Incest Stories by Alwayswantedto

[nilr1]

STORY 3

Brushing Mom's Hair Ch. 01 to 03
by alwayswantedto©

All characters are 18 years or older.

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"Cliff, you said you would," Mom complained. "It has to be brushed out tonight or it won't be right for tomorrow." Mom shook her heavy mane of hair, the red highlights glinting against the background of her rich brown locks.

"I know, Emily," Dad acknowledged, "but I have to get this done for tomorrow morning." Dad waved the papers in his hand at Mom, finishing with a sweeping gesture toward the stack occupying the coffee table in front of him. "Bill had to go to LA and this got dumped on me. I can't help it."

"That's just great. You know what my hair is like. I'll look like a flathead, and it's the biggest fundraiser of the year. Not that you care."

Mom turned on her heel and walked quickly away. Though she didn't stomp, it was clear from her deliberate tread that she wasn't happy. Exasperated and already stressed, Dad muttered something under his breath and settled back into his papers. I left for the kitchen, ostensibly to make myself some hot chocolate but just as much to escape. I made a couple of extra mugs, one for each of my parents and carried a tray into the living room, offering one to my Dad.

"Oh, thanks Mike. Did you make one for your Mom?"

I nodded at the two mugs left on the tray.

"Good boy. Look, can you do me a favor and brush her hair for her. You know how she is about her hair.."

"Sure Dad."

"Great. Thanks son."

I walked carefully across the room and up the stairs, trying not to spill the hot chocolate. I knew about Mom and her hair, that's for sure. Because of the red highlights, Mom's long, thick and full-bodied head of hair was especially beautiful in the sunlight but if it wasn't brushed it lost its shine and hung flat. This had a dramatic effect on the way Mom felt about herself, especially because her hair compensated for a lack of prominent assets in the chest area. She did have very nice legs, at least my dad was always saying so, but she thought they were too thin and was convinced his compliments simply confirmed that he thought her breasts were too small. So Dad had learned not to say anything. Thankfully, I wasn't expected to say.

Mom's door was open and she was sitting in front of the mirrored dresser brushing her hair. As I approached, I stepped around her discarded robe which looked like it had been tossed toward the bed but fell short and sprawled on the floor. Mom was dressed in a pale blue nightdress I had seen before, though I could only see the bit covering her hips and the lower six inches of her back; the rest was covered by her hair.

Mom's eyes looked up when I entered and her expression softened.

"Oh Michael, you didn't need to do that." Mom always called me Michael and Dad always called me Mike.

"No problem, not for my favorite lady," I sucked up, hoping to drain Mom's anger though I knew she would already be feeling sorry about getting mad at Dad.

"That's so sweet," Mom said as I put her mug down on the dresser in front of her. "Will you stay for a few minutes with me?"

"Sure." I took my mug over to the bed and sat down, tossing the tray behind me. I sipped hot chocolate and watched Mom brush her hair after taking a small drink from her mug.

"Is Dad mad at me?" she asked, pulling the brush slowly through her hair.

"You know he's not," I answered, causing a slight smile that conveyed both relief and acknowledgement that she knew this to be true.