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Message-ID: <44497asstr$1064787004@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: tonyreeno@yahoo.com (Tony Reeno)
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NNTP-Posting-Date: 28 Sep 2003 19:15:41 GMT
Subject: {ASSM} Mom's Erotic Displays (exhibitionism, covert inc, Fm)
Date: Sun, 28 Sep 2003 18:10:04 -0400
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

MOM'S EROTIC DISPLAYS
by Mike Escondido (as told to and recorded by Tony Reeno)

DISCLAIMER:  Of course this is a work of fiction.  Of course the
characters do not exist.  Of course this is solely borne out of the
twisted mind of the author, Tony Reeno.  Of course you should NOT try
this at home (these are trained professionals).  And of course you
should not read this if you are under 18 years of age and/or living in
a place that deems erotic fiction (and by extension, pornography)
illegal.

I'm always interested in receiving feedback as well as your own tales
of exhibitionism, home nudity and other antics as described in this
story.  Feel free to drop me a line at:  tonyreeno@yahoo.com


CHAPTER 1:  THE SEDUCTIVE SHOWOFF

This is a story that some of you may find engaging, while others will
want to ignore.  It deals with an erotic bond that developed between
my mother and myself.  Be aware that you know that before proceeding. 
Moreover, be advised that the story is not about full-blown sex.  If
anything this is just a reminiscence that is laced with eroticism and
exhibitionism more than explosive sex between parent and offspring.

My mother had me when she was in her mid-twenties, which means that by
the time I was five or six, she was in her very early thirties.  I
mention this because I think it was at this time that she began to
question the power of her sexuality - her capacity to attract and lure
the attention of men.  Don't get me wrong.  My mother and father were
happily married, but upon reflection - and from the stories that my
mother eventually related to me - it seems that their marriage was in
flux at the time, moving from a period when the passion was running
high in their relationship to a more sedate cooling off period.  There
was still love and still the occasional round of sex, but that, I
believe, was one of the problems:  the sex moved from a nightly or
even twice daily activity, to three times a week romping sessions, to
a once a weekend funtime.  I think my father was more than content
with this pattern (he worked increasingly long hours as an investment
consultant and had his hands full by his own choosing, raking money
in).  My mother, on the other hand, had given up her secretary job
when I was born and since money wasn't too great an issue (mind you,
we weren't rich, but we were comfortable enough with Dad's earnings to
allow mother the option of staying home), had elected to stay home and
become a housewife.  This left her with more time to build up her
erotic hunger - but no one to satiate it.

She tried hard, though.  Mother was a beautiful woman.  She stood
about five feet seven inches and had a curvy, hourglass figure that
was most popular in the 60s.  She wasn't fat - not by a stretch - but
she was generously full in all the right places.  Her hair was
strawberry blonde and her most distinguishing facial features were her
slightly upturned pixie nose, the dusting of very light freckles
across its bridge and underneath her green eyes, and her puffy,
bee-stung lips that seemed to contradict the delicate nose.

My mother used to bathe me as a kid.  I remember these times very
affectionately as fun "wet play" as she used to call them.  Let me
mention that nothing remotely sexual took places during Mother's
bathing sessions.  She simply let me play with my various aquatic toys
and floats and supervised for a while until she decided that "wet
play" was over and then she gave me a good scrubbing.  Afterward, she
would dry me and help me with my clothes.

At about the time that I was five or six, I started expressing a
desire to bathe myself.  Mom expressed some reservations and continued
to supervise me, but once she saw that I had the hang of it, she let
me take care of my own needs.

Life at home was gradually progressing to that stagnating stage during
this time (again, I learned all this later.  As a five-year-old, I
wouldn't have begun to notice what was and what wasn't going on in my
parents' bedroom.  My biggest crisis was making sure that I secured
the tube to watch Lost in Space, Time Tunnel or some other sci-fi 60s
TV show.

I did notice, though, that my mother began to dress more revealingly
in the evenings.  My family (there were just the three of us) was not
prone to overt exposure of the body.  I don't think that Mom and Dad
were prudes, but we weren't a household in which nudity was the rule. 
Even light clothing was kept respectable.  Shorts and shirts or
halters were worn at all times.  At night, if you were to change into
your nightclothes, you put on a robe.

That changed the summer that my mother started to feel my father's
absences.  I remember watching a TV program with my father the night
that mom casually sauntered into the living room wearing a light and
sheer nightie that came down to about mid-thigh.  I remember, even as
a kid, being unable to wrest my eyes from her bronze legs and the
sinewy shadows that teased me beneath the think blue fabric of the
gown.

"Forget your robe, Lisa?" my father asked.

"It's hot tonight," said my mother, "isn't it?"

Dad laughed.  "I'll say it is."

I remember lying on my stomach before the television and feeling a
stirring in my loins.  My little member definitely responded to my
scantily clad mother.

