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Message-ID: <29576asstr$985662601@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: One Gallus <onegallus@yahoo.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Signals 2 (mf, Fm inc )
Date: Mon, 26 Mar 2001 22:10:01 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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<1st attachment, "Signals 2.txt" begin>

Note:  This story contains graphic sexual 
descriptions and should not be read where it 
is illegal or by people under the legal age 
under their local laws.

Note:  This story may not be changed or 
posted or otherwise used without permission 
from the author.




SIGNALS
Part 2
By OneGallus



"Hi Sonia, how ya doin'?"

"Oh Hello, Wayne," she said, turning to look at 
me while she was closing her locker.  Sonia was 
smiling, the pink of her gums very distinct in 
against her dark skin and white teeth.

"Are you busy Friday night?"  

"If you mean by that, am I going to be at the 
football game, no I am not."

"No, I was wondering if you'd like to go to a 
movie?"

"Oh, a movie!  What time would you wish to go?"

"It starts at seven-thirty."

"You are too young to drive, are you not?"

I blushed, "Yeah! But..."

"If I can obtain permission, I could meet you 
there," she offered.

"Great! My Mom can pick us up afterward.  You 
don't mind do you?"

"Why should I mind?" she smiled.  "I have to ask 
my father but I think he will be glad.  If he is 
not, I shall call you."  I wrote my number in 
her spiral notebook.  But as it turned out, she 
didn't call.  

Mom dropped me off at seven-fifteen, and I stood 
in front of the Showcase Cinema waiting for 
Sonia.  Soon, a dark Cadillac pulled up to the 
sidewalk and she stepped out, carrying a sweater 
but wearing a short sleeved dress in the warm 
September night.  Inside the car was a slender 
dark man with thick straight black hair, graying 
at the temples.  He was in his fifties, older 
than my parents were.  With the door standing 
open he said, "Wayne Renfro? I am Mr. Matthews."  
He beckoned me closer and I leaned in through 
the door.  I offered my hand, which he took and 
shook.  "You will take care of my Sonia?" he 
asked.  

I nodded my head.  "My Mom is picking us up," I 
said.

"That is good," pronouncing it as, "Dot is 
gude," and smiling. "I must see her at home 
quite soon after the show.  All right?"

"OK, Mr. Matthews" I smiled.

I turned to Sonia who, in spite of her dark 
skin, blushed a red streak on her neck.  "Shall 
we go in?" I said.   The film was "The Father of 
the Bride," with Steve Martin.  We walked 
together toward the theater and as we walked I 
was aware than Sonia was quite close.  She was 
brushing shoulders with me frequently.  I bought 
the tickets and we walked over to the proper 
theater and I held open the door.  She smiled, 
walked in and immediately led me to the back-
most row of seats, which surprised me.  "I 
prefer it here," she said.

There were not many people in the theater, and 
the place where we sat was very dark.  The 
previews were running as we slid into the seats; 
they were roomy and reclined back a bit.  "This 
is so nice," she said.  "If I fall asleep, you 
must be careful." 

I laughed, not really knowing what to make of 
her statement. When the movie started, the 
lights dimmed even more and our section was 
almost totally dark.  Sonia's arm was on the 
armrest, so I simply leaned in close to her, 
holding my shoulder to hers.  The touch was 
pleasant, but I kept thinking about Sonia's 
hairy arm right next to me, and wanted to feel 
more than the casual contact I was now 
experiencing.  I worked up a spate of courage, 
and slid my elbow on the other side of her 
forearm.  I pulled her arm back toward my body 
and made room on the armrest for me as well.  I 
looked at her and she smiled.  Her white teeth 
were dazzling as they picked up the reflection 
of the screen.  I smiled and slipped my hand 
into hers, which she readily took, squeezing it 
several times.  

