Jason’s Mom and the Wrestling Team Car Wash – Part 1

Jason’s Mom and the Wrestling Team Car Wash – Part 1
By
Tommy Linarcos

My son Jason’s high school Wrestling team was holding a summer car wash, so how could a mother not support them?   The team was funding new uniforms — and if you’ve ever known someone in wrestling, or watched a wrestling match, you know those uniforms — those “singlets” — get used, abused, and stretched.  There’s not much to them — they’re just thin spandex or nylon or lycra, and they’re form-fitting until they get stretched out.  These things can be pricey.  The school’s gone on the cheap before, and then after they got pulled or torn, we parents wound up buying new ones for our kids, anyway.  So a fund-raiser was a nice idea.

The coach got permission from the town to take over the parking lot and, importantly, water access of a shut-down restaurant on the corner of two busy streets near the school, so there would be good visibility and, hopefully, a lot of impulse customers.

And, best of all, it was wonderful weather — a nice, hot, late August day!

Jase and his friends had raided my garage that week for cardboard and then took over the living room to make signs for the event.  They made pretty good signs — very amateur but the lettering was clear.  None of those “think ahead” spacing errors or incorrect spelling.  Part of me almost wanted to see some bad spelling, like where the R is backwards, like in those Little Rascals shorts from the olden days, but the team didn’t need that kind of ‘dumb jock’ image for the public.

No, those boys had an appeal all their own…

On that Saturday morning, Jason’s friend, Hector, came to pick him up.  My two Greek heroes.  They were walking to the event to save parking lot space for the wash.  Both left the house just in their swim trunks, a t-shirt, and sandals or flip-flops.  Jase wore his yellow suit that showed off what was left of his tan.  I told them I’d be by with my Corolla in a little while. 

Hector is a cutie, like my Jason — like a lot of the boys on his team, actually.  But as an adult, that’s all I’ll say.  I mean, I know what a good-looking male looks like, what a healthy body looks like, and all of those boys have very healthy bodies.  Certainly, I like looking at them, the boys on the team and their opponents, but no one admits it, nor talks about it.

The last thing I want is to be discussing a match with another mother next to me in the bleachers and drooling over some young stud.  “My, Helen, look at the ass on that one!”  “Look, Jimmy’s gotten a hard-on, again!”  “You can smell the testosterone tonight!”  “C’mon, buddy, the match is over — pull down the top of your suit!”  “I think Tyler is hitting the protein powder a little hard.  Is he trying to move up a weight class?”  “What do think that one has?  Six inches?  Seven?  Eight?”

There’s a lot of eye-candy for a divorced mother, and the boners happen but you laugh it off and pretend not to see them.  Seeing as many matches as I have, it all blends together, and you just get into the sport and rules and scores, and support your boy.

But when I pulled my car into the Wrestling Team Car Wash lot, that all changed.

There was a line-up of cars, already, and it split into two lanes.  I thought I’d come early enough that I could get my car washed, then head out on some errands, but it was evident I’d be waiting a bit.  Not that I minded.  God, not that I minded in the least.

The flesh.

Both the varsity and JV teams were here, clad only in swim trunks or Speedos, and soap.  And cheerleader girlfriends in bikinis providing “support.”

I might as well have been watching them in slow-motion. 

Seventeen-year-old gods spraying the cars down with the hoses, and spraying each other, all of them wet, flinging water off their hair, the droplets running down their pecs and over their abs, getting lost in their suits and somehow finding their legs. 

Fifteen- and sixteen-year-old heroes manning buckets full of soap, with giant sponges, lathering up themselves and each other as much as they were the cars.  The suds rolling over and off their bodies, only occasionally being sprayed off as the cars were rinsed.

Two titans on the curb with entrance signs — “We Need New Uniforms.”  One “naked” wearing only a tiny cardboard box around his waist, the other in an old singlet with holes in it — mostly holes with just enough spandex to keep it attached to his body.

And ageless, beautiful, young huntresses and goddesses and sorceresses frothing the soap in the next bucket, “helping” the boys hold the hoses, bringing in fresh towels, grabbing a sponge themselves and getting in there to assist their boys.

Laughter.  A song on the radio.

Water spraying across the sky in a mist, a rainbow appearing as it refracted the sunlight. 

