Lingerie Mom Ch 01

In Lingerie Mom: The Collection HeyAll gave us three stories in which lingerie played a key role in an evolving relationship between a mother and son. This is my iteration of that idea. Kathrin, called Kate, takes on a younger lover and acquires a taste for lingerie while her son Brian spends a year in China. Brian comes home to a different Mom. One he rather likes.

I recommend Lingerie Mom: The Collection to all.

At this time I foresee three chapters with an open-ended conclusion.

As always, all story characters involved in sexual situations are eighteen years of age or older.

* * * *

It had been just the two of us, Brian and I, for the last fifteen years; I'd divorced his father when he was four. Several friends, mostly the mothers of his classmates, had reported they'd found the empty nest more difficult than expected, but I had yet to truly face that loss. Brian had moved out, but the university was ten miles from our home and he lived in a dormitory; he'd visit, usually several days a week, and often spent the night. The nest had been semi-occupied.

But now I was dropping him off at the airport. He'd spend his sophomore year in China. Taking my friends' advice I'd made plans to fill the time, starting with getting back into shape. While I'd never let myself go entirely - I was at the gym two or three days a week - I was not in tip-top condition. I wanted to get back there.

I hired a personal trainer. Derrick Austin was twenty-six years old, gorgeous, and - several girlfriends confirmed the rumor - if you were dedicated, ate right, and did as instructed, Derrick might crawl into your bed and rock your world. He was disease free, discreet, and it would be short term, four to six months at best, but I was thirty-nine and hadn't had sex with anyone other than myself in a decade; discreet short-term, no-commitment world-rocking sex while my son was on the other side of the globe seemed just the thing.

So I worked hard, made great progress, and - two weeks early I'd immodestly add - reached my weight and BMI goals. Derrick told me there'd be a gift delivered to my house the following day. A girlfriend had told me what that meant.

The Federal Express man knocked on my door at 11:00 A.M. Inside the box was an open-back bright red teddy with a neckline that approached my belly button. I showered, did my hair, found a pair of four-inch stiletto pumps in the depths of my closet, and poured two glasses of wine.

Derrick arrived fifteen minutes later.

Over the next six months I learned there was a lot more to sex than in the bedroom, at night, lights off, man on top. Derrick loved dressing me in lingerie and I loved wearing it. We tried several score positions, did it while watching porn and in front of mirrors, and, when I felt especially daring, in public spaces. He wanted more, to swap me with friends, try a threesome, make our own porn, but I feared bringing others into our games. My desire to be discreet, my concern about my place in the community, kept me from going there. Anal sex? Some girlfriends said it hurt like hell and I said no. Tying me up and spanking me? I wasn't sure. Did I trust him that much? A girl does have to have limits.

We went at it the unofficial maximum of six months before he moved on, which was good. Brian would be coming home in three weeks' just in time for my birthday.

As to the lingerie? I could still use most of it and, as for the naughtiest things, I'd pack them away. Perhaps something would come along.

* * * *

Other than Skype, Brian and I hadn't seen each other in nine months and I hadn't told him about my commitment to the gym, at first because I wanted to avoid the embarrassment if I failed, later because I thought it would be fun to surprise him. Wanting to show off the new me, but not go over the top, I dressed for the airport in a white blazer worn over a tee-shirt, dark skinny jeans, and knee-high suede black boots. I wore my brown hair, which I'd grown out to my shoulder blades, up.

I saw him first, moving though the airport with the confident stride of someone who, on a trip to the other side of the planet and a culture and world wholly unfamiliar, had learned a lot about himself. And while he'd kept his boyful good looks - sandy blonde hair, smattering of freckles, bright blue eyes - he'd added more than a few muscular pounds.

I stepped from the group at the end of the concourse, waved my arms, and shouted, "Brian."

A broad smile splitting his face, he reached me in three elongated steps, crushed me to him, kissed me, stepped back, placed his arms on my shoulders, and scanned me up and down.

"Mom, not that you haven't always, but you look amazing."

"You like? I decided to take advantage of your trip and get back in the shape."

"Very much, I'm so proud of you."

I smiled, ran a finger across his shoulder and down his arm. "It appears you've been busy too."

"Maybe some."

