My Mother's Nylons

Author's Note

This is a full-length story in several parts. It features a hetero man who enjoys cross dressing, not only because he likes it, but because he's attracted to his nylon-loving mother.

This is a story of loving mature incest, about a perfectly normal young man who is introduced to the sensual joys of wearing nylons and women's clothing as a purely self-indulgent luxury.

If that's not your thing, fair warning. Probably best to look elsewhere.

This one's a slow burn, so if you're expecting hard sex in the first few pages, you'll be disappointed. But if you enjoy a good buildup to some very explicit and beautiful romantic sex, then stay right here. 'Cause later on, there's so much sex you may not last.

I'd love some feedback.

Everybody's 18 or over.

~~~

My Mother's Nylons - Chapter One

Monday

I started noticing my mother as a real woman when I moved back home after my first year in college residence.

When I arrived at the train station, she wrapped me in her arms and crushed me to her body. I returned the hug, of course, and having been exposed to the comings and goings of college women every day, I had gained a new appreciation for their more mature...attributes.

Mom was wearing a mid-calf-length dress, fitted closely to her slender form. She loves the styles of the 1940's and she was rocking it today. My hands encircled her tiny waist, and I noticed the massive swell of her breasts and her hourglass figure, well hidden in the vintage silk of her outfit. Her jet-black hair was done up in her typical giant messy bun and she did her best to hide behind those professorial spectacles, but when you really look at her closely, you can tell she's a real knockout.

In her 2" kitten heels, she looks me right in the eye. I'm 5'11", so there you go.

"Danny, Danny, I missed you so!" Mom said, excitedly.

Indeed. Mom has been alone since last September, except at Thanksgiving and Christmas when I visited. Dad left us suddenly last summer. I never knew why, and Mom would only tell me they had finally discovered they weren't compatible.

So me coming home for the entire summer was something she was anticipating with all her heart.

"I missed you too, Mom."

"We're going to have so much fun together, Dan. I have a summer semester, but I have so many plans for us."

Mom's an associate professor at City University. As I've described, she dresses the part to a "T".

I do admire her. She's accomplished so much. I was born in her first year of college and she still achieved Summa Cum Laude ("highest distinction") when she graduated. Now, at 37 and close to a full professorship in Applied Mathematics, I'm so proud of her.

I have a summer job starting in a week. Day shift. Mom starts her semester tomorrow, but after that it looks like my schedule syncs with Mom's pretty closely.

When we got home, and after I'd taken all my stuff to my room, I joined Mom in the living room. She had a cocktail in her hand.

"Want a drink, Dan?"

Wow. I've never heard my mom say that to me. "Sure. Maybe a rum and Coke?"

I could see a little repressed smile, but she uncrossed her legs and stood. "No problem."

I noticed a

swish

of nylon when she uncrossed her legs. Of course, I could only see her ankles and a bit of her calf, but I could see she was wearing really glossy, nude hosiery. I'd never noticed that before on her, but then, I hadn't thought much about nylons before.

The girls at Uni generally don't wear nylons, or pantyhose, or whatever you call it. Sometimes you see it at a dance, but around campus? Never.

What surprised me though was the effect that little

swishing

sound had on me.

Little tendrils of sound reached out and encircled my brain in a honeyed damp embrace. At once, my whole being felt a little more interested, a little more in tune with my mother.

And there was a little tingle in my balls.

Surprised at my own reaction, I turned to watch my mother walk away and into the kitchen. Her calves flexed with lean womanly muscle as she walked. Her legs were exposed only from mid-calf down, but the parts I could see were shapely and slender.

Her nylons had dark brown seams up the backs of her legs, disappearing past her hemline. I thought of her nylons as something old-fashioned. But they were also somehow endearing. Again, she reminded me of how women used to dress, like in the 1940's vintage black and white movies I sometimes watch with her.

I watched her as the afternoon light danced and sparkled off her nylons, including the long, narrow triangle of dark stitching starting at her heel and running to a point a few inches up her calf.

I was suddenly curious why she would dress so formally, even at home. But it was more than that. She seemed to care about adorning that tiny part of her legs that was exposed for all to see. Was she betraying a bit of sexiness, or was it her way of showing modesty?

