Hiya. I'm not going to tell you my name, for obvious reasons, and I've changed some stuff that might identify me for the same reason.
I'm going to call myself Jan. That's not my name. I had my son Carl (that's not his name either) when I was just short of my seventeenth birthday. I left school with no qualifications and a son. The father fucked off as soon as he found out I was pregnant, so all my life it's just been me and Carl. Other men were interested, but as soon as they found out I had a kid they lost interest very quickly. After a while I lost interest in them.
Anyway, this isn't about that. My very good friend Durcet says I can tell my tale here, and everyone will think it's a story he's written. That it's fiction. That is fine by me.
I knew my son was getting interested in sex from an early age, I'm afraid sons keep fewer secrets from their mums than they think they do, but I think I managed ok. I quietly installed one of those net nanny things on his tablet to keep him away from the worst stuff, and didn't look too closely in his waste paper basket when I emptied it. We had the talk, and he knew how to keep himself safe. I did ok, considering I was doing it by myself.
Carl passed all his A levels (high school diploma to you Americans) with nearly top grades - the first person in my family to do that, and compared to his thicko mum... anyway he'd always been into... we'll say he was into his cooking so he went to do a degree in cooking. My little boy went to university to do a degree.
He came home for Christmas. I could not have been more excited. I had my little man back for the holidays. Except he wasn't so little any more. He'd gotten into his sports, and he was getting a bit more appearance conscious. The young man who walked in through the door and handed me is washing was, although I say so myself, a bit breathtaking.
It was his idea to take me out for a meal, to celebrate him surviving his first semester.
I remember I had a dress. I'd seen it in a sale. I've never been rich, and it's not often I buy anything for myself. But there it had been on the rack, calling my name. Black and sparkly and wickedly short. I'd never had the chance to wear it, but here I was booked to go to a restaurant with my handsome son, and I was so proud, and I just wanted to show off. So I was going to wear that dress.
I remember trying it on over my granny pants and sensible bra, and nearly laughing. Big bra and big pants under sexy little black dress. I looked like a freak.
I took the dress off and took my underwear off. I stood in front of the mirror. I didn't look at myself naked very often back then. I remember letting my gaze travel slowly up me, and thinking I wasn't too bad. I pulled the dress on with nothing underneath it and it looked superb. Obviously that was how it was supposed to be worn. I wasn't quite ready to go commando on a date with my son so I had to think. I remember I ended up in my local supermarket, and they had sexy lingerie sets; hold ups and a thong, and a tiny little string bra that would be like wearing razor wire. I was already adjusting to the idea that I'd be going braless.
I'm tempted to tell Durcet to say that I bought it all in some sexy boutique. But no, I bought the underwear for my date in George in Asda. Oh my sexy, sexy life.
The bra went straight away, I couldn't even fasten it. The thong was tiny. It looked really good, except my pubes poked out all over the place. I started trimming them with a pair of nail scissors. I got into it, and by the time I'd finished I was completely bald downstairs. The thong had a sheer front, and I could see my slit through the lace. My breath quickened and I felt a rush of heat. Suddenly I was sorry that I was going on a date with my son. No chance of getting lucky.
The taxi was booked, I'd done my hair and makeup dressed only in holdups and the thong, then carefully climbed into the dress. It was terrifying. I could see my tits sway when I moved, and I could feel the air on my bare arse. One false move and I was exposed. I loved it.
Carl was standing at the foot of the stairs. His face when he saw me was a picture.
"Too much?"
I swear he blushed. "No, not at all. Damn mum you're beautiful."
I smiled, huge and happy. "Thank you. And I have the handsomest son."
I stroked his face, the way I always had. That took me in close to him, and my tit brushed against him. My nipple stroked against him, and an electric shock ran through me.
I covered myself with my jacket. "We should get that taxi."
He was the perfect gentleman. He held the door for me as I got in. I kept my knees together like the respectable woman I was, ignoring the wild urge to spread and flash the street.
We chatted about nothing in the taxi. Stuff about his course, stuff I didn't really understand. He kept glancing down then making a point of looking out of the window. It wasn't until I shifted position and my thighs unstuck themselves from the seat that I realised that my dress had ridden up, exposing the top of my hold ups and, if the light were good enough, a peek of my cunt.
I pulled my skirt down, but by the time I got out of the taxi I was nearly panting. I was so horny I would have fucked the taxi driver if he'd asked nicely. I kept finding my legs opening under the table, my skirt riding up. My nipples were as hard as pebbles, and I could see them if I looked down, poking the soft cloth of the dress. In candlelight I could swear the dress was see through, and I could see the dark patches of my areolas. Carl kept glancing down. My own son was ogling me. When I went to the ladies I could feel eyes on me, exploring me. I was soaking wet, and it was an effort not to touch myself in the ladies.
I've thought about that meal in the years since, and I can remember virtually nothing else about it. I can't even remember what I ate. Eventually it came time to go home. Carl paid, and then we collected our coats. He held my jacket for me. As I slipped my arms into the sleeves I misjudged its position - I swear, completely by accident - and pressed myself against my son, rubbing my arse against his crotch. He was hard. My son had a raging erection.
We sat in the taxi back and said almost nothing to each other. I was wondering if, with Carl away at university, maybe it was time to look at dating again. I'd seen glances from men in the restaurant, I'd looked at my body in that mirror, I could find someone. Carl looked out of the window. When we got home he made his excuses and went to bed.
It felt uncomfortable. It felt like we'd ended the night on a sour note, and I didn't want that. I decided to go up to his room. I knocked, I'm not rude, and I swear the noise I heard sounded like "come in". So I went in. At which point my very naked son, his erect clock plain to see in his lubed hand, yelped loudly and turned his back to me.
"Mum!"
I was mortified. I backed out of the room and closed the door.
