#63
I heard the soft, steady snoring drifting from Mom’s room as I stepped into the hallway, a quiet reassurance that she had made it home from work.
Still half-asleep, I yawned, a dull ache pulsing behind my eyes from the late night before. I rubbed at my temple and started toward the kitchen—then the scents stopped me in my tracks.
Clean soap and fresh citrus hung lightly in the air, crisp and refreshing, as if someone had just finished washing up.
A heartbeat later, the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee followed, warm and comforting. And beneath it all came the familiar sizzle of bacon frying, its savory, smoky scent curling through the house and stirring my stomach awake.
The sounds followed: the soft rush of water in the sink, the clink of dishes being stacked away.
I followed the trail straight to the kitchen, where Sarah stood, bright-eyed and full of energy, scrambling eggs with cheese and chopped green onions in a sizzling pan. A plate of steaming bacon sat on the counter beside her, and she was pouring two mugs of coffee.
She noticed my presence and turned around, her expression immediately lighting up.
“Good morning, sleepyhead,” she said, her voice cheerful and teasing. But her expression shifted as she took me in, her brows furrowing.
“Alvin, didn’t Mom tell you a hundred times to dress properly? I mean, I’m not complaining about the view, but it’d be a disaster if someone else saw you like this.”
She crossed her arms, her serious look making me glance down.
Shit, she was right—I was topless, my bare chest exposed in just my shorts. I scratched the back of my head with a wry smile.
“Sorry,”
A force of habit, I say.
Apparently, despite thinking that I’ve gotten used to this weird world, I was not.
Every day I woke up, I often forgot the strange rules this world has.
Well, I was only here for a few weeks yet, so maybe that time was not enough to completely integrate myself…?
I turned to head back to my room, but before I could take a step, Sarah’s hand shot out and grabbed my arm.
In a blur, she pinned me against the wall and kissing me passionately.
I felt her hands moving to my chest, urging me closer. Heat surged through me, my cock twitching in my shorts as I responded, my tongue thrusting back fiercely, matching her rhythm.
Her hand trailed down my chest, fingers grazing my skin, over my stomach, until it cupped the growing bulge straining against the fabric.
She pulled back just enough to murmur against my mouth, “Tell me the truth.”
I look at her, frowning. “What?”
“…Are you trying to seduce me every morning. Because you know, it’s working.”
It was more of a statement rather than a question. Like she really believed that’s what I was doing.
But, No. I was not trying to seduce her.
“I just forgot, okay? Not trying to seduce anyone.”
“You always say that, but you never listen. And if you’re telling the truth, then I think your sense of danger is basically nonexistent, Al.” She smirked, her eyes gleaming with mischief.
I couldn’t argue—she had a point.
This world’s rules still threw me off; I’d gotten too used to my old life, where a guy wandering around shirtless wasn’t a scandal. Women here paraded in next to nothing, but a bare male chest? Apparently, a crisis.
What the hell is with that?
“I’m going to change, so let me go.”
“Oh? After getting me all worked up?”
Her smirk widened as she grabbed my hand and pressed it against her underwear, the fabric damp with her arousal.
Her pussy felt hot through the thin material, and I could feel her wetness soaking through.
Why was it fine for her to strut around in just panties and a tank top, her full breasts bouncing freely, but my flat chest was a problem? This place made no sense.
“Come on, help calm your sister down with your mouth~” she purred, grinding lightly against my palm.
“No. And your eggs are burning.”
“Tsk, cheapskate.”
Sarah’s eyes glittered with mock-anger as she finally let go of my arm.
“Go change before Mom comes down. And for the millionth time, quit prancing around like a runway model. We get visitors, you know. Don’t make a habit of it.”
“I know.”
I went back to my room, closing the door behind me with a soft click.
The familiar scent of lavender greeted me as I leaned against the wall for a moment, exhaling slowly. Sometimes, I wondered how my life had turned into a constant series of lectures before breakfast.
“Runway model, huh…” I muttered under my breath.
Crossing the room, I opened my closet and stared at its contents like it was some kind of life-or-death decision.
Hoodies. T-shirts. Jackets I barely wore.
Some were too tight, clearly meant to hug every curve. Others were cropped just enough to show my abdomen—apparently a “common and attractive” style for men in this world.
I still hadn’t gotten used to it.
After a moment of hesitation, I grabbed a simple black shirt and a pair of pants. Safe. Plain. At least, among the clothes I have, it’s more conservative. But I really need to buy some new clothes soon.
I changed quickly.
When I was done, I ran a hand through my hair and checked my reflection in the mirror. The same sleepy-eyed guy stared back at me.
At least now I looked presentable.
The shirt hung loosely on my shoulders but didn’t quite reach my waist, leaving my abdomen exposed. Fortunately, my stomach wasn’t protruding or anything. If nothing else, all the running and fighting had paid off.
“Good enough,” I murmured.
Slipping on my slippers, I opened my door and stepped into the hallway.
The house was still quiet, wrapped in that fragile calm between sleep and morning.
