Mom's Guiding Lesson

That surge of pleasure had just kicked in.

I craned my head up to my computer monitor perched on the desk at the end of my bed and absorbed the displayed image of my mom in her bathing suit by the pool; the trickles of water beads from her wet hair resting on her shoulders as she smiled at the camera.

I pressed and glided my stiff penis into the soft panties on top of the pillow my stomach was resting on and gave a relaxing breath. I spread my legs a little more to give myself a better mounting position and crunched my stomach, giving a second smooth hump into the delicate tan-colored undergarment fabric.

This was going to be a good session. I just knew it. I needed it after all the stress lately of my final senior exams.

I arched my head back up to the photo. If only I could be just one of those tiny little water droplets resting on her boasting bosom.

And then there was the sudden sound of my bedroom doorknob turning.

Electric bolts of pleasure were quickly replaced by a wave of terror. I had forgotten to lock the damn door! It happened too fast for me to react, really. By the time my mind had processed what was happening in that split-second, the door was already open, and my mother had swept forward into my room. She only shuffled her socked feet a few steps before the sight in front of her caused a startled gasp as the laundry basket in her arms lurched forward and spilled across the carpet.

"Shit!" I murmured in a short panic as I sprang up and back to sit on my bottom, reactively pulling the pillow up to cover my lower half.

"Oh! Oh, God. I am--I am so sorry," she immediately started blurting, shaking her head away and dropping to her knees as she tucked her wavy brown hair from her face and averted her eyes, scooping up the articles of escaped clothing. "I knocked, but apparently not hard enough."

"It's fine, it's fine," I quickly stated.

"I didn't see anything. I'll be out of here right now," she assured, tossing the last of the balled socks back into the basket as she pushed herself back onto her feet. Her body went to veer away, but her peripheral version had momentarily trapped her from moving as she caught a glimpse of the computer monitor.

At first, she simply did a double-take and looked ready to continue her hasty exit, but it was obvious her curiosity quickly got the better of her and made her face freeze at the sight of the image before her. The corners of her pretty hazel eyes tried to return to her naked son sitting beneath the pillow on the bed, as it was evident she was putting two-and-two together in the crazy chaos of what she just walked into.

She did take a step to leave, but jolted into another freeze as her curiosity overtook. "Were... Were you just... looking at a picture of me while you were doing... that?" she said, fumbling her words.

I snapped my head to the monitor and bent my eyebrows down, crafting a preposterous expression. "What? No! What? I--No. I just--I was going through pictures earlier and must've left it on or something. Could you leave now, please?"

She stood squarely, and it was clear she was venturing into suspicious mom mode, a demeanor most of us are all too familiar with. She firmly set the laundry basket on top of my dresser and stepped forward, crossing her arms as she rolled her tongue in her cheek. "And those panties you were using? Are they... mine?"

"What? No! They're just--they're a girl's from school," I said.

"Really," she flatly responded. "Show me then."

I planted my face in my hand. "Are you crazy? This is... this is so embarrassing. Would you please just get out?"

She came over and sat at the foot of the bed. "Not until you show me."

I lightly shook my head to myself in disbelieving embarrassment.

She took a deep, calming breath. "Look," she started to say, searching for the words in her head, "I'm... not mad, or anything. Okay? I just--I saw the photo, I saw what you were doing, and it's starting to look like something. I just wanna know if what I'm thinking is right, that's all. I'm just a little confused."

I still didn't answer. I didn't know what to say.

"I'm not here to judge you," she added.

I took another breath and reluctantly reached down under my pillow, pulling the panties out and holding them up while trying to avoid direct eye contact.

"Yeah," she softly said, "that's what I thought I saw." She twisted her neck back to the monitor. "And my picture of me in a bathing suit. Were you... doing that... to me? Like thinking of me?"

Both of my hands now found their way to completely covering my face. "This is not happening," I muffled under my breath.

She instinctively reached out and touched the pillow in an effort of some kind of comfort, then pulled her fingers back. "No, I--Listen, I said I'm not mad, okay? You're not in trouble; I'm just a little... shocked."

"You're telling me," I quipped.

"Are these, like, recent feelings? Is that how you feel about me?"

"I don't know," I mumbled. "It's nothing, all right? Forget it."