A while later, she was caressing my palm with 
her fingers.  Of course, my excitement rose, but 
I didn't know where to go from there. Twenty 
minute's later she pulled my hand down onto her 
thigh, with her hand on the back of mine.  I 
left it there but Sonia went no further.  Again, 
I was delighted but I didn't know what the next 
move should be.  Meanwhile my cock had stirred 
and was filling out with a growing vigor.  At 
the same time, unfortunately, my bladder claimed 
my attention and with a smidgen of 
embarrassment, I leaned over to Sonia and said, 
"Sonia, excuse me, I'll be right back.  Can I 
get you anything?"

"Yes, thank you, would you get me a Coca-Cola?"  

"Sure."  I stood up and since there was no one 
else in that row, I made my way immediately into 
the isle and thence into the hallway.  I found 
the restroom and relieved my bladder.  Having by 
now shrunk back to normal, the process was 
easier than I had anticipated.  I washed my 
hands, went to the candy counter and ordered a 
medium coke.  When I returned, I handed Sonia 
the coke and sat down with my arm resting on the 
back of her seat.  She smiled and leaned into me 
as far as the armrest would allow.  The next few 
minutes were spent shifting my arm, degree by 
creeping degree, from the back of the chair to 
Sonia's shoulders.  Each move I made met with no 
resistance.  Finally, she said, "One moment."  
She sat her coke on the floor, pushed her weight 
up against the armrests and pulled her legs 
under her.  Having a little more exposure above 
the armrest, Sonia leaned into me, resting her 
hand just on the inside of my knee.  I turned my 
face toward her and felt the smoothness of her 
cheek, nuzzling mine. My cock revived and 
hardened quickly.  My lips groped for her mouth 
and I found it, and kissed her.  Her lips were 
soft and yielding and she kissed me back.  I had 
seen French kissing on television but I did not 
have the guts to try it with Sonia.  Yet, she 
seemed to be waiting for something. I wanted 
more but I was too timid to push further.

My arm that was around her back now drifted down 
and my hand slid under her arm.  I felt the warm 
moistness there as I hugged her.  She sighed.  
My fingers were now at the side of her breast, 
though it was cloaked with bra and blouse.  She 
didn't resist, but this was farther than I had 
ever dreamed I would get with a girl.  What to 
do next?  I was in strange terrain and felt 
awkward, stupid and excited all at the same 
time.  My cock was distended, and though Sonia's 
hand was near, it remained on my thigh.  

My eyes drifted to the screen.  I could tell 
that the movie was OK, but I would have to come 
back for a second viewing, since my attention 
had been so diverted with touching and being 
touched.  I hoped Mom wouldn't ask me to review 
it for her.  When the movie ended, I released 
Sonia and we sat back in our seats, not 
touching, watching the credits run by.  By time 
they scrolled, I had shrunk back to walking 
size, but I found my balls to be quite sore as 
we traveled along the corridor.  

"Well, what did you think?" I asked.

"The movie was quite good," she said, cheerily.

"You want to go next week?" I asked.

"Perhaps.  We'll see," she said.  

Still, her shoulder did not touch mine as we 
walked out together.  Mom's maroon Cherokee was 
waiting at the sidewalk.  I opened the back door 
for Sonia and we both got in.  I introduced Mom, 
who had a several friendly words with her and we 
followed Sonia's directions back to a house only 
three blocks from our own.  I walked her up to 
the door, and she turned and smiled. "I had a 
very nice time, Wayne."

"Good, can I call you?"

"Certainly," she said tentatively, smiled.  I 
wondered about the propriety of kissing her, 
since I had kissed her at the movie.  As I was 
wondering, she said, "Goodnight," and turned to 
go in.  

I walked back to the Jeep, opened the door and 
sat down.  I exhaled.  "Geeze, she'll never want 
to go out with me again!"  

"Why is that?" Mom asked.  

"Right now, I don't want to talk about it."

"OK, loverboy.  Some other time, but I want to 
hear about it soon."



