Mommy Goes to the Mountains

My son and I were driving to Shenandoah Mountains Park through Skyline Drive. We had come this way a hundred times before, when he was a boy, when his father and I bought a vacation home on the other side of the mountains. Our home on the Piedmont of Virginia was a model of the American nuclear home. My son Paul, his older sister Anne, and our baby Andrew, the five of us four or five times a year driving up here to our escape from the world. My ex husband Ray was a good man. He was busy so much, as the Regional Vice President for a major retail chain. His job during the week was in Baltimore, and the hours were so long that he most often only came home on the weekends, and then visiting his stores on the weekends even precluded that. He stayed in an apartment, so we saw him usually 2 weekends a month, more in the winter when the stores weren't so busy, much less, sometimes once a month on a week day, in the spring and summer when the stores were busy.

As the nuclear family broke apart, and the children got older, the problems that come from single parent homes and missing fathers began to surface and grow. Anne got rowdy and took up drugs. Fortunately, she was the oldest, and had benefitted from her earliest years having the family complete. She went on to college and is now a legislator in her home state of West Virginia. Paul, too, had his father's influence while he was in primary and middle school, so he turned out great as well. He was a handful as a high schooler, but is now an assistant coach with a local Division I university football team. Andrew, on the other hand. He didn't get hardly any time with his father. He was born the same year Ray got promoted from district manager to RVP. By the time Andrew could walk, Ray was around maybe 50 days a year, when Andrew started school, we saw Ray 20 days a year. When Andrew started at the Mill School, Ray and I had started our divorce.

When Ray and I got divorced, it's nothing like you'd think. Neither of us were cheating, neither of us beat the other, or the kids. He just had this new life he was immersed in, and I wanted my 2.5 children family. My kids were moving on, two were in college and the other in high school, and I really wanted to have a husband. Ray couldn't and wouldn't leave his job. He was offered by the company, while he was going through the family trouble, to take a local position as district manager. The work was difficult of course, and he had done it before, but it meant 9 stores instead of 80, and an area of 20 miles radius instead of 150. And he could be home. Live, at home. But he had already had that job, and was not going to take a demotion, as he called it. He kept his job, and lost his family. I guess officially, on paper, I lost a husband, but I had lost him 16 years ago.

So now, Andrew and I were on our way to Bryce. We hadn't been here in two years, between the divorce and pending property settlement, and Andrew getting used to his new school, and the other two being so involved in their colleges and sports, we just never got around to it. But this last Christmas, Andrew mentioned it, how he wished we could spend Christmas at Bryce, like we used to. I dedicated myself to this mission for the whole year, saving and fighting in court for that property, for the kids. I got it, and here we are, driving to our family vacation home, just the two of us, all that was left of my 2.5 children nuclear (nukuler?) family.

I wanted, since I was a little girl, to be a mommy. When I had my babies, I was so happy. I still am, at this part of my life. But being a mommy involved pleasing a husband too, a husband who worshipped his wife. I haven't had this in years. I felt empty in this way, that my husband never loved me, never worshipped me. I never got to please my husband either. Yes, I raised his kids, but he never knew half of their achievements or even anything about them. He bought his kids Walmart gift cards for every holiday and birthday for the last ten years. Who does this? He gave me a gift card to his store chain one year for Christmas, of course I knew he had forgotten it was Christmas and bought it the day before.

Now, my last child was a man. He graduated this past Spring, and was taking a year off to attend this academy that better prepared students for University. He didn't get in to any of the schools he wanted to attend, and he wasn't a sport star like his older brother. Andrew was 18, and was 6-2 and 220lbs. He was built like you would be certain he was on his way to a big school to be a linebacker or halfback, but he wasn't coordinated in any way. When he and his brother would throw the football around, it ended up in 4 minutes with the older one storming off in disappointment that his brother was such a klutz.

Being the way he was, Andrew wasn't always popular, wasn't dating as often as I'd hoped he would be. He was big, he was good looking, but he was clumsy in action and in his speech. He just never came off smooth or clever or funny. He wasn't bullied, but he wasn't ever accepted, either. I tell you all of this because maybe you will understand what happened next.

