Gary drove up the driveway in his pickup. In the bed of the truck were his earthly belongings. In his briefcase was his hard earned MBA. He was moving home.
Home is nice home in the burbs. Long paid for and much lived-in. The deal was set many years ago. He'd come home when the degree was earned. Mom would step down as CEO of the family business and he'd take the mantle.
He unloaded his truck, mom helped him some, and he mentally prepared himself for all the changes awaiting him.
One of which was telling his mom he preferred a simple nudist lifestyle. Not of the overt kind, but of the kind that simply enjoyed not wearing clothes.
The conversation went better than he expected. Their house was big. Mom's bedroom had always been downstairs. He promised to keep his unclothed living upstairs. Mom was fine with that.
And she went a step further. She wasn't opposed nudity, anyones nudity, really. She saw the pleasure in it and the simplicity of it. If he chose to come downstairs she'd be okay with that.
When he asked why, she said he had only really known her one-dimensionally. There was more to her than he knew. Nothing earth-shaking, but she was more than just his mom and the woman who had run the family business. He might be surprised to get to know her better now that he was back home.
Gary appreciated his mom's warmth and acceptance. A bit surprised. And a bit skeptical. And a bit cautious to cross the threshold and come down the stairs.
For weeks Gary kept his nude body upstairs. And mom let him have his space. She didn't say much or react much or anything.
In his mind, mom was mom, which mom was proper. And in his mind it'd be a leap to be in her presence nude. He had never had mom-fantasies.
But after some weeks mom broached the subject. She re-issued the invitation for him to come downstairs. And he re-issued his hesitancy.
Mom shrugged and let the issue drop. Some weeks later Gary was home alone and like other times when he was home alone, he went downstairs nude. He richly enjoyed the sensation of nudity. That is, the sensation of walking freely wherever he wanted to go nude.
Without warning mom came through the back door with a sack of groceries. Gary cringed deeply and turned white and so dearly wanted to bolt out of the kitchen. Instead he did his best to casually walk out.
But his mom seized the moment. She said "Stop." in the best firm and motherly tone she could muster. He did. He turned and covered his parts with his hands.
"Gary," she said, "I want you to stop and face the fact that I want you to feel free to be nude. I want that. I am asking for that. No more keeping it away. No more living an upstairs life and a downstairs life. Please Gary."
Gary looked at his mom. He felt silly. Awkward. Ashamed. Vulnerable.
"Mom, I don't know how. I don't know how to be exposed in front of you."
"Gary, try it. Try it for fifteen minutes. Just try it."
"Mom, how? I don't know how!"
"Gary, I like it. You've never known it, but I find the human body beautiful. Male or female. All bodies are beautiful. I would feel privileged if you would be nude around me. Honest."
Gary stood there looking at his mom. "Really? Doesn't it make you feel awkward?
"Gosh, no! Not at all. It makes me feel sophisticated and welcoming and accepting and happy. Truly happy. Honest, Gary, I like it. I really do. Please drop your hands and go about your business. Please be nude around me."
It was those five last words that did the trick.
He dropped his hands. He felt better. Those five words ringing sweetly in his ears. In fact, he felt emboldened.
Everything changed. Everything. Gary stopped wearing clothes in the house. Mom complimented him. Praised him. Smiled upon him. Adored him.
Some weeks later he walked into the dining room and his mom was washing windows. He walked up beside her and complimented how clear they were.
Mom asked him about his boldness and comfort zones of standing nude in front of the window. He hadn't realized it. He had grown so comfortable around the house, he had forgotten to be safe.
He stepped back some, but his mom encouraged him to come back. Unless a nosey neighbor was peering at them, he was safe. She liked his boldness. She liked his body being bold.
She asked about some of his background in nudity, when and how and why he started, and if it had always been kept indoors.
Then she mentioned that he was welcome to explore his comfort zones around windows whenever he wanted. She was saying, more or less, that she liked and enjoyed and supported any expansions in his expanding nudists interests.
Some days later she asked about erections. He was shy and hesitant again. But she assured him her interest was physical. Such things in a man made the man. Men had erections. And they were natural.
He was surprised, but was quickly coming to enjoy his mom's attention to his body, his nudity, and his inhibitions. Without much further-ado he obliged his mom and brought himself to an erection.