I had no idea about these things.

When she returned with my drink and plopped down on the end of the couch, she kicked off her shoes, lay back against the arm, and put her feet in my lap. Her nylons were tight and glossy smooth. The dark toe stitching of her nylons imprisoned ten little digits, with ten little nails, perfectly painted in glossy red polish. Her dark heel was even more extensive. The brown contrasting nylon wrapped around her slender heels and rode up the back of her leg, coming to a narrow triangle about three inches long.

"Be a dear, Dan and rub my feet. I've been on them all day."

I put my hands on her right foot and began a gentle massage on the sole of her foot. That elicited a little "Oooo" and "Mmmm, that's so nice."

As I caressed and massaged her foot, I felt the seam at the back of her legs. Casually, I ran my fingers up the seam, curious to get a feel for it. My fingers slipped easily along the glossy fine nylon. I gripped the back of her slender calf in one hand and the shin in the other and caressed her leg up and down its length.

The tingle in my balls had become a distinct warmth. I felt a bit of swelling in my dick.

"Oooo, Dan, you are soooo good at this," Mom cooed. "You so get that it isn't just the foot. The calf muscles too. Mmmm." She closed her eyes to enhance her sensory enjoyment.

I found I was enjoying this as much as she. I decided to experiment a bit. I extended my hand further above her hemline, right up to her knee. I slid my hand around her knee and calf, enjoying the sensory feel of my mother's nylons on her lean and muscular legs.

I returned to massaging her heel and toes. They carried a slight smell of her sweat, but it was sweet and comforting. I put both thumbs on the ball of her foot and rolled them around. That released more scents, enhancing the smell of her.

I admired the high, athletic arch in her delicate foot, how the nylon of her stockings hugged every curve of her foot like a second skin, the way her toes curved upwards slightly while at rest. I slid my hand around the heel, round and firm, obscured by the dark reinforced pattern of her nylons. The ball of her foot felt warm and sexy in my hands.

She wiggled her toes and I stared at them. Five little digits, wrapped in glossy dark nylon, wriggling in my fingers like little puppy tails.

I had a sudden urge to put them to my face. I'd never thought of such a thing before but now, the more I considered it, the more the idea improved in my rapidly-addling brain.

Meanwhile, as Mom closed her eyes and settled back against the arm of the couch, her left heel moved directly onto my groin. The pressure only made the inevitable happen quicker. With my mother's beautiful nylon foot pressing hard on the soft orgasmic part of my cock, and those sexy little toes dancing and wiggling in my hands, two inevitable things happened.

First, I developed a massive boner. My mother's nylons, her legs, these were suddenly sexual objects to me. The smell of her feet, the feel of my mother's nylons in my hands, those gorgeous little toes all decorated and eager, the strong yet delicate shape of her foot, it all went to my brain and enveloped me in a - dare I say it - a horny haze of desire for the very feet I now held in my hands. A molten tendril of grasping, creeping lust seeped out of my brain and wrapped itself around my ever-growing cock.

This damp, lusty feeling in my brain made the second inevitable thing happen. It had overwhelmed all reason and took every rational thought I could previously muster and shoved it out of the reasoning part of my brain. I could no longer make good decisions.

I slid my mother's toes into my mouth.

I sucked on her big toe and drove my tongue against the taught nylon into the underside of the other toes. My mother's foot tasted sweet; the taste and smell of her sweat and the leather from her shoes intoxicated me further.

My hardon was total. The bulge in my pants was plain for anyone to see.

And see it she did. When I look over at my mother, her toes in my mouth, she was staring right at me, her gaze unblinking and intense. Her chest heaved with every breath.

She flexed her left foot, driving her heel deeper into my cock.

She wiggled the toes of her right foot, driving them deeper into my mouth.

The long, elegant curves of her right leg, raised off the couch in my hands, were visible well up her skirt to the underside of her thigh, where the seam of her nylon stocking disappeared into darkness and up, up, up to her...

Time stood still. A fog of lust had wrapped me up and bathed me in its moist embrace.

I never knew.

I never knew a simple nylon foot could have such a visceral effect on my psyche. It was a moment I may never forget. The moment where I knew I was deeply connected to women's legs and the nylon that clings to them.

I didn't want the spell broken. I felt so warm and sexy.