Mother and Father disappeared for a time, then returned.  This time,
my mother wore her usual robe.

It became a game with them - actually, more with her than him.  She
tried to lure him away with various glimpses of her scantily clad
body.  Sometimes he responded, but as the months wore on (and this is
hard to believe, since it was driving me crazy), Dad chose the tube
over a trip to the bedroom.

He started working later and later, too, and many were the nights that
I wouldn't see him before I was sent to my room to go to sleep.  But
this isn't a "woe is me because I was deprived of affection" story. 
Dad did his best, I'm certain, given his ambitious nature and the fact
that he was trying to raise a family, pay off the mortgage and make
enough to keep Mom at home so that she could care for me, etc.  And
there were plenty of weekend outings when I did see him.

But the truth of the matter is that I saw more of my mother - a lot
more.  And as time went on, I not only spent more time in her presence
than in my father's, I also got to literally see more of my mother's
body.  You see, after awhile, Mom's erotic nighttime wardrobe carried
over even into the nights that my father wasn't coming home until
late.  This wasn't an every-night affair, but it became pretty
frequent.  Short baby-doll nighties became the rule - powder blue,
pink and yellow;  most were extremely transparent.  And no sign of a
robe on these nights.  Upon reflection, I know now exactly what was
going on then.  I honestly don't think that Mom was trying to seduce
me, but she did start to enjoy showing her body off to me.  I think
that you could probably label her behavior a kind of covert incest. 
It was subtle.  It seemed, for all intents and purposes, quite
innocent;  but it was most definitely sensuous activity:  erotically
charged for me, as a young boy (I was about seven by the time that Mom
started exhibiting herself to me in this fashion).  And more so, for
her.  My mother was using me - her personal at-home audience - to get
a sexual thrill that she used as a precursor to explosive masturbation
sessions.

Mom favored her baby-doll nightgowns, most of which came down to just
below her buttocks, but I discovered, as the night shows continued,
that her wardrobe was extensive and her gowns, varied.  Some were cut
just above the knee.  Others came down to about mid-thigh.  The best
and the ones that gave me the most thrill were those that barely
covered her voluptuous hips and ass, and that actually let me glimpse
the lower, half-moons of her butt cheeks about every third step or so
that she took.  All her nighties were thin and it was clear that she
didn't wear underwear beneath them.  I remember her strolling casually
into the living room at night.  A lot of times, she'd nudge me with
her foot and play tickle games with me as I lay on the floor.  Her
feet were very pretty and her toenails were always polished, usually a
bright red or a very deep burgundy.

And speaking of that particular color, Mom loved her wine at night.  I
think it made her a little less inhibited.  She had a glass or two
with dinner and nursed another couple of glasses throughout the night.
 Some would probably call three or four glasses a night excessive and
I guess it was, but it was the sixties and everyone seemed to do more
than their share of imbibing.  That's not an excuse, just a
rationalization.

There were also the nights when my mother exceeded her usual alcohol
intake and three or four glasses of wine became about five.  On these
nights, Mother didn't get nasty or bitter.  She got cuddly and she'd
have me nuzzle up against her.  I was, to be sure, living with a
perpetual erection in the evenings.  I wasn't sure what to do about it
yet, but I knew that this feeling in my body was truly amazing and I
didn't want it to stop, ever.  Mom would squeeze me to her chest
between the commercials and take long pulls of her wine glass and give
me sloppy kisses.  I remember feeling the intense warmth of her body
and the soft full breasts pushing against my young chest and arms.

Her dress got sloppy too.  Her nightgown straps would slip off her
shoulders sometimes, especially if we got involved in a tickle fight.

CHAPTER 2:  TOTAL EXPOSURE

The first time I saw my mother completely naked was during the summer
of my eleventh year.  I had just turned eleven, actually, at the
beginning of summer vacation.  I wonder if that gave Mom a kind of
go-ahead signal.  Maybe it did and maybe it didn't.  All I know is
that one afternoon, while racing down the hall to my bedroom in order
to retrieve another stack of comic books, I passed by the open door of
my parents' bedroom and something in the gloomy interior caught my
eye.  I slowed down, stopped, found myself standing at the open door. 
My mother must have known that I was in the house.  I'd seen her
shortly before lunch and I hadn't announced that I was going out to
play or to a friend's house.  Yet she hadn't bothered to shut her door
before trying on her new dress.  She stood in the center of her
bedroom - stark naked.

	"Oh, Mike!" she said, sounding surprised.  "I thought you were at
Joey's."  Joey was my good friend, but he was away at camp for three
weeks.

	I stood stunned and drank in Mother's beauty: her bronze skin, her
large and heavy breasts with their round and darker nipples, her
hour-glass figure that resembled countless buxom cheesecake calendar
models of days gone by.  Her pubic mound was covered by dark hair but
when she moved her legs in a certain way, I could see through the hair
and her thick nether-lips were quickly displayed.  In short, my mother
was stunning and making no fast move to cover her nude body from her
son's astonished gaze.

