Chapter Text
They didn’t always hold hands, but Ashley was protective of her son. And affectionate. While walking over a footbridge crossing the channel, water eddying gently from the occasional breeze, they sporadically held hands. She adored how clingy he could be at times, which at nine was something she relished. Occasionally he would detach, to grip the black metallic railing between their path and the river’s bank. He claimed to see a fish, sometimes a frog, or a glimmer of something promising.
She loved how adventurous and lively he tended to be.
It was cool out, early March in rural Utah. But not terribly cold, and on the fence of early spring. Ashley was wearing a long-sleeve fitted pink shirt, and a pair of high-waisted white yoga pants. Matching them was a knit cap on her head, hugging her long dark brown hair to her ears.
Henry, despite his youth, or perhaps because of it, she wondered, was a shorts-year-round type of boy. At home he traipsed about in hardly anything more than boxers, claiming that if he wore more, he would feel ‘claustrophobic.’ She found this cute in a way, but also admirable. So she encouraged him to prioritize his own comfort. In ways, so did she—never shying from wearing too tight, or too revealing, clothes around her son.
Any implications, especially in tandem with onset puberty, simply never occurred to Ashley. She wasn’t exactly the sharpest tool in the shed, and after giving birth to her son, ditched by her 22-year-old boyfriend, at age 17, Ashley had to rely on family. This only included wealthy foster parents who weren’t thrilled about her situation; they essentially cut associated and verbal ties with her, while continuing to pay for her home and additional child-rearing costs via a fund that was valid until she turned 30. With no social life and a friends circle that dissolved when she got pregnant, Ashley had only her baby boy.
She put all of her convictions in him, and raising Henry to be as loving and carefree as possible. This, in turn, made Ashley not only highly protective and yet lenient, but also extremely pliable to his…opinions.
“It’s so lovely out,” Henry remarked, pausing to look around. A visitor’s center to the riverside park was visible in the background, back the way they had come. They were only about halfway across the footbridge. Four others were in the area, albeit a ways off, in opposite directions; a man and woman in their sixties, if not older, and a pair of girls in their 20s that could be friends, sisters, or partners.
“Isn’t it?” Ashley asked, pausing to look around. She briefly leaned back against the railing, and suddenly her son hugged her. She giggled and reciprocated the embrace.
Ashley was 5’10”, her long legs and slender frame making her naturally copious bust even more prominent. Henry was on the ‘tall side’ for a boy his age, at 4’6”; toe-to-toe with his mom, his forehead reached the lower hemisphere of her breasts.
Which occurred now, nonchalantly nuzzling her round, clothed, bulbous breasts as he hugged her. Henry’s shorts-clad erection nestled between her lower thighs, seeming unconcerned with its detection. He cherished the embrace, and hoped it never ended.
“Oopsie,” Ashley said, when she tried to lean forward, preparing to spin them around and resume walking. There was a faint ripping sound, that of fabric caught on something.
Henry immediately noticed, and gripped her waist. He shimmied her snug pink shirt up some, revealing a band of pale midriff above the high waistband of the smooth white yoga pants. He peered behind her, his left cheek briefly brushing the side of his mom's large left breast. Any amount of contact excited him so; even with her huge breasts stuffed into a full-coverage shirt, and some kind of bra beneath it, his boyish mind and virgin senses treasured the haptic adventure.
“You’re snagged, Mommy. Your shirt, I think.”
“Oh, darn. I really like this shirt.”
“I do, too,” Henry said, pouting, and looking up at her from around her breasts. His left hand had risen to clutch her right boob, his hand dwarfed by it.
“Aww, thank you, baby. Um, can you get it unsnagged, without ripping it?”
“I’ll try. Be still. I’ll need the right amount of force and gentleness, here.”
Ashley giggled. “You’re such a smart boy.”
She had no idea.
He pumped his hips between her lower thighs, while pretending to fiddle with her snagged shirt. It was the back of the bottom hem. His hand periodically relinquished it to caress or knead the dip in her lower back, directly beneath the white waistband. Simultaneously he mushed the left side of his face against her left side-boob, while mumbling “gotta…pull you…off, without…ripping…shirt.”
“Thank you, sweetie. For being so meticulous.”
Finally Henry actually freed the shirt, an all-too-easy maneuver in reality, for two reasons: One, the older couple was approaching. Two, if he went on for any longer, he feared he might cum. He’s only ejaculated once in his life, and it was three days ago, during a pillow-humping endeavor while spying on Ashley on their front yard, through his bedroom window; she had been trying to fix her bicycle.
Henry’s recent realization of his arousal and what it meant had led him to become bolder with exploiting Ashley’s gullibility.
As he stepped back, mentally conquering his erection, she faced him and straightened her shirt. Then she thanked him, cupping his face with a slight bow, and kissing his forehead. When she stood, she gently took his hand and they began their walk back toward the parking lot.
They passed the elderly couple, who smiled cordially and nodded at her. Their unspoken kindness helped concrete Ashley’s faith in her parenting.