-We can be adult about this, Cynthia had said. She'd fully believed it at the time. It was Art, not smut. Charlie needed someone to sit for him so she'd told him.. if they could be adults about it and didn't make each other uncomfortable, she'd do it. Then it had seemed a matter of elevating her thoughts, somehow rising above the idea that posing naked for her twenty year old son was a dubious thing to suggest. Think art, she'd told herself. She'd been able to envision it. There was bound to be a degree of embarassment but if they could get beyond that -if they could be adult about it- she thought perhaps it would be okay. She liked to watch Charlie draw and see the rapt, concentrated expression on his face. She wanted to help. She'd seen the balled up sheets of cartridge paper on his bedroom floor and the frustration in his eyes. He didn't say much but when he did open his mouth his third assignment and getting a good grade were all he talked about. All she had to do now was go through with it, but it was the strangest feeling in the world to pad across the landing in her bare feet, naked under her dressing gown to tap on his bedroom door.
She had butterflies, too many, and big ones as she raised her hand to knock. Charlie had said her body shape was rubenesque. She didn't know if that was good or bad.
His voice sounded small when he answered, wary, cautious, or apprehensive? She wasn't sure.
He was sitting on his bed with his dark hair hanging in his eyes. His glasses flashed in the light from the window as he pushed them higher on his nose.
Cynthia smiled nervously and stepped inside and closed the door.
She joked. "-If you need therapy after this we'll see what we can do."
She was relieved when he smiled. They'd been having a good week, sometimes trying to get more than two words out of him was like trying to hold a conversation with a corpse, but this week they'd actually had a few productive discussions.
They looked at each other and she became aware for the first time of the enormity of what she'd suggested.
She'd been in his bedroom a thousand times, probably a thousand times a year, but she suddenly realised how small it was. She was tempted to suggest they go downstairs or use her own bedroom where at least there was more room and they could keep some kind of respectable distance apart but somehow that almost seemed worse. She couldn't quite imagine inviting him into her own bedroom and balked at the idea of sitting naked in the living room in the middle of the afternoon. Neither option seemed ideal. At least up here in his small room with the door closed and the doors locked downstairs there was some semblance of privacy.
She smiled and wrung her hands nervously as Charlie looked up expectantly. She reminded herself to elevate her thoughts. This was art, he was her son, there nothing smutty or questionable about what they were doing if she didn't think about it too much.
She tried to hold onto that thought as the butterflies in her stomach rose into her chest.
"I guess we're ready," she said.
She didn't know what she'd expected but he didn't move. His sketch book lay beside him and he was holding three or four pencils. She'd vaguely hoped he'd somehow take charge and perhaps help put her at ease. He was the artist. She'd imagined he'd have some grasp of the situation, perhaps some clever artist-type things to say, but as she waited she realised she was still the mother and he was still her son.
If they were ever going to do it she'd have to be the one who got things moving.
She sighed inwardly but showed him a smile and asked where he planned to sit. When he casually indicated the chair she suggested he might want to move over there... and take his sketch book with him, she added when he got up to move without it.
He smiled sheepishly as he came back for it.
Cynthia watched him sit down. He looked at her in silence. His beard was starting to come through, with that and his untidy hair he looked like an artist, the only sticking point was that he was her son and suddenly this didn't seem like a mother son thing.
She felt her butterflies going into overdrive.
"So we're ready?" she asked, and saw the little smile he gave her. She began to wish he didn't look quite so composed. She hesitated and saw him push his glasses up on his nose again.
"-This isn't.. like a show," she said, wanting to make sure he understood why she was doing it. "I just want to help with your assignment."
He nodded and said, "I know, I appreciate it."
He was still more laid back about it than she would have liked but then she wondered if perhaps she was the one with all the hang ups and Charlie the one doing his best to take it all in his stride. She didn't know.. but she knew that overthinking it wasn't going to make it any easier.
"-Okay," she said and took a deep breath. "I guess you want to see what you've let yourself in for..."
It took a lot to get her hand moving towards the belt of her dressing gown. She felt it come loose and realised she didn't know where to look, if she wanted to see his expression when she took it off or look somewhere else and perhaps save them both a few blushes.
Charlie was watching her and she quickly looked away as the belt came undone. The feeling that rose up inside her wasn't quite what she'd anticipated. She was embarassed and nervous and a little afraid of his reaction. She was going to let her son see her naked, that wasn't something she could take lightly, but as she let the dressing gown slip from her shoulders she also felt a tremendous and wholly unexpected rush of excitement at her own daring.
She let the gown slip to just below her breasts and risked a quick glance at his expression. His mouth was part open and he was staring and then she let the gown fall away completely and focused her gaze on the wall somewhere above his head.
Cynthia blushed but not nearly as hotly as she'd imagined she would.
She looked at Charlie again expecting him to say something. He hadn't moved. She imagined she could hear her own heart, it was suddenly beating so hard.
"-Okay?" she asked. Somehow it didn't sound like her own voice at all but more like that of a woman who was holding her breath, excited and nervous at the same time.
It took a while but Charlie nodded. She saw the light from the window in his round glasses. She saw him lower his gaze to her breasts and linger there and something else happened that she hadn't anticipated. She felt her nipples coming up.
There was nothing she could do about it. She felt them stiffening as he looked at her. They began to tingle and she could feel it getting stronger.
"We might have to be more adult about this than I anticipated," she said feeling embarassed and looking down at herself.
It was obvious where he was looking. She was a little uncomfortable at the way he stared. If she'd been alone she might have rubbed them, that's what she did when it was cold and they reacted the same way. She felt the urge to rub them then but she knew it wasn't the cold that had brought them up.
She stole another glance at Charlie and wondered if he had realised the same thing. He was still staring.
She said his name and wasn't surprised when she had to repeat it before he suddenly realised she was talking to him.