	Mother stood brazenly - almost defiantly -- before me.  Just when I
thought she was going to ignore the incredibly surreal nature of the
situation, she made mention of it.  "I guess I should say run along,
or maybe I should grab my robe or something, but you've already seen
me, so what the heck."

	With that comment, she started walking toward me!  I felt my face
flush all shades of crimson even before Mom came up and patted my
cheek.

Mom bent down low and gave my cheeks a one-handed squeeze, then
planted a sloppy kiss on my nose.  I could smell wine on her breath
and then spotted a half-filled glass on her nightstand.  Even as a
young kid, I understood that my mother was being overly immodest
because she'd started drinking earlier than she usually did and the
alcohol helped loosen her inhibitions.  "Besides, you'll always be
Mama's baby, right?"

	"Give it a rest, Mom!"  I protested.

	She laughed, turned and headed to the queen-sized bed where her new
dress lay draped.  As she walked away from me, I stared as her round
and generous ass-cheeks clenched tight, then moved up and down with
each step she took.

	"I sure hope this thing fits," she said.  She bent over to retrieve
the dress and now her ass was on complete display.  "I think I've been
porking out a bit in all the wrong places." She cupped her right
buttock with one hand and gave it a squeeze and a pat.  "What do you
think, baby?"

	"Moooom!  I think you like fine, I guess."  I thought a lot more, but
it was all I could get out.

	Mother laughed and blew me a kiss.  "You're a sweetie."

	With that, she fitted the dress over her head and brought it down,
then walked back to me.  "Zip me, baby."

	I did, conscious of the inverted triangle of tanned skin between each
side of the dress.  I was painfully erect by now and I could literally
feel my heart throbbing in my chest and both temples.

	Mom moved over to her full-length, oval shaped mirror in the corner
of the bedroom, turned around and placed a hand on her hip. 
"What'd'ya think?"

	I drank her in and watched the toes of her left foot dig into the
carpet.

	"You're beautiful, Mom!"

	She laughed some more, came over and this time gave my cheek a kiss
and told me to run along.


CHAPTER 3:  BATHTIME

	My mother's displays grew from there.  It became common practice for
her to wait until I got home from school before she took her bath. 
And she always seemed to take baths when I was around, more than
showers.  The first time that Mom displayed herself to me in a way
that involved her daily bathroom activities was when she called me in
on the pretext of asking me about my day in school.  I tried to answer
her questions from the hallway but she kept telling me that she
couldn't hear me through the door.  "Crack the door open, Sweetheart."

I did as she told me and I got a partial view into the bathroom.  From
my vantage point, I could hear her more than see her splashing about,
but I did get a couple of fine glimpses of her legs.

Things escalated from there.  A couple of afternoons later, Mom called
out to me from the bathroom.  Once again, I went to stand by the
closed door.  She complained that she forgot her towel and asked me to
get her one from the closet in the hallway.  Once I did, I knocked at
the door and she said to come in.  I stuck my hand and the towel
through the door, but Mother laughed at me and told me to quit fooling
around and bring her the towel.  What could I do?  I did as I was
told.  I walked into the bathroom and the reward was instantaneous.

Mom was sitting in the tub.  No soapy TV or movie suds in this water. 
It was pretty clear.  She was soaping up a washcloth as she splashed
about.  "Just set it on the counter, there, Baby.  And sit on the
toilet so we can talk for awhile."

I was too busy feeling shock course through my body and mingling with
adolescent arousal to bolt.  So I did what she suggested and admired
the gentle sway of her pendulous breasts, the beautiful curves of her
arms and stomach leading to her thick darkness below.

I can't even tell you what we talked about that first day.  I honestly
don't remember.  It might have been school.  It might have been TV
shows or the weather or vacation-planning.  The sights were too good
to really drink in anything but Mom.  As she rose from the tub, she
carefully dried off, padding her body more than drying it.  When she
did her back, she turned around and I took in the sight of her
gorgeous rear end.  Her buttocks were quite large but they seemed to
anchor her voluptuous frame in a manner most appropriate.  When Mom
stepped out of the tub and went to hang her used towel on the rack, I
watched the way those flesh globes quivered with each step she took. 
I memorized the way the dark curvy creases formed first under one
cheek and then the other as she moved about and I stared and tried
hard to penetrate the darker and deeper cleft between her generous
flesh globes.

That was the first time that I was invited to join my mother in the
bathroom.  That day launched a routine in our afternoon activities. 
The very next day, and just about every day after that (as long as Dad
wasn't home), Mom would invite me to come into the bathroom with her
to "chit-chat and catch up" while she bathed.  I would be only too
happy to oblige.