Mom praised him and it. Beautiful she said. Amazing she uttered. Wonderful she exclaimed.
She showed no interest besides the visual, but the visual she clearly liked and encouraged. And so he did it again. And again. Quite often.
Things took a turn not long after that. Because as we all know, with erections come that little drop of sperm at the tip of a penis.
Mom said little. But looked much. And Gary liked her looking there.
While standing in kitchen one day she asked him, "Where do you usually masturbate?""Mom, I'll answer your question if you'll answer two questions for me. Why did you seem especially interested in me standing by the window? And why is my erection a special interest to you?"
"Mom, I ask because this started simple for me. I enjoy simple nudity. Have for years. You surprisingly accepted it. Thank you. And you even more surprisingly encouraged me downstairs with it. Thank you."
"Mom, none of that is particularly normal. Some might call it unhealthy. Some might call it deviant."
"Admittedly, mom, I enjoy it. Not just the nudity, but the wonderful freedom to be nude all around the house without any need to hide it. And not just that, but to be freely nude around you. Because you praise it and make me feel good about it.
"But mom, for some reason you are leaning towards making my simple nudity sexual. You have me wondering. So, if I can kindly ask; why did you seem especially interested in me standing by the window? And why is my erection a special interest to you?"
Mom didn't flinch, give any sign of concern, reveal any nervousness, or moment of pause.
"Gary, make it what you want. I don't mean to interfere. Not at all. Not a bit. No, I want this to be something you enjoy. I am sorry if I have made it into something beyond your wishes. I didn't mean for my comments to be seen as aggressive or wanting something from you."
'So, mom, why did you ask about masturbation? Why did you react at the window they way you did? And why the interest in erections?"
"Simple, son, it's nothing more than me trying to give you my blessing to do more if you want to do more. Men like to be bold with nudity, so I encouraged you at the window. Men love their erections, so I encouraged that. Men masturbate freely, so I wanted to let you know I was okay with it."
Gary looked at his mom. He gave her a gentle look of mild disbelief.
"Honey, do as you wish. I wont say another word. I am sorry I complicated this."
Gary was caught flat-footed. He didn't see that coming. He mostly believed her, but part of him didn't. He was part annoyed and part wanting to get more out of her.
Without enough thought he asked, "So if you are comfortable and encouraging of all this, where does it stop for you? Where are your limits and boundaries.
Again mom didn't flinch or change expression.
"Gary, you are free to do as you wish. I have no expectations or boundaries."
He looked at his mom. She seemed sincere and easy about it all.
"So, if I told you I wanted to masturbate on the couch, you'd be okay with that?"
"Yes, of course."
"If I told you I wanted to masturbate here in the kitchen, you'd be okay with that?"
"Yes."
He looked at her.
"Anywhere, mom? Everywhere? Anytime?"
"Gary, as far as I am concerned you can masturbate on the front lawn at high noon."
The next question also formed without him thinking about it.
"And your reaction?"
"Gary, if you want me to leave the room I will. If you want me to cheer I'll do that. I simply, to use your word simply, want to encourage you and support you."
"Mom, why? Where did you get this laissez-faire attitude on something so sensitive and sexual?
"Gary, it's not where I got it from, but rather what I find beautiful. Human bodies are beautiful. So I say show them, all of them. It is, to you use your word again, that simple. No more. No less."
"Okay, then mom, what about sperm. Are you just as accepting of that?"
"Yep. That simple. Do as you wish, when you wish, whatever you wish."
"Mom, I don't know how to process this. All this freedom. All this encouragement."
A few days later Gary is sprawled on the couch, dead asleep, where his mom finds him. She smiles and tidies up some, then in a non-assertive, non-aggressive way stands over him. Then reaches down and touches the head of his penis.
Gary doesn't stir. She gently touches his pubic hair and then goes back to his penis. Every so very slowly she watches him grow.
She's neither grinning or breathing hard or hoping to keep him asleep or hoping to wake him. She's merely touching it and touching it and touching it, watching it grow.
Soon he is near full erection and she slips away into the kitchen. Some minutes late she re-enters the room. Gary is fully engorged and groggily touching himself.
She plants herself in nearby lounge chair and whispers with some volume, "Did you have a nice nap?"