There were no shirts, all flip-flops had been abandoned as trip-hazards.  There were only smiles, muscles, and a few inches of cloth covering what could still be seen, anyway.

It was like I was watching some soft-core movie on Skin-amax through the anonymity of my windshield.  I had to have someone beep their horn at me to realize it was my turn to drive forward.

I lowered my window and gave the naked Heracles with the cash box my ten dollars, and a walking bikini with dark hair named Athena directed me into the right lane of washers.

Two sets of warrior pectorals attacked my vehicle with hoses, spraying me down.  Yes, they were spraying me down.  I was getting wet.  Yes, I was.

A nearly naked Penelope waved me forward, and I put my vehicle in park.

The Argonauts set upon my car with the sponges.  I didn’t know which window to look out of.  I turned to my left — pecs and nipples and suds.  To my right, lats and a set of biceps stretching out across my windshield to lather my view.  As suds dripped down, only more flesh became visible as a bikini let slip the bare breast of some Atalanta bouncing up to wash my roof.  Through my mirror, I could see Perseus sliding over my trunk as he washed my rear window.  I could only assume some satyrs or harpies were cleaning my lights and rims as the soap dripped down over me.  The last two I saw, twins Castor and Pollux, made sure my hood and grill were licked clean.

Someone was speaking to me at my driver window.  I shook my head and came to.  She was beguiling, with the clearest green eyes.  Circe.  I didn’t need to roll down my window, I knew she wanted me to pull forward.  But my hands weren’t on my wheel.  They were in my lap, I realized, my right hand actually touching myself.  When had I done that?  I nodded, found ten-and-two, applied the brake, shifted gear, and moved slowly forward.

A siren in a Speedo slowed me down and directed me into a spray.  I would have done anything she told me.  Triton and Thetis cooled my ardor with the sea.

But when I looked out my window, I finally saw Jason.  He was working the other lane and didn’t know I was there.

Of course, I’ve seen my boy before.  I’ve seen him at home and at play.  I’d seen him in numerous stages of dress and undress.  I’ve seen him in his singlet.  I’ve seen him in his bathing suit at the pool and the beach on family vacations.  I’d seen him in new school clothes, a three-piece suit, and shorts and a sweatshirt.  I’d seen him in his sport.  I’d seen him be a boy doing boy things with his male friends.  I’d seen him take his girl out on a date, and bring her back to his bedroom.  I thought I’d seen him in his element.

But I’d never seen him like this.  Standing nearly naked with soap dripping off his brown curled hair, he asked a young nymph to spray him down.  Two came to his call.  He put his arms up and out, laughing with that smile of his.  His muscles were larger than I’d ever noticed, or just better defined, or just…  They glistened, the droplets picking up the sunlight and sparkling toward my car.   His waist tapered into his suit, which was bunched up from having worked on a car’s lower panels.  I knew he had good abs, but in this light and shadow and mist, the definition of his six-pack was etched in.  He turned.  Even his back had muscles…  and the lower curve of his rear end showed from the bunched-up suit.  My son had a nice ass.  His hairy legs were solid and colored wet by the spray.  His bare feet rose from the puddles and looked like they could hold up a church.  But he wasn’t bulky like a football player eating his parents out of house and home.  This was tone and…  My son was the best-looking man I had ever seen.

The girl was eager to wipe him down with a cloth.  There was a giggle and Jason just laughed with her, some Medea giving him the Golden Fleece.  He was sporting an erection, sideways in his yellow suit, and was proud of it.  Being a wrestler, he’d gotten used to that.  I thought I was used to seeing it, but perhaps only so when he was on the mat, in the circle.  Someone shot him with the hose again, to cool off his erection, from what I could hear through the window and bustle.  He laughed, and did not strike out.  The suit clung to the shape of his shaft and the darkness of his pubes showed through the yellow material, but he paid it no mind.

He directed others to go somewhere, to get something or do something, and they listened to him, nodding and moving.  Someone asked him a question, and he answered with authority.

I was seeing my son in his own element, one where he was admired, respected, desired.

I was directed to pull forward, again, out of the spray-down and a troop of hoplites wiped down my car with bath towels.  Apparently, they either hadn’t heard of chamois or there weren’t enough, and I worried the towels might not be clean enough after a good wash, but I wasn’t going to stop them.

I looked back to try and see Jason one more time before my wash was done.  He was not there.  I fixed my side mirror, which had been moved when washed, and then I saw Jason in it.  He was at my window.  He knocked.

