Before long, the event I’d originally described as a “one-time thing” became a daily tradition. Every night before bed, Henry would go into his room, turn off the lights, and wait naked beneath his sheet. A few minutes later, I’d come in, slip on my trusty latex glove, apply some lotion, and stroke his erection until he came. After a few days, it was becoming as much a part of our daily routine as making breakfast or getting dressed.

About a week after I started helping Henry on a nightly basis, he decided to throw me another curveball.

“You know, Mom,” he said as I was pulling on the disposable glove. “I think it would really help me get off quicker if you’d show a little more skin.”

I should help Henry.

“Excuse me?” I asked, mildly shocked by his words.

“Yeah,” he began, his eyes flicking down to the conservative blouse that contained my breasts before he looked back into my eyes. “I just think it would make things go more smoothly if I had something sexy to look at. You’ve got a really nice body, so I just thought you could…”

I should help Henry.

As his words trailed off, I felt my cheeks grow flushed. “Henry, I’m your mother,” I reminded him. “I’m already doing more than a mother should do for her son.”

I should help Henry.

“I know, I know,” he replied. “But I swear, I’d only be looking at you as a woman, not my mother. That would make it okay, wouldn’t it? It really would help.”

I should help Henry.

“Listen,” I sighed. “Let’s just get through tonight, and I’ll think about it, okay?”

Henry gave me a bright smile. “Thanks, Mom.”

With that out of the way, I lotioned up my glove, pulled back the sheet, and proceeded to wrap my fingers firmly around Henry’s shaft. I’d started to pick up on what he liked, so as I began stroking, I twisted my hand slightly. Henry let out an approving sigh, and I picked up speed, pumping him slightly faster.

In no time at all, I’d worked up a pretty good pace. Usually Henry would be pretty close to coming by now, but that night it felt like he was nowhere close. Seconds ticked into minutes, and before long I could feel my hand beginning to get tired. Finally he let out a little grunt, signaling for me to grab my paper towel and position it to catch his load. As I cleaned up his sperm, I couldn’t help but think about what he said. Showing a little skin would help things go faster.

I should help Henry.

The following night, I decided to stop by my bedroom before I went to Henry’s room to help him. Stripping out of my T-shirt and jeans, I replaced them with a tank top and a pair of cutoff shorts. The sort of outfit I might wear if I were going on a casual date. The sort of outfit I’d wear if I wanted to show a little skin while still being modest.

As I stood in the doorway to Henry’s room, I could tell that I was on the right path from the way he smiled.

“You look great,” he said as I stepped into his room.

“Thanks,” I smiled, taking my seat in the bed next to him.

“Could I make one request?”

“I guess so,” I said as I donned my latex glove. “What’s up?”

“Do you think you could ditch the tank top? I know it would help.”

I should help Henry.

I gave my son a stern look. “You asked me to show a little skin, not to get naked. If that’s what you want, then—”

“No, no, no,” he said, cutting me off. “Not naked. I just want to see a little more. Please, Mom? It would help so much.”

I should help Henry.

I let out a sigh. “Fine,” I said, reaching for the hem of my tank top. “I’ll do it for tonight, but don’t get used to this. It’s not going to happen every time.”

Henry just smiled as I pulled the garment up and over my head. With my top gone, my breasts and cleavage were on display in the black lace bra I’d decided to wear. I felt a little exposed, but I’ll admit that Henry’s admiring gaze was strangely comforting. I knew I should help my son, and this definitely seemed to be helping.

That night, it didn’t take long at all to get Henry off. The whole time I stroked him, I could feel his eyes on me, staring at my bra-clad tits. I’ll be honest, the attention started getting to me. Between his stares and the little grunts and moans he was making, I found myself getting slightly turned on myself. It wasn’t that I was turned on by my son, I reassured myself. It was just the intensity of the situation.

“Oh, God. Thanks, Mom,” he groaned as I slipped my top back on. “That really helped.”

I smiled. I loved hearing that I helped him. After all, I should help Henry. I am his mother. I found myself almost racing to my room that night. Diving into my bed, my hands almost immediately slipped under my panties, going straight for my pussy.

“It’s not Henry,” I panted over and over as I worked myself closer and closer to orgasm. I wasn’t this turned on because it was Henry. I was just turned on because it’s hot to get a man off while he stares at your tits.

Despite my claim that going shirtless wouldn’t become a regular thing, after a few days it was clear that it wasn’t going to stop. During those first few nights, I told myself that I wasn’t going to take off my shirt again. Then I got into Henry’s room, and I just couldn’t help myself. I knew how much it helped him, and something about helping Henry just made it feel right.

I should help Henry.

It didn’t hurt that having his eyes on my breasts was turning me on, either, I frequently reminded myself as I plunged my fingers into my wetness and got myself off before going to bed. It wasn’t that I was attracted to Henry at all. That would be disgusting. I was just in need of attention myself, and his attention was hitting in my sweet spot.