We collected his luggage, both showing off a bit by demonstrating how much we could carry, and on the way home stopped for a hamburger and salad - good old American food he said - and provided each other a quick summary of our months apart. When I told him I'd hired a personal trainer, Brian asked who. When I said Derrick Austin his eyes lit up for a second, then his face became imperturbable, like he knew he'd overreacted.

"Do you know him?"

He brought a napkin to his mouth, cleaned his lips, and said, "Just to say 'hi' to. He's got an excellent reputation and you can't argue with the results, you look spectacular."

He changed the subject.

I'd thought Derrick discreet, but maybe only with my generation. It appears there may have been a slightly different buzz among his contemporaries.

* * * *

When we pulled into the garage Brian, yawned and said what he really needed after his long flight was a long hot shower. As he spoke I realized I'd forgotten to buy the necessities - soap, shampoo, etc. - to restock his bathroom.

"You'll have to use my shower."

He leaned over, kissed my cheek, said, "Sure Mom," and pulled his overnight bag and a suitcase out of the trunk, deposited the suitcase at the bottom of the stairs, then headed down the hall with his bag.

It was only as he walked through my bedroom door that I remembered that my danties, some pretty daring, were hanging in my bathroom, drying

* * * *

I heard him get out of the shower. Time dragged, then he came out of my bedroom with a towel around his waist. He hadn't brought a change of clothes with him to the bathroom.

My earlier supposition had been correct, Brian had filled out; my son was a good looking young man.

He pulled out a chair, turned it around so it's back faced me, straddled it, and nodding his head towards the bathroom, said, "Don't worry Mom, I moved your stuff, then hung then back up to dry."

"Thank you."

He said no more. My curiosity got the better of me. "You don't think they're too much?"

"Not at all. You're a beautiful woman, you should celebrate it. I just hope I don't cramp your style."

"Isn't that what I'm supposed to say to you?"

"Maybe." He stood, kissed the top of my head, said, "Oh, I almost forget," and pulled a box from his suitcase. "A gift from China."

Inside the box was a blue night gown. I held it up - knee length, it was decorated with peacocks and flowers - and pressed it to my face. Unbelievably soft and delicate, it glided across my cheek.

"Silk?"

He nodded yes.

I wrapped my arms around him. He smelled fresh and clean.

"It's beautiful."

"I was worried it might be too personal, but after seeing what's hanging in the bathroom, well I'm happy to see you developed a taste for the luxuriant."

"Oh son, it's perfect. Thank you."

"How 'bout you and I get in our pj's and celebrate my return home like the old days, movie and popcorn."

"I'd like that."

* * * *

In my bedroom I stripped, put on the night gown, then started to take it off in favor of my pyjamas, but stopped. I looked in the mirror. It felt so good on my skin and covered everything. I decided to wear just the gown.

Combing my hair and applying a bit of lipstick, I joined my son in the kitchen where, wearing shorts and a tee-shirt, he was making popcorn the old fashioned way, in a kettle with oil. He'd remembered I much preferred that to the microwaved-stuff.

* * * *

I settled on the couch, told him to pick a movie and, as he bent over the discs, studied him. The girls at the gym might be in for a treat, but tonight he was all mine.

He held up Shakespeare in Love.

"You know, nothing blows up in that movie."

"Think of it as a first date after a long road trip; it's best to butter you up."

He turned off the lights. I leaned into him. He rubbed my neck and shoulders, working the muscles with surprisingly strong fingers. I thought about my time with Derrick. While the sex had been amazing, it had been devoid of perfect evenings like this. I also found, as the silk slid across my skin and nipples, I was getting turned on. The vibrator in my bedside table would get a work-out tonight.

When the movie ended Brian got up, turned on the light, and was reaching for the empty popcorn bowl when, for just a moment, his eyes left my face for my chest. Then, bowl in hand, he headed for the kitchen. What had distracted him?

My robe had slid open, exposing the tops of my breasts, my hard nipples were clearly outlined in the fabric.

* * * *

I woke the next morning in a wonderful mood. Brian was home and he was no longer a boy, but a good-looking young man, the kind of child that would make any mother proud.

