C'est Mom

I'm twenty-one years old and living at home with my mother, again. Yes, it's embarrassing but not without its benefits.

I graduated from high school at eighteen and went to work immediately. I wasn't the brightest bulb in the classroom and just wasn't interested in college, so I took the first job offered to me, working with a local landscaping company. I foolishly thought I'd quickly learn the business and start my own company.

I was anxious to move out of my boyhood home. I wanted to spread my wings believing that my parents would cramp my style and opportunities to engage with the ladies. The job pay was decent and I moved out of my parent's home as soon as I found a coworker who would share an apartment with me.

As it turned out, the job sucked. Outdoors, all day in the heat of the summer working on lawns and colder than last night's wet spot in the winter plowing snow, wasn't the most pleasant of work environments. After almost a year, faced with the prospect of another summer of torture, I knew I had to do something else. There weren't many choices for someone with only a high school diploma. Everything possible would force me to move back in with my mother.

I reevaluated my decision to attend college and applied to a number of second tier schools. To my surprise, a small college half way across the country accepted me. My mother agreed to pay my tuition if I worked to provide the rest of my basic needs. It was my mother's decision alone since my father left the day after I left the first time. He apparently had promised to keep the family together as long as we kids were at home. He kept his promise. My sister had left two years earlier to go to school and my leaving was the deciding moment. He left my mother with the house and a huge investment account that paid all her bills and then some from the dividends alone. He took his clothes and car and we haven't heard from him since.

Anyway, school didn't work out. I crapped out sophomore year and, without options, I moved back in with my mother again and found an inside job at Wal-Mart's. It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. The job didn't pay enough for my own place but mom didn't want rent and I had enough cash for a couple of evenings at the local pub and an occasional motel room. Added to the number of fine women who had their own places and willing to entertain me there, most of my issues found a pleasant release.

However, living with mom wasn't the same as it was before I left to follow my own path and my father left. She still dressed as conservatively as I remembered but she seemed uneasy most of the time. Finally, one evening while we were watching a Netflix series, I mentioned it. "Mom," I said, "you don't seem relaxed. Is there something wrong? Have I done something to upset you?"

"No, Doug," she responded. "It's nothing you've done."

"Then what is it?" I asked. "Whatever's bothering you, maybe I can help."

"I don't see how you can," she responded.

"You can't know that," I stated. "If I can help, I will. I'll do anything to make you feel better. Tell me and give me a chance to prove it."

"It's just that I'd been living alone for so long," she started. "That you moving back in caused me to make adjustments in how I lived and I'm still adjusting to the new normal. It can be frustrating."

"You shouldn't be frustrated because I'm here," I said. "If you want to entertain someone here overnight, I'd be happy to spend the night elsewhere."

"No, no, honey," she said. "It's not sex. It's not that complex."

"Then share it with me," I requested. "I promise I won't be surprised or judgmental."

"It's just that, after your father left, I became more casual at home. Life was simpler. I lived more simply. With you home, I feel the need to be less casual, more conservative."

"That's understandable but I don't think you should feel that way because of me," I explained. "What can I do to make your life simpler?"

"It's not anything you can do," she said. "It's what I would do and how you might react."

"Really? Can you give me an example?" I asked.

"For example," mom said. "Look at how I'm dressed."

"You look fine," I said.

"I do," she agreed, "but it's not how I would dress if I were alone."

"How would you dress if you were alone?" I asked. "I can't imagine much that would be less casual than what you're wearing now."

"I don't know if I can explain it," mom explained. "I'd have to show you."

"Okay," I agreed. "Show me."

"That's the problem," she explained. "You're my son. I wouldn't usually dress that way in front of my son."

"Oh, I think I get it," I said. "You'd be more comfortable if I was just a man and not your son?"

"That might make a difference," she admitted, "but not just any man."

"Ah, you prefer to dress in something more revealing," I guessed. "Maybe something extremely comfortable. Something sensual, even risqué if you wore it in front of a man?"

"I'm embarrassed just talking to you about it," mom said.

"Okay," I said. "Don't talk. Show me. Actually, pretend I'm not here. I'm invisible. Change into what makes you comfortable."

