Listening comprehension.

I think it's time to talk about something important, or more accurately, something juicy, and tell you about my family. It's not exactly complete, because one fine day my father decided to divorce my mom and leave the apartment to us. There were reasons for that, which I learned about several years later, and not from my parents. I pieced the information together and, in the end, the puzzle came together, but I'll tell you about that a bit later. Back then, as a thirteen-year-old kid, I didn't get angry at my father, simply because I didn't take what was happening seriously, and no one forbade me from communicating and meeting with my dad, but despite that, I stayed living with my mom in a one-bedroom apartment.

We have a good apartment on the third floor, a spacious room and kitchen, a glazed balcony, there's space, but you understand that some inconveniences are present when a pubescent teenager ends up living alone with his mom. I had just started getting seriously interested in girls and sex in general. There were no problems with education in this matter, as the older kids at school told me everything possible, but my mom also one day gave me a lesson about how the intimate world works. Maybe she wanted to talk to me about it a bit early, or, on the other hand, maybe even a bit late. In any case, from that moment on, my perception of life with her alone changed, and I think she directly felt it.

My mother and I always had a trusting relationship and we tried not to hide anything from each other, even if something seemed not entirely appropriate. And there were no awkwardnesses observed from living together. In addition, as in any normal family, taking care of and helping each other was the norm. Well, I mean, I could bring her underwear while she was showering. We have a curtain in the bathroom, so I couldn't see anything extra and my mom understood that, so she didn't worry. And she didn't lock the door, as she knew I wouldn't barge in to peek. And we both didn't feel any shame about it. She, for example, could also notice my underwear, accidentally pulled down a bit too low, and not verbally point it out for the sake of decency. And such moments happened almost every day. Either my mom, giving me a massage, would slide her hand a bit below my lower back and run her fingers under the tight elastic of my pants, pulling them down; or I might, passing by her in a doorway, accidentally touch her butt with my hand. Well, of course, it's hard to dodge such an ass in that situation. My mom's ass is quite big and firm, and it looks beautiful. But not about that now, but about the fact that all such situations seemed innocent and mundane, and we didn't attach much importance to them.

In addition to the above, my mother and I shared worries, and talked about relationships. I always liked, and still like, listening about her friends, suitors. She never complained about a lack of male attention. Well, of course, with such looks and character. A short woman with confidence in her eyes, responsive and attentive to people, quite slim, with short hair and a cute face, always tries to pick the right clothes for every occasion. By the way, her wardrobe is quite modest in terms of types of clothes, but sometimes it can be something tight, compromising, or a striking outfit with a deep neckline, where there's something to look at. And in summer days even more so, because a bra is generally a rare occurrence there, despite having a widely set second-size bust "under the hood." And so on one hand, my mom cares about her appearance and behavior in society, but on the other hand, she doesn't worry about what anyone will say. And, in general, that's the right approach. She still sticks to it.

When I turned 14, I got my passport and already considered myself a serious guy. This didn't strongly affect my relationship with my mom, but changes happened. We also rarely argued over some trifles and then quickly made up, also talked about frank topics and saw nothing wrong in it, also sometimes went shopping together. But I began to remember past events more clearly, react to them more emotionally afterwards, pay attention to details I would have missed before. For example, an unfamiliar guy who started coming to our house often. No, I wasn't jealous, on the contrary I was happy for my mom, but from those short moments in which I saw their communication, I felt some strange chill. She reacted to his words and actions with detachment, and he drilled my mom's figure with his gaze every time and behaved unusually in my presence. And I was curious who this dude was, what he was like, and one evening I started a conversation with my mom about him. She didn't reveal all the cards then, saying he was a friend of her friend's and came purely for work. My mom, by the way, works in the HR department of a communal organization. But we perfectly understand the absurdity of that excuse. And I sincerely didn't understand why the woman who gave birth to me and shows me very trusting relations wouldn't tell the truth. I wouldn't judge her for finding herself a man, but, remaining in the dark, I had to accept it.