It was a casual day at the office. I showered, stood naked in front of the mirror, held my hair atop my head, deciding whether to wear it up or down, settled on down, then looked at myself, liking what I saw. There were 119 pounds on my five foot seven inch body and my "B" cup breasts, although not the perfect round "C's" I'd dreamed of as a teenager, had maintained their firmness and swooping shape, the pronounced nipples still pointing straight ahead. I thought about my conversation with Brian last night. He was right, it would be fun wearing something a little bit naughty underneath. I selected a lacy black bra and matching panties, modeled them in the mirror, picked out a pair of jeans, a little tight, and a red flannel shirt. I was doing my make-up when Brian knocked on my door.

"Coffee?"

"I'm not decent."

"I can slip it through the door."

"Okay."

While he passed the coffee through the cracked-open door, his beautiful blue eyes - he'd gotten them from his father, mine were hazel - darted to the left and behind me, then returned to mine.

"Here it is mi'lady."

"Thanks son."

I closed the door. What had distracted him?

Placing my head in the position his had been, the answer was obvious. There, in the mirror, was my torso, my lacy bra in full view.

I finished dressing, drank my coffee. He'd remembered the way I like it: a little bit of skim milk, a little bit of sugar.

* * * *

Joining him in kitchen, I slapped his butt.

"You're not supposed to peek at your mother."

He did not dissemble. "Couldn't help it. A sexy woman in undies, it takes a better man then me to at least not glance. Do your panties match your bra?"

"That is none of your business."

"Aahh, very good, they do."

* * * *

Brian called, asked if I would meet him after work at the gym. We could do some weights and I could sign him up for the family plan. I protested that I'd not packed the right clothes, but he said he'd bring them. It didn't occur to me until later that I'd given him permission to go through my drawers.

While the black leggings and matching sports bra he brought were on the skimpy side, they were appropriate. Unfortunately our work-out was oft interrupted by my contemporaries asking to be introduced to my son and younger girls wanting to meet this good-looking addition to the place. I found myself growing annoyed. These girls would have their shot at him, but he'd just gotten back. Right now he was mine.

* * * *

At the gym he'd told me he had a little surprise for me that evening and asked to take the first shower, reappearing in a red polo shirt and shorts, then snaked an arm around me to kiss me. I protested I'd yet to shower, that I was sweaty and nasty, but he smiled and said he liked his mother that way. I, with no conviction in my voice, told him he shouldn't talk to me like that.

I showered and selected a mid-thigh front-wrap kimono over minimal lace panties and matching bra. Recalling how good the silk had felt on my body yesterday, I contemplated going braless, but didn't need a repeat of yesterday's hard nipple moment. I left my bedroom and followed an intoxicating smell to the kitchen. There Brian gestured to the counter, where a glass of wine was waiting, and said, "You look good, that's a beautiful robe."

I pirouetted in a full circle. "It's a kimono, you like?"

"Very much."

I picked up the wine, leaned into him.

"Whatcha cooking?"

"Gong Bao Chicken, a professor at the university taught me how to make it. Grab your plate, its ready to go."

It was delicious, vastly superior to the town's best Chinese restaurant. When done I poured a second glass of wine and, deciding to leave the dishes for later, said, "Let's go sit on the couch. I want to hear all about your year in China."

There he motioning me to swivel around, rubbed my neck and shoulders, and recounted his classes, the friends he made, and the differences in the culture and people: the Chinese drive to succeed, the whispered concerns about the government, the endless questions about the United States.

Occasionally, my kimono would start to come open and I'd pull it closed.

He finished with his trips to the Forbidden City, the Great Wall, the Terracotta Warriors of Xi'an, the Hongcun Ancient Village, and Mount Huangshan. I wondered, why hadn't he mentioned any women. He could always rustle up a date.

"Do they have any girls over there?"

"About six hundred million."

"And..."

"You really want to know?"

His tone said I didn't, which only convinced me I did.

"Yes."

"There was a professor at the University, forty; pretty, not as pretty as you, but pretty. I been there about a week when she asked me if I was enjoying myself. I told her I was still getting my feet wet, expressed some interest in learning more about the community. She offered to show me around. By the end of the week we were an, item."

There was a new maturity to my son. That he'd spent the last several months with a sophisticated older woman offered an explanation.

"I thought it might bother you."

While he was gone I'd taken a younger lover for an affair of limited duration. He, in reverse, had done the same.

"No, you're a grown man, you can make your own choices. I didn't know you had a thing for older woman."