Slowly, my mother stood up and walked out of the room. I tried to focus on the television program, not on what I imagined what my mother might be wearing when she returned. I waited a long time. Long enough to wonder if she was coming back at all.

When she came back, she was incredible. I forgot about the television show and my promise to be invisible. She was wearing a long, form fitting, almost transparent, beige nightgown. It clung to her every curve and shimmered as she walked. Underneath, barely visible, she was wearing an opaque black bra and equally dark panties.

"Mom!" I exclaimed.

"What happened to invisible?" she asked.

"I'm sorry," I apologized. "I couldn't help myself."

"Your reaction is exactly what I'm worried about," she commented. "Now I'm embarrassed."

"Oh mom," I said. "You shouldn't be embarrassed. You look incredible."

"Maybe, but you're my son," she reminded me. "I should leave."

"No," I quickly responded. "Please don't leave. You should be comfortable in your own home. Stay and enjoy the show. I'll leave instead if it makes you more comfortable."

My mother moved to return to her seat. "It's okay," she said. "You can stay. In fact, I want you to stay. I'm not as uncomfortable as I thought I would be and I should get used to dressing as I wish when I'm home even if you're living here with me."

"I agree," I said.

"It's just that your father was so strident about dressing conservatively in front of you and your sister that I was afraid I'd offend you if I dressed otherwise," she explained.

"I'm not offended," I told her. "Just the opposite."

"Just the opposite?" she asked. "You're aroused?"

"I don't think I should admit that to my mother," I said.

"Okay," she said with a smile. "Don't admit it."

The rest of the week, mom dressed similarly every evening. Her dress during the day also reflected her more free approach. Friday evening, I asked her, "How are you feeling now?"

"About how I'm dressed?" she asked.

"Yeah," I said. "Are you more comfortable than you were?"

"I am," she answered hesitantly.

"That didn't sound like an enthusiastic endorsement," I observed.

"I guess it wasn't," she admitted. "I'll get there eventually," she observed.

"Why wait?" I asked. "You should be comfortable in your own home and the fact that I'm here shouldn't keep you from however you want to dress."

"I get that," she agreed, "but I'm still nervous about it. I'll get there but I need to move there a little at a time. It just takes a little courage and your assurances help."

I looked at how little she was wearing and processed what she implied about going further. It didn't take a genius to conclude that my mom had been walking around her home naked when she was alone. The prospect of her "getting there" excited me even though she was my mother.

"Take your time," I said.

"Thank you," she said.

I expected that was the start of the world's longest strip tease, possibly weeks in development.

I further thought that I might support her and ease her transition if I moved in the same direction. The thought of being naked in front of my mother intimidated me and I instantly knew what she was struggling with. Quietly, I removed my socks and tossed them aside.

If she noticed, she didn't react.

Saturday night she appeared in the same outfit, slinky gown, bra and panties. I had changed my outfit to just t-shirt, Jockey briefs and shorts. We sat next to each other on the sofa, watching the next episode of some inane Netflix series. Mom was sitting with her legs under her and her gown wrapped around her knees. When she moved, the gown stuck under her and she struggled to stand up without falling.

"This doesn't work," she said.

When I didn't comment, she asked, "Do you mind?" while tugging on her gown.

I wasn't exactly clear about what she meant but I guessed she wanted to do away with her gown. "Whatever makes you comfortable," I agreed.

Slowly, painfully slowly for both of us, she gathered her gown up around her hips and then slid it up over her head and off. She stood still in front of me for several seconds in her modest bra and full sized panties and holding her gown in one hand. Both her bra and panties were thick, opaque material. I had seen more of her body in a two piece bathing suit but exposure in intimate underwear like bra and panties was probably more difficult for her than a revealing bathing suit.

Without comment, she laid the gown over the back of the sofa and sat down. "Thank you," she said.

"You're welcome," I said while not trying to be too obvious about looking at her body. Her sly smile told me she noticed anyway and approved.

Sunday morning, I headed for the kitchen and breakfast in my shorts and t-shirt. Mom was already there, humming to herself as she prepared the meal. She was wearing the same type of bra and panties as the night before.