“Hi, Mom!  You made it!” he called in to me.  He turned, as if to tell everyone that I was his mother and I was here, but all were busy.  I was proud that he was happy I was me, even if he couldn’t tell anybody.

He stuck his head in the window and gave me a kiss.  I’m not sure if he meant to, but he kissed me on the lips, and I did what I could to hold it a second longer, my hand finding his damp hair by his ear.

“Got to get back to work,” he said.  “See you later!”

My lips tingled.

Three nymphs came to guide him back to their lane and their water and their soap, doing all they could to touch him as they moved.  It was evident how they desired him.

And, I had to admit, I was one of them.

My drying over, I drove forward.  There was one more station, where an older gentleman, a King Theseus, sat next to a “tip jar” with a sign describing it as a “pizza and hot dogs fund.”  I laughed as I said hello to him, and crushed a twenty into the coffee can.  For what I just experienced, if for nothing more than that kiss, I would have dropped a fifty!  He handed me a crayoned ‘thank you’ card and a team schedule for the upcoming season.

Finally, there was a hand-drawn sign with a funny picture of Batman on it: “Did you enjoy your wash?  If your other car is the Batmobile, why not drive that one here next and help clean up all of Gotham!”

That was a fucking great idea.  I drove straight home, skipping my errands.  I borrowed my neighbor’s car (an older woman who rarely gets out but is nice to talk to over the fence), and made my journey across the Aegean all over again.

* * *

When I got home the second time, I couldn’t help myself.  I went right to my bedroom, closed the door, stripped off my clothes, and flicked the bean for all I was worth.  Images of the boys, and Jason, and that one girl’s bare breast pressed against my window, and Jason, and Jason’s erection, and Jason’s body, that naked boy with the box around his waist, and Jason…

I came twice just from the memory.  I didn’t even close my eyes, I could see the images on my ceiling.

And, perhaps more than the images, I thought of Jason’s kiss.  That single peck that lingered.  I could see him, leaning in the window, going for that ‘hello’ kiss, that ’thanks for coming’ appreciative kiss, but he went for my lips, not my cheek.  Did he mean to do that?  It lasted longer than it should have.  Did that extra second have intent?  And I moved forward — I know I did.  I leaned into that kiss, as much as I could have for that single, short instant, and I made it last just that little bit longer.

I could still feel the tingle, the thrill shooting up my spine into my brain and across my shoulders.  The surprise.  The sensation.

And I was left with the desire.

Kissing my nearly-naked son.  Pretending I was touching my naked son.  He’d kissed me, could he actually want an old… could he actually want me?  Or at least to see me, touch me?  Could he ever actually want to fuck me?

So, from my imagination, Jason without his suit, Jason naked, Jason naked and hard, Jason in my arms, Jason making love to me, Jason’s face as he fucked me…

I exploded again and again.

I don’t know if I napped, afterwards, but I floated in a daze, sated, for sure.

When I arose, I had to open my window, even with the air conditioning on.  The room smelled like sex, although it was all self-abuse.  The sheet could use a changing.  The house was mine, though, until at least after five, when the event ended, plus clean-up, and I didn’t know if Jason would come home even at that point.  He had friends to hang out with.  And somewhere in there would be pizza and hot dogs.

Rational thought had returned to me.  How much had I just made out of a simple, quick kiss?  Well, it was fantasy, after all.

But where had those thoughts come from?  Of course, as a mother, as a woman, I’d wondered how he looked as he grew up.  But I’d never had a fantasy of having sex with my son.

Had I?

I couldn’t be sure, anymore, because now I surely did have one.

I dressed simply.  Shorts and a pullover.  I couldn’t bring myself to put on a bra and ‘dress up,’ again.

It was a little after six o’clock when Jason and Hector came back.

“Hey, Mom.  I’m home.  Hector’s with me,” Jason called.

“Hey, Mrs. T,” Hector waved.  “Ah, the face that launched a thou…”

“Oh, stop it.  You guys back for good or…?” I asked.  As a mother, I wanted to ask if they’d had enough to eat as I didn’t make any dinner that night, but I knew they’d raid the fridge, if they needed anything more.

“No, getting changed and heading back out.  Suit’s dry-ish, but gonna chafe, you know?” Jason pulled at his yellow trunks.

