Dinner was aberrant that evening. Wasn't much of discussion between mother and son. Old business perhaps, school, work, friends, and the like. Did Inko get that right spaghetti sauce or caught the latest sale? Did Izuku use his money wisely from his recent allowance? Did he allow Katsuki or Shouto to take some coins for themselves at the arcade? Topics that were considered the norm in the Midoriya household. Only sounds were made were the tapping of utensils.
Izuku couldn't get the grips right on his chopsticks so he opted for a fork. Inko believed it was because the noodles were tough and undercooked. Leftovers were on the menu and Izuku wanted some noodles to go with his dinner.
She was still riveting from the earlier debacle on the couch. When hearing the doors open and the sounds of her son calling her, she immediately jumped out of the couch. The last thing she wanted her precious treasure to discover that she was having impure thoughts.
She bit into her spaghetti. She didn't want to call them impure. These feelings were natural as the day was long. Natural as a creature in search of a mate. With a husband overseas, the department was open and needed to be filled. She didn't feel comfortable with phone sex. She didn't dare ask her husband if there was another woman. If a husband was gone three-fourths of the year, then there was a strong chance there was one. It wasn't uncommon, actually encouraged by the sewing circles she sat from time to time.
Let the man be a man. We knew when tying the knot that they can't stay fateful.
Look as long as they continued to send money, then I am good.
Ever heard the saying, "if you love a person, then stick with them through the bad and the good."
I rather have a rich pitbull than a broke German Shephard.
As long there aren't any black eyes and beatings, then why complain. Men have needs.
It fascinated Inko that their needs as women weren't established. It wasn't as convoluting as it should be. Women have needs, but the tale-tell sign of love, honor, and obey made things null in void, questioning the mother on who established this law, God or the men who wrote the bible?
She reached for the center to get another piece of cornbread. Her hands bumped onto Izuku's hand.
"Excuse me," said Inko. Izuku didn't respond. He nodded silently, retreating his hand back to his corner. "Aren't you going to get another piece, dear," she asked her son.
He shook his head in disagreement. "Actually, Mom, may I be excused?" Inko watched how averted he was with her. His face was beet red and his eyes were looking elsewhere. Being a mother, she couldn't help but pry. "Is everything alright, precious?"
He didn't immediately answer. He took his plate. "Yes, ma'am." He bowed to his mother. "Thank you for the meal. It was delicious." He hurriedly made his way out of the kitchen. He turned on the water, placing the plate in the skin. Any leftovers were put in the disposal. He rushed into his bedroom, closing the door.
Very aberrant of her son. One, no matter how tough were the noodles, Izuku always got a second or third helping. Two, quite formal of Izuku in this setting. Even his verbiage and honorifics were talking to someone of importance versus talking to his mother. Finally, and quite surprisingly, Izuku never washes the dishes.
She wiped any residue off of her cheek. Today was an awkward day. For her at least, especially when using her son as fuel to relieve some tension.
No, it was fuel, she thought to herself. More of a casual picture as if one were looking at television. They weren't exactly focusing on the subject but happened to see the subject appear, making it a coincidence. That was the logic she used and she was sticking to it.
And since Izuku wasn't going to dig in, she might as well. She finished her meal in silence, planning to take a bath to clean off the residue from earlier in the evening.
The boxers should be dry by now. That was Izuku's first thought as he closed the door of his bedroom. Although he sleeps with his mother, his bedroom still served more of closet space or wanting alone time; in which now was perfect timing. Pictures of Gundam Wing, AKB47, Grateful Dead, and Scarface were dead as he looked into the mirror. He slowly took off his uniform, dropping it to the floor. He looked and observed himself in the mirror. White, crusty-looking patches spread onto his boxers. It wasn't his first time seeing this. Encountering it in his sleep at night, he always thought he was wetting himself.
It sounded stupid initially to Izuku but there wasn't much discussion of the "birds and the bees," or the talk. Some of which he confided to Tenya since he was the "all-knowing."
The white patches were semen he knew as he took off his boxers. He remembered Tenya telling him that men producing semen were natural. Signs of adulthood. However, as time progressed, feelings were to show in which semen was used for reproducing. However, if finding a certain somebody was unavailable, then a man has his urges.
Inside of his backpack, Tenya gave Izuku some visual aid in case of his sudden urges. He knew that he was interested in the opposite sex. He never tried to give it any further thought.
He still got ridiculed by Katsuki for sharing a bed with his mother.