"Good morning," I said. "Comfortable?"

"Yes, thank you," she replied, "and good morning to you."

Mom spent the rest of the day in bra and panties except for a quick jaunt to the grocery store. When she returned, she stripped down to bra and panties again before putting the groceries away. I sensed an improved sense of contentment in her. Her joy became my joy and the day passed uneventfully.

Sunday night, I waited on the sofa for mom. She appeared wearing a small, push up half bra that pushed up her ample breasts and barely covered her nipples. Bikini panties completed her outfit.

She paused in front of me. "Too much?" she asked.

"Do you mean 'too little?'" I asked.

"I guess I do," she replied.

"Not at all," I replied. "You look terrific," I added.

"Then you're okay with this?" she asked indicating her outfit.

"Of course," I said.

"You're not offended?"

"No," I assured her. "Nothing you could do would offend me," I said.

She smiled and sat on the sofa next to me to watch television. A short time later, without fanfare, I removed my t-shirt and put it over the back of the sofa. Mom noticed without comment. I'm not an athlete and my chest isn't Mr. Universe ready but I'm in reasonable shape without excess weight anywhere. I have a small amount of chest hair and small firm nipples.

We took a break between episodes of the television drama to pee and hydrate. When she returned, she paused in front of me again. She seemed to be making a decision. I watched her body tense slightly, apparently having made a decision. She reached up behind her back as if she was going to remove her bra. She paused further and brought her hands back from behind her. Decision reversed. Apparently a step she wasn't ready to make.

Her actions caused me to get an erection in anticipation. It was impossible for mom not to notice. She noticed, smiled and sat down. We watched the rest of the episode and headed to bed. I went to bed with an erection and a towel. I took care of the erection and cleaned up with the towel before I fell into a dream filled sleep.

I woke up in the middle of the night, conflicted about having a sexual reaction to my mother and supported by my dreams. While I lay awake in the dark, I heard sounds coming from my mother's bedroom. I listened intently, holding my breath to hear better. The sounds were mostly caused by the bed as my mother moved on it. When the final sound was similar to a muffled screech, I had the thought that my mom had been masturbating in her room and had ended with an orgasm.

I couldn't know the impetus for her activity but I hoped she had been thinking about me.

Monday evening, mom upped the ante. She stood in front of me again, wearing the bra and bikini panties from the night before. "I was going to do this in the bedroom before I came out but I thought you might want to watch," she said.

I squared my position on the sofa so I was facing her more directly with my hands in my lap ready to hide my reaction to what I thought she was going to do. "Thank you," I said. "I'd love to watch."

She smiled again and reached up behind her back again. I watched her bra tighten as she stretched it behind her and relax as she unhooked it. She held her bra in place as she moved her hands in front her. I focused exactly where she wanted me to, on her breasts. She slowly lowered her bra and tossed it aside. Her breasts fell about two inches and rested on her chest. Her nipples were large, almost filling her areolas. She waited a moment before lifting her breasts with her hands and letting them settle more comfortably on her chest.

She watched me watching her. I watched her nipples harden under my gaze. I moved my hands aside so she could see the impact she was having on me. I watched her nipples harden further as I hardened in my shorts. In that moment, everything changed. The woman in front of me was no longer my mother. She was Carolyn, a beautiful woman proudly showing her body to me. A body I wanted to possess. A body I knew I had to wait to have. Carolyn was in that in between space between mother and lover, between incest and ecstasy.

Carolyn stood in front of me with her breasts heaving as she breathed and her hands on her hips. Her fingers toyed with the elastic of the top of her bikini panties. I thought she was ready to take the next and final step. The step than revealed her in all her nakedness. The moment passed and Carolyn sat on the sofa next to me, ready to watch television.

Everything she did was understandable and cruel at the same time. I forced myself to suppress my disappointment and settle in to watch television with her. I successfully fought the urge to reach out and fondle her breasts. Carolyn smiled. She knew of my struggle. I wondered if she thought of me as Doug and not her son.

My confusion did not last long. "Doug," said Carolyn. "You look uncomfortable."

