Handgagged my Moms Friends M/F

[Lolkpduhs]

Thats Story have Placed not too Long ago.

My mom was laughing, her voice a familiar, comforting melody, while Clara’s was a lower, smoother harmony that always made me pay attention. Clara had been my mom’s best friend since college, a permanent fixture in my life, and an object of my quiet fascination for as long as I could remember.

She was stunning in a way that felt effortless. Today, she wore a simple black sweater and jeans, her dark hair tied back in a loose knot that a few stray strands had escaped from. She wasn’t trying to impress anyone, but she commanded the room just by being in it. Her presence had a certain weight, a self-possessed calm that I found magnetic.

“I’ll go grab the cookies from the kitchen,” my mom announced, pushing herself up from the armchair. The moment the words left her lips, my heart gave a sharp, definitive thump against my ribs. It was an old, familiar thought—an impulse I’d always dismissed as a strange quirk of my imagination—that suddenly felt like an opportunity.

The room fell quiet as my mom disappeared down the hall. It was just me and Clara on the long sofa, a comfortable foot of space between us. The silence wasn’t awkward; it rarely was with her. We both pulled out our phones, the soft glow of the screens illuminating our faces. I scrolled aimlessly through social media, but my mind wasn’t on the pictures. It was on her. The way her thumb moved elegantly over her screen, the subtle shift of her weight on the cushions, the faint, steady rhythm of her breathing.

The thought, the one I always had, surfaced again, bolder this time. What if I just…?

My pulse quickened. My palms felt damp. I navigated to a shopping website, my fingers fumbling slightly, and found a picture of a leather jacket I’d been vaguely considering. My brain was a blur, but instinct took over. This was the excuse. This was the moment.

I leaned in slightly, closing the distance between us. “Hey,” I said, my voice a little rougher than I intended.

She looked up from her phone, her hazel eyes meeting mine. They held a hint of amusement, as if she was always ready for a joke. “Yeah?”

“I need your advice on something.”

Before she could form another word, I moved. My left hand came up, not fast or aggressive, but with a deliberate, almost gentle certainty. I cupped the back of her neck, my thumb resting on the warm, soft skin just below her ear, and my fingers wrapped around, my palm pressing firmly and securely over her mouth.

Her body went still for a fraction of a second. I felt a tiny, almost imperceptible tensing of the muscles in her neck, and then… she relaxed. Completely. Her eyes, wide and clear, stayed locked on mine. There was no fear in them. Only surprise, and something else… curiosity.

I brought my phone up with my other hand, showing her the picture of the jacket. My voice was a low murmur. “Just nod if you like it.”

Her gaze flickered from my eyes to the screen, then back to my eyes. She gave a slow, deliberate nod. The movement was smooth, unhurried. The warmth of her breath ghosted against my palm. Under my hand, I could feel the faint curve of her lips.

A wave of adrenaline and something intensely electric washed over me. It was happening. It was real.

“Okay, wait,” I whispered, my own words sounding distant. “I need to show you something else.”

I didn’t have anything else to show her. My mind was completely blank. I kept my hand firmly in place and used my other to scroll frantically, pretending to look for another item. Twenty seconds stretched into an eternity. The world seemed to shrink to the space between us, the warmth of my hand on her skin, the scent of her perfume, the silent sound of her breathing.

And the most surreal part? She just went with it. She turned her attention back to her own phone, her thumb resuming its calm, methodical scrolling. It was as if this was the most normal thing in the world, as if a young man silencing his mother's friend with his hand was a casual, everyday occurrence. She was just… waiting. Patiently.

I finally landed on a random picture of a watch and held it up. I met her eyes one last time before slowly, reluctantly, removing my hand. The air felt cool against my palm.

“Thanks,” I said, forcing a small, nervous laugh. “Haha.”

Clara didn’t miss a beat. She blinked once, a small, knowing smile touching the corners of her lips—the very lips my hand had just covered. Her voice was as smooth and unbothered as ever.

“No problem.”

She turned back to her phone, and I turned back to mine. Just then, my mom re-entered the room with a plate of cookies, oblivious. The moment was over, but the air between Clara and me was different. It was charged with a silent, shared secret that felt heavier, and far more thrilling, than any words we could have spoken.