I didn't stir till nine o'clock the next 
morning.  I lay in bed thinking of the day 
ahead.  I knew Dad would not be here.  Saturday 
was another workday for him.  Sometimes he even 
worked Sundays.  Mom would probably have some 
chores lined up for me.  I might be able to play 
my guitar sometime today, perhaps learn a new 
song.  I wanted to go to the library and check 
out some books by Ken Follett, the thriller 
writer.  I could turn this into a very 
interesting day, even without Sonia.  I thought 
about the date the night before.  I felt like 
she had handed me a loaded machine gun, but I 
couldn't find the trigger.  

When I went to the bathroom, I noticed that 
Mom's door was still shut; obviously she was 
sleeping in.  I showered, dried and wrapped the 
towel around my waist.  I brushed my teeth and 
looked closely in the mirror at my face.  
Extending for about three inches from the bottom 
of my sideburns, in a narrow dark strip, my 
beard was beginning to prickle up.   My mustache 
also showed thick. There were two almost 
cylindrical patches on either side of my chin.  
I lathered up and began to shave.   A knock came 
on the door.  

"Wayne?"

"Yes?"

"Good morning, sweetheart."

"Morning Mom."

"Is it OK to open the door?"

"Sure."

The door swung open and she stood there in her 
nightgown.  Her hair had been combed and I 
caught the fragrance of toothpaste, so I knew 
she'd been at work in her own bathroom.  The 
gown was white nylon acetate and it was quite 
clingy, though opaque.  Her nipples were denting 
the fabric in the front. There was a slight 
concave depression over her navel.   The hem 
struck her just below the knees and she was bare 
legged and bare footed.  

"Want some breakfast?" she asked.

"Sure, you fixin'?"

"Yep.  Bacon and eggs?"  

"Sounds good."  I scraped the lather away, 
coming straight down from my sideburn.  She 
stood and watched.  I switched sides and threw 
her a look.  "What?"

"Nothing babe.  I'm just enjoying your shave."

"You're enjoying my shave?" I smiled.

Mom waltzed in behind me and peeped over my 
shoulder, her hands snaked around my naked 
chest, and one of them came to lie flat, right 
on my breastbone, the other on my upper belly. I 
felt an indistinct soft pressure on my back.

"Do I feel some chest hair there?"  She grazed 
her fingers over my chest.

"A little."

She lifted her palm and let it tickle the tuft 
of curly chest hair.  "Ummm.  You are growing 
up."

Meanwhile, the razor was at my chin, trying to 
cope with those circular patches.  I felt her 
head against my neck and her hand, circling my 
stomach.  She sniffed in an audible spate of air 
and said through her teeth, "God, you smell 
good."

"Really?  I haven't put on any cologne yet, 
nothing really."

"That's what I like, nothing.  Just you."  I 
felt her nose at the back of my underarm, again 
a loud intake of breath.  

"Mom!" I jumped, a razor in one hand and a wash 
cloth in the other. I laughed nervously.

"Ummm, clean man.  There's nothing like it."

"Unless it's a clean woman," I cracked.

"Really?  You like the scent of a woman?"

"Well," I searched for a response, "I like your 
perfume!"

"I don't have any perfume on today," she said.

"I turned, bent and sniffed her neck, I can't 
smell a thing!" I laughed, "unless it's Crest 
Toothpaste."

Mom encircled my neck and pulled my face into 
the loose bodice of her nightgown, down between 
her breasts.  The soft billows, with their tinge 
of her natural musk were intoxicating to me.  My 
penis began to firm up quickly.

"Smell anything?"

"Ummm, you smell great," I said, pressing my 
nose into her again and loving her aroma.

"That's clean woman.  Did Sonia smell so nice?"

I stood straight and laughed. "Mom, Sonia has 
nothing on you," I remembered the spicy smell on 
Sonia.

"You'll have to tell me how you found all that 
out," she smiled and turned to exit the 
bathroom.

I finished in the bathroom and went back to the 
bedroom and slipped on underwear and shorts, 
then my jeans.  It was a warm morning, so I just 
pulled on a tee shirt.   I padded to the kitchen 
barefoot.  I got a cup from the cabinet, poured 
myself a cup of coffee, and sat down at the 
table.  Mom was frying eggs.  Her back was to me 
and I inspected the graceful fall of her gown 
over her back, flaring at her hips and 
pleasantly revealing the shadow of the cleavage 
at her buttocks.  Such morning attire was not 
unusual for Mom, and it would not have surprised 
Dad if he had walked through the door that very 
moment.  

