My father had a heart attack and stroke last year and spent about 4 months in a residency hospital while recovering. I took a sabbatical from my job and moved in with my 63-year old mother to help her through the ordeal. My mom was a dainty brunette, with shoulder length brown hair, streaked with lots of grey, and a smallish pasty-white frame held together by a flat but now slightly ballooning belly. She was voluptuous, with a floppy set of tits that although not very large, hung low. Age had taken its toll, and in spots, blue veins now spread across her legs and her boobs, and nice pads of fat on her hips and ass gave her an irresistibly soft appeal, and just the right amount of womanly charm. The back of her thighs spread nicely now in her middle age, combining with the other soft pads of fat making to make her so full and womanly, voluptuous and desirable.
As a teenager I had loved to play with her underwear, clean or dirty. I spent endless hours stroking myself with the silk and satin that had touched her skin, absorbed her sweet, fragrant sweat, and that had been wedged into the dark, musty cracks of her ass and her crotch, soaking up her body juices. Many an hour was spent with a pair of her used panties, freshly stolen from the hamper, draped over my face while I stroked myself , imagining her and my sweaty bellies sliding and slapping against one another while I entered her forbidden, taboo inner sanctum. Or better yet, pretending that I had a front row seat while she took on a group of frat boys or a young buck from the high school where she taught, she lying wantonly on a dirty mattress as they used her as their sex toy, plundering her soft nether regions and spewing their potent seed deep into my motherâs womb.
Nothing had ever transpired of course, and such thoughts were far from my mind when at the age of 33 I moved back in with my mom. She was happy to have her son back in the house, and soon took advantage of my craftsman skills, putting me to work on all kinds of little household projects. She would bring me coffee in the morning, and beer in the afternoon as I busied myself with her little chores. In the evenings, we would sit together, or to forget our troubles, go for walks or long drives together. We were leading quite the little domestic life together, me and my soft, loving mother.
One day I convinced her to come swimming with me at an isolated swim hole that I used to visit as a teenager. I of course loaded the car myself, carrying her small day bag out to the trunk. Mischievously, on the spur of the moment, I removed her frumpy one-piece bathing suit and hid it under the liner of the trunk, wondering how she would react at the swim hole. My plan paid off better than I had hoped. Wearing a simple light-green sun dress that teased me by displaying her shiny freckled shoulders and her pretty calves, she swore up and down that she had packed her bathing suit, and was so upset that the picnic was ruined.
âNonsenseâ, I said, âweâre the only ones here and no one ever comes here any more. Weâll have our little picnic like we planned, and afterwords you can strip down to your modest underwear so we can go for a quick dip. No one will see and it will be fine.â
She was still upset, but the day went on well and we had a quick lunch then went for a short stroll, arm in arm, around the lake. When we got back to the car, I quickly stripped off my shirt and shorts to reveal that I was already wearing my swim trunks. Mom was flushed; she didnât know what to do, but I reassured her then stepped back to let her step out of her sundress.
I was not disappointed with this opportunity to look at my mother in a state of near-nudity. Still relatively slender, age had nonetheless taken its toll on her frame, and the tiniest rolls of fat covered her cute, slightly bulging tummy. She was no spring chicken, and most men wouldnât have given her a second look, but I remembered the shape of her 40-ish frame, and could see remnants of it in this 63-year old woman, almost bursting out of her plain white bra and panties as she innocently but seductively stepped out of her dress and let it fall to her feet.
Her breasts were ever so slightly pebbled with liver spots, but honestly I couldnât take my eyes off the back of her flat thighs, especially that compelling crease where her droopy ass cheeks met the back of her legs. She was clearly uncomfortable with the level of attention that I was giving her; I was so obviously leering, but I had to break the ice and get her used to the thought of me being aroused by her. I was so in love.
âCome onâ I said, jumping into the cool lake, âthe waterâs perfect.â
Of course, the reality is that I couldnât wait to see her skimpy underwear turn see-through once she left the water. Her innocent mind never considered the impact of the wetness on her undergarments, and as we left the water to dry off, I feasted my eyes on my near-naked mother in see through skivvies!! Her broad nipples were perfectly visible as the bra clung to her full, fleshy, pasty breasts, and I could easily make out the lips of that vagina where I so longed to plunge myself, nestled in a thick patch of grey-black pubic hair, perfectly revealed in the wet panties.