When we got to Bryce, it was different. Two years is a long time in some places. The landscaping was completely different. All the houses were painted two years ago after the last time we were here, and the color was just too "fresh" looking for this kind of area in the mountains. The place looked like a cardboard cutout: useless shutters and shades of plastic grey. We unpacked, ready for a week of Christmas as a family.

After a day, even Andrew acknowledged that it didn't feel like a family Christmas. "Mom, since it doesn't feel like Christmas, and there's no snow even, let's go down to the pool and have a swim." He had already changed into his swim trunks. Andrew was cut up, his abs and pecs were bulging. I don't normally have a thing for muscle guys, but even I was a little stirred by his muscularity.

"Andrew, you know I didn't pack anything to swim in," I diverted my eyes, to not be caught ogling my son.

"Mom, I bet there's a suit still in the closet upstairs!" He ran up there, bounding up the stairs like he did when he was ten. I knew there was probably several suits up there, but they were years old, some hardly fit me right even then. Today I'm fifty, and I'm not fat, but I'm definitely curvy. My thighs and butt are round for sure, and my belly doesn't have rolls, but it's not flat like, well, like Andrew's. I kept thinking of those abs. Mmmm I've got a thing for abs. My next husband (giggle) will have to have abs.

"Ok Andrew you grab me a few, I might not fit the first one!"

Then, he shouted down to me, "Ah mommy you'll look great in any of them!" Of course I knew he was being playful and complementary to his mother, and I should have blushed and moved on, but it gave me a flutter, in my groin. I had just stared at my son's hot abs and now I was maybe getting a wettie from him telling me I could wear the same swimsuit I wore when he was learning to swim.

In just a minute or two, Andrew came to the railing, and held four suits, all one-piece jobs, held them up like he'd just snared four rabbits in the woods for dinner, and brought them down to me. I again blushed, and was sure I was about to embarrass myself. I held each up to my body, trying to make it obvious for Andrew that none would fit and I would just join him in regular clothes and watch him swim. "Well, go try one on and let's get going!" Andrew was insistent. Ah well, it wasn't like the whole world would see my shame. I'd just put the closest one on, show him it wasn't going to happen, and then get on with the day.

I went into the half bath and took two of the suits I knew were more recent with me. I took off my shirt, unhooked my bra, and let my little boobies free. They were certainly nothing like they were when I was pregnant. When I was pregnant these things were big. Really big. Now, they were firm, but a B cup at best. I dropped my pants, and my unflattering underpants, and stepped into the suit. It was cute, it was black with green leaves all over it like a tropical rainforest theme, some red and yellow and blue flowers over the breasts and the crotch area. As I pulled it up, I remembered why I hadn't worn a swimsuit in two years. I did not look good. Again, I wasn't fat, but my legs and belly and rear were not for this suit. This was for a mother in her thirties, not a soon to be grandmother at 50. My pubic area was not groomed for this kind of suit either. It was a high cut job, maybe an inch wide at the hairy area. My black and grey pubes poking out the side were extremely unflattering. I was determined to prove to my son that I didn't have a good suit to swim in, so we could go on with our day without swimming.

I held my pile of clothes in front of my crotch, and exited the bath. As I appeared, Andrew was right there, waiting. Now, I got a tingle, being so very exposed like this in front of my son, my masculine, muscled, 3/4 nude son. My stud son.

"Come on mom, let me see!" He pushed playfully at my clothes pile, trying to knock them away from my shame. I fought a little, pushing him back. He got a little aggressive then, grabbing the clothes and actually succeeding in getting my shirt and my underwear, but not my bra and jeans, which protected my modesty. He stepped back, letting me recover from the mock battle we'd had.

"Andrew stop messing around, this suit doesn't fit, and I'm not going to show you why. Just look at the butt!" I turned, and showed him how my butt had turned a full back suit almost into a thong. My butt was firm, no cellulite, but it was not a small butt like a young girl he might be attracted to. It was that of an old woman, a mother of three, a woman of 50. As I turned around quickly, I saw something that shocked me in a way I can't say I'd ever been shocked before. My son, my stud son, my little baby boy, had my panties up to his face! He quickly pulled them away, but I caught him. He had to know he was caught. He threw the pile of clothes to the floor, and came at me again. He was pulling at the remaining clothes protecting my privacy. "Andrew what are you doing! I told you this thing isn't going to fit and I'm not going to wear it!"

