ever told me.”

She looked proud. “You have a kinky mom, I guess”

“I guess so.” I still had more curiosity about it. “So you never had a meal with special sauce after that?”

Thoughtfully, she shook her head no.

“Not even with date after that?” I asked.

“No,” she said. “Haven’t had an opportunity since then.”

After long seconds of thoughtful silence, I said “So sad…”

Wistfully, she replied “yeah…”

‘Special sauce’ became one of my favorite occasional teases for mom after that. I noticed that when I did it, she seemed to react… like it was bringing back the sexual feelings of her youth. She was still a very attractive woman and not old enough to give up on having sexual relationships. I thought maybe if it made her a little bit horny to think about that, it might spur her to look for a relationship.


The end of the school year. April and I were graduating. We were not together, but were on good terms and also both still single. I asked if she wanted to go to Grad Night with me. It was a late night at a local amusement park that was open after hours only to grad night groups such as hours. We went, had a great time. It never felt like ‘getting back together’, but more like ‘enjoying each other one last time.’ We left the park just before 3:00am and on the drive taking her home we stopped in a secluded area and did what teenagers do in those situations. It was nice. I got home around 4:30, tried to sleep and failed.

When my mom came downstairs in the morning with a small basket of laundry I was still up, in the kitchen looking for something to make for breakfast. I in that state where you are dead tired but also wired and a little loopy.

“I’m surprised to see you up,” she said.

“I feel dead but can’t sleep.”

“Have fun?” she asked.

“Yeah, it was really fun.” I was picking through various breakfast options in the pantry. Nothing looked appetizing.

“How was April?” she asked me. I’m not sure if she mean it generally or was looking for some juicy details, but in my loopy state of mind I assumed juicy.

“Mmmm she was so good,” I said with a contented look.

She smiled, “Good! I was hoping it would be a… mmm… satisfying night for you.”

“It was satisfying.” I pulled a box of Bisquick out of the pantry and set it down on the counter. “I’m making pancakes, you want some?”

“I would love some, but I’m going to resist.” I know she is trying to eat right, but again I’ll blame loopiness on the boldest moment in my entire life…

“Are you sure? I’ll make it with special sauce?” I said it wait a smile but instantly felt bad about having said it. I had just stepped over the line and made it weird. I had that kind of moment where your head suddenly clears because you feel like you’ve just fucked up.

I tensed waiting for her reaction and she looked at me. I couldn’t decipher the emotion in her expression. It looked quizzical. And thoughtful. Or perhaps challenged. I swear I had no intention of actually challenging her in that moment. I simply said something impulsively that I thought would be funny.

“Alright,” she said. She looked at me in the eyes for a moment. “Alright,” she said again. “Sure.” And then she smiled at me and went into the laundry room.

I had sort of an out of body experience starting a fire under the griddle, taking a large bowl out of the cupboard, scooping the bisquick into it, breaking an egg and adding milk. As I whipped the batter, I wondered what I should do. It was just a joke. Or a bluff. Crap.

To be honest, my head was swirling with so many thoughts that I went through the whole process of mixing the batter and starting the pancakes without adding any of the kinky ingredient at all. When mom came out of the laundry room, I was flipping over the pancakes. I looked at her nervously to see what her frame of mind looked like. She looked fine. Content even, but maybe in kind of a strangely contented way. She looked down at the pancakes finishing on the griddle and then I swear she looked at my shorts. My body temperature probably went up 5 degrees in an instant, realizing she was looking to see if I had a hard on, probably wondering if I had done it. I was wearing baggy gym shorts, so you couldn’t really tell if I had anything going on. Which I did not until I realized she was looking at it, at which point I’ll admit I started to get a chubby. She walked over to the dining room table and sat down. She was waiting to be served.