	I was, quite frankly, in awe of my mother's beauty and her erotic
displays. Today I know that she seemed intent on putting on a longer
and longer show for me.  How?  By increasing the time she spent in the
nude in my presence.  About a week into our new routine, Mom started
to invite me into her bedroom even before she got to the bathroom.  We
would start our talking there as Mother slowly stripped what little
she was wearing and placed her clothing in her clothes hamper.  Then,
with my mother already stark naked, we would walk into the large
private bathroom adjacent to her bedroom.  Then my naked mother would
sit on the toilet and pee.  I remember the extremely casual pattern of
her behavior, her movements.  She'd be sitting there, her pretty feet
arched and on tiptoe, her legs wide apart and I could see the stream
shooting out from between her legs and hear it hissing its way into
the bowl.  Throughout this display (and it was a full-fledged display,
more for her erotic benefit than mine, I'm certain of that now), my
mom would keep up a steady stream of conversation as though sitting
nude and pissing in front of a young son was the most typical of
family behavior.  She would cut off a long piece of toilet paper, wipe
herself and then, on most occasions, bend over the tub and start
running the water, her gorgeous ass practically thrust in my face.

	I say that this was her normal pattern on most occasions, because
there were other times when she would decide to remove her nail polish
before bathing.  Maybe because I was now in a constant state of
arousal during these sessions, but I never once questioned her
behavior.  Much later, I wondered if it was really necessary to remove
her toenail polish immediately before a bath.  Moreover, even if it
was, why did Mother feel compelled to strip her clothes and remove the
polish while in the nude?  Of course, I didn't think about these
things then.  I was too enraptured with the non-stop nude show.

	And what a show: totally naked, Mom would squat low and retrieve her
polish remover and cotton balls from underneath the sink and close the
toilet lid.  Then, still as naked as the day she was born, her legs
slightly parted and the toes of her feet planted firmly on either side
of the commode, she would proceed to work on her fingernails.  A host
of questions would come flying out of her - about school, homework,
dinner possibilities, TV that night, the latest episode of a show we
had both watched, etc.  The conversation never ceased and now and
again, Mom would glance my way and smile.  For the most part though,
she kept her eyes averted and fixed on her clipping and buffing
fingernail activities.  This afforded me ample opportunity to ogle her
exposed pendulous breasts sagging this way and that as her fingers
worked over her, her gorgeous curvy torso and her attractive vagina
with its thick lips playing peek-a-boo games beneath her trim bush.

	When she was done with her fingernails, my mother would then sit on
the floor, on the bathmat, bend her legs at the knees and reach around
them and between them and, using cotton balls and pungent polish
remover, proceed to wipe the polish off her toenails.  I still think
this is astonishing behavior on her part, sitting there naked and
open-legged.  I remember her thick outer pussy lips literally growing
more engorged and puffing open (I know now that her engorged sex was
evidence that her own displays were arousing to her).  Her inner lips
looked slick and wet.  Once, I came dangerously close to erupting in
my pants when she casually reached down and fondled the hair above her
vagina and said, "What do you think?  Does Mommy need a trim?"

	I'm sure I blushed all shades of the red color scheme.  Mom laughed,
reached out her hand and waved her fingers at me, which meant she
wanted to be hoisted up.  I did so and she gave me a quick hug - her
first nude hug - and still laughing, said, "You're so much fun to
tease, Mike!"

	I'm glad she thought so because it only enhanced the show.  Many
times Mom decided to paint her nails before bathing, which meant an
even longer session.  And it wasn't just painting the nails that took
time.  It was waiting for them to dry.  She would sit and wiggle her
pretty round toes and her hands and dry them out.  Then, finally, she
would get in the tub and proceed to give herself a thorough scrubbing.

	And there were those occasions when Mother did proceed to shave her
legs.  It was a long and slow process, full of sensuous movements. 
She would bathe herself thoroughly, then she would sit on the side of
the tub and extend one leg across the side and lather it up.  Then the
other.  Then my mother would stand up and bend over at the waist.  She
always made certain to point her buttocks in my direction as she bent
over and spread her legs slightly, with one pretty foot atop the side
of the tub, as she traced the razor over her calf and onto her thigh,
higher up, leaving a trail of tanned flesh exposed on either side of
her white creamed leg.  The process would continue until the cream and
her excess hair were gone.

One afternoon, Mom grabbed some scissors before heading into the tub
and snipped them at me, once and twice.

	"I've joked about it before, but this time it's for real, Mike."

	"What's that, Mom?"

	"I'm going to give myself more than a shave.  I'm going to go bald!"

	Laughing, she snipped all of the hair off her vagina until it was a
shadowy stubble of growth.  This she shaved after her bath, spreading
herself wide open with one hand and looking up and grinning and
laughing softly as she gave herself an extremely close shave.

	"But why, Mom?"

	"Some folks don't like hair on their body and I'm one of them," she
said.  "It's been a long time since Mommy shaved herself, but I prefer
it this way."  She splashed water onto her exposed vagina and sat down
heavily in the tub, splashing water all around her and onto the tiled
floor and the blue bathmat.  "Ooopsie!"