"I know you aren't going to wear it, mommy," Andrew said, as he pulled even harder at the clothes. He wasn't being rough, but I certainly wasn't strong enough to fight him. I resisted, as my modesty required, but eventually I let go. I hoped in this dark light of the hallway he wouldn't see much, just that the suit wasn't fitting and that would be that.

In one motion, he took the jeans and bra from me, dropped them to the floor, and hit the light switch. The light switch. Of course, I was standing under one recessed light can, and there was one in front of and behind me. I was in the spotlight. I knew instantly that only a blind man couldn't see my pubes. He stared right at my crotch, and said "wow mom, it's been a while since you had a haircut, eh?" He pointed even.

I was embarrassed. I turned and went to the bathroom and closed the door behind me. What was I going to do, anyway? Andrew had my clothes. All I had was this suit, and the spotlight was on me whenever I gutted up and came back out. "Andrew James Irwin what the hell are you doing to your mother!" I yelled out the door. As I leaned against the door, I slumped down. I was embarrassed. There was silence on the other side of the door. I was sitting on the floor, I could feel my face hot in my shame. My son had seen his old mother in a suit that was easily two sizes too small, with her grey pubes hanging out the side.

But, I had a weird tingling. I hadn't been touched in the way he touched me in a while. It was playful, it was a little forceful, we were both giggling as it was happening. He even sniffed my underwear, on purpose! The grin on his face even as I caught him gave me tingles. My son, my baby boy, had sniffed my panties and forced me into this shame of this tiny suit and he looked right at my boobies and my crotch. And he was on the other side of this door. Was he someplace else? Was his face buried again in my panties? Was he jerking off? What was I thinking. Why did my mind go there? Now I was getting hot again, thinking that Andrew was touching my undergarments and touching himself. I was so exposed. My vagina was covered only by this thin lycra. I slid my hand down to it, hoping it wasn't hot, hoping it wasn't wet. My hopes were dashed right away. Hot, check. Wet, check. I pushed a little against my hole to see just how wet I was, and I was drenched. I felt the slime of my juices squishing through the material of the crotch. Ugh. Now I really was in a predicament.

"Andrew? Andrew? What are you doing? Hand my clothes back through and we can get going down to the pool." No answer. I asked again, still nothing. I unlocked the door, opened it a crack, and stepped out. All clear. The light was back off. I asked one more time, no answer. I saw my pile of clothes, and went to it like a life raft. I pulled at the pile, looking for the underwear, and they were gone.

"Looking for these?" Andrew was behind me, he startled me coming out of the shadows of the hallway, holding my underwear with one finger. He held them closer and closer to his nose, and made a clear and loud sniffing noise. My son, right in front of me, was teasing me with my underwear and sniffing them!

"Andrew this isn't playtime and you can't be playing with mommy's panties like this!" I lunged at him, grabbing at the cotton, and he just held them up higher than I could reach. Again, he's 6-2, and I'm barely 5-8. The underwear might as well have been on top of a mountain.

He kept playing this keep away game, pulling the underwear away, then offering again, then pulling away. I backed him up to the door, he now had nowhere to go, but still, how was I going to win. "Mom you have to get your underwear back, don't you? Or do you want to just model that suit for me all week?" He knew for sure I had so many other underpants I could go wear right now, but I couldn't possibly allow him to keep pawing at the pair I just was wearing. And for sure, I wasn't going to keep wearing this ridiculous suit.

"Andrew I am not going to wear this suit one more minute. You saw how ridiculous it is. Just give me my underwear and I can get changed and we can go."

He wasn't budging. Andrew insisted, "Ok, mom, just let me turn the lights back on, and you give me a runway show, like a model on the TV, and then we can go." It was a simple deal, but again, why would I make any deal with my son? But inside, I wanted to please him. He was worshipping my scent when he was inhaling the crotch of my underpants, and I wanted to please him. All it would take is a quick walk up and down the hallway, it was nothing. I had walked thousands of miles before, I had worn sillier costumes, and, just recently, he'd already seen my hairy bush.

