Stay and have breakfast with mom.

A smile tugs up the corners of you mouth and you give a shrug. "Sure, mom, if you want to make breakfast, I'll have some." She beams like you just gave her a present, and gives you a tight hug. Her embrace lingers long enough to start making you feel uncomfortable, and you begin to notice her full, soft breasts pressed against you. She even nuzzles her face against your chest a little. "Wonderful," she says, still holding you tight. "I don't get to spend enough time with my favorite guy."

Finally she pulls away from you and starts pulling ingredients from the fridge and pantry. "Sit down at the table, it'll be ready in no time." He tells you. Your mom who taught you and your sister to make your own breakfasts when you were 9, so she could get a little more sleep before work looks perfectly happy cooking french toast for you. She's like a housewife in a sitcom from the 50s. That is, if 50s sitcom moms were allowed to wear robes that barely came down past their asses and were almost half open in the front. You can feel your face flush slightly. You're a bit ashamed that you even notice your mom's lush, curvy body. You pull your eyes away from her, and hope she didn't notice you looking or your blush when you did.

Finally, she sets a plate down in front of you, leaning forward as she does, making it impossible not to have a very close up look at her deep cleavage. "Here you go, honey," she says. "Hope you like it."

You nod and clear your throat to answer, "It, ah... looks great, mom." Even though you found yourself looking at her tits almost as much as the food.

She grins at your answer, and leans in a little closer, to place a soft kiss on your head. "Thank you, Dave." She turns away from the table.

"Aren't you having any?" you ask her, before taking a taste. It was pretty good, but at this point you're more concerned with your mother's odd behavior than the food.

She shakes her head. "No. I'm counting calories. I'm hoping to slim down a little, get fit. Just having fruit for breakfast." She twists her body back and forth to show it off. "I'm down a couple of pounds. Do you like how I'm looking?" she asks, sounding like whether you do or not is really important to her. She grabs a banana from the bunch on the kitchen counter, and starts to peel it. She raises it to her lips, and takes the tip of the fruit into her mouth in a way that can only be described as 'suggestive'. Her tongue extends a bit to touch it, her lips close around it, and then there is the slightest pause before she slides just a bit more of it between her lips and takes a bite. Her eyes roll back in her head as if it's the most delicious thing she's ever tasted.

You hesitate for a moment, not sure what is going on, how to answer her, or even if you should.