It would be difficult to deny what was obvious to both of us. "A little," I answered.

"Feel free to get as comfortable as you wish," she said with a huge smile.

When she licked her lips, I made the difficult decision that she couldn't make. I stood up in front of her, paused for effect and slowly lowered my shorts and briefs together. I exposed my pubic hair and continued to push my clothing down. The elastic of my briefs dragged my erection down with it and, when their position exceeded the length of my erection, it released, sprung up forcefully and bounced happily in front of her.

I stopped pushing and waited for a reaction. "Oh, my," said Carolyn and put a knuckle between her teeth.

I lifted one leg and used my foot to push my shorts the rest of the way to the floor where I stepped out of them. I stood proudly in front of her. After a moment, I sat on the sofa and tried to watch the television. Peripherally, I watched Carolyn watching me more than the television.

Without preamble, Carolyn asked, "Are you comfortable?

I'm never comfortable with an erection but I answered anyway. "Absolutely. I never thought that hanging around without clothing would be so comfortable. So freeing."

Carolyn looked pensive for a moment. "Would you be comfortable if I joined you?"

"Would you be comfortable?" I responded. "You should do whatever you want to do. It's your house. Your rules. Your dress code."

"I think I would be," she said. "I didn't think I would be with you at home but seeing you now and how easy it's been over the last week, I think I would be."

I remained silent. I desperately wanted to see her completely naked but concerned that anything I said might change her mind.

Carolyn stood in front of me. She seemed to be considering how to proceed. "Do you want to do it?" she asked.

Surprised, I managed to answer. "Is that what you want?"

"Your father was ultra conservative. He insisted that I dress traditionally in spite of what I wanted. He never undressed in front of me and he never watched me undress let alone undress me himself. Before we were married, I was a free spirit. I lived in a coed dorm. Most of us were unconcerned about privacy including nudity. I loved it and I missed it when I got married. When your father left, I remembered how I felt before we were married and I began to live naked again. The old feelings returned and I've never been happier. Your arrival changed all that and I was afraid I might have to dress conservatively again. I'm glad that it's worked out so well. So, yes, that is what I want."

"You realize that my participation in undressing you is a step further than just living naked together?" I asked.

"Living naked isn't the only thing I miss about the time before I married your father," Carolyn insisted.

"Even if I'm your son?" I asked.

"How about you just be Doug and I be Cari?" Carolyn suggested. "We're adults and childhood relationships are no longer valid or desired."

I knelt on the floor in front of her, put my hands on her hips and moved her closer to me. "Ready?" I asked.

"Nervous but ready," Cari insisted.

I hooked my thumbs into the waistband of her bikini panties and began to pull them down slowly. I didn't want to shock her with the sudden removal I preferred and I thought a slow approach would intensify the eroticism of the moment. About an inch down, I revealed the edge of her pubic hair. It was the same color as her head hair and neatly trimmed to avoid exposure above the top of her panties.

I pushed her panties over the bulge of her ass cheeks and pushed them further down. When I had her panties at the top of her thighs, she was fully exposed. The gusset of her panties stuck between her labia and they stretched as I pulled them further down until they loosened with a sudden release. Her labia were large, puffy and pink. The room filled with her scent, like a salty ocean.

Her panties landed on the top of her feet. She used her feet to remove them and kicked them aside. I continued to hold her hips, my face inches from her womanhood. Cari moved her feet further apart, almost an invitation for me to follow my instincts.

I moved slowly, allowing her time to curb my intent. She spread her legs further apart. I pressed my face into the heat of her body. My tongue found the space between her labia and my nose pressed against her already exposed clitoris. She took a deep breath and her body tensed.

I was mesmerized by the aphrodisiac of her aroma. I dragged my tongue up between her lips and swirled it around her clitoris. She relaxed and exhaled. She put her hands on the back of my head and pushed her body against my face. My hand slid up her thigh and two fingers entered her as I sucked on her clitoris.

She moaned loudly and her legs collapsed. I had to catch her, losing tongue and finger contact with her body. I sat her gently on the sofa, sat alongside her and held her in my arms.