"Once up and down the hall, and that's it?" I was negotiating! Why?! I wanted to please him. I had no control over my son. He was bigger than me, and whatever the reason, he was feeling playful enough to play this dangerous game with his mother. He switched the hall light on again, putting me back in the spotlight. He put the underwear up to his nose again, and pointed to the other end of the hallway, where he wanted me to go. Obediently, I turned and walked away from him, to my spot at the end of the hall. I had modelled when I was in college, so I knew how to do the walk. I turned it on for him, for my son, to really show this up and get it over with so he wouldn't ask for anything else.

I slowly walked my curvy plus sized body down the hall, one foot directly in front of the other, looking straight ahead, all while wearing this hilariously small suit. I could feel the material working its way into my crack, bunching in the folds of my pussy, stretching to contain my body and adapt to its curves. As I got closer to him, I gave him a look, a death stare, as he continued to take full breaths through my underwear. How bold he was being. His pecs and his abs moved in a rhythm as he inhaled my scents. My scents. His mother's scents. He was inhaling the smells of his mother's body. His mother's most intimate places. Her pubic hair. Her vagina. Her anus! The underpants he held in his hand and pressed against his nose were pressed against my most private places just a few minutes ago, and were there for the whole three hour car ride. As I reached within a foot of him, I abruptly turned, and walked back to the end of the hallway.

I'm walking away from my son, sauntering my rear, feeling the air touching the bare cheeks almost all the way to my crack. At the other end, I spun again, now to face my son. I almost couldn't look him in the eye. I had these words on my tongue, wanting to say them but knowing it was completely wrong: "Did that please you?" Instead, I said, "Ok, Andrew, now give me my underwear back!"

He started toward me, hand outstretched, offering the cotton thing to me. I grabbed it, and then grabbed the rest of the clothes. I used them to again cover my body, and I slipped past him to the bathroom. The door closed behind me, I sat on the toilet seat to catch my breath. I had just modeled this ridiculous suit to my son, while he sniffed my underpants. I grabbed the underpants from the floor and took a sniff, really checking what was so fucking fascinating. Well, they were normal as I could tell, I certainly could smell my pussy scent, and near the butt area, a little poo smell, and the whole thing smelled lightly of urine. But really, they were no different than any underwear worn by a 50 year old woman on a road trip. I stood and took the suit off, again looking at myself in the mirror.

I was soaking wet as I touched my vagina. My lips and my hole were drenched. I was very aroused by the game we had just played. I was aroused at him worshipping my scent, and at my acts of pleasing him. He demanded my actions, and I did them, despite the nature of not wanting to do these things, knowing I shouldn't be modelling this tiny suit for my own son.

But, Andrew was a man. What a man he was. He was certainly erect under his board shorts, but it was always hard to tell with that kind of shorts. I really hoped inside my growing dirty mind that he was hard as a rock. From looking at his mother. From looking at me. I dressed, but after I had my underwear and bra on, I stopped. I wanted to play this game a little more. I couldn't ignore that I was wet, that I was aroused. I couldn't ignore my desire to please a man, and at this point in my life, any man would do. But for me, that man right here right now was my son, a true stud that any woman certainly would want ogling her. But me, it was me he was playing the game with. It was me whose underpants he was sniffing. It was my pubes he was staring at. It was my big ass he was drooling over as I walked away from him.

I hoped that he would still be interested in playing. I didn't continue dressing. I left the underwear and bra on. They were simple, basic, Walmart white cotton underpants and a cheap green lacy bra. Definitely not something one would be wearing to attract a fuck buddy, but I was going to see if I could keep this game going.

I left the bathroom, and again he was gone. I went out to the living room, and sat on the couch, hoping he would come out from wherever he was, and we could play. Five minutes. Ten minutes. Half an hour. Even my wettie had gone away. I was hardly even thinking about sex anymore. At that moment I was ready to give up and go do something constructive, Andrew appeared at the top of the stairs. He came down, still in his swim trunks and no shirt. "You ready mom?" When he saw me, he knew I wasn't. "What happened to the suit?" He played dumb, perhaps stupid.