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I looked over at my father, happy to see that he was now thoroughly engrossed in a pocket book, having put aside the legal papers he had been reading. A weird thrill coursed through me because when Dad read a book, he really immersed himself in it. I glanced at Mom. She was similarly ensconced in the movie, the magazine lying back against her chest, leaving her legs bare and slightly parted, the brown leather skirt having slipped more than halfway from her knees to her lap. Perfect. Now, if only I had the guts for the plan I'd dreamed up that had prompted me to make the hot chocolate. I pushed down on the handle of the mug, pressing its bottom onto the bulge in my pants. Please let this work, I pleaded, glancing up at the ceiling. Then, I risked home and hearth.I dipped my finger into the hot chocolate, moved my hand quickly to hover over Mom's legs, and let hot chocolate drip onto her thighs. Before the first drops splattered over Mom's pale skin, fear overwhelmed me. What had I. "Oh, God!" I think to myself, "not now!" But it has no effect on what's happening, and soon, too soon, I have a big problem. In the dark and chatter of the slow journey, in the foggy conditions, I feel her shift her ass - there is a little intake of breath that only I can hear. Then I feel her move again; she is exploring me with her butt. I have one hand round her back, one hand across her lap, underneath her half open coat. My right hand is close to her left breast, and her imperceptible squirming has brought my fingertips into contact with the swelling undersurface of that exciting mound.In the dark I kiss her ear lobe gently and she snuggles closer to me. I get a little bolder and start to caress her breast through her sweater. "That's nice," she whispers, so I slide my hand under her sweater into more direct contact. She hums gently into my ear and almost unnoticeably arches her back to press against my actions. I move my fingertips to the hot swelling skin and, sliding the cup.
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