The difference was, that today, I was noticing 
it.  Why was I noticing it?  Because Mom 
appeared to be relating to me on another level, 
one I had never experienced with her before.  It 
seemed that her heart was coming out to me, all 
sympathetic and helpful, knowing my discomfort 
and naivet, in relating to girls.

Mom was apparently trying to show me that I had 
nothing to fear from the mystique of womanhood.  
She was quite effective in lowering the level of 
my fear; however, her nearness was also lifting 
the level of my excitement.  Mothers, I knew, 
were not supposed to excite you.  But I loved 
her, and didn't want to hurt her feelings by 
turning away her offers of helpfulness.  And 
admittedly, there was a part of me that enjoyed 
what was happening. So, I decided I would just 
play it by ear, like I played my guitar.  

Mom set the bacon and eggs in front of me. "Over 
and easy," she said, "Just like you like `em." 

I speared the yolks with the point of my knife 
and the yellow liquid spurted out onto the egg 
whites. I looked up to see Mom staring at the 
oozing liquid and licking her lips.

"What?" I said.

"Nothing," She smiled, "So, tell me about the 
date."

"Well," I wish I were driving.  Being 
chauffeured sucks."

"Well now, what could you do with a car, you 
couldn't have done last night?"  Mom asked, a 
little suggestive overtone in her voice.

"Oh, you know," I said, playing it serious, "We 
could have gone somewhere after the show.  Maybe 
out to a park, and sat and talked."  I said.

"Well, you could have brought her here to talked 
and watch TV, or whatever.  Anyway, you two 
didn't talk much in the car after I picked you 
up."

"Well, that's different!  What do you expect 
with your Mom around?"

"Maybe a little fun-talk, joshing around, like 
you might be enjoying one another?"

"Yeah, there wasn't much of that, was there?"

"Do you feel she didn't like you?"

"She liked me."

"Why do you say that?"

"Ah," I blushed, "we held hands." 

"I see.  Is that all?"

"I put my arm around her," I said, crunching 
loudly on a crisp piece of bacon.

"Is that all?"  

"Do you mean, did I kiss her?  Yes, Mom, I 
kissed her."

"Doesn't sound like such a bad time to me.  Any 
thing else?"

"Yeah, well...she put my hand on her leg."

"Really?"

"Yeah, and then she put her hand on my leg."

"Good lord!  The girl may be a bit more 
experienced than you," she said.

"Think so?"

"Oh yes," she said, biting her lower lip, 
thinking.  "Finish your breakfast, let's get our 
chores done, we'll talk later."

By early afternoon, the lawn was mowed and 
edged, Mom's car was washed and I had taken 
another shower and had settled down on the couch 
with my guitar.  My hand-written lyrics lay on 
the coffee table in front of me.  I had only a 
remote interest in rock and roll.  I sang folk 
songs, mostly ancient and mostly Celtic.  
Sometimes I would write my own song using a 
variation of a Celtic melody.  Of course, a lot 
of my songs were cast in a modern setting, but 
the spirit of the song was still folk and still 
Celtic. I strummed the guitar and sang:

"My darling's eyes shine hazel green,
Like stones beneath the water, 
But she has turned her face from me,
So I ask you, `What does it matter?" 

I paused and took up my pencil and circled the 
word, "matter."

"That's nice, I haven't heard that one before."  
Mom was standing in the living room doorway.  
She was dressed in cutoff jean shorts and a 
sleeveless orange blouse.  Her feet were bare. I 
was glad for a warm September.

"No, that's something I'm working on," I said, 
feeling a bit sheepish for her having caught me 
in a creative moment.  "But it won't work. 
`Water' and `matter' don't exactly rhyme. 
There're too many words, nothing really fits." 

