I was careless, that's all I have to say.
I have always been attracted to my mother, she is a very attractive lady for her age; full, round breasts, Rubenesque figure, toned legs (not too skinny, not too fat), just enough make-up to show that she cares and jet black hair in a short, pixie haircut. She has always been very loving with me and very understanding over whatever trials came my way.
It wasn't until a few years after puberty hit (right at the end of high school) that I began to see mom in a different way. I loved taking peeks of her as she was getting dressed for the night or as she was getting out of the shower. She never closed doors all the way and she was usually distracted with her thoughts as she looked away while getting dressed. It was only natural that I would eventually want some souvenirs of her body for self-gratification later -- so I started taking pictures of her with my cell phone.
The camera on my phone has a feature where I can take pictures in silent mode (no simulated shutter click or indicator beep), so I could surreptitiously snap pictures of her any time around the house: a picture of her asleep on the couch in a thin t-shirt, no bra with panties; a shot of her at the beach in a conservative dark one-piece that was a bit high on the leg; a shot of her in her underwear looking for something out of the laundry room; but my greatest prize was a full, frontal shot of her toweling her hair off as she was getting out of the shower -- she was completely blind to me with the towel wrapped around her head and she was completely 100% naked. I loved that picture and I couldn't get enough of it; so much so that I made it the greeting picture for her when she calls ("Mark, it's your mother ... I'm naked!").
That was the stupid part.
I left my phone home one day and she tried to call me. She followed the sound of the ringing and found my phone as well as the picture of her glowing, clear as day, on the front screen.
She didn't bust me right away, when I got home -- she wouldn't do anything so harsh with me. She broached the subject over dinner.
"I tried to call you earlier. You left your phone here," she said very matter-of-factly. Pausing, but not waiting for an answer, she continued, "That picture was not a very flattering one of me." She put down her fork and looked me in the eye, waiting for my response.
My throat went dry and I forced swallowed what I had in my mouth.
"It was just for fun, mom," was all I could come up with.
She sighed, expecting some smoke, and said, "I saw the other pictures, it's not just fun." She watched for my reaction before she continued. "I know you like to look at me and that's ... okay. But the pictures have to stop." She was trying to be cool about it, but I could see that she was uncomfortable.
I agreed that it was not right to have naked pictures of your mother.
"I will make you a deal," she started, "I don't like it, but here it is: You can look at me all you like, but the pictures have to go."
Best deal I have ever heard. It broke my heart to delete my favorite prize pictures, but the trade-off was too good to pass up. I tried to maintain a poker face and gave a sheepish "okay" for her. I think she noticed my excitement.
After dinner we retrieved the phone from my room and we went over my pictures together. It felt like punishment, but I was looking ahead to the trade-off.
She flipped through my gallery. "Oh, it's not right to take a picture of your mother while she's sleeping ... oh, not that time at the beach, I look so fat ... oh my god, when did you take this? I'm in my underwear." She was embarrassed and a little upset over my breech of her privacy; but I saw that there was a glimmer of understanding in her as well, which she displayed with a sigh and a half-smile.
We were deleting the pictures as we went, and as she got the last one I asked if I could "look at her" right then.
She let out another sigh and stood up from the table. "Fair is fair. What would you like to see?"
I knew exactly what I wanted and I told her. "The picture of you coming out of the shower was my favorite ..." I cursed myself as the words were coming out of my mouth ... I started too big.
She was already starting to remove her top, but she stopped. "Hon, that's a little much."
I knew she wouldn't go for something so extreme right away, but I was disappointed anyway. "I had to delete that picture, it's my favorite one ... what am I going to get in return?" I whined.
She finished taking off her top. "At least, let me get used to the idea. A mother can't just give a strip show for her son right away."
I didn't like it, but I was glad to get what I was getting. Besides, there was to be more to come. I agreed and asked for the most I could get without her exposing herself -- down to her bra and panties.