This routine carried on for about another week or so. Night after night, I’d come into his room, strip off whatever shirt I was wearing, then proceed to help him with my gloved hand. I’d gotten so used to the way things were that I almost wasn’t surprised by Henry’s next request.

“I’m sorry, what?” I asked, my eyes wide as I stared at my son.

“It’s just, you know,” he replied, a somewhat sheepish look in his eyes, “I thought if you took your bra off, too, that would really help.”

I should help Henry.

“Henry, I’m your mother,” I reminded him for what felt like the fiftieth time. “What we’re doing already is bad enough. What if someone found out? We’d have to leave town or something.”

“Come on, Mom,” he pleaded. “I won’t tell anything to anyone, I swear. Can’t you try it, just once? I’m sure it would help.”

I should help Henry.

I tried to come up with more reasons why his request was absolutely awful, but no matter which path my mind followed, it always seemed to come back to the same answer.

I should help Henry.

Finally, after a fairly awkward silence, I let out a sigh of resignation. “Okay, fine,” I said, reaching behind my back to undo my clasp. “But ground rules. You can look, but no touching, and seriously, don’t expect this every night. Got it?”

“Yes ma’am,” he replied eagerly as I started sliding my straps off my shoulder. I found myself looking at Henry, only to find his eyes glued to my chest, waiting for the big reveal. Taking a deep breath, I tugged my bra off and tossed it onto the floor.

“Wow,” he muttered breathlessly as the girls came into view. “Those are amazing.”

Normally, if a guy I were going out with complimented my tits like that, I’d be flattered and would probably say something thanking him for the kind words. But this is Henry. I mean, what the hell do you say when your own son is drooling over your breasts? After yet another moment of awkward silence, I told Henry we should probably get started. Pulling on my glove and applying some lotion, I got straight to work, and Henry came in record time. That night, as I was jilling myself off in bed, I reflected back on what I’d done for Henry and smiled. It really did seem to help, and as a mother, there’s no better feeling in the world than helping your son.

In the days that passed, I tried to keep from going completely topless, but every time I did, a cloud of guilt loomed over my head. It was like I knew, deep down inside, that showing off my tits helped Henry, and there was nothing more important in life than helping Henry. So night after night, I’d slip into his room, remove my shirt, then slip out of my bra.

Of course, every time I popped out my breasts, Henry always had some compliment for me. After the first night, the compliments got less awkward and more, well, hot. I know it sounds awful, but seriously, I’d been going through a romantic dry spell even before his hospitalization, and having a man tell you how great your tits look is a big turn-on, no matter who that man is. More than once, I found myself in bed later that night stroking my clit, hearing his praise repeat again and again as I did.

A few days later, I’d just finished eating lunch with Henry when he came to me with another request. He confessed that sometimes he wasn’t just horny at the end of the day and asked if I’d be willing to help him out whenever the urge struck.

“Absolutely not,” I replied.

“But, Mom,” he whined, “I really need to get off more than once a day. If I don’t, my balls start to ache.”

I should help Henry.

“Okay, first, TMI. Second, I know how teen boys are. I know being a stay-at-home mom looks like the easiest job on the planet, but I do actually have to get things done around here. How am I ever going to keep up with our home if I’m helping you twenty times a day?”

I should help Henry.

“Come on, Mom,” Henry pleaded. “It’s not like that, I swear. I just feel like it would really help if I got off once or twice more in a day. That’s all. It would seriously help.”

I should help Henry.

I stared at my son, trying to come up with a good reason not to cave to his wishes. The more I tried to rationalize my refusal, though, the more I realized something. If I said no, I wouldn’t be helping Henry. That realization in and of itself was nearly enough to get me to change course. Helping my son was everything to me. That’s why I stayed with him all day, every day at the hospital. That’s why I’ve made his recovery as easy as possible. That’s why I’ve done nearly everything I’ve done over the last few weeks. I love helping Henry. So maybe if I helped him with this one more thing, it would be a win for both of us.

“You promise that it’s not going to be twenty times a day?” I finally asked.

Henry smiled, knowing that he’d won. “I promise. But can we start right now? I could really use some release, and I know it would help.”

I should help Henry.

“Fine,” I sighed. “Go get ready in your room. I’ll grab my supplies and be there in a second.”

I swear that the boy practically skipped down the hall.

In just a few more days’ time, things got to the point where I was almost always helping Henry twice a day, sometimes more. One particular day, I somehow got him off five times, which was a record I actually took a bit of pride in. Honestly, the more I helped him, the better it felt. It was like I was actually making a difference in his life. He was always in a good mood, and I could tell from his moans and groans that he was really enjoying our time together. After a while, helping Henry several times a day became so common that if we weren’t going someplace, I just went around the house topless, not even bothering to put on a shirt or bra. Henry definitely didn’t complain about that!