I took a few steps forward, already preparing myself to return to the kitchen when Mom’s bedroom door creaked open behind me.
I froze.
She stood there, yawning, her dark hair forming a wild halo of sleep-tousled strands.
The thin, diaphanous robe she wore clung to her like mist, its silk catching the morning light and revealing the soft curves beneath in tantalizing glimpses. The fabric whispered against her skin with every subtle shift, hinting at the warmth of her body without fully unveiling it.
Her shoulders squared, her breath hitched. I froze, too, as her gaze locked with mine. When she saw me, she froze, her mouth hanging open wide. Her plump, unclothed breasts swayed slightly as she caught her breath. The robe parted just enough to expose the gentle swell of her cleavage, rising and falling with her quickened pulse.
For a maddening moment, I felt like a tourist staring at a relic, my eyes tracing the way the silk draped over her hips, accentuating the subtle dip of her waist.
A moment later, though, as if she were electrocuted, her reaction was immediate and violent: she yanked the robe’s sash tighter, cinching it twice over as if it were a noose, and stepped backward as if I were a stranger with a knife.
Her cheeks flushed a deep crimson, and her eyes darted away, unable to meet mine. I could see the worry etched into every line of her face—the way her lips trembled, the subtle quiver in her chin. She looked like she was bracing for the worst, her body language screaming fear of what I might say or think.
“G-good morning, dear,” she stammered, her voice cracking like fragile glass under pressure.
I glanced at her bare feet, the chipped polish on her toes peeking out from beneath the hem of the robe, the way her hands trembled as they fumbled with the sash.
Was she embarrassed that I saw her naked?
Normally, that would have been the case. But I know it was not that simple. I’ve been over this kind of experience several times, so I’ve already gotten used to how the women of this world think. Especially with my mother.
The women in this world don’t feel anything even if someone sees their bodies. Even to men. Though they would not actually actively show it off, fearing men’s negative reaction. That is why I know that Mom is really not embarrassed when I saw her naked, but more like she was scared that I would, once again, lash out at her because I saw her body. Naked body.
But would I?
Of course not.
Still, this really bothered me. After all, I like my mom. Love her. She’s pretty. She’s kind. She’s the complete ideal mother I have in mind- something I had desperately wished and longed for in my previous life.
I wanted a family.
Although this Family was whack since the beginning. Nevertheless, it’s a family that loved and cared for me. So, I wanted it to be perfect. That each and every member of this household be free and care for each other.
No matter what form it will take.
I stared at my mom. I could see the fear in her eyes—fear that I’d find her exposed form lacking, that I’d judge her the way the old Alvin had once judged her. Disgusting. Ugly. Those words hung unspoken in the air between us, ghosts from a past she couldn’t shake.
“S-sorry, about this… I, I didn’t know you were there,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest, looking as if she was attempting to appear firm, while her beautiful eyes just continued to give away her embarrassment and vulnerability.
Her fingers dug into the silk, knuckles whitening, as if holding herself together by sheer will.
Haa, I sighed inwardly.
I hated this distance between us—like we were strangers sharing a house instead of family.
“It’s fine, Mom,” I said, my voice smooth and reassuring, just trying to calm her down.
I didn’t want her to feel bad; I just wanted things to be normal between us. Mother and son. Friends, even. Anything better than this icy gap?
I looked at her, letting my gaze soften, not to stare but to show her I wasn’t upset. But that seemed to backfire—her shoulders sagged, trembling faintly, the robe shifting with the motion to reveal a sliver of her thigh, smooth and pale in the morning light filtering through the hallway window.
“I… I’ll go change quickly,” she whispered, her hands still gripping the robe like a lifeline, her voice barely above a breath, as if speaking louder might shatter the fragile moment.
The worry was etched deep in her posture, heavy and unyielding, like she braced for me to voice her worst fears—that she looked ridiculous, exposed, unworthy.
“Don’t bother, Mom,” I said, laughing lightly to ease the tension. The sound echoed softly off the walls, or at least I hoped it cut through the awkwardness. “You can wear whatever you want. Honestly, it doesn’t bother me at all.”
I flashed her a quick smile, the kind I’d toss out to smooth over a bump, nothing loaded behind it.
She managed a wry, strained smile, her lips curving upward even as her eyes flickered with doubt.
“R-right… you did say that before… haha,” she echoed, the words a self-soothing mantra against the insecurities bubbling up. “Though I was the one telling you and your sister to dress appropriately, but now look at me… ha, ha.”
Her laugh came out forced. I even saw her shifting her weight from one foot to the other.
The worry deepened now into raw insecurity, her arms tightening across her chest as she glanced down at herself, as if cataloging every flaw in the dim light. Although she could have turn around and close the door, she didn’t do it. She just stood there in front of me, like a criminal waiting to be executed.
Maybe she had not thought of it because of the anxiety and fear clouding her judgment, I didn’t really care.
Once again, I sighed in my mind.
She’s really not buying this at all, I thought.
In the end, I figured I had to push a bit harder, be more direct, to break through.