As buca escort I put the pancakes onto the two plates and walked over to the table, I wondered if I should come clean (no pun intended) about there being no ‘special sauce’ in the pancakes. But honestly I had no idea how to say it and was at a loss for forming a sentence anyway. I set one plate in front of her and the other at my chair, then went to get butter and syrup. When I returned to the table with those, she was just staring at the pancakes. I thought to myself, she is mortified that I am expecting her to eat them. I should let her off the hook and tell her these are the regular old non-special pancakes. But as those thoughts went through my head, she took a slide of butter and placed it on one of them, then cut the butter pad in half with her knife and moved half to the other pancake.

“Are you going to eat too?” she asked me.

“Oh, yeah.” I sat down.

I put some butter, then some syrup. My head was spinning,

Then she said, in caring mom-like voice “You don’t have to eat it if you don’t want.” She said it sort of as a question. My God she really believes I did it. I should totally just tell her the truth.

But before I could say anything, she cut a bit of pancake with her fork and put it into her mouth. She didn’t chew at first. She held it in there, with the fork still partly in her mouth. Then slowly drew the fork out and even more slowly started to chew. And then smiled. Looking off into nowhere in particular, but then over to me and still smiling. “It’s good.”

I think I smiled back, but I don’t really remember.

She took another forkful, this time more purposefully. “It’s very good.” She looked at me again and smiled. After that we finished breakfast mostly in silence. Mom ate every bite. As she got up, she thanked me for making breakfast. And as she walked toward the laundry room, turned back with a mischievous expression and said “Lets do it again sometime.”


SENIOR YEAR – One week later

The first couple days after that morning things were kind of quiet between mom and me. We did all of the normal things. I was out of school and enjoying the luxury of having free days for the summer. I decided to start going to the gym during the summer to be in a little better shape to start college in the fall, so I was getting up early in the mornings. Some evenings I went out with friends, some I stayed home. On the evenings at home, it felt very normal again with mom – as if nothing weird had happened. The only real difference is that both of us steered clear of the playful banter. It was all talk about our days, things on TV, what friends were doing. By the following Saturday morning it was almost as if it had never happened. I was up early, stirring milk into a bowl of cereal in the kitchen when mom came down the stairs. Seeing me there, she asked “What’s for breakfast?”

In that moment I was frozen. Was she hoping for a repeat of last week? I stammered that I was making cereal and she looked just a little bit disappointed. But she pushed past that emotion and cheerfully came into the kitchen to fix herself a coffee. I wondered if I should say something, but she started making smalltalk about something and the moment fizzled. All seemed per usual, until the following morning.

Sunday is typically my morning to sleep in. I woke up around 9:45 and eventually made my way downstairs. As I came down I heard mom in the kitchen making kitcheny sound. I said good morning and walked around the table toward where she was standing.

She was at the counter. There was a box of Bisquick next to a large mixing bowl. I stopped and stared at it. She stopped and watched me, a big mixing spoon in one hand.

“Making… breakfast?” I asked in an incredibly lame way.

“Yeah.” Her reply was almost inaudible, more a breath than a spoken word. “Feel like pancakes?” she asked me.

“Ummm… Sounds good, yeah.” I was still just standing there looking at her. I felt my dick twitch and realized I might need to make a fast getaway in order to avoid embarrassment.

Mom took an egg, cracked it on the side of the bowl and emptied the contents into it. She took a second egg and cracked it, then holding it over the bowl she looked back at me as she slowly tipped that one in. We were staring each other right in the face. Mom’s expression was kind of blank, as if she was in a trance. No idea what my expression must have looked like at that moment.

She began to stir the eggs in slowly, still making eye contact with me. I stood there. I had a fully on chubby forming in my gym shorts. I shifted a little bit, trying to adjust myself without making it look obvious, but mom’s gaze lowered wordlessly to look at my crotch as she stirred. Then she looked back up with me, then over to the counter where she picked up a measure cup of milk and dumped it into the bowl. And as she stirred the milk in, looked back to me as if challenging me. I looked back at her, probably like a lost soul. I had not moved an inch.

She stirred the batter for two or three minutes, the two of us just holding eye contact. I thought of turning and running upstairs and almost did. But what I actually did is stammer in a broken voice “nothing special this time?”

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