He said, "Neither did I, but I developed one," then, kissing the side of my head, added. "Speaking of sexy older woman, you should cover up."

The front of my kimono was open. My beasts, encased in my lacy white bra, on full display. I pulled the top closed.

"You must think your mother an awful woman."

"No. My mother's a beautiful woman who happens to enjoy nice clothes underneath. There's nothing wrong with that. I'm partial to lingerie myself."

"I know."

"What do you mean?"

"My catalogs were always disappearing."

"You knew about that? I always waited for the new one to come in."

"You're not as sly as you think."

* * * *

I had much fun with my vibrator that night.

* * * *

The next morning, feeling frisky and sexy, I opened my lingerie drawer. My clothes would be conservative, why not have some fun underneath? I picked out a red lace bra, underwires for support, and matching stretch lace thong panties. I put them on, checked myself in the mirror, covered them up.

Brian was in the kitchen.

He handed me a cup of coffee, sat down across from me, and said, "Mom, I've been thinking about your birthday, wanting to do something special. I went on-line last night. The Boston lyric opera is doing La Boheme, that's your favorite, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"Good, because we're going Saturday night."

"Ohmigod, you shouldn't have, the tickets must have... you shouldn't have..."

He flashed that winning smile, happy to see me so happy.

"Thank you."

* * * *

As we cleaned the dishes Brian said, "Are you wearing something sexy underneath?"

"You are way too interested in your mother's underwear."

"Well I tried to keep it a secret, but you outed me last night. You've only got yourself to blame. "

"You still shouldn't ask."

His hand on my waist, he said, "I guess I'll need to be more pro-active." His pinkie dipped inside my pants, hooked my panties, pulled them up until a tiny section, just enough so f the bright red color was visible.

"Very nice."

* * * *

That afternoon Brian texted, said he'd be out late that night with some friends.

I'd said I wouldn't do this. Derrick and I were over and I didn't want to be one of those women who clung to him, but I was beyond horny. I approached him at the gym. We went back to his place, fucked like mad. I was asleep before Brian got home.

* * * *

I woke up feeling coltish, the way you do the morning after great sex. I scanned my wardrobe, but my mind was on dressing up for the opera. In the mood, I decided to wear something dressy, appropriate for the office but which would raise the bar a bit. I covered my black strapless bra and barely-there lacy panties with a black off-the-shoulder maxi-dress with lace lining its bodice. When I heard Brian stirring upstairs I sent him a text.

"Breakfast?"

He texted back: "Down in a minute."

I was finishing the omelettes when he tumbled down the stairs, came up behind me, kissed the back of my head, and, as his arms circled my waist, growled into my ear, "Wow, you look nice. You're gonna class up the office."

It was exactly what I wanted to hear.

"Thank you son."

We ate, I noting that he'd been out late last night, dropped a few hints, a girl maybe? He said no, just hanging with the guys and mentioned that I was out cold when he got in. I lied, said it was a hard work-out at the gym, realized I'd said too much. There'd been no reason to explain.

When done Brian, letting me finish my coffee, rinsed our plates, put them in the dishwasher, then turned to me and with eyebrow raised said, "Well?"

Well, what?" but I knew what he meant.

He stared at me.

"A little sexy," I said.

Yesterday he'd dipped a finger inside my jeans to peek at my panties. Today I wouldn't allow him that opportunity. I crooked my thumb in the hem of my dress and lowered it, revealing the lacy edge of my bra.

* * * *

Brian walked me to the door, kissed my cheek, placed his hand on my hip and, standing inches from me, said in a low conspiratorial tone, "I'm hoping for an early start tomorrow. I'm going to pack tonight."

His hand was moving down the side of my body. He was searching for my undies.

My heart was thumping in my chest.

"You haven't told me, what do you have planned, I mean besides the opera?"

"We're going to dinner before the show, what you wear to the opera will do just fine. Saturday afternoon we're going shopping, jeans and tee-shirt are okay. Sunday's wide open, we'll do whatever you want."

He located my panties and twisted a finger into the fabric of my dress, tunneling under the panties and pulling them from my body.

"Skimpy," he said, "very good. Do they match the bra, black and lacy?"

My tone coquettish, "That will remain a mystery."

He was inches from me; he smelled nice, fresh and clean.

"As you wish, mi'lady."

He kissed my cheek. I touched his face.