I was raised by my mother alone since I was three years old. Growing up, I saw my mother go out on dates - occasionally, but not often. When she did, she always dressed up - a nice dress (not too short), nylons, heels, makeup done perfectly, and wearing the sweetest smelling perfume in the world. This is how I became a confirmed leg man. My mom is 5'7", 140, 45, a natural blonde, and has long legs. Some of her relationships lasted, most did not.
I began serious dating at age 15. Yet at that time, the girls were mostly into wearing pantsuits, or maxi dresses. They either did not wear nylons (the feminist movement was strong at the time), or wore opaque pantyhose. What a turn-off!
When I was 18, a girl I had been going with, and had fallen in love with, dumped me one night while we were on a date. At a fancy restaurant... after dessert! I was heartbroken. It was a Saturday night, but I got back to my Mom's apartment about 8 pm - in tears. She was still on her date, so I was surprised when I heard the door open about 9 pm. I could tell right away something. Her mascara had run down her cheeks, and her eyes were puffy. Her little black dress, sheer black nylons, and 4" black stilettos made a perfect picture. Her blonde hair was a bit frazzled though.
I got up from the sofa in the living room and ran to the door.
"Mom - what's the matter? Are you OK?"
"Yes, honey." Then she broke down into tears.
I held her gently until the sobbing stopped. I didn't say anything, figuring she would tell me in her own time.
"Sam, let's sit down. I feel sick."
I walked Mom over to the sofa. As we sat down, I couldn't help but notice that her dress crept up her thighs. My God, I shouldn't keep noticing her legs like that!
"Are you sick? Should we go to the hospital?"
She looked up into my eyes and gently patted my cheek.
"That's so sweet of you, Sam. Always wanting to take care of me and protect me. But no, I'm not physically sick. Just heart sick. I found out tonight that the guy I thought really might be THE ONE is... well... is married." She slumped onto my shoulder again. Only this time there were no more tears. Just a heartbroken woman seeking a moment of shelter from the storm.
"That bastard!" I almost shouted. "How could he do that to you?"
Mom didn't respond. She finally raised her head.
"Sam, what are you doing home so early? Didn't you have a date with Mary?"
Now it was my turn to seek shelter.
"Well, yes. But she... she decided I... I was not... she left me for another guy... "
My mother took my hands in her small petite ones and squeezed. She put our hands on her lap, and hugged me.
But I couldn't concentrate. She took that exact moment to cross her legs, and her dress crept up another inch, revealing the tops of her stockings. Wait. They were stockings. Not those nasty pantyhose. And they were sheer. My head began to pound, and my cock began to respond.
"Sam. We don't deserve the treatment we've gotten tonight, do we?"
"Hell no, Mom. If only I could find a girlfriend exactly like you. I mean, you're sweet, thoughtful, wear nice clothes, and your legs... oh my God, I'm sorry Mom!"
"Don't say you're sorry. A girl has to show off her best assets. That's the way I was taught. Don't girls do that today?"
"Are you kidding? No way."
"Well, Sam, when I walked in the door tonight, I thought how nice it would be to be in a relationship with a man just like you. I'd love to come home every night. I'd wear whatever you'd like to see me in, because I'm a woman and you'd be my man. Am I so wrong to think that?"
I stood up. My hardon was raging now. I took her hands and helped her stand in front of me. I looked into her blue eyes - so soft and vulnerable, yet so much a mature woman's. With her heels she was still several inches shorter than me.
"I love you, Mom... in many ways that you know nothing about."
"Sam, I know how you look at me when you think I don't notice." She took a step closer to me. Our bodies lightly touched.
"Have you noticed how I keep my skirts on at night when I get home from work?"