As she dried herself that night, I actually saw Mother's fingers push
the towel deeply into her bald cleft on the pretext of drying herself
thoroughly.  Then she hung the towel, turned around and thrust her
legs apart and her arms into the air, making a nude female flesh X. 
"What do you think of your smoothie mommy?"

I just laughed and she did too and then came over and gave me another
one of those wonderful nude hugs.  Then she took my hand and we left
the bathroom.


CHAPTER 4:  NAKED AROUND THE HOUSE

	Mom loved to have her wine in the evenings, but as time passed, she
started to have her first glass of the day while bathing in the late
afternoon.  Usually, she would wait until I got home from school, then
invite me into her bedroom while she stripped and then we would go
into her large private bathroom (connected to the master bedroom)
where she would proceed to engage me in idle conversation while she
ran the water, sat on the toilet while the tub filled and talked with
me, all the time exposing her naked body.  As time passed, a glass of
wine while bathing became the norm for my mother.  Before we headed to
Mom's bedroom, we would stop by the kitchen, where she would pour a
goblet for herself and a soda for me and then we take our drinks to
the bedroom, where she would undress.  Then, her clothes in the hamper
or piled in a careless mess on the rug, she'd grab her wine off an end
table and, totally nude, we'd walk into her bathroom.  One afternoon,
though, Mother forgot her wine before stripping.  I really think that
on this occasion, it was an honest oversight.  She looked genuinely
upset, then asked me to be really careful and go pour her a glass of
the open Merlot on the counter and bring it to her.

	The next afternoon, Mother undressed completely and when she was
naked, she put her hands on her hips and blew out an exasperated sigh.
 "Goodness!  I think I'm going senile!  I forgot my wine again."

	"I'll get it for you," I offered.

	"Thanks, sweetie, but I killed off the bottle last night and I don't
think you know how to open a new one.  No matter."  She extended my
hand and hoisted me off the bed where I'd been sitting.  "We'll go get
our drinks."

	Together, we walked down the hall, through the family room and into
the kitchen to get Mom her wine.  I remember my heart throbbing and a
massive erection building in my trousers (which wouldn't have been so
massive then, given my age, but it felt positively bulbous).  Here I
was watching a totally nude woman walk through our home.  Even if she
were my mother, I found the sight extremely arousing.

	I think Mother was aware of her WOW power, too.  Even though she was
holding my hand, she let me trail a few steps behind her, which let me
gaze at her voluptuous nude figure from behind.  I was enchanted with
her bulging buttocks swaying one way and then the next, her tanned
legs, her pretty bare feet crushing the carpet with each step.

	Once in the kitchen, my mother used a corkscrew to open the wine
bottle.  I loved watching her large breasts jiggle as she popped the
cork and poured the wine.

	We started a new routine on this day: we would go to the bedroom,
where Mother would strip until she was completely naked, then we would
go to the kitchen for wine and a soda, then head back to the bathroom.

I think Mother was more than aware of her seductive power.  She
started to find even more ways of extending her nude time around me. 
For example, a standard question after she poured her wine was, "What
are we going to watch on the boob tube tonight?"  We talked about that
night's broadcast lineup, with Mom leaning nude against the cooking
island in the center of the kitchen.  About a week after this became
standard practice, we were going through the family room and Mother
stopped by the coffee table and picked up the TV guide, on the pretext
of making sure a movie we'd decided to watch was really being
broadcast that night.  I thought she was going to take it to the
bathroom with her, but she set her wineglass down on the coffee table
and then slouched back on the couch and started thumbing through the
magazine.  Then she patted the seat next to her and invited me to scan
the magazine with her.  As I walked over, she raised the book to face
level.  I knew she wasn't watching me, so I let my gaze trail down to
her shaved vagina.  She had placed her legs on the coffee table and
spread them out fairly wide.  I watched her toes flex and grip the
side of the coffee table and then my eyes fell onto her bald public
mound and puffy lips.  She looked positively engorged to me and I'll
bet she was quite aroused by her extremely brazen display on this
occasion.

This was an era when game shows could be found all over afternoon
television.  One day, while Mom flipped through the TV Guide, I walked
over and turned on the set (not many remotes in the 70s).