"Sounds good to me," she said, 

"No, it just isn't the right sound."

"Are her eyes hard?" she asked.

"What's that?"

"This girl, her eyes shine like wet stones.  
Does that mean she has hard eyes?"

"Maybe, that's a thought!" I said.  I wrote the 
word "hard" by my verse and circled it.

She walked over to sit by me.  "Do you know how 
long you've been here practicing?"

"No."

"Two hours."

"Geeze, I didn't realize that!"

"You know you're very good, don't you?"

"Aw, Mom, you're saying that because I'm you're 
boy."

"Well, you are my boy, but I've been trying to 
look at you a little differently here lately."  
She placed her palm on my thigh, right in front 
of my guitar.

"You are?  How?"

"Well, like a human being, in your own right."

"What does that mean?"

 "Well, for years I have justified who you are 
because you are my son."

"Justified?"

"Yes, your personality, for instance.  I have 
always, ah, defined you that way."

"What about it, my personality?"

"I love it."

"So?  You're my moth..."

"No, not for that reason. She shook her head and 
stared off into the distance.  "Well, what I 
mean is, I deliberately set that very good 
reason aside and consciously don't consider it.  
I love your personality because it's lovable.  
It's quiet.  It's unassuming.  It's gentle.  
It's deeper than you let on.  You are a very 
attractive man."  Mom's eyes were shining as she 
turned them toward me.

"Shuush," I chuckled quietly, embarrassed.

"No, I mean it!  You're talented, but you don't 
parade it, you don't swagger around.  You are a 
gentle, kind man.  If you feel overwhelmed, you 
admit it, you don't put on a front.  You don't 
like things simply because somebody else does."  
She squeezed my thigh.  That made twice she 
called me a "man." 

"Gosh, Mom!" I said, feeling the back of my neck 
grow stiff with the praise.

"Now, put that guitar down for minute, I have 
some questions for you before Dad comes home."

I leaned the instrument against the couch.  

"Now," she said, "which side was Sonia sitting 
on, this side of you, or the other side?" 

"Mom!"

"Trust me babe, I'm gonna help you; now where 
was she sitting?"

"Right there, where you're sitting," I said, 
feeling embarrassed.

"Now, hold my hand like you held hers."

"Well, there was an armrest."

Mom reached for a throw cushion and stood it on 
its edge between the couch cushions.  

"Her arm was on the armrest," I said.


Mom put her arm there.

"Then I..." I reached across and pulled Mom's 
arm toward me.

"Oh! Nice move!  Then what happened?"

"Well, we just sat there for a while, till she 
started moving her fingers."

"You mean like this?" Mom asked and stroked my 
palm lightly with her fingers.

"Yes"

"Well, that's a definite signal.  It may have 
meant more than you thought it did. Then what?"

"She pulled my hand down on her leg."  

Mom swept my hand down on her naked leg,  
"There?"

"Yeah, it was a little higher up."

"Ohhh!" she crooned as she moved my hand up 
toward her middle thigh.  "There?"

"Yeah."

"And?"

"Well, she put her hand on top of mine and just 
held it there." Though Mom's legs were slender 
she was a sea of delightful flesh compared to 
Sonia's wiry limbs. 

"What did you do?" Mom asked.

"Well, I let her."

"That's all?"

"I think that's when I had to go to the 
bathroom."

"Ummm. First things first, huh?" Before I had 
time to react she asked, "What happened when you 
came back?"

"Well, I gave her a coke.  I put my arm around 
her and kind of brought her over toward me.  
Then she put her coke down on the floor and put 
her feet up in her seat and sat on her legs."

"Yes?"

"Then I could...you know, hold her better," I 
said.

"OK, let me get this straight."  Mom stood, 
folded a leg onto the couch, sat on it and then 
pulled the other one up under her.

"Right! That's right!  Then I could..."

"Do what?" Mom said, anticipating my answer.

"Like this, I said, and draped my arm around 
her, and pulled her into me."

"Did you keep your arm there?" she asked.