"Kind of hard to forget," she stated. "Was it something I did, or didn't do? Where did this come from?"

"Look, I don't know," I barely snapped back. "It's just kind of, there, okay? It just kind of, started a few years ago."

She nodded and gave a smooth shrug. "I'm sure it's..." she began, searching her head again. "...perfectly normal to feel this way. I'm sure you're not the only guy in history who has had these kind of, um, thoughts, or, feelings, whatever."

"That doesn't make it any less embarrassing," I added.

"I know," she agreed. "But I said I'm not here to judge. You know I've never judged you on anything and supported you with everything. It's just..." She looked up to the ceiling. "Woo. It's a lot to take in."

"Can we talk about this later, please?" I calmly pleaded. "This is a little awkward, sitting here like this."

"No," she nicely insisted. "I just have a few more things to say. We're gonna--just--I feel like we should talk about this now while it's still fresh."

"What is there to talk about?" I shrugged.

"You're eighteen; you're an adult. And you know I've always encouraged you to be open as a person in all aspects of your life. I don't want you to feel embarrassed. And I definitely don't want this to be awkward. We've always been open with and dependant on each other, ever since your father left us," she explained. "I guess what I'm getting at is, if this is how you like to sexually satisfy yourself, I don't want you to feel bad about it."

I gave a small, exaggeratedly sarcastic huff. "Yeah. Me peeking into your bedroom. 'Hey Mom, do you mind if I borrow a pair of your panties to get off with?' That's not the least bit awkward."

"What were you doing with them exactly?" she curiously asked. "You weren't using them the, um, typical way it looked like."

"What does it matter?"

"I'm just wondering," she responded in self-defense. "I've just never really seen or heard of it done that way before. You know, like, humping or grinding on top of them."

"So?"

"Nothing. There's nothing wrong with it. If that way feels better, then that's perfectly okay," she stated.

"It just feels better," I confirmed. "Feels more like the real thing. Like I'm doing the real thing, because I..."

She waited for me to go on, but when it was clear I had lost my words, she filled them in with, "You... haven't done that before. Sex, you mean."

I sighed. "Yeah."

"I know it must be frustrating. Especially being a guy. But you're young. And I really do think you're a ladies' man; you're just shy, that's all. You're going to meet a nice, cute girl," she encouraged with that helpful motherly tone.

"I know, I know, I just, wanted to be--good. Like when it happens, I don't want to be moving around with her like a bumbling idiot. I want it feel like I know what I'm doing with my body. Probably sounds stupid."

"Uh-huh," she nodded. "And these... sexual feelings... you have toward me.

Thinking of me in that way. Is that something you think has stopped you from going out and meeting someone?"

"No. Maybe. I don't know. I'm not in any rush. I'm just waiting for it to happen naturally. One doesn't have anything to do with the other."

"I think it might," she pondered before taking a thoughtful breath. "I just don't want to be the reason you're holding yourself back from meeting someone."

"You're not. I told you, it's no big deal. It's just a stupid, messed up, fucked up, twisted fantasy thing."

"Abnormal, sure," she added with a slight smirk. "But honestly, in a way it's kind of... flattering. I mean, it's nice to know there's someone out there who is still thinking of me like that, even if it's my own son. Women like that kind of attention, no matter who it's from. Though I still don't know what could be turning you on about your fat old mom with her flabby boobs."

"What? No. You're not fat or flabby at all, mom," I argued. "You're still in great, normal shape. And you're not old. You're just older. You're forty-five. That's nothing."

She gestured toward the picture on the monitor and chuckled. "Well, a picture doesn't lie. Look at those things. Who did I think I was, wearing that on that trip last summer? Gravity is obviously starting to take effect at this stage of my life. I swear, they're going to be knee-knockers any day now."

I snickered in return. "I think you're exaggerating. All women exaggerate. It doesn't count to self-diagnose yourself. I think they're perfectly normal and look fine. I mean, yeah, maybe they're starting to...um...drop...or whatever...a little..."

"Sag. Depressingly sag," she tossed in.

"Well, it's normal, and they still look great. My friends have even said so. I have seen way, way, way, way worse, like legitimately dropping to the feet," I chuckled. "And you're nowhere near that."