He moans something indecipherable and continues to touch himself.
She watches. Calmly. She's not looking for show. But she does hope he'll continue and not become self-conscience.
Soon his erection produces a drop of sperm and Gary begins to use it as lubrications. Soon the touching become stroking.
She sits silently. Gary's eyes are closed. His hand is the only active thing in the quiet room.
She watches. Calmly.
Soon the stroking become more intense and soon enough it's full-fledged masturbation.
She watches. Calmly.
He opens his eyes and looks at his penis, which just intensifies the stroking.
And soon enough the moans come and sperm is strewn on the couch and the floor in front of the couch.
She watches each stream of warm sperm. Calmly.
He suddenly realizes she is in the room and watching.
His eyes have a look of shame and shock and regret.
She smiles showing her warmth and encouragement. And she says, "You're very good at that."Gary can't put his finger on it, but he has a strong feeling that not only is his mom not being honest with him, but she is manipulating things.
What mom encourages nudity? What mom encourages masturbating? And what mom encourages both in front of her?
He gets up and says, "I'll get a rag." Mom doesn't say anything.
He comes back and cleans things up. Mom is now thumbing through a magazine. He's annoyed and his nakedness feels awkward, so he heads upstairs.
He has no interest in trying to talk with her about it again. And he is losing interest in being nude around her. She can't just let it be. She has to talk about it or she has to suggest things or she has to make things awkward.
Several days go by. He rarely goes downstairs. And their conversations are brief.
One morning he finds a note in the kitchen, "I'm sorry. I guess I've gone too far. I just wanted to be a good mom and support everything you do. Moms have a way of overdoing their love. I'm sorry."
He reads it a couple of times. It helps, but it doesn't erase his feelings.
But in a few days he knows he has to break the ice and either be dressed around her or go back to be nude around her. He chooses nudity.
And deep down he does like it. A lot. Not just the nudity, and not just that it's allowed, but that it is encouraged. And deep down he has to admit he likes that the sexual side is also welcome. He knows he's lucky.
He goes back to his old routines. Mom barely mentions it and barely lets her eyes drift in that direction.
Everything's pretty much is back to normal, if we can call being welcomed naked around your mom as normal? Then something mutually surprising happens.
He feels an erection is coming his way. He's tempted to leave the room until it passes, or head upstairs and have some fun with it. Instead he stays. He surprises himself and sits and watches it grows.
He gives his mom a couple of glance and she seems unaware.
Most of the time he feels pretty good about his body. But there are days, and this is one of them, that he feels particularly good about it and his penis.
He hasn't touched it yet, but fully engorged it is a sight he likes. To his right a few feet in a high back chair is his mom reading. He's feeling very horny and wonderfully sexy at the moment.
He touches it. Two fingers on the shaft. It feels like warm steel. Hard as a rock and warm like it's been in the sun. His feelings intensify.
He moves his hand down and cups his balls. He's feeling manly and masculine. He moves his hand up and palms the top of his penis. It feels huge in his hand.
Rubbing the tip intensifies everything. This will only end one way now.
He spreads his legs a bit and scoots down a bit, and slowly begins to stroke and stroke and stroke the full long length of his warm, hard, eager penis.
He is several moments into this, less than a minute, when he mind comes back to him and he remembers his mother. His eyes shoot up in her direction.
She's watching. Her eyes are not looking up at his face. Her eyes are softly, harmlessly on the movements of his hand. But they also have a slight look of anticipation.
This time, unlike the time before, he feels no shame. No, instead he feels motivated to masturbate all the more. All the more intensely. All the more vigorously. All the more uninhibited.
He can't quite put words to it, but something has changed in the room. The feel of it. Mom is no long a pushy mom. She's now something else. Far from annoying. Something good. But he can't quite put a word to it.
He holds nothing back. No sound is squelched. No look in his eye is masked. No expression on his face is a facade. No hard strokes are halted. No body language is held back. He puts himself fully into to. He's all male.
When his orgasm comes it shoots a full three feet in the air, minus a few inches. And that makes him more intense. With a handful of sperm now he wrings every ounce of pleasure and sperm out of himself. He groans and moans and tenses and un-tenses his muscles.
When he finally slows downs he looks at his mom. She has turned in her chair. She's sitting on the edge of it. She has a look like she wanted to participate.