Mom quickly took interest in the game show.  "OOOO!  Let's watch this
for a bit."  And there we sat: I, totally clothed, Mom, totally naked,
watching TV in the afternoon.  After that day, Mom would ask me to go
flick on the TV while she checked out the listings for that evening
and we would watch twenty or thirty minutes of television.  Sometimes
my mother sat on the couch; other times, she would sprawl out and prop
her head on some pillows while I sat on the nearby Lazy-Boy (Dad's
throne).  On several occasions, her nude displays during this time
were extra revealing.  For example, now and again she would toss some
pillows on the floor and sprawl nude on the tacky orange shag rug in
front of the set.  Mom lay on her stomach, her legs crossed at the
ankles initially, but eventually, she would always end up uncrossing
them and spreading her sexy legs slightly.  This view was incredible
and I think I came dangerously close to cumming for the first time
during one of these displays.  I remember the round curves of her
ass-globes swelling up from her back to a high arc that descended and
curved into plump creases on the crest of her bronze thighs.  I
remember her sex playing peek-a-boo games with me, her vagina's thick
outer lips swelling open, then shut sometimes.  And I still remember
the shocking, candid view of her pussy and her pink anus on full
display each time the game show ended and she rose onto all fours
before getting up.


CHAPTER 5: NOSEY RELATIVE SPELLS TROUBLE

	My mother continued to display herself brazenly to her eager audience
of one - and of course, I responded.  I was in a perpetual state of
arousal.   Some would argue that her naughty activity probably damaged
me in some grotesque fashion, but to tell you the truth, I don't think
the experience had any kind of adverse effect on me.  It certainly
didn't turn me into a sexual sociopath, a rapist,  a sadist, a
murderer or anything remotely resembling any one of those weirdoes. 
In fact, I can't see anything negative that resulted from my mother's
erotic displays except frustration.  But that was the payoff:  in
return, I was privy to long periods of time during which I could gaze
upon Mother's voluptuous nakedness.

	Of course, the shows weren't always available.  Mom was careful to
cover up her antics in front of my father.  On the few occasions when
he happened to be around in the afternoon, she made it a point of
bathing alone, or waiting until evening.  When he wasn't around, she'd
take extend her familiar invitation to join her and catch up with each
other while she bathed.

	Late that summer, Dad's sister Josie came to stay with us for a few
weeks. Aunt Josie was four years older than my father.  Short and
stocky, with a passion for rich foods and desserts, she was the
antithesis of my mother in the looks department.  I suppose that she
was nice enough, all things considered, but even as a youngster, I was
turned off for her love of family gossip.

	As you may have guessed, Mom didn't put on any nude shows for me
while Aunt Josie was around, but one afternoon, my aunt borrowed the
car and headed for a solo-shopping trip at the mall.  It was nearing
the time that my father would have been heading home from work, but he
was out of town for about three days on a business trip.  I think my
mother was hot and bothered during this period because she quickly
took advantage of the situation:  the moment Aunt Josie pulled the car
out of the garage and drove down the street, Mother stood up from the
couch where she'd been casually sipping her first glass of wine of the
day.

	"Good riddance to her for awhile!"  she exclaimed, then her mouth
turned into an O and she cupped a hand over it.  The hand soon failed
to conceal a smile and then a giggle and I quickly joined her.

	"I shouldn't say stuff like that in front of you," Mom said.  "Not
about your aunt.  But she can be a royal pain."

	"She's into everything, isn't she?" I said.

	Mother nodded.  "She's a nosey gossip, period."

	She rose from the couch, stretched and slowly unsnapped her
cream-colored peddle-pushers, then stepped out of her open-backed,
open-toed black pumps.  "I think I'm going to cool down with a bath."

	"Two in a day?" I blurted.  I remember Mother had spent a long time
in her bathroom that morning.

	"Well," she said, "It's been a hot day and I got sticky when we went
out to the store earlier."

	It had been a scorcher of a summer but my mother kept the house
almost nippy and the car and stores had been air-conditioned.  Still,
I wasn't going to complain about her sudden desire to have another
bath.  I was just teasing her a bit.

	She walked to the kitchen, set her wineglass on the island between
rooms and topped it off with Merlot.  "Want to come and keep me
company, sweetie?"

	Did I ever!  I tried to play it cool and not reveal my eagerness, but
I don't know how successful I was.

	Soon, Mother and I were in her bedroom, where she finished
undressing.  I watched her toss her pumps into the closet, then bend
slightly over as she rolled her pants down.  What a feast to watch her
glorious swelling buttock-curves become visible.  And here was
something shocking and new - no underwear!  I watched Mother's broad
ass cheeks become fully displayed the moment her pants slid off.  It
was probably one of the most enticing erection inducers ever offered
to a horny adolescent male, and I responded in record time.  The pop
of the bra followed and there stood my mother in all her nude glory.

	What followed was your basic routine, if you can call it that: Mom
gave herself a leisurely bath, we talked about nothing in particular,
she got out, dried herself, and then we walked back into her bedroom.

	Before she got dressed though, Mother complained about stiffness in
her shoulders and neck.  She sat on the corner of the bed.  The
mattress edge formed a triangle below her sex and her legs were
splayed apart, where she'd straddled the mattress.

	"Honey, would you be a dear and rub my shoulders a bit?"  She asked
with a whine.

