Stay home and help Mom

"I've got nothing planned," You admit with a shrug, "I can help you around the house today, Mom," you offer, wondering why both your sisters look so disappointed.

"Thanks, John, that'd be great," Your mom says cheerfully as she starts to wash the breakfast dishes, humming a soft tune under her breath as she works.

"No problem," you assure her as you finish your breakfast. "Joan, if you want, I can pick you up after school?" you offer, trying to cheer her up a little.

"Oh, okay," your youngest sister sighs as she pushes her plate away. "Janis, can you give me a ride to school?"

"Sure," your older sister agrees somewhat wistfully, "let me grab my workout clothes and we can go."

As your two sisters leave the kitchen, you wonder briefly why their attitudes changed so abruptly. Shaking the thought from your head, you quickly gather up the remainder of the dishes and carry them over to the sink. "Here, Mom, I'll finish these up," you offer as you slip the plates into the sink. "You're supposed to be taking it easy after the incident, so why don't you go sit down and let me do this?"

"Okay, John," your mom laughs, letting you jokingly push her away from the sink. "Thank you," she says after a brief pause, leaning close to you to kiss you lightly on the cheek. "I appreciate this."

"You're welcome, Mom," you murmur, trying to hide your embarrassment at her sudden display of affection. What troubles you more is how much you appreciated the feel of her body pressing against you for the brief moment. 'Focus here, John,' you curse yourself mentally as you try to forget how her ample breasts felt as they brushed against your chest, and turn your attention back to the dishes. It doesn't take you too long to finish up the dishes, just long enough for your sisters to announce that they are leaving.

"So what did you have in mind for me to do?" you ask, wiping your hands as you walk into the living room where your mom is sitting.

"Give me a few moments, John," your mom sighs, her hands massaging her knee as she sits on the couch.

"Your knee still bothering you?" you ask, concerned, knowing that after the Land Rover incident she'd had trouble with her leg. The driver had kicked her several times in the kneecap, leaving her with a severe limp for a few days. The limp was gone but the way she was massaging her leg reawakened your concern.

"Every once in awhile it pains me," your mom tells you with a slight wince, her fingers continuing to rub at her knee.

"Here, let me," you offer, kneeling down in front of the couch, your hands reaching out, sliding up her leg as she moves her hands away. Your fingers work over up her shin, squeezing and working at the hard muscles of her leg, massaging the tension out of her cramped muscles.

"God, John, that feels good," your mom sighs, leaning back against the back of the couch as your hands move up her leg, massaging her lower thigh. "Where'd you learn this?" She sighs contentedly.

"From Monica," you reply (naming one of your many ex-girlfriends), focusing on the massage as your hands slide further up your mother's leg. "She was studying to be a massage therapist."

"Mmm, I never liked her," Your mom moans in pleasure, "but I'm glad she taught you this."

"Oh, she taught me a lot more than just this," you snicker, your mind wandering back to all the nights of crazy sex the two of you had.

"I don't want to know," your Mom informs you with an arched eyebrow as she sinks further back into the couch. "Oh, you could do that all day, John, you've got good hands." She sighs in contentment.

"If you want, I could give you a massage," you offer, trying to hide your eagerness, the thought of having your attractive mother laying out in front of you as your hands roam over her body causing the inevitable stirring in your pants.

"I don't know, John..." She hesitates, obviously uncomfortable with the idea of being naked in front of you.

"You don't have to get completely undressed, Mom," you assure her, trying to put her mind at ease. "You just can't be wearing any bulky or obstructing clothes. You could wear a swimsuit or just your underwear," you suggest, your fingers continuing to work at the tense muscles of her leg.

"Okay..." She agrees after a few moments of thought, won over more by the relaxing sensations of your hands than your words. "Where?"

"Well, you can either lay on the floor, but that's not going to be that comfortable, or we could use your bed," you suggest.