"Yet. But in the meantime, I'm glad my saggy boobs meet the expectations of you and your friends. Though I'm not sure I wanna know which ones. One shock is enough for today," she joked.

I gave a small laugh.

She licked her lips in thought and looked back at the photo, then down to the floor as if she were mulling something over. "Do you..." she began but trailed into nothing.

"Do I what?"

She gave a hesitant sigh. "I was thinking, maybe..." she started but once again stopped before picking back up with, "What if... do you want to see them?"

"See what?"

"Them," she coyly hinted, darting her eyes down to her chest.

My eyes, though, nearly became as wide as saucers as I was still trying to piece together just what she was getting at. "Th-Them? Like your... your..."

"My things. My lady lovelies. My so-called saggy works of art that seem to be the center of your gang's attention."

"Wh-What?" I blurted in shock. "Um..."

"I don't know. Maybe this will even out the embarrassment of this whole thing between us. Maybe by seeing them, it will help you--deal--with these thoughts. Like maybe it will calm you down or whatever, or get over it, or be more comfortable with it. I don't know."

"Uh... um..."

"They're just boobs. You've seen them and touched them before, honey."

"Uh, yeah, like a million years ago when it didn't mean anything," I retorted.

"You know what?" she said, starting to pull up on her shirt. "I think this might be a good idea."

"What?" I blurted in shock. Was she really about to do it?

She pulled her tee-shirt up and inside out over her head, revealing her tan-colored bra. I slightly shifted in my spot on the bed and gripped the edges of my pillow still covering my lower half.

"It's not a big deal," she casually added, reaching behind her to fumble her thin fingers around on the hook. In a matter of seconds, she undid it like a pro and hunched her shoulders slightly forward as the bra melted off her golden chest. My heart pounded.

Sweat immediately protruded from my temple and the sides of my head.

She tossed the bra to the carpet and slightly turned back to face me, presenting herself in all of her bare-chested motherly glory without even giving me the smallest chance to argue. My eyes were frozen like a deer in headlights. They were so... round. So... big. The brown nipples were placed perfectly in the centers, and the sag she proclaimed to be ashamed off wasn't so much of a sag as it was just a slight sinking to emphasize their soft buoyancy.

My jaw barely dropped. I could feel my member growing harder under the pillow. Holy shit. This is actually happening. My own mother is actually flashing me her damn titties on her own willfully-inspired accord. I had only dreamed of moments like this. Part of me was convinced that I was dreaming. I think it broke my mind into shattered fragments, because I couldn't even say anything in response other than some stupid, incomprehensible, barely audible murmurs and noises.

"See? Just breasts," she said, perking her eyebrows.

I swallowed and couldn't take my eyes off. This made her smile and bashfully look away. "This is quite the response. You're making me blush," she softly said.

"Sorry, I just, I--" I began but once again it felt like my mouth was made of melting putty.

"It's just the female body. I'm not ashamed. Nudity is a beautiful thing; I don't ever want you to think otherwise," she assured me. "Do you wanna maybe... touch them?"

"What?!" I barked in my most insane tone yet. "Uhhh, I-I-I-don't think that's appropriate, or whatever. This is crazy enough as it is. Are you sure you're feeling okay?"

"Sweetheart," she calmly insisted, holding out a hand. "Give me your hand."

I was frozen like a horny statue.

"If it makes you uncomfortable, that's okay, you don't have to," she noted. "You know I'd never do anything to make you feel uncomfortable. I just think that maybe this will help with these thoughts of yours. As unorthodox of an approach it may seem."

I swallowed the lump in my throat again before clearing it, then started to slowly scoot forward over the sheets and blankets, being careful to keep the pillow against me. When I was close enough next to her, I glanced at her glorious mountains and then up to her soft, doe eyes. She returned a comforting stare. "Go ahead," she softly urged.

My right hand raised, slightly trembling, before its fingertips barely touched down on her soft skin. I started to skim lightly at first, and as I coasted and glided downward to her cupped bottom edges, I applied a bit more touch and next thing I knew I was holding her left breast in my hand; my thumb lightly grazing her pointed soft nipple.

"Soft?" she asked in seeking agreement.

She gave a quick little jerk of her head to toss back her hair, invitingly pushing the right side of her chest out a bit. "Go ahead. Touch the other one."