"I wasn't planning on you seeing me in my underwear today," she said, stepping out of her slacks, "it's nothing exciting."
On the contrary. There is nothing more exciting than seeing your mother in a plain white bra and granny panties. I ate it up.
She modeled for me, holding a hand up and turning around. After a minute, she began to lose patience and started to get dressed.
I stopped her. "Wait, you said I could peek all I want ... I want to look at you all day."
She returned a "really?" look back at me and gathered up her outer clothes and put them away.
It was already late, but the rest of the day was the best ever. Mom finished with the kitchen, worked on the laundry and joined me later with a movie ... all in her underwear.
Halfway through the movie, I could tell that she was enjoying herself: coy smiles as she looked my way; stretching her legs out, displaying her crotch; cracking her back, pushing her chest out. I have to admit, while I pretended to be cool about it and watch the movie, I couldn't keep my mind on it one bit.
The movie ended. I shut down the entertainment system and she headed off to bed. I stopped her to ask one more thing for the night.
"Momma, can I watch you get dressed for bed?"
"I'm not going to put on anything sexy, you know."
I knew, but I just wanted to watch her get dressed. There is just something exciting about watching a woman dress and undress, something intimate. Besides, she was going to have to get naked to do so.
She agreed and let me follow her into her room.
She was a little reluctant to take her top off, but she just played it cool like it was nothing. Next, she slid off her panties. As she did so, she noticed something about her crotch and was poking at it. When she realized I was staring, she stopped immediately.
It was probably nothing, but it looked like she was fingering herself and that's how I remembered it in my head when I jerked off to it afterwards.
She put on fresh panties and a sleep shirt. She tried to look as non-sexy as possible, but was greeted by me instead with a goofy lustful smile. We hugged and I told her "thank you, I love you so much."
The next morning, mom surprised me. She was still dressed in her sleep shirt, but she was carrying her towel and shower supplies.
"C'mon, don't you want to watch me get in the shower?" I could not believe what I was hearing. I was still fighting through the haze of sleep and remembering the deal that we had made the night before. She was smiling and not showing the slightest sign of regret, reluctance or shyness.
Picturing her getting naked for the shower woke me up fast. I got up and followed her to the bathroom.
Being a sleep shirt, it came off unceremoniously -- just up and over. The whole time she was just talking about the regular stuff -- work, school, news. I think she was just busying up her mind so that she wouldn't have to think about her son oogling her as she was getting naked and going in the shower.
It got better once she started showering. She kept on talking, not requiring any response from my part. I just watched, through rippled glass, my mother fondling (so it was in my imagination) all her lady parts in the shower; squeezing and massaging her breasts, running her hands down her body and across her belly, her hands cupping her pussy and then working in the lather.
That was the point that I reached in my shorts and started jacking off. Watching my mom undress was nice, but I still felt weird about it. Seeing her fondle herself -- well, nobody can restrain themselves that much.
She finished before I could cum. The water came off and I straightened my shirt and tried to calm my raging boner. She emerged from the shower, her towel around her head, trying very hard to mimic the picture I had of her before. She toweled her hair off one last shake then dropped it down to her hips.
"You like?" she smiled at me, her hair mussed up sexily.
"I can't believe you got over getting undressed in front of me so quickly," I told her.
She continued drying herself off, spending a half-second longer jiggling her boobs dry than she would have normally if I hadn't been there. "I got over it. Last night, I thought about it (emphasis on the "thought" as she pressed her hand absent-mindedly into her mound). You are a growing boy, you're curious. I'm your mother, I need to teach you things about women."
She was avoiding eye contact. The speech was obviously rehearsed, repeated enough in her head until she believed it.
"First off," she started, putting her towel away and presenting herself (a little uncomfortably) completely nude to me, "all the books say that I need to be frank, open and unembarrassed about women's bodies. It didn't say to strip naked for your boy, but given the circumstances, it was the thing to do. I need you to get it out of your system -- get out your magnifying glass and take a look. I'm going to close my eyes so that neither of us gets embarrassed -- you can take your time and look at anything you want."