It really seemed like we found a groove. By the time this had been going on for a couple weeks, it didn’t feel awkward at all. It was just part of life. Henry needed to get off, and as his mother, I helped him. After all, I should help Henry.

Things probably could have stayed as they were, except I wound up making a minor mistake. One night, as I was gathering my supplies to give Henry his bedtime handjob, I realized that I’d used my last latex glove earlier that afternoon. My heart started pounding as I stared at the empty glove box. There wasn’t time to get dressed and go shopping. What was I going to do? There was no way I could touch Henry like that. Not with my bare hand. The gloves were comforting. They provided a layer of separation. They reminded me that this was just a procedure, something I was doing to help my son, and nothing more. I couldn't do this without a glove. I just couldn’t.

As I leaned on his door frame that night, wearing nothing beyond my pink cotton shorts, I told Henry the bad news. I couldn’t give him his handjob tonight. Tomorrow I’d go out to buy some more gloves, and we could pick things up again after that, but tonight was off.

I expected Henry to be upset about this. After all, this was our routine. I expected whining, maybe an argument. What I didn’t expect, but admittedly probably should have, was his response.

“It’s okay, Mom. I’ve been thinking that maybe you should stop wearing gloves anyway. I think it would really help.”

I should help Henry.

My eyes went wide. Was Henry really asking for this? Did he really want me to get him off with my bare hand? I asked him if he was really serious, and he replied that he was. He told me that he really needed to get off. He was already hard, and it would be painful if he didn’t. Could I just use my bare hand this once to see how it felt? He was certain that it would be super helpful.

I should help Henry.

I let out a resigned sigh. “Fine,” I told him, “but tomorrow I’m getting gloves again. Don’t get your hopes up for a repeat performance.”

I walked into Henry’s room, sat on his bed, and for the first time ever, pulled back his covers without first putting a glove on. As I did, I realized that I’d come in here preparing to call this off for the night, so I hadn’t brought any of my other supplies in with me, either.

“I don’t have my lotion or paper towels,” I stated, fully intending to get up and go grab them.

“That’s fine,” he said, his eyes glued firmly to my naked tits. “It’s just as helpful without the lotion. I don’t mind at all.”

I should help Henry.

I gulped. So much was different tonight. But Henry needed my help, and if there was one truth in my universe, it was that I should help Henry. My hand moved slowly toward him, creeping closer as though I were trying to approach a wild animal. I tried to convince myself that this was no different from the dozens and dozens of times before. This was still just a procedure—a way to help Henry, and absolutely not a sex act in any sort of way. But as I wrapped my bare fingers around his raw cock, I realized just how wrong I was.

Without the barrier of my glove and the insulation of the lotion, everything was completely different. This wasn’t just a helpful procedure. This was a woman wrapping her hand around a man’s cock. This wasn’t something mothers did for their sons. It was sexual, something that a lover did for her man. The realization of what I was doing hit me like a ton of bricks. Here I was, with my tits out like some horny slut, grabbing my son’s dick. My own son. The boy I raised from a baby. I was here, sitting in his bed, on the verge of jacking him off like I was his slutty girlfriend or something. In an instant, I released my grip on his shaft and crossed my arms over my chest to cover myself.

“I… I don’t think we can do this,” I said, my voice trembling.

“Do what?” Henry asked, a look of concern in his eyes.

“This. All of this,” I replied, gesturing as best as I could without uncovering my breasts. “Henry, this is wrong. Mothers don’t stroke off their sons. They don’t show off their body like I have either. I don’t know why I’ve been doing all this, but I don’t think I can do it any longer. I’m so sorry.”

“But, Mom,” he said, furrowing his brow as his eyes bored into mine, “this helps me so much.”

I should help Henry.

“Seriously,” he continued, “you have no idea how much this helps.”

I should help Henry.

“It wouldn’t help me if you stopped now. In fact,” he said, “if you stopped now, it would hurt me. That’s the opposite of helping.”

I should help Henry.

His last words cut into me even like a knife. I’d be hurting Henry. I’d be doing the opposite of helping. That wasn’t what I wanted at all. Helping Henry was my everything. From the moment I found out I was pregnant, everything I’ve done was to help him have the best possible life. And now, I realized with a sinking feeling, here I was, actively moving in the opposite direction. I was double-crossing him. I was letting him down. I was breaking a lifetime commitment. I couldn’t do that. I had to help Henry.

I stared into my son’s eyes, my mind reeling as the revelation struck me. I had to help Henry. I just had to. Slowly, my arms came down from their defensive posture, allowing my breasts to come back into full view. Slowly, I watched as a smile crept back onto Henry’s face.

“You’re right,” I whispered. “I really should help you.”

Without another word, my bare hand moved down to his cock, and I slowly started to stroke.