Mom & Son - the Shower

We didn't speak for nearly a week. I didn't know if she was angry, confused, sad....or if she'd enjoyed it. I laid in bed those nights masturbating to the memory of the event. The fog of chlorine and sex in her darkened bedroom, the rubbery feel and taste of her nipples in my mouth, her hands exploring my body, the heat and wetness of us stuck together, moving as one. I could see her face, flushed in pleasure. I could see my penis moving in and out of the casually arranged garden of her fur. And I made my sheets sticky with semen. It was paint for the pictures in my head.

I started to call her, and she was distant. I got one or two word answers to questions, and full sentences were almost a luxury. Just a simple request to drop by on the way back from my favorite record store was met with excuse as to why I couldn't visit.

One day I simply showed up at her door. She was surprised and wary, but fully present. She looked clear, and was apparently not drinking. We talked in the doorway, with no invitation to enter proffered, and when I moved to kiss her as I left, she simply turned and offered her cheek.

But one day she asked if I'd be kind enough to get orange juice, butter, and potatoes if I was in the neighborhood at the record store. I was only too happy to handle that request. When I stopped at the apartment, she was dressed plainly in a dark blue knit top and black polyester pants, lightly made up, and with her hair pulled back. She looked healthy and good.

We made small talk, and I avoided landmines like Uncle Mac, dad, or the two of us. When I left, she kissed me face on, but when I tried to keep the kiss going and pull her closer, she pushed me back and said, "That'll be enough of that buster." And she actually smiled.

One Friday evening, she called and asked me to take her to a movie matinee on that Saturday. Of course I said yes, and when Saturday morning rolled around, having nothing to do, I left early to go to her apartment.

When I got there, and knocked, there was no answer. I called through the door, but then found it unlocked, and entered the apartment. I could hear the shower running, and looking around the apartment, I saw a man's jacket hung over one of the kitchen chairs.

I went to the door of the bathroom, and opened it to a cloud of steam. "Hi Mom, I'm a little early," I said. I looked at the clouded mirror to see her shape, to catch her naked, but could see nothing. But I could tell she was bathing alone.

"Oh hi honey," she said above the streaming water. "I'm just getting going."

I stood at the door and let the steam moisten my face. The heat was arousing. I don't know why I made the gamble I did. I stripped outside of the door, and went into the bathroom, and got in the shower.

I caught her with raised hands, massaging shampoo through her hair. She froze, and her mouth dropped open in surprise. She said, "What are you doing? You can't be in here. OUT!" She looked disturbed, irritated even, but not angry.

I took a moment to take in her nakedness. Her chest and breasts were reddened from the hot water stream of the shower head. Her nipples were swollen and claret colored, streams of water coming off them like waterfalls. Her skin was wet and slick as a seal, and her pubic hair was dangling and spread like seaweed around her Vulva.

I said quickly, "I'm taking a shower with you! Man that water feels good." I looked over at her again, standing speechless, but her eyes inventoried me, now wet and part of the bathing process. "Turn around and I'll wash your back," I said. And reluctantly...she did.

I took the bar of soap, and did her shoulders, neck and upper back, massaging the suds into her muscles. She seemed to relax some, and straightened out her arms and leaned with her palms again the tile wall. I soaped her sides, being careful not to touch the sides of her breasts. I then went to my knees and washed her buttocks, hamstrings, calves, and then feet. As I stood back up, she moved to the water to rinse off. Her face looked calm. And then she said, "Your turn."

I took her place and copied her positioning, facing away from her towards the tile shower wall. She washed my back vigorously, up to my neck, even though she was 5'5" to my 6'2". She worked the suds along to my sides, into my middle and lower back, and then my ass. She soaped my ass smoothly and evenly. I stood completely still, no air in my lungs, enjoying her touch.

Facing the shower wall, I wondered what she was thinking. From the shower stream I could tell she had kneeled as I did, and she soaped my legs all the way to my feet, working the upper and lower legs with both hands, from back to front. As I turned around to help her to her feet, she came up so close to me her nipples touched my lower ribcage. I felt myself shudder, and I could feel her quiver as well. She stepped quickly back out of range, but then seemed to stop and drift off. Then she said, "I'm not done."

She reached for a washcloth wrapped around the shower head and applied soap to it, and came back to me. Close to me. I could smell her shampooed hair, and look down on the tops of her breasts, shiny and wet. She began to scrub my upper chest with the cloth, moving down over my nipples to my lower stomach. I couldn't hear the water at this point, and the spray and steam made a halo around her. The water that came through ran down my chest, cascading onto my tumescent cock. She bent slightly and without hesitation, soaped between my legs, the inner thighs back along the perineum to my anus, then forward again to my balls, cupping my sack-holding me with one hand, and using the washcloth on every part of my scrotum, my penis, and my pubic bone and patch with the other.

I could feel myself stiffening more, and leaned back against the tile to enjoy the sensation of the washcloth's texture. She was making no effort to stimulate me, only to clean me. And while she didn't look at me, she didn't look away from my penis either.

She then got to her knees and washed the fronts of my thighs again, her head level with my tumescent cock. She could have tilted her head back slightly and taken me in her mouth. Could have. If she'd wanted to. Instead she worked to my feet. As I helped her back up, she placed her hands on my stomach for balance and when she looked up at me, I kissed her softly with open lips. She began to reciprocated, but backed away so that she was again up against the tile. She handed me the washcloth. I was to wash her again. I was to wash her front.

I stepped close and washed, soaped and scrubbed her neck. She looked at me, but said nothing. I washed her upper chest, and then down to her breasts. I realized I was being careful not to be too aggressive in my "washing", but that I was aroused. I used the cloth in a circular motion and rotated over her breasts and nipples, palming the cloth against skin. I watched her nipples stiffen, and I thought I heard an exhale over the shower sounds. I focused on her breasts, not her face.

I washed the underside of her breasts, looking at them, enjoying them, and then to her tummy. Now I could feel her eyes on me. I washed this expanse of skin completely, ending right above her pubic patch. And then I washed down to her vulva. She parted her legs just enough that I could wash her sex, and I moved the washcloth between her legs. I made no attempt to open her legs more. I washed the skin from her inner thighs to the crease of her pussy. I made firm contact with her labia, and with a gentle motion and my middle finger pressing the cloth, I washed the entry of her vagina. I moved back and forth over that area, soaping her well. I could feel her shudder slightly.

I finished by moving down her legs, and rose to her looking at my face. Our faces were close. She was flushed with the heat and steam, and maybe my touch.

So I kissed her again, more firmly and urgently, moving my tongue between her lips. She moved against me, but made no attempt at an embrace. I could feel that I was now hard. My erection actually touched her hip, then her tummy. I think this startled her, and she backed away and said, "I'm done now. I'm getting out." And she did.

She picked up a towel and began drying off facing away from me, so I turned to the corner of the shower, soaped my hands and stroked my throbbing member to a quick orgasm, pictures of us in my head. I watched as my semen disappeared down the drain.

She went to her bedroom to dress, and as I got out, she said, "Better hurry up, we'll be late to the movies." I dried, grabbed my clothes from outside the door, and changed. When I came out she was dressed and we left.

As we watched the movies in the darkened theatre, no words were spoken. We silently shared a bucket of popcorn, and enjoyed the films.

After the movies, we went back to the apartment. She stopped me at the door, and said I should probably get home for dinner. She came up on tip toe, and kissed my lips lightly. And then she said, "See you next week honey."