My left hand took the reins, and there I was, now holding the complete pair. My breathing was flowing heavy and even. She raised her left hand and brushed a little of my hair back behind my ear.

"You don't think this is a little weird or anything?" I wondered.

"It's weird, yeah, but--it's different. I want you to be comfortable," she stated.

She smiled and looked up to the ceiling in thought. "Knowing that you've gotten off thinking about doing this very thing, it's... kind of a little exciting. A little kinky."

"I can't believe this is happening," I mumbled. I was expecting to wake up any second.

"Tell me, honey, when you have these--fantasies, or whatever, do you think about actually having... sex... with me?"

"Yes," I quietly responded.

"It's okay. I figured," she said in a manner that was attempting to calm any shame or embarrassment as she thumbed the back of my hair. "Do you want to see more of me?"

"R-Really?"

"Mmm-hmm," she cooed.

She pulled away a little and shuffled herself to the end of the bed so she would have an easier time shimmying out of her jeans. I couldn't believe that I didn't bust under the pillow in excitement right then and there, but I was usually very good at controlling that kind of thing, no matter the level of excitement (though this was clearly off the charts). She stood and slinked her panties down, lightly kicking them off her foot.

My mother... was absolutely, purely, completely one hundred and ten percent butt-ass naked in front of me. My eyes grazed her from head to toe, taking in her beautiful face, slipping past her wondrous breasts, gliding down her stomach and hips, right down to the big dark bush puffed between her legs. I couldn't speak.

"W-Wow," I finally managed to get out.

She cocked her mouth to side, playfully rolling her eyes. "Well, I wanted to show you that I'm probably far from the women you might see in a porno video or something. I've got a total mom body," she stated. She gave a quick brush through her pubic bush.

"And obviously I'm a little unkempt. I've got a total mom vagina that's probably not too sexy to fantasize about. So maybe that will help curb your feelings."

I've never understood how so many women commonly put themselves down or undermine the truth with something totally different. My mother was by no means fat. She was galaxies away from being fat. I wouldn't even consider her chubby. Sure, she had put on a pound or two and was a little more rounded than she was five years ago.

But she held a more than healthy composure. I think maybe because her breasts were a little larger in proportion to the rest of her upper half she had penalized herself, as most women do when they get older and feel less desired by men.

I'm a tit and ass man, myself. That honey pot between the legs was great and all, but visually it's never really done much for me compared to the other two. And the fact that she was preaching some kind of pubic preposterousness didn't work. I didn't mind a woman having hair down there. It was actually hotter because it left more to the imagination; more to the mystery. Forget airbrushed tidy supermodels. Hair is meant to be grown and showcased there. Nothing anti-feminine about it. There was just something so simplistic and beautiful about a woman's natural naked body.

"You're totally beautiful," I eventually complemented. "Like... you are so wrong. You're just--very natural and normal, and that's what's so great."

Another smile enveloped her face. "Awww, honey."

She slowly stepped back up to the bed, her bright eyes burning into my soul the entire time until her front side was practically right in front of my face.

"I have another idea," she said. "You said you do that to my underwear the way you do because it feels more like the real thing. That you do it that way so you can practice for the real thing. What if I... were to help you practice?"

"Wh-What do you mean?" I mumbled.

"You know, like, show you the different positions and stuff."

"You mean, like, have sex?" I asked shockingly.

"No, not quite. I don't think we should venture into that territory. It is incest, after all," she reminded me. "But I was thinking maybe you could lay on me and me on you and I could just kind of guide you and position you and stuff. So you can get a better feel of being on a real human body, and not some pillow and undies."

"Oh, uh, I, uh," I said. "I guess. Isn't that still incest? Isn't what we're doing now incest?"

"Incestuous, maybe," she corrected. "But just, maybe, two people sharing their bodies together. Kind of like a hug. A naked hug. Only your penis is pressing against me and my boobs are pressing against you. No big deal. If I'm crossing the line, please tell me. It's just an idea. I just wanna help."

I almost thought I would burst again at hearing her say the word "penis". Maybe it was a motherly thing, that she didn't want to use any of the other ten thousand dirty slang terms I was used to hearing, but the way it naturally rolled off her tongue, with such care and delicacy and softness, made the clinical name we giggled over so many years in school feel so fitting and right. So appropriate.