Copyright © 2013, Surt, ALL Rights Reserved.
Knowledge of prior Tabootopia chapters is not essential for this story but it is recommended. Anyone involved in anything sexual is at least eighteen-years-old. Feedback is always appreciated and replied to. Thanks for reading and enjoy! :) The Celebrity Templates are:
Amanda Bynes is Regina Cestin
Erin Sanders is Kelly Vanderbosch
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Nope he's not going to do it. Nope he's not going to do it. Nope he's not going to... or is he? Is he? His fingers are getting a little shaky, it looks like he is... he is. Now his hands are lowering. So is he, is he going to do it? Is he going– gasp! His fingers have reached the glossy cover. He is going to do it, he is actually going to... okay, now his fingers are going to the bottom of the cover, and now he's holding the cover with his forefingers, pinching it, ready to flip, ready to turn –
"Oh fuck." He pulled back his hands and raised them high in the air. "Fuck no," he whispered. "Fuck no."
Leicester, England. 10:45pm. Our subject: 'Liquid' Larry Holmes; Eighteen-year-old Caucasian male with medium-length brown hair, brown eyes, and a slightly doughy build. He was by his desk, on his swivel chair, and looking at the most vile piece of pornography in human history.
The Argos catalogue.
Not the goods and appliances one, the clothes one. Larry looked down at it with true terror, beads of sweat going down his pinkish skin, sheer horror in his eyes as he looked at the red bubble letters: ARGOS.
The catalogue itself wasn't particularly sinister, this was just a normal catalogue, but to Larry, it was Hell's induction manual. To him, it was the most sinful and downright sinister book in the world. The reason why he felt this way, so terrified to even touch the cover of this book, was the fact that someone he knew was inside it, modelling. That person was his mother and he was to find her in pages 354-378.
The lingerie section.
And curiosity had got the better of young Larry. He'd snuck the advanced copy to his bedroom, not knowing why he'd done it, yet feeling sick with himself that he had. Curiosity, he told himself, curiosity was the reason why he had taken the catalogue. Curiosity was all it was. Yes, curiosity explained why his heart rate had shot to the moon and why his cock was growing at the rate of the universe.
To be fair, Larry's mother was genuinely hot... which isn't much justification for his actions. Either way, Patricia Holmes had been labelled a Yummy Mummy on more than one occasion, and she justified the title. Smooth fair skin, curled blonde hair, beautiful green eyes, and a saucy smile: that would be the polite description. The lewder man would comment on how nice and large her D-cup breasts were, and how much better her backside is now in her 40s, having grown in diameter and filled out into an eye-wateringly sexy onion shape.
Patricia was a model in her younger years. Nothing major, just stuff for catalogues and shopping channels. Always fully clothed too, in shirts, jeans, coats, those sorts of things. She'd stopped modelling by the time her son came along and from then on referred to her modelling as one of those things she used to do. Then, from completely out of the blue, 18 years removed from her appearance in the Next shopping catalogue, Patricia got an offer.
"I'm going to be doing this in my knickers!" she announced with a huge smile.
Her husband, daughter and son turned from their spots in front of the television and looked at her with shock in their eyes. Larry's cheeks went red in an instant. He opened his mouth and just made a 'bah' sound.
Larry's raven-haired, pierced-lip sister, Joyce, jumped in and expressed her displeasure. "Are you being serious?" she asked with a hiss.
With her smile still glued to her face, Patricia shook her head. "Yep, it's happening. I got a call and had the interview today. This American bloke who works for Argos told me I was perfect! Isn't it amazing? Me, modelling after some twenty-odd years of being a mum!"
Joyce responded with typical teen angst. "Well, I might as well swallow a whole packet of Panadol, 'cause my life is done."
Patricia frowned. "Oh come on, aren't you happy for me?"
"YOU!? What about ME!?" shouted Joyce. "What will my friends say when they see it?"
"K-kids don't look at the Argos clothes catalogue," muttered a still-shaken Larry.
His sister turned to him. "What?"
"People our age don't buy clothes from Argos... women Mum's age or older buy things from it... I don't think anyone you know will see it."
Joyce's rage subsided. "Fine."
"So you're fine with it?" asked Patricia.
"Whatever," she whispered.
Patricia turned to her plumber husband. "Are you all right with it, George?"