He still can't put words to what has changed. But she has changed. And briefly, in that moment of wild ecstasy, he's not fully against that look on her face.Days went by. Gary remained nude around the house and around his mom. And his mom remained passive about it.
He couldn't figure it out. It had been like a light switch. For a while mom was "on". She over-emphasized everything. No she is "off". She doesn't even mention it.
But Gary's mind was definitely "on". Ever since he had seen that expectant look on her face he had been processing the sight of his mom touching his penis.
On one hand he could not picture it. But he tried. He tried to picture her from the front. Of her standing or sitting in front of him and her reaching out with her hand. Making contact. He tries to picture his mom's hand from that angle.
And on the other hand he tried to picture her hand coming from behind him and touching him. It was the same view as his own hand on his penis. He tries to picture that, but he just can't.
He just cannot see it realistically. Maybe in a fantasy. Maybe at the height of a mighty orgasm. Maybe then. But in ordinary, mild-mannered thinking he cannot see it happening. Now maybe his mom might want to. But he cannot see it happening. It'd be too weird. Too awkward. Too strange. Too unnatural.
All this though didn't stop his mind from thinking about it. Trying to see if he'd ever be comfortable with it.
And he still thought about his mom and her comfort zones and her open encouragement and her pleasure in seeing him and talking about it.
If nothing else it made being nude all the easier. All the funner. All the more comfortable. All the more enjoyable.
On a bright warm Tuesday he was clearing some of the clutter from mail and bills and books and snacks left out. He was doing it rather mindlessly when his mom asked, "You seem more comfortable around windows than you were originally."
Now this is the first thing she has said about nudity since their big blow-up.
He shrugged because he hadn't thought about it and hadn't even considered what was outside the window. And he realized he probably stopped considering without thinking about it.
"I guess you're right. It rarely crosses my mind."
As he said that he looked out and their was a couple walking three large dogs.
"Do you care much if they see you?"
"We'll its not really what I care about that matters. I don't want to offend."
"Would you want to be seen?"
He felt that her switch had suddenly and unexpectedly been turned "on" again. He was a little annoyed. Not severely. But a little.
"Mom, why are you asking?"
"Just wondering. Sorry." She said that in a tone of honest regret.
Nothing else was said. But it put him on the defensive again. He just wasn't comfortable with her questions. It was too weird. It was like their was an ulterior motive that she'd never divulge.
Some days later they were in the kitchen. Things were back to normal. They were making small talk and laughing and making their own lunches.
In a moment of that happened far too fast to mentally reconstruct, she leaned down to get a pan out of a drawer. He was standing just to the right of the drawer. When she stood up he got the sense that she had moved her head closer to him just as her head passed his hip.
Maybe he sensed it all wrong. Maybe he didn't sense what he thought he had sensed.
But what if?
What if his mom had drawn her head toward his penis as she stood?
That thought was more difficult to process than her touching him.
Several days later he awoke, a like most men on most days, with an erection. And he, like most men on most days, reached down and touched it.
And it was wet.
He thought about it for about five seconds. Then sat straight up in a bolt.
How'd he get wet. How'd it get wet?
He knew the exact sort of wetness. Saliva.
He all but threw himself out of bed. He stood looking down at his erect penis.
He had felt nothing. He merely woke up as he had done every other day of his life. Nothing that he could think of awoke him.
He stood looking down. And thinking.
He started to perspire. His mind raced uncomfortably.
Who else is in the house, but his mom alone, could have made his penis wet.
He tried his best to downplay it. Maybe she did sneak in. And maybe her hand was wet. But he knew that was less plausible.
He said nothing. But he was wholly weirded out. But he said nothing. He tried to be normal.
Days went by and everything seemed ordinary.
But then it happened again. Then days. Then again.
He'd wake up with a wet rock hard penis.
Then nothing again. Normalcy. Days went by. Nothing.
On an ordinary Saturday morning he awoke, felt his erection, it was dry, and he laid in bed enjoying the warmth and comfort of heavy blankets.
He heard a very, very soft click of a door. He laid there because it barely registered. In his mind it could have been anywhere in the house.
Without a thought he rolled over to find his mom kneeling beside his bed.
She had no clothes on.