And mother made no effort to hide herself from me either. She played the innocent, but I knew, just knew, that she was as horny for me as I was for her. I stroked myself three times that night, thinking of those lustful images as my sweet mother slept just on the other side of my bedroom wall, not 30 feet away. How I longed to penetrate her moist inner sanctum, and I knew that I had to make my dream come true.
I had taken to casually walking in and out of her bedroom, and even to sharing the bathroom from time to time, to set an air of casual familiarity in what would otherwise be private situations. So mother was used to my being in her bedroom chatting with her as she quickly slipped from one outfit to another. Although I ogled her incessantly, it was never overt. So the evening after our swim, it was normal for me to be in her room as she changed out of her day clothes into a non-descript flanel nightgown; after all, itâs not like she got fully naked when she changed. I was casually sitting on the armchair in her room as she stepped out of the blue polyester shorts I loved so much (they showed the bulge of her tummy so delightfully).
I casually said âGosh mother, youâre legs are incredible; I canât believe youâre 63 years old you know. You could easily pass for 40â.
It was a bold-faced lie, her wide thighs, although not fat, were formless and spreading. As she turned to look at me, the loose flesh of her no-longer firm inner thighs clearly showed her age. She stood before me in the soft light of the evening, her skin glistening, and blushed so prettily at my comment.
âYou, mister, are invited to get your rude ass out of this room right nowâ, she said, but there was no way I was leaving.
âOh please, Iâve seen you undressed enough. Iâm just being honest; youâre a beautiful and desirable woman mother. Iâll bet you get hit on all the timeâ.
âStop itâ she commanded.
This was out of order by her victorian standards, and Iâm sure that she was confused and a little bit scared. But I was emboldened by yesterdayâs antics, and blood was rushing to my penis as I watched my mother turn to face the mirror on her dresser. The sight of her wide ass was too much for me, and I stood up and took a tentative step towards her.
âYouâve been watching me for weeks havenât you??â She scolded, but it wasnât working. She was intimidated by me, and looked sheepishly at the floor as I stood at the foot of the chair, some 10 feet from her diminutive but fleshy frame, soaking up the view of a used-up old woman who I just had to have.
We stood quietly for some time, eventually she turned towards me and said âWhat do you want?â
I didnât answer, I just sat back down, to try to take a bit of the tension out of the situation. She sat on the bed, her legs flattening and her tummy creasing as she did so, and kept looking at the floor. I could see the slightest hint of pubic hair peeking out from the inner seam of her panties, and I grew harder, but remained silent. It was dark out now, but the soft light from the hallway provided a romantic glow to her bedroom.
A small tear fell from her eye as she stood up and looked at me, feet shoulder width apart, her sagging frame barely held together by her plain white bra and underwear.
âIs this what you want?â She meekly asked, sweeping her hands along her body. âIs this what youâve wanted all along?â.
I stood up and stepped towards her, tenderly taking her hand in mine as I stood in front of her. I kissed her hand then softly stroked her blushing cheek with the back of my left hand, feeling her hair along the side of her head as I took her pretty face in my hands and touched my forehead to hers. I could feel her body heat rising and I clearly smelt fear and desire and confusion radiating from her aged body. I stepped back to the chair, eating her frame with my eyes.
Her womanly frame couldnât have been more ideal. Small, veiny breasts hanging freely down towards the side of her flat, broad tummy, with that slightest of mother-bulge that I just loved so much. Her wide, matronly hips were the perfect segway to her broad thighs, criss-crossed with tiny blue burst veins, and framing that dark tangle of grey-black pubic hair where paradise lay, and from where I sprang, some 33 years ago. How I longed to return there.
âIs this what you want from me, dammit?â She asked again.
I walked over to her and took her in my arms. Softly kissing her once on her tender neck, I gave her her answer. It was an awkward and forced kiss, which she didnât really return, but clearly she was nervous and helpless before me. I gently eased her backwards and sat her on the edge of her bed, then stepped back and stepped out of my clothes. She took in a deep breath, very gently though, as she saw my erection for the first time. I knew she was nervous, but I also knew that she wanted me in the most forbidden of ways. I sat down beside her on the bed.