Stacy's Mom - 2/6

Cover art by MX-FA

Contains: Breast Expansion as Weight Gain, Feeding

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Stacy’s Mom

III

Sometime in mid-January, I was at the mall engaging in one of my favorite college pastimes: lusting after new gadgets and tools at the kitchen store, when I heard a familiar voice behind me.

“Sofia?”

Christie wore a blue and gold argyle sweater that clung to her oversized breasts and a pair of jeans that must have come from Lane Bryant.

“Hi Miss–er– Christie…”

“Is Stacy here with you?”

I was surprised Christie didn’t know. “No, she –um– went on that trip? To New York?”

Christie rapped her forehead with a knuckle and chuckled. “Of course, of course. I must be getting forgetful in my old age.”

Before I could protest, she went on. “Though my daughter is the one who went off on a school trip and forgot all about my birthday…”

“Oh my gosh, it’s your birthday? Do you have any fun plans?”

“Oh, not really… My friends all have younger kids still, so they’re too busy to go out. I’ll probably just get some takeout and watch a movie.”

I spoke without thinking. “What‽ You can’t spend your birthday alone! Let’s go somewhere tonight!”

“Oh, I don’t know…” She protested. “A pretty young thing like you doesn’t want to spend her Saturday night with an old lady… plus I’m not really into the whole ‘party’ thing.”

“Don’t be like that, Christie. We’re practically the same age!”

Christie gave me a flat stare that carried the unspoken word: “Bullshit.”

“Alright, fine,” I said, palms out. “But I don’t believe for a second that you were never a party girl. I bet you went wild for some Mister Brightside back in the day.”

Christie laughed, sending her soft tummy and huge breasts wobbling. I wanted her so bad…

“You got me there! Though it was more like Zoot Suit Riot.”

I decided to press my luck. “So, where are we going for your… twenty-ninth birthday?”

“Oh, your flattery is almost as good as your pie, girl.” She looked thoughtful for a moment. “You know the burger and wings place over on Maple?”

“You mean Joe’s?”

“That’s the one. Meet at like… six?”

“I’ll be there.”

***

I was already sitting at a high-top table when Christie arrived at Joe’s. She’d swapped her ponytail for big loose waves framing her face and changed into a dark blue dress with little white flowers. Although I knew it was for her birthday, I let myself imagine she’d gotten zhuzhed up just for me. I could tell she hadn’t worn the dress in a while—the buttons down her front puckered, and every so often, I got a little glimpse of her flesh-tone bra beneath.

Christie ordered the same drink as mine, a Long Island, and we started with spinach artichoke dip and pretzel bites. After reading through the sauce list a few times, we each ordered 36 wings with the excuse of “having some to take home.” I was going to get habanero, red chili, and chipotle, but after Christie asked for honey barbecue, teriyaki, and lemon pepper, I changed my second two sauces to sweet Thai and buffalo mild. Some horny part of my brain was hoping I could convince Stacy’s mom to put away five dozen wings tonight. There’s something wrong with me.

Just like at Thanksgiving, being with Christie was like hanging out with an old friend. She ate up my handful of interesting college anecdotes, and after a few embarrassing stories from Stacy’s childhood, I got Christie to share some of the wild things she got up to in her twenties. I snacked slowly so she wouldn’t feel like the only one eating, but once again, I watched the curvy blonde gobble up more than twice as much food as I did.

When we were each on our third drink, Christie said, “Don’t look now, but I think that boy over there is checking you out, Sof.”

“Which guy?”

“Three tables over, the tall one with the hat.”

I made a show of casually glancing around the room and spotted a table of three guys about my age. One of them was wearing a flat cap. I caught him looking our way before suddenly finding something very fascinating about the car commercial on one of the TVs overhead.

“Pfft, if anything that guy’s checking you out!”

“Girl, what guy would be looking at a fat housewife with you sitting right here?”

“Uh, the kind of guy who’s not into flat-as-a-pancake beanpoles? And you are not fat,” I insisted. The Long Islands must have been hitting me harder than I thought.

“Yeah yeah…” Christie grabbed another wing. “‘Thick,’ or whatever you kids say now…”

“Anyway,” I went on, “he’s not my type.” I could hardly believe what I was saying. This was not where I’d expected the night’s conversation to go.

“Oh?” Christie smirked, “What’s your type, then?”

I scanned the room for real this time, spotting a blonde server with a decent set of tits squeezed into a black tank top. By coincidence, she passed right by our table carrying a pitcher and a set of glasses.

“That type.” My cheeks felt hot, and I’m pretty sure I was grinning.

Christie’s eyes widened, and she turned to stare shamelessly at the server as she delivered the beer to a table and checked on another.

“I didn’t know you swung that way, Sofi,” Christie smirked as she stirred her drink with her straw. “A few more of these, and I might tell you about the time I tried it…”

I felt cold, like someone had splashed ice water over my head. Time slowed to a stop as the edges of my vision dimmed. It took me a second to realize Christie was still talking.

“…pretty good taste, though. Want me to go talk to her for you?”

“Oh my god, Christie, no!”

She took a long pull on her drink, then slid down off her stool.

“I’m goin’ in.”

I reached for Christie’s arm to stop her, but she moved faster than me. I watched in horror as she stopped the cute server on her way to the kitchen. I couldn’t hear them, but it was obvious what they were talking about when Christie pointed over at me. I gave a tiny wave, then covered my face with my hands. I very much wanted to crawl into a hole and die.

Christie was grinning when she climbed back into her seat. “She’s got a boyfriend. She said she’s very flattered, though.”

“I can’t believe you actually did that…”

“Come on, Sofia. ‘You miss every shot you don’t take,’ right?” Christie said, plucking another wing from a bowl. “Plus, she was flattered. You’ve got plenty to offer any girl lucky enough to catch your eye.”