The year in the army, as expected, turned out to be difficult. But I overcame all the difficulties, among which were worries about my mom. After all, I love her as a parent. By the way, my father often called me and told me what was up, what was new. He started communicating with his ex-wife again and I, at one point, thought about their reunion, but that was not meant to be. For me, that was, in a way, even a relief. I didn't want to share my mom again, as that would have spoiled our relationship. But besides my father, there were several other candidates as potential contenders for the property in the form of my mother. I learned about that only after returning from service. But everything in order.

Returning home, the first thing I did was hug my mom tightly, recalling those feelings and sensations from meeting a loved one. I especially needed my mother's support then, as my girlfriend decided not to wait for her boyfriend and left to study in another city, and this act of hers put me in a kind of emotional stupor, but everything normalized fairly quickly. There was plenty of time to think and I thought about the future, deciding that the first thing to do was get a driver's license, and so I signed up for driving courses, and spent my free time either with friends or with my mother at home. And she, by the way, was present with me much less often than before. Either she went out with friends, or left on business, or stayed late at work. And it would have been fine, but in addition to these moments, rumors started spreading around the neighborhood that my mom was an object of interest and sexual attraction for various men. This initially infuriated me. And not just because of the rumors, but also because of some strange sense of ownership, which I hadn't noticed in myself before. Once, standing on the balcony, I heard a conversation between neighbors. An old woman and her old man were discussing some woman from our entrance, who was recently picked up by car in the evening and taken away. And this wasn't the first such conversation from which conclusions could be drawn. There was also a case with a guy who once approached me and my mother when we were returning from the store during the day. I stepped aside then, as if hurrying my companion along, but she wasn't in a hurry and was agreeing on something with the stranger, although she had definitely met him more than once. And there were many such suspicious and compromising situations. And a strange phone conversation in which my mother strictly told the person on the other end that she needed to be back home by 10 PM; and the reproachful, condemning look from a neighbor across the street when I met her walking home from work. Also a forgotten and, as a result, not thrown away used condom. The conclusion suggested itself. Of course, one could understand why it happened, because my mother spent a year alone, without me, and it was probably hard for her. But I was burning inside, it infuriated me. Moreover, the fact that many people found out about her sexual activities tore me apart. How to behave at home now, considering all the information received? Plus, I needed to clarify the missing pieces of this puzzle.

Every time we were home in the evening, my imagination switched to autonomous mode. If my mom was lying on the sofa, some fantasized guy would immediately appear before my eyes, pulling her pants and panties off, lying on top and starting to kiss passionately, pressing his tool against the crotch of the victim lying beneath him. If my mom was taking a shower, then I already imagined she wasn't alone there and was sitting on the edge of the bathtub so her partner could enter her washed pussy from behind. And such moments became more frequent. Not that it stressed me out much, but it didn't bring joy either. One morning I was getting ready for a driving lesson and was sitting in the kitchen, drinking coffee. The object of my sexual fantasies was standing nearby, leaning her elbows on the table and looking at her phone. I swear a ghost approached her from behind and started fucking her with strong thrusts so that her buttocks swayed like waves during a storm, and her tits, visible through the spacious blouse through her dark hair, were hitting each other. It was even funny.

I don't know what was happening to me since I found out what my mom does. Maybe some turning point was manifesting. Then, after a few days, I accepted this choice of my mom's. After all, if she likes it and it brings her some benefit, then I should be happy for my loved one. Plus, she always seemed to me a liberated, experienced, and in places brutal woman, with hints of femininity. But the desire to know a bit more, to delve into the details, was paramount. Only, the most interesting thing is, no ideas came to mind on how to clarify the situation. But everything happened by itself. A guy who was learning to drive with me helped me with this. We weren't really acquainted, he seemed about twice my age. On the day when I was imagining my mother's erotic pleasures in the morning, on the way to class I met this very guy. He was clearly in a good mood, but was heading in a different direction from the necessary one. Well, we got talking and he decided to share his achievement, that, like, he was going to fuck some local milf while he had the chance. Apparently he really liked her, as he had visited her more than once and even managed to find her on social media. With a final chord, he finished off my surprise by showing me photos of his future sex victim, and I saw my mother in them.