"Dan." She pulled her foot back. It slid out of my mouth and out of my grasp. A strong sense of loss and regret swept over my brain.

She leaned forward and touched my knee. "That was lovely Dan. My feet feel so much better now. Thank you."

"But I've only done one. Here, give me the other." Damn. I had blown my chance for more.

Mom smiled. "Maybe another time. That's enough for now."

I must have looked disappointed. She kept her hand on my knee. "You know, your father never wanted to do that."

"Which part?"

"Well, he always complained, always made a bloody fuss about massaging my feet. He never wanted to do it, even though I love it so. So I hardly ever got a foot massage. But sometimes I'd have a little fun with him. When he would nap on the couch, which he did a lot, I'd put my smelly nylon foot on his face."

Suddenly, that sounded pretty exciting to me. "He didn't like it?"

"He recoiled as if my feet had been swimming in dog shit."

"How did that make you feel?"

"Let's say," Mom said with an intense look, "it didn't motivate me for...more fun."

Wow. Not only was Mom alluding to sex with Dad, but she was also connecting her feet to sex. I'd never thought of that before, but given the bulge that refused to go away, I do get it. Absolutely.

Probably why Mom didn't want me to do her other foot.

She leaned in and kissed my cheek. "Thank you Dan. That was a real treat."

I couldn't help but notice her glancing several times at the bulge in my pants.

***

Tuesday

The next day, Mom started her semester at City College in West Harlem. I love walking the City so I decided to spend a day strolling up the length of Central Park to the College to take a look around. I knew where Mom was teaching, so I thought maybe I could secretly see her in action.

I found her lecture hall and slipped in at the top. She didn't notice me.

The room was steeply inclined, with seats arranged in a curved pattern facing several very large whiteboards and an LED screen big enough to see text from the back. Mom was there, in front of the boards, giving her introduction to the course. On the whiteboard was printed in large, block letters - Partial Differential Calculus.

I had enough trouble with introductory Calculus. I knew that the stuff my mother was teaching was about a million levels above what I had ever been exposed to. When she spoke, the blizzard of foreign-looking symbols, equations, and terms that flowed from her mouth as her hand flew across the whiteboard, left me in awe. I always knew Mom was smart, but holy fuck, I'm not even in the same universe as she.

I watched her talk and write. I watched the students dutifully following along on their pads, making notes in the margins. Every now and then, Mom would step over to her laptop and put some math script on the big screen.

Less interested in the math, I was really concentrating on my mother. I noticed that when she crossed the space between the white board and the computer, many of her students looked up to watch her.

I admired her style. Today she was wearing her customary 1940's look. Today she wore a higher, maybe three-inch clunky heel, a close-fitting patterned skirt cut just below the knee with a back slit that extended to mid-thigh, and a tight, cropped jacket that showed off her tiny waist. Her hair was styled in waves and rolls. She looked just like a movie star from the 40's. Only better.

She was wearing vintage seamed nylons. In fact, I don't think I've ever seen her without them. When she turned her back to the students to write something on the whiteboard, I admired her legs, gorgeously defined by her lean calf muscles, elegantly accentuated by the glossy flawless nylons with their sexy black seams.

I noticed that the guys were all clustered in the front seats. As I looked closer, I could see that most of them weren't even taking notes. They were staring at my mother, especially her legs.

After the class, I wanted to go down to say hi, but I knew she had another class to run to. So I just followed all the other students out of the lecture hall.

The corridors were fairly narrow and I got bunched up behind a group of co-eds. I was really surprised to see two of them wearing vintage seamed stockings. Girls never wear them at my school. Never.

The women's conversation was animated. "Did you see Professor Grant's outfit today? Was she all glowed up or what?"

"She's fire," said another.

"I know where my fingers are flying tonight," said the first. "Proffy Grant's nylon legs over my shoulders? Now that's extra."

"Facts! Think she's available?"

"I'd sure dive in. No cap on that."

I couldn't believe what these girls - women - were saying about my mother. They loved her style. A couple had even started to wear seamed nylons to school. And in summer!

I don't know if it was just how young women talk when they're by themselves, but they all seemed to want to have sex with her.

It was incredible.

It was insane.