Izuku was lost in limbo over the scene of seeing his mother in the living room. Her eyes rolling back, ingesting whatever desire what came to mind. Seeing her moan and bucking her hips like a beast.
His touching his mother's hand at the dinner table gave him unexplained feelings. The itch in his pants happened, thus making his aberrant decision to leave his mother. He wasn't trying to be rude. He just didn't know how to react.
Especially if those forbidden feelings were of his own mother.
Pondering whether or not to take a shower, he went to the closet to retrieve a towel. Sitting next to the closet was his backpack. His heart skipped a beat. Knowing that inside of that backpack was things that were wrong, he couldn't help but be curious.
He reached into his backpack. Wasn't wrapped in an envelope like any typical manga. The magazine that Tenya used whenever he had urges.
It wasn't a typical magazine that could be purchased behind the counter at any store. Tenya didn't like any pixels on his 'sweet spots.' Using his father's credit card through, Izuku held in his hand an uncensored magazine. He sat on his bed as he turned the pages. Plenty of pages of older women. Some were alone, others were in the position with men, other women, or both. Each turn, each sight, the stronger the itch on his dick. It didn't help that he was naked either. Scratching his head and feeling the queasiness of his stomach, he decided that he wasn't quite ready to stimulate himself.
Also, it was the knock on the door that gave him perfect timing.
"Izuku, are you alright," asked his concerned mother.
"Yes, Mom," said Izuku. "Changing out clothes so I can take a shower."
"Glad you are taking your's first," she said. "It's laundry day and I am finishing up. So be sure to put it in the hamper."
"Yes, ma'am," said Izuku. He waited patiently until he heard the footsteps fade away. He gathered what he needed and headed out into the hallway.
Inko hummed the tune of Greensleeves as she worked on the final batch of laundry. The bathroom hamper was one of the last as they both placed their clothes there. The sound of the shower was running as she heard Izuku cleaning up. She was relieved. Out of sight, out of mind was the mindset she as she knew that she didn't get caught.
Not wanting to elongate her stench, she took advantage of the privacy as she slid down her panties, dropping it to the floor. She would get a fresh pair when she got back to her bedroom.
When she opened the hamper, she spotted Izuku's boxers. Her heart began pounding quickly.
The dampness and its' stickiness determined his potency. Beginning to become excited about his scent, she spread the boxers and welcomed it to her face. She embedded her nostrils into the bleachy fabric, licking any contents of her son.
"Hey, Mom, are you in there," asked Izuku.
She yelped a bit, fortunately off-guarded by her son. "Yeah, dear. What do you need?"
"Can you pass me the shampoo, please?"
"Sure," she said as she reached for the bottle. She kept her head turned as she heard the door slid and she felt him taking it.
"Thanks," he said before sliding the door closed.
She panted, cautious to not alert her son. It had to be the heat, she thought to herself. She wasn't going to let one incident involving his boxers define that those were feelings for her son. It was simply masturbation. Sign of a frustrated, lonely housewife. She gathered what she needed from the hamper and poured it into the basket.
There aren't any feelings. There aren't any feelings there. Izuku is my precious child. My precious treasure.
Izuku was finished with the shower. With his towel wrapped around his waist, he was ready to head back to the bedroom and dry off. His plans for the rest of the evening was playing video games before preparing for school in the morning. He even planned to go and hang out with his friends for karaoke since tomorrow was Friday.
He washed his face and brushed his teeth. He checked himself in the mirror before heading out. As he was walking, his feet stepped on something. He looked down.
He swallowed a lump in his throat. His itch was returning. His heart began beating.
His mother's panties were on the floor. It was obviously used, judging by the condition on how it was rolled. However, he recognized the pink panties.
Her eyes rolled back as she thrust harder with her hands. She licked her lips in pleasure. Izuku suddenly started feeling left out. He started to feel weird as if he wished he could help her tend to her need. He became more jealous of her hands, as he wanted to aid her. She began panting louder, which caused him to stare more.
He reached over and took hold of the panties. Even from the distance of his hands, he could smell his mother's scent. It reminded him of fresh salmon on the market, which happened to be one of his favorites. He took a whiff, which entranced his senses when making contact with his nose.
He inhaled the scent, covering his nose with her panties. He took deep breaths to ingest whatever fragrance he can get.
Mother! My precious treasure! I am so, so sorry Mother. Forgive me!
He wasn't alone.
In the prying eye of the crack of the bathroom door in the hallway lied the mother who purposely left it on the floor. Confused and in denial, she admitted. But it did conclude something.
The feelings were mutual.
To be continued….