I did. I first tested her by pretending to grope her tits. Once I was positive that she wasn't looking, I slipped out of my sleep shorts to maximize my enjoyment. I put my face an inch away from her boobs, imagining smothering my face in them. I took extra enjoyment examining her nipples; I had never seen any up close -- even porn mags didn't show them in detail. It was hard resisting the urge to just grope her then and there, but I knew that that would be "killing the goose that laid the golden egg."
I progressed down to her pussy. Her pubic patch was full and fluffy and had a slight sour, yet enticing, scent to it. I stretched out my tongue and mock-licked her lips. I think she felt my heavy breathing on her sensitive hairs, as she was trying to stifle her gasps of enticement just then.
Sensing her arousal, I decided to press my luck. "Can I touch you down there, momma?" I added in the momma, she would always melt when I called her that.
"Just a little, baby," she replied, a little rash. Her breathing was becoming more rapid, although she was trying to hide it the best she could.
My fingers probed the periphery of her hair, examining her fullness and fluffiness. I wound my way deep into her fur to feel what was inside. I had seen vaginas in pictures, but never before in such detail. I traced its outline and played with her hood, hoping to feel her shy clit (and get her aroused, or so my horny teenaged brain wished for). Her hips rotated upwards slightly in response to my probing, making me want to penetrate her, be it finger or penis, all the more. I traced the length of her slit with two fingers, lightly, to tease her all the more.
I genuinely was curious how the penis would fit -- how the bodies come together, how the vagina opens up for it -- but I asked her about it to see her reaction.
"It is easier when you spread your legs," she said through labored breaths, bending her knees and splaying her thighs. "When a woman is ready, her lips open to the man."
There was little mistaking that her lips were opening up to my fingers. I didn't dare touch her at that point, with her legs spread; it was too suggestive. I just pumped my cock even harder to try and relieve my temptation.
I knew my balls were slapping my legs a bit too loudly as I jacked off because her whole demeanor switched gears and she made a semi-disgusted look.
"Are you ...?" she began, sensing what I must have been doing. She opened her eyes and caught me pulling my rod to her body.
"Show's over," she said subdued, yet a little regretful. She wasn't the only one who was regretful. She grabbed her towel and darted out of the room.
Afterwards, she dressed as normal around the house and I knew not to ask for any "peeks." She didn't even do anything even remotely enticing, like bend over or stretch her legs out.
I locked myself in my room and put on some porn. I thought about what just happened. Here she was, naked and letting me finger her clit -- and the deal breaker was seeing me jack off to her. I figured that she could justify almost anything as "youthful curiosity," but as anything involving my gratification was definitely sexual.
If I had to do it over again, I would not have pulled down my pants. If I were to enjoy seeing her body ever again, it would have to be with my hands at my sides. I tested my willpower by watching the rest of the porn without touching myself.
Over the next several days, mom continued to act uncomfortably around me and I practiced keeping it in my pants. I found that tight pants allowed me to rub my cock against something, just enough to gratify myself.
Once I was sure of myself, I propositioned her anew. "Mom, I'm sorry for what happed the other day. I want what we had before and it doesn't have to be dirty." I thought that my admission that it was dirty would draw her out more.
She looked at me lovingly, like I just came back from a long trip, and gave me a big hug.
"I'm glad you apologized because I was thinking about having you do something for me ... if you can handle it," she asked sheepishly. I answered her with my eyes.
She left for her room and came back several minutes later in a satin robe with a bottle and beach towel in her hands. She laid out the towel on the floor and undid her belt.
"Now, you're not going to get all weird or anything, are you?" I gave her as serious a look as I could muster, given that I had a likely naked woman about to reveal herself to me two feet in front of me. She responded by opening her robe and sitting her nude form on the towel.