	I was on the mattress and behind my mother in no time.  All of a
sudden, it was an embarrassment of riches: beneath my working hands
and below her lower back, I had a generous view of her swelling hips
and round ass globes squashed onto the mattress and slightly spread
back slightly.  Over her shoulders, I had a perfect view of a valley
of flesh cleavage.  Her voluminous breasts jiggled heavily with each
of my ministrations.  I did the best I could to make her feel better. 
After about five minutes, Mother let out a final almost guttural moan
and told me that was enough, then thanked me profusely.  She leaned
over and around me, kissed me on the cheek, said "Thank you,
sweetheart," then let herself fall further back onto the mattress.

	"I think I'll take a little nap," she muttered and rolled onto her
stomach.  "Could you be a dear and do me one final favor?  Shut off
the lamp on your way out and if your nosey aunt comes around, tell her
dinner will be a little later than usual, okay?"

	I shut off the light.  In the gray gloom, I saw my mother hug her
spare pillow and cuddle up into a fetal position.  I felt my heart
hammer in my chest as I stooped lower, inches away from her curves. 
The deep cleft of her ass was a dark cavern that framed a small,
perfectly round, slightly darker orifice.  Further below, the folds of
her shaved vagina spilled thickly onto each other.

	My erection was literally bobbing in my pants and I couldn't resist: 
I knelt on the bed, let my hand rest on her warm right ass-cheek on
the pretext of needing to balance myself and leaned over her and
kissed her on the right temple.

	"'Night, sleepy-head!"  I said.  My fingers actually slid about a
half-inch into her cleft before I retrieved them.

	Mother rolled over and stared at me.  For a second, I thought she was
furious, then her eyes went down to half-lids and she smiled and
stretched, a brazen naked Amazon on full display.  "Now look who's
tucking who in!"

	"Whom."

	She frowned.  "What?"

	"Whom, Mom," I said.  "Look who's tucking WHOM in."

	She tossed me the spare pillow with a giggle.  "Get out of here, Mr.
Smarty-Pants."

	And I did.  I had to.  And it wasn't because of the pillow.  I headed
straight to my bedroom and spent the next half hour masturbating
myself to a knee-weakening orgasm.


CHAPTER 6:  TROUBLE INTENSIFIES

	Massaging Mother became a frequent bonus to many a bath session after
the first time.  Of course, things were incredibly awkward for a
while.  Dad wasn't always away, after all.  And then there was my
aunt, who decided to extend her vacation a good two weeks.  This
annoyed Mother but it practically crushed me.  I was feeling genuinely
deprived of her free shows.  Mind you, I wasn't completely obsessed
with my mother's naked body, but I was certainly fixated upon it.

I suppose that since we didn't completely suspend our antics and given
the risks we'd begun to take occasionally, what happened about a week
before my aunt was scheduled to leave us was truly inevitable.  I was
in the midst of giving Mother a nude massage when the pounding on the
door made us both jerk our heads up.  Over the past week and a half,
on those occasions when we found ourselves capable of being together
during Mom's bath time, the post-bathing shoulder rubs had progressed
to full blown back massages.  In fact, when the blows at the bedroom
door sounded again, I was in the middle of rubbing my mother's back as
she lay completely naked on the bed beneath me.

	"What's going on in there?"

	"What do you think?"

	"I want to know."

	"Nothing at all, if you must know the truth."

	My aunt hmmmphed loudly.

	Mother sighed.  "Why don't you open the door and see for yourself?"

	Of course that was impossible.  The door was locked.  As locked as it
had been the past week and a half since we'd begun to be bold and
brazen with Aunt Josie in the house.

	Mother motioned for me to go unlock the door, then made a beeline for
the bathroom to retrieve a towel.  By the time I'd sprung the lock,
Mother had returned, wrapped upper bosom to lower thighs in a thick
white bath towel.

	"Satisfied?"  My mother hammered home the query with an arched
eyebrow.

	"You think I'm dumb.  You think I don't see what's going on," Aunt
Josie insisted.  "Every afternoon the same thing."

	"The same thing WHAT?"  Mother asked.

	"You two come in here and disappear for an hour or better."

	"I hardly think it's longer than an hour."

"It is.  Sometimes longer."

"Well, one thing's for sure," said Mother.  "You're trying to make
something out of nothing.  There's no mystery about what goes on in
here.  You're welcome too, you know."

	"Why would I want to do that?" My aunt was practically yelling now. 
"You're taking a bath, for goodness' sake!"

	"Yes, and it's as good a time as any to catch up with ? about his
day," my mother explained.  "We sit and visit.  That's all.  Don't try
to invent anything more out of it."

	"I'm not.  It's just not morally -"

	"Don't talk to me about morals and ethics," Mother snapped.  "I
refuse to be lectured.  I don't NEED to be lectured.  Especially when
I'm not doing anything wrong."

	"But your own son sees you naked!"

