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All You Need Is Some Good Old-Fashioned Mommy Therapy: Session 1 by Luca Satana

Who knows, in the end, maybe my mom was right, maybe all I needed was some good old-fashioned Mommy Therapy.

About midway through my senior year of high school, I started having a rough go of things. At the time, I didn’t have a clue why. Whatever the reason, it manifested itself in various ways, mostly moodiness. I guess I could be a right prick. To put it plainly, I had issues. To the point my guidance counselor suggested I see a therapist. But my dad didn’t believe in therapy. So, my mom stepped in. If my dad wasn’t going to do something, she was.

The first thing my mom did was found a couple second-hand cushy chairs she believed looked a lot like the cushy chairs you might find in a therapist’s office. Then, she started watching a little extra therapist shows like The Sopranos and In Treatment. And when she felt good and ready, she approached me, her prospective first and only client.

I have to say, my mom tried her best to convince me she knew what the fuck she was doing. Even though she didn’t exactly succeed in that, I did appreciate the effort. At least she was trying, which was more than I could say for my dad.

And, who knows, in the end, maybe my mom was right, maybe all I needed was some good old-fashioned Mommy Therapy.

Excerpt:

About a week after I, somewhat emboldened by my high school guidance counselor’s suggestion, summoned the requisite courage to finally broach the subject of me possibly going to see a therapist, and my dad basically going off on me and just about the whole concept of therapy, essentially equating it to going to see a witch doctor or maybe consulting a volcano about your troubles, I was happening along the upstairs hallway, probably about an hour before bed, when I was suddenly stopped short by my mom, who wasn’t looking at all like her usual going-to-bed-self, but actually, looking very nice, even, well, sexy, with her already very beautiful face made up even more beautiful, in particular her big bright red lips, along with her long chestnut-brown hair flowing over her shoulders, and wearing this absolutely out-of-this-world mostly see-through white lace teddy thing, which was doing very little to cover up her little bubbly boobs, in particular her extremely dark, even bubblier, or rather, pointy nipples, making me, well, jump, both inside and outside, especially inside my boxers, or more specifically, inside my big cock, which was, I’m sure you could imagine, quite a fucking surprise.

“Holly, honey, Mommy wants you to forget what your father said,” my mom said, moving in close to me, as her intoxicating perfume filled my nostrils, while her and her little bubbly body gave me very little space to maneuver, let alone breathe. “He’s just of a different generation. A different mindset. Caveman, call it.” She paused and giggled.

“Uh-huh…” I nodded, gulping.

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