“Got to look good for the ladies,” Hector added.  I noticed him noticing me, my breasts and bare legs; I should’ve put on another layer.  But it felt good to be noticed, even if it was just Hector.

“You guys stay busy?”  I was stopping them.  I’d been alone too long.  I needed to talk to someone.

Jason came over and put one knee on the couch, did not sit.  He would stay so long as I needed him, but it was obvious he would leave as soon as he could.  “Line never stopped.  We were busy right up until the end, though business tapered off the closer we got to ‘dinner time.’  We had to send someone to the store for more car wash soap.  We started with a few bottles of the good stuff — Turtle Wax or Rain-X or something — but wound up with more bottles of the cheap stuff.”

“So, do you know how much you raked in?” I asked.

“Not the exact total,” Hector said.  “But Jimmy and Coach counted out the piles of cash a few times so that all the money didn’t fly away every time Dora opened the cash box.  Now we have to trust Coach not to run away to San Monique with it all!”

“Damn.”  I was impressed.  “Sounds like you got your uniforms, then.  And maybe extras for when some Wheaton kid doesn’t trim his nails.”

The boys laughed.  Wheaton was a joke to all of us.

“And, we can order the fancy ones — you know, with a fierce ******* on it instead of just our school name,” Hector imagined.  Pardon me if I leave the name of our school and mascot out.  It’s quite recognizable and I don’t want any searches for ‘wrestling moms’ after I tell what I have to tell.

“Hope so.  With all I gave today, it’s like I bought a uniform or two, anyway,” I laughed.  The boys looked at me oddly — like how much did I pay?  “Well, I drove through twice, and hit the tip jar both times.  I probably bought your pizza, too.”

“Twice?”  Jason looked impressed and pleased.  “I only saw you the once.  I would’ve said hi.”  And gave me another kiss, perhaps?

“That, um… I kind of thought your army of volunteers would be all blousy school t-shirts and… but all you sexy men… and muscles… and the girls… there was this wave of flesh attacking my car…”  I feigned fanning myself from the heat, which was not far from the truth.

“See that?  Even your mom thinks I’m sexy!” Hector grinned.

“We decided ‘sex sells,’ and there was nothing better to get cars in that lot than seeing our guns and pecs!” Jason declared, though he didn’t define ‘guns.’  I assume he meant arms or biceps, but seeing his erection earlier, I’m not sure.

“And who was that with the cardboard box on the curb by the driveway?” I recalled.  I drove past him too fast and he was wearing sunglasses.

“Oh, that was Jimmy in the tiniest Speedo!” Jason laughed.  Of course, Jimmy.  He’d been to the house before, and I’d seen him wrestle.  The team nicknamed him Achilles, like Brad Pitt in Troy, the boy could just grab his opponent, jump to the side, and stab him in the neck.  Well, that’s what Brad Pitt does; Jimmy just puts the boy down and pins him in one move.  The other teams hate to see him approach the circle.

“Jimmy?  How’d he fit in that box?” I laughed.  The boys looked at each other and laughed even louder, catching old Mom here in a bit of confession.

“You going to shower before you head out?”  I got off the subject.

“Nah, think I’m clean enough for tonight.”  Jason showed me his fingers, still a little pruned from all the water.  His hair was a little flat, but he was just going out with friends.  Unless…

“Meeting Penny?” I asked.  His current girlfriend.

Hector looked at him, biting his tongue.  Jason hesitated.  “We’ll see.  Little trouble there.  But I’ll smell good, just in case.”  He took his knee off the couch cushion.  He wanted to end my interrogation.  I let him go.  He and Hector went to his bedroom and closed the door.

I put on the TV in the kitchen and made myself an egg salad sandwich with some arugula, and had a couple leftover keftedes.  There was still some coffee, but I dumped that out and poured myself some Arizona Iced Tea, instead.  I don’t know what I wanted caffeine for.  With Jason out being social, and his sister away at her first year of college, and no plans with any of my own friends, I was going to be alone tonight.  I thought about who I could call.  Maybe I could go find my girls and we could bowl, or something, or get a drink.  I got ahold of Ariana and we decided we’d do something.  I wasn’t going to shower, again, I just took my top off for a quick clean-up.  I was in my washroom when I thought about whether Jason thought he was going to take the car.  He might be leaving soon.  I put on my robe and secured it tightly.