"No, I did like this."  I dropped my arm and 
slid my right hand under Mom's arm.  Like 
Sonia's, it was also moist and warm.

"You know, you're fingers are pretty close to 
something there," she said.

"Yeah."  

"Well, did you touch her there?" she asked.  

"Yeah."

"Show me."

I put my fingertips tentatively on the side of 
Mom's breast.  I felt immediately the maturity 
and fullness of her roundness there.  

"Did you move your fingers?"

"No, should I have?"  I sat there with mom 
leaning heavily into me, my arm around her with 
its fingertips touching her breast.

"Wayne.  Not every parent will say to you what 
I'm gonna say now.  I want you to take it in the 
right way.  I'm not encouraging you to become 
sexually active before you're old enough.  
Experiences like you had with Sonia are learning 
experiences.  Obviously you weren't ready to go 
any further.  That's OK.  That's fine.  You've 
got plenty of time, but I'll help you with all 
the advice you ask me for and probably give you 
some you don't ask for. And Wayne?"  

"Yes?"

"I do want you to ask me, OK?" 

"OK, Mom."

"It's an exciting time, and you want to be sure 
that you're handling everything responsibly."  

Mom shifted and I felt my fingertips depress the 
soft side of her breast; she even nudged me with 
it. 

"But I will say this," Mom continued, "Every 
girl wants to know that you appreciate her 
signals.  If she sends you a signal, you've got 
to say, `I understand, I got your signal.'"

"But..."

"But you don't actually "say" that.  You tell 
her by how you respond, what moves you make.  
But go very slowly."

"I don't understand."

"I know, that's why I'm here right now."

"OK."

"Now," she said, "You've just put your hand 
there where you have it, right?

"Right."

"And where is her hand?"

"On my leg."

"OK, put my hand where hers was."

I took Mom's hand and put it on my thigh.  I 
noticed the blue veins standing up on it and 
remembered that they didn't do that on Sonia's 
hand.

I'm going to give you a signal and you let me 
know you received it, all right?"


"OK."

I felt her tap my thigh like double-clicking a 
computer mouse.  
 
I looked back to Mom's white thigh with my hand 
on it.  I wondered what the next move should be, 
not too dramatic, but one that would at least 
match what she did to me.

I began to squeeze, moving down onto her inner 
thigh.   I repeated the process, moving out, 
then close again, taking it very slowly.    I 
looked at Mom and saw that she'd closed her eyes 
and thrown her head back.  She was breathing 
deeply.  

She opened her thighs slightly and slid down in 
her seat. 

I did nothing.

"I just gave you a signal," she said lazily, not 
opening her eyes.

"OK," I said, and thought it over.

Her cutoffs were not extremely high, but they 
had ridden up when she had slid down.  I moved 
up very close to her shorts but kept to the top 
of her thigh.  Mom leaned into me, putting her 
head against my shoulder.  With that movement my 
upper arm actually pressed against her left 
breast. My hand moved on her leg.

Mom, barely raised her pelvis, I hardly sensed 
it, but I knew it was a signal. She said 
nothing.

I went down into the inner thigh, my hand 
actually brushing her crotch and I clasped the 
soft flesh there.  

Mom took my wrist into her hand and held it 
still, "Wait," she said.

I looked at her and found her eyes still closed 
and a transported expression on her face.  My 
hand remained stationary but full of her soft 
leg.  My cock was rigid.

"See, what I mean?" she said.

"Yeah Mom," I said, breathless.

"And never go beyond what she signals you to do.  
If she stops you, then do just what you're doing 
now, don't push it."

"Geeze, do you think she would've stopped?"

"You were in a movie theater weren't you?  She 
would have stopped you."

"Whew," I blew though my puckered lips.

"Too much schooling for one day?" Mom asked.

"Oh no! Go ahead!"  

Mom looked at my watch.  It's getting late.  
Maybe later tonight, I gotta get some supper on 
the table, first things first, you know.


End of Part 2
Go to Part 3


OneGallus@yahoo.com

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