	"And what's wrong with that?  The human body is beautiful.  There's
nothing indecent about it. Nothing to hide.  I'm not perverting a
young mind by getting that kind of nonsense into his head.  I happen
to feel very comfortable with myself.  If I choose to walk around
stark naked in my own house, then so be it.  Mike doesn't mind.  Do
you, honey?"

	I felt my aunt's glare boring into my face, then I turned to Mother
for reassuring and shook my head.  "Not at all, Mom.  How many times
did you see me naked when I was little?  Do whatever makes you
comfortable.  I love you with clothes and without them."

	Mom turned and gave a lopsided smile to my aunt.  She was too late,
though.  Aunt Josie had already turned away and was too busy storming
out of the room.

CHAPTER 7:  THE CLOTHES STAY ON (FOR A WHILE)

	The bottom line:  When my father got home that evening, Aunt Josie
gave him a rundown of the altercation she had with my mother.  She
went on and on about "Jennifer's lax morals" and announced that she
was leaving at the end of the week.  My father tried to pacify her and
assure her that his wife was a good spouse and a better mother, but
Aunt Josie wouldn't hear of it.  I stayed out of the argument and
excused myself from the dinner table as soon as I could.  I spent the
rest of the night reading a stack of comic books and listening to
tunes in my bedroom, but secretly, I was overjoyed to hear that my
aunt was leaving.

	A little before nine, my father came in and wanted to speak to me
about "your mother's behavior."  I knew that I was treading on
dangerous ground - that I could literally get Mom in much hotter water
than she was probably already in;  all it would take would be to play
the wounded puppy and agree, either overtly or in implied fashion,
that Aunt Josie was right - that I was disturbed by Mom's nudity, that
it was damaging my inner being.  This was, of course, the furthest
scenario I would paint.  On the contrary, I suspected that my aunt had
already busted off whatever erotic enjoyment I'd been having by making
an issue of out of mother's exposure.  I was furious with her for that
reason.  I also decided to do all I could to salvage any future shows.
 Yes, I explained to Dad, I had seen Mother naked, but it was only
once, earlier in the summer, when she'd asked me to bring in fresh
towels.  "Today, she asked me to rub her sore back," I said.  "Mom
told me she'd strained while dusting the upper shelves in the laundry
room.  She wore a long bath towel, Dad.  It only dropped a little here
and there and uncovered here a bit, but nothing major.  So you see,
Aunt Josie blew the whole thing out of proportion."

	In the end, I think my father bought my explanation.  He left
muttering something about his sister's propensity for exaggerating the
blandest of situations.  All wasn't square between Mom and Dad,
though.  Late that night, I heard a long and nasty argument emanating
from their bedroom.  And when I awoke the next morning, I noticed a
pillow and sheets on the couch.  Obviously, my father had opted for
the living room after their blow-up.

	I thought long and hard about my deception.  I lied for my mother.  I
lied to my father.  That made me feel badly.  At the same time, I felt
that the lie deepened the bond between my mother and myself.  I felt
that we were commiserating in conspiracy; that we shared a secret that
nobody else knew - not really.  Aunt Josie, for all her posturing,
only had her suspicions.  Mom and I had a secret shared by no one
else.  Not even Dad.  I know this sounds extremely Oedipal.  I
recognize that now.  I also concede that my father's alienation toward
my mother had made her seek out a substitute for friendship and erotic
titillation.  I was that substitute.  Mother clearly saw me as a
"safe" option.  After all, she wasn't forming a close bond with
another man, she was simply growing closer to her son.  She wasn't
using any sort of seductive behavior away from home, on another man; 
she was simply getting a charge out of playing the temptress with her
"little man."

Yes, but you're wondering if things ever progressed beyond what I've
related thus far.  The answer, in many ways, is both yes and no. 
After the Aunt Josie incident, Mother cooled it.  The funny thing is
that she and I never really discussed her previous behavior or sudden
newfound modesty.  I just knew that I was no longer invited into her
bathroom when it came time for her to bathe, and she was much more
conservative in her dress around the house.  I suspect that this was a
move designed strictly to appease my father, who may have issued her a
stern warning.

And so things remained until our road trip, a full year later.  As
usual, dad's hours only grew longer during the summer.  Mother was
desperate for a vacation and suggested a drive to that Amusement Park
of Amusement Parks in Florida.  I thought I was a little too old for
that kind of fun and told her so, in no uncertain terms.  "Then do it
for me.  I love that place and it's been years since we visited. 
Please?"  I finally agreed and she squealed and raced over and hugged
my neck and kissed me squarely on the mouth.

"Thanks, honey!  We're going to have a blast!  Who cares if you're a
teenager now and I'm - well, never mind how old I am.  Theme park
vacations can be great fun for adults, too!  We're going to have one
hell of a good time."

Mom was right.  We sure did!

Thanks for reading.  Comments welcome.  Write me at
tonyreeno@yahoo.com

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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