She handed me the bottle and asked me to massage her whole body with oil.
If I could jump up and down and start screaming with joy, I would have. What happened was I let the shock of the moment strike me dumb; my eyes glazed over and my jaw dropped open. I practiced holding it in, but I never thought that she would pull this on me.
I figured that mom actually enjoyed my touching her down there and was looking for an excuse to have me do more. The sexual tension over the past couple of days was likely driving her to more extreme options. My apology came at just the right moment for her to present her proposal.
She laid back and put a washcloth over her eyes.
I stared at the body awaiting my touch: her lovely, full breasts -- melting off her sides; her thighs, soft clay in my palms; her pussy, which days before, were juicing for me to fuck her. I poured the oil into my hands, wondering where to start.
I couldn't just jump for the prize, but I couldn't be happy massaging just her arms either; so I started with her breasts. I poured more oil into my hands.
I scooped her mounds up from her sides, squeezing gently -- her flesh just soft enough to fill my hands. Then I changed the motion, lifting up her tits and lightly pawing her nipples. Each squeeze elicited moans of pleasure.
Mom, feeling slight pangs of guilt over enjoying sins of the flesh with her son, tried to justify herself. "There is nothing wrong with taking pleasure in a relaxing body massage."
Right, I knew a pending orgasm when I heard one.
I continued to knead her breasts, enjoying the weight and bounce of each one. Mom wriggled a little, making them jiggle even more in my hands.
I took that as a sign to venture further. I brought my hands down across her tummy, making wide circles as I went; this would allow me enough deniability should they "accidentally" stray anywhere where they were not wanted.
I shouldn't have fretted. My mom answered my approaching palms with her relaxing legs spreading slightly and her hips pushing out. I circled my hands to the edge of her mound, but withdrew -- partly to tease her, partly in fear I was going too far. Mom wiggled her hips in protest. I rubbed down the crease of her legs and she began thrusting her hips gently. I tested her resolve by continuing past her pussy and started rubbing her legs; she emitted a knee-jerk moan, but then stopped herself. She was ready.
I didn't know how it would go (I never fingered a woman before), but I delved right into her pussy. I pressed my fingertips right near her clit and rubbed in gentle circles around it. Mom became visibly excited as her breathing quickened and her body trembled. I let my fingers push through her womanly opening and found it hot, wet and soft.
Mom let out a loud "ahh," as if I hit a nerve, then she sighed like relieving an itch.
I wasn't sure what to do next, so I continued fucking her with my hand. Mom joined in, pumping her hips into me. Her juicy pussy squished with each stroke, her enthusiasm rising with every push until the moment I felt her pussy tense and her legs close in around me. She grunted, as if she was dislodging some weight from her soul, then released. Mom pulled the towel from her face and looked me in the eyes with an intense glare -- one that said "fuck me hard." I answered by resuming my hand fucking and picking up the pace.
Momma screamed, possessed -- never losing eye contact. I knew that she wanted my dick in her, but I was still gun shy from when she caught me beating off before.
Her breaths became shorter and quicker and her head jerked away. Her upper body thrashed around spasmicly and she tensed up a second time. After that, her whole body calmed down. She started to catch her breath and gently nudged my hands away. A little woozy, she tried to stand and I helped her to the shower.
She asked to be alone and, happy with what I just accomplished, was glad to do so. I was so satisfied and shell-shocked with such an intense, new experience that I had no need to, nor did I think to, gratify myself later.
After her shower, mom looked happier than I have ever seen her. She was wearing the sexiest camisole I had ever seen and she walked with a noticeable sashay to her step.
She sat on the footstool next to the couch where I was sitting, her legs spread just enough to see how sheer her panties were. Her hands were at her knees and her shoulders rose in a coquettish way.
"I think that it is time we learned a thing or two about the female orgasm."
Holy SHIT!