It made me think of my mother in a whole other light.

Her vintage style outfits with her seamed nylons. A year ago I thought she was quirky - a math professor wearing 1940's style clothing with nylons and high clunky heels. But I was dead wrong. She was incredibly sexy. It seemed the women agree. And based on the clutch of guys at the front of class - a place few students usually sit except the nerds - I was pretty sure the guys were fully on board too.

I stared at the two women ahead of me, with their seamed stockings and cute bums. Their skirts were knee-length and tailored really close to their bodies. I was particularly enamoured with one in particular. I was transfixed at the way her hips swayed as she walked, her lovely legs outlined in the confines of the tight silk skirt with every step, the slit in the back of the skirt riding high on her leg, giving me quick glances at those glossy stockings and sexy black seams.

All I could think about was plowing into that gorgeous ass and going to town, cumming and blasting away until I was spent and limp.

I'd never done such a thing. I had a couple of chances in my first year, but I was never able to seal the deal.

On the way home, my mother's nylons and her legs were full on my mind. The reactions of her students had really affected me.

When I thought about my mother's nylons, I felt a tingle in my balls and a swelling in my cock.

***

When Mom got home that night, we perched ourselves on stools around the kitchen island while I told her I'd sat in on one of her lectures.

"Did you like it, Sweetie?" she said, as she crossed her legs towards me with an audible

swish

of nylon.

"Let's just say, I have a new appreciation for my gorgeous mother."

"The hell you say. You like this look?"

"I love it. I hadn't thought anything about your style before, but now that I see you in action, I'm really impressed."

"Your father never liked it. He thought I was weird. One of his favorite digs was "Hey Anna, the forties called and they want all their stuff back."

"That's insane. Mom, don't even think about letting that go. I was even walking behind a couple of your students. Did you know some of the women are imitating you?"

"I have noticed a few seamed nylons popping up in my class. What did they say?"

"Well, maybe I shouldn't be telling you this, but...two of them were fantasizing about having sex with you."

That made her think. She uncrossed and recrossed her legs. She bounced her upper foot a few times, then uncrossed and recrossed her legs again. I enjoyed the silky

swish

every time she did it.

"I do love to play dress up," she said at last. "Sometimes I get the urge to really glam it up. I wish I had a chance to get all dolled up and go out on the town."

"All dolled up? Like how?" I was interested in how sexy Mom thought she could get herself.

"You know. An old professor of 37, going full Rita Hayworth. Form-fitting outfit, silk stockings, tall strappy heels, glamorous makeup, the works."

"There you go with your '40's style obsession Mom."

"I love the glamour from that age. The styles, the fully-fashioned stockings, the..."

"Wait, the what? You mean the old-fashioned nylons you always wear?"

"No silly," Mom laughed. "Not old fashioned.

Fully

-fashioned. Look here."

Mom took me by the hand and we sat on the couch. To my very great delight, she kicked off her heels, crossed her legs, then pulled the hemline of her skirt up to her mid thighs. Her legs, clad in super-fine nylon stockings, were fully on display. They were stunning. Sexy. And she was inviting me to look at them.

"See my nylons, Dan?" Mom bent over and pinched the nylon over her knee, then pulled it away from her skin. She let it snap back to her leg. "See how fine and gorgeous they are? Go on, you can touch them. Just be careful not to catch any rough skin on them. They may snag."

Oh shit. Yes, I wanted to touch them.

I put my hand on her thigh and felt the taut nylon. It was smooth and fine. It felt - nice. More than nice. Sexy. I was overwhelmed by the sensual feeling of her nylon stretched over her legs. An electric pulse radiated from my hand to my brain and back down to my cock. Never before in my life had I touched a woman's legs clad in sheer nylon stockings. "Yeah, I see Mom. They

are

nice."

"And look here. See how they hug my leg, from the wide part of my calf, down to the narrow part of my ankle?"

She didn't ask me to, but I ran my hand down her leg to get a feel.

The familiar swell of my cock began to outline in my pants. I shifted to try to hide it.

"Aren't they wonderful Danny? These stockings are made of 100% nylon. They never stretch, so the maker weaves them directly in the shape of the ideal woman's leg. If I were to take one off and hold it up, you'd see that it naturally holds the shape and form of my legs. Not because they stretched to my leg, but because they were made that way.