I went to Jason’s room.  I knocked.  “Hey, Jase…”  And I opened the door.

I didn’t think.  I’d done what a good mother is never supposed to do.  I didn’t wait for him to respond before I opened the door.

Jason and Hector were sitting back on the bed, propped up at the wall, their bathing suits hanging at their ankles — Jason’s just hanging off of one foot, their cocks in each other’s fists.

They were frozen in action.  They didn’t remove their hands, they didn’t panic and dive for cover.  They just froze, staring up at me.  Caught.

I didn’t immediately apologize, back out, and close the door.  Oh, no.  I couldn’t.  Before me were two mostly naked boys, the opposite as I’d seen them at the parking lot — they still had their shirts on, but not their bottoms.  I was fascinated.  It was beautiful.  I couldn’t move.

But I had to do something.  Inside, I wanted to see this.  I didn’t want them to flip over and scream.  I wanted them to continue.

I pulled my sash and opened my robe, showing them my breasts.

Somehow it felt ‘equal,’ somehow it felt ‘fair’ after my intrusion.

I could see the boys’ reaction in their eyes.  And then I saw them start jerking each other, again.

They couldn’t take their eyes off me, and I couldn’t take my eyes off of their cocks.  Their jerking started as a nervous pounding, and then it picked up speed as they found their technique.  Both of their breathing immediately became labored, and Hector started a rising pitch in his staccato “ah!”s, but it was Jason that blew first.

A single breath that sounded like, “Oh, god,” accompanied a rocket blast of cum from his cock, straight up, higher than his head, followed by a second.  The cum shot was so clear to me, the pearly white goo firing up in front of his black t-shirt.  On the third shot, his head fell back, but he still couldn’t close his eyes, staring at my tits.  Hector had stopped pumping him and Jason’s cock fell forward, cum shooting in a spray toward me.

Hector had joined him on Jason’s second shot: his first blast had some height, but from the second on, his cock bubbled and oozed cum out of his cock head, gushing like thick white lava.

Both of them shuddered and trembled, catching their breath, as their cum diminished to dribbles.  Their eyes looked to mine.  We just held each other’s gaze, though I was looking only into Jason’s.

“Clean him off,” I said.  I didn’t say it to either one, in particular, but Hector quickly went down on my boy.

Jason swallowed, and finally moved a fraction while Hector sucked his cock.  He looked back at my breasts, then back up to my eyes, a look of ‘what does this mean?’ in them.

I didn’t have an answer, yet.  I just nodded, floated backwards from the room, and shut the door.

Once on the other side, my wits came back to me.  My god, what had I done?  But it was… so damn erotic, so damn hot!  I don’t know if I’d ever fantasized about seeing my son cum, but when I saw him in that room, I needed to see it, then.

I closed my robe, as if that actually needed doing, and made my way back to my bedroom, my message about the car never delivered.

I put on some attractive but casual clothes that, luckily, I had picked out before I watched my son’s orgasm, his cum exploding all over his face, his hair, his shirt, his cock, and his friend’s hand.  I looked for my shoes but saw Jason’s eyes, looking back at me, while that first blast of cum launched before his face.

I heard the boys going back and forth to the washroom.  Some quiet chatter I couldn’t make out, then we met in the living room, all of us ready to head out.  Jason’s brown curls had been taken care of, and he looked very presentable and stylish in jeans and a royal blue button-down, his sleeves casually rolled up for an evening of socializing.  Hector’s jet-black hair had been wet-combed, but he was still in his trunks and t-shirt.

“I’m… I wanted to tell you… that I’m taking the car tonight,” I told them.  “I’m meeting Ariana and I won’t be too late.”

Jason nodded.  “I have my keys.  We’re gonna stop at Hector’s, get him changed, and meet up with the others.  I don’t know how late, but…”

It was awkward, to say the least.  I could tell both of them were looking at me, now, with full knowledge of how the swell of my tits hung, how red my nipples were.  And I was the same with them, though I might argue that I didn’t have as clear a view of their cocks as they had of my breasts, but I did find out how hairy they were.  Either way, yes, we were talking about anything but that.

“Okay.  Be good.  Be safe,” I told him.  Them.  Mostly him.

Jason patted his pocket, the just-in-case condom.  “Always.”

The boys went out the front door, and I took the back door to the garage.

End of part one

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