My face felt hot again. I desperately hoped I wasn’t blushing. Or at least, if I was, that Christie hadn’t noticed. “Fine, yes. Thank you. Can we change the subject now, please?”

“Aww… but I have, like, a million questions! When did you know you were gay? Have you had many girlfriends? What were they like?”

“Christie…”

Christie held up her hands. “Sorry, sorry. I go a little ‘mom mode’ sometimes. You were telling a story about a girl in your cake decorating class, right?”

It had been a pie class, but I didn’t correct her.

***

By the time we got the check, Christie had eaten all of her wings and, with a little encouragement, another half-dozen of mine. We chatted and drank and laughed for hours until we were both too full to eat or drink anymore. I insisted on paying since it was her birthday.

Neither of us was in any condition to drive, though with as many as Christie put away, I’m pretty sure she was worse off than me. She insisted I come back to her house when she found out I’d never seen The Princess Bride, so I got us a ride share. I’ll be honest; I didn’t put up too much resistance. I was far too infatuated with Christie to turn down a chance to spend more time with her, especially in my drunken state.

So I made popcorn, Christie made drinks, and we watched her favorite movie. I could see why so many people love it. It has a simple kind of charm. Of course, it didn’t hurt that I got to sit beside the woman of my dreams through the whole thing. Christie somehow got even cuter after she changed into leggings and an oversized tee. I felt tiny electric sparks every time her hip touched mine or when she reached for a handful of popcorn from the bowl in my lap. Though that might have just been whatever peach vodka stuff we were drinking.

When the movie was over, I sat up and stretched. “I should probably get back to campus.”

Christie’s words were slurred from the alcohol. “What? Your car’s downtown.”

“I’ll use the app.”

“No, no, no…” she said, “You can sleep in Stacy’s room. I’ll make us breakfast in the morning.”

Before my swimming brain could come up with another excuse, I was interrupted by a loud gurgling from Christie’s middle. We glanced down at the same time, though I was pretty sure she couldn’t see her soft belly past the mounds of tit stretching long flat wrinkles across her big shirt.

Meeting her eyes, I asked, “Want me to heat up those leftover wings?”

Christie touched her middle. “Oh, I probably shouldn’t…”

I got up and went to the kitchen anyway.

***

And so I slept in my roommate’s childhood bed, fantasizing about her hot mom. I imagined myself sneaking into Christie’s room across the hall, wondering whether her lips would taste like wing sauce or peach vodka. For better or worse, between the alcohol and nervous exhaustion, I passed out before I had a chance to find out.

The next morning, I woke with the dawn. I’ve always been a light sleeper, and I was far too worked up after last night to sleep in. Christie was still asleep, so I went down to the kitchen to make coffee.

From what little I could remember of the night before, I thought about making a French Exit; but couldn’t bring myself to actually go through with it. Instead, I started rummaging through Christie’s kitchen while sipping my coffee. I found eggs, bacon, and a box of that ‘just add water’ pancake mix. Luckily, she also had all the ingredients to make real batter. I was pouring the first circle into the sizzling butter when Christie staggered into the kitchen.

“I said I was gonna do that.” She said with a weak groan.

Her clothes were wrinkled, and her hair a mess. She’d gone to bed without washing her makeup, and her eyeliner and lipstick were smudged. How was every new version of her hotter than the last one? I imagined my lips smudging that lipstick even more…

Shaking myself, I turned back to the stove and muttered, “Sorry…”

“Oh well, I’m sure yours will turn out better anyway.”

Christie poured herself some coffee and then saw the container of flour still sitting out on the counter.

“Did you make batter from scratch?”

I nodded.

“Nice! I’ve tried it but can never get the consistency right.”

Christie made a cute little hum when she popped the first bite of my pancakes between her teeth. Leaning over the table, she gave me a perfect view down the neckline of that big shirt. Thanks to her stomach being stretched out the night before, she managed to put away five pancakes. I lost count of the bacon and eggs that joined them.

Eventually, Christie leaned back in her chair and put a hand to her middle, sighing as she sipped her coffee. “You should come over and make breakfast every morning. Though I might have to buy new bras if you did.”

She chuckled, and I managed to fake my own laugh along with her. Stacy once told me she’d gone up a cup size after she moved in with me, and Christie had just confirmed where her daughter got her lucky genes from. Remembering Christie’s line after she’d tried to set me up with the cute server, I decided to take my shot.

“Well, I don’t know about that, but I had a lot of fun last night. You should text me if you ever want to hang out again.”

I could tell she wanted to give me the same protests from yesterday, all that BS about a ‘pretty young girl’ hanging out with an ‘old lady,’ but she rested her mug on the table and smiled instead.

“I had fun too. I just might take you up on that.”

We took another ride share downtown to pick up our cars, and Christie hugged me when we parted. I spent the short drive back to campus—and most of my Sunday—daydreaming about the feel of those soft, full curves pressed against my body.

The situation was so strange. It wasn’t like Stacy was my lifelong friend or anything, but I still felt pretty weird about crushing on her mom. It’s not like anything was going to really happen, though. She’d turned 39 yesterday, which meant she was almost 14 years older than me. And a hint about an experiment in college didn’t mean she was bi. But none of that stopped me from replaying the conversation at Joe’s over and over in my head. Christie seemed more excited and curious than anything. Maybe I did have a chance…

One thing I knew for sure—I was very much looking forward to seeing Stacy’s mom again. Even if all I got to do was feed her more of my cooking and feast my eyes on her gorgeous body, it would be worth it. We were just two adult women hanging out; what could be wrong with that?