“Well, this is quite a rare occasion, so I don’t really mind the view though,” I said, stepping closer to close the gap.
My hand reached out to rest lightly on her hip, steady and casual, like I was just grounding the moment.
To emphasize I meant no judgment, I let my other palm brush upward, cupping the soft curve of her left breast through the thin silk—gentle, not groping, just a bold reassurance in this flipped world where touches as this might land differently.
“But Mom, did they get bigger again?”
A normal reaction back home would’ve been a sharp slap across the face, but here? As expected, she startled for just a heartbeat, her breath catching, before her expression softened into a wry smile. No outrage, no pull away—just a flicker of surprise melting into something almost relieved.
“Did they?” she asked, her tone light as if I’d commented on her hair growing out, not the full weight of her breast filling my hand, warm and yielding under the fabric.
“I did feel like I’ve gotten fatter,” she added, her voice dipping with that familiar waver, insecurity spilling out as she pinched at her belly fat.
Her fingers lifted the robe’s edge tentatively, exposing the soft give of her midsection—pale skin marked by faint stretch marks, a map of years and life’s quiet demands.
Her eyes searched mine, pleading for honesty, for any crumb that might confirm or shatter her doubts.
I really didn’t get where these folks got the idea that extra weight meant bigger breasts—like the calories bypassed the stomach and headed straight for the chest.
Was the anatomy here that off from what I knew?
Food fueling tits instead of a gut?
It baffled me, but I kept that confusion locked inside, focusing on her instead.
My hand stayed on her hip, thumb tracing a small, absent circle to keep her steady, while the other lingered a second longer on her breast before dropping away, casual as if it were nothing.
“Mom, seriously,” I said, my tone warm and steady, squeezing her hip lightly to pull her gaze back to mine. “You’re not fat—you’re just… curvy. And that’s way better. They suit you. I like them.”
I meant it purely, no undercurrent, just trying to chase away the shadows in her eyes. But I caught the shift—her worry easing into that insecure hunch, her body leaning ever so slightly into my touch without her seeming to clock it.
Her cheeks flushed deeper, a rosy bloom spreading under her skin, and she let out a soft huff, half-laugh, half-sigh.
“You’re just saying that, son. To make me stop fussing.”
But her hand, almost on instinct, reached up to cover mine on her hip, fingers curling over my knuckles—not pulling away, but holding there, a subtle cling she didn’t register.
Her brown eyes lifted, still laced with doubt, but softer now, the vulnerability cracking open like dawn light.
I shook my head, stepping a fraction closer so our arms brushed, the warmth of her robe seeping through my shirt. I opened my mouth to say more, to pile on the compliments that might finally chase away that shadow in her gaze, but then my foot caught on the trailing edge of her silk robe.
The fabric tangled around my ankle like a sly trap, and in an instant, balance fled.
I stumbled forward, my body pitching into hers, pushing us both backward into the room.
She let out a sharp gasp, startled eyes widening as we teetered.
The wooden floor rushed up to meet us, but her arms shot out instinctively, wrapping around my shoulders to shield me from the worst of it.
We hit the ground with a thud that rattled the nearby lamp, her body cushioning mine as I landed half on top of her. The impact jarred through us, but she took the brunt, her back pressing into the cool wood while I sprawled across her chest.
For a split second, silence hung heavy, broken only by our quick breaths.
Then her voice cut through, laced with worry rather than pain.
“Alvin! Are you alright? That was quite the tumble.”
She shifted beneath me, one hand coming up to cup the back of my head, fingers threading gently through my hair as if checking for bumps. Her other arm stayed looped around my waist, holding me steady even as we lay there tangled on the floor.
I lifted my head, meeting her concerned brown eyes, and felt a grin tugging at my lips.
I never expected I would get a lucky pervert event in my life. I was not even hoping for it. But anyway, instead of answering right away, I wiggled my fingers against her side, right where I suspected she was sensitive.
“Gotcha,” I murmured, starting to tickle her ribs lightly, my hands dancing over the silk that barely concealed her curves.
She yelped, a surprised laugh bursting from her lips as her body arched instinctively.
“Alvin! Stop—oh!”
Her protest dissolved into giggles, her legs kicking out playfully while she tried to squirm away.
In the chaos, my elbow nudged the loose sash of her robe, and the silk parted like a curtain, falling open to reveal the smooth expanse of her naked skin beneath.
Her breasts spilled free, soft and full, rising with each breathless laugh, and the robe draped aside to expose the gentle swell of her hips and the curve of her thighs.
But neither of us paused to acknowledge it; the moment was too light, too caught up in the joy of it all.
She didn’t scramble to cover up, and I didn’t pull back—instead, we just kept laughing, her hands batting at mine half-heartedly while I relented just enough to let her catch her breath.
We rolled slightly on the floor, her body pressing closer in the tussle, the warmth of her skin brushing against my shirt where the robe had gaped. Her laughter rang out, genuine and free, chasing away the last remnants of her earlier doubt.