The pot-bellied thin-haired man looked away from The One Show, looked at his wife and paused for contemplation. "... Uhh... Will you be showing tits and arse?"
The mention of his mother's T&A made Larry blush. His mother saw it as a valid question.
"No, just underwear," she said. "Oh, might be in a thong though. No arse shown, I think."
Larry was looking at the red shag carpet and felt his cheeks burn. His mother had just said 'thong'. Thong!
Larry's dad was much less dramatic about the whole thing. "...Yeah, all right."
Patricia smiled and squeezed her man's hand. "Thanks, love."
"Hmm, hmm."
Patricia turned to her son. "Larry, you okay with me doing this?"
Mum in her underwear, Mum in bras, panties and thongs. He repeated that to himself: Mum in her underwear, Mum in bras, panties... and thongs. He was feeling something rise within him, something whirling in strong and hard. He had to answer soon or he didn't know what he'd say.
"Fine," he said with a squeak. He coughed and shrugged. "Fine, yeah, sure."
"Thank you, Larry." She smiled.
Three months later and Larry was staring at the Autumn/Winter catalogue, and a part deep inside him, a part he didn't have much contact with before, was urging him to look, urging him to have one, small, sneaky, innocent look. He resisted, held his breath, sweated, and felt his chest get tighter and tighter. He felt like he was stuck in place, unable to leave, forced into confronting the 700-page goliath. What to do, what to do, what to do. He wished his mother had never posed in her lingerie, wished she'd never put him in this situation. Then a light bulb went off in his head and a friendly voice came by to say: 'Hey, why not pretend it never happened? If you put it back downstairs and never looked, it will be like this never happened.' Larry agreed with this logic. Putting the catalogue away would be the end of this situation. It's not like his mom, sister or dad would ever wave the pictures in his face; he knows none of them would want Larry to see his own mother in her 'knickers'. Larry was starting to picture his plan: he'd put the catalogue downstairs, his mother would put it away in her bedroom, put it somewhere safe, and all this turmoil would be over. Larry liked that plan and agreed with it.
Larry put out his hands and held the catalogue. He stood up, got ready to turn – and then a thought came to him.
'She made you do this.'
He stood still. He didn't know where that thought had come from. It had literally come from the ether, out of the blue, and it made him shake. Larry looked at the catalogue, looked at the cover, and was swaying towards what the voice had said. It was her fault; she did make him do this. His mother didn't need to pose in her knickers. It was her fault, Larry wasn't to blame. All sons in his position would be as curious as him. Gosh, how could he not be? He had a 'Yummy Mummy.'
Larry nodded, and without instructing his body to do so, he had sat back down on the chair. He put the catalogue back on the desk. A new thought was now entering. He let himself hear it.
'Flip through it really quickly, just so you'll know.'
'Just so you'll know.' It was a good way to put it. Just so he will know and all curiosity would be gone from his mind. I mean, really, he couldn't focus on anything else until he did this. It was for his good more than anything. It had to be done, really.
Larry took a deep, deep breath. "Whoosh... Fuck it."
Larry flipped open the catalogue. He landed on the bikini section. He put his right hand on the catalogue and flipped through it as if oil had been put in his hand. He saw bikinis, sarongs, beachwear, kaftans, girls bikinis, girls Speedos, women's Speedos, lingerie section, Brazilian models, thongs, pink bows, pushup bras, Triumph, Michelle Mone, blue bras, purple panties, teddies, slip-ons, camis, cotton...
Mum.
Larry stopped and looked. There she was, a full page spread, his own mother, in the 'comfort' section, wearing a plain white bra and white panties. It was her, her pretty smile and curly blonde hair confirming it. Prettier, he thought, examining the face, seeing they'd put a nice shade on her cheeks. He focused on the face for a bit, but of course, he found his eyes going south, down to his mother's breasts, to her panties, to her long lean legs, her bare feet, and finally, her red toenails. Her toenails were always red.
Larry scratched his crotch. He didn't know what to think. This was his mother, she was in her underwear. And she was looking...
"Fit! My mum is fit!"
She was 'fit', fitter than he ever imagined. All those times his mother went swimming, to yoga class, to the gym, all that had actual results – sexy results. Larry was stunned to see how flat his mother's stomach was, how toned her legs were, how firm her breasts looked, how nice she looked without clothing. Better, in fact, she looked better without clothing. He smiled, nodded, and by the power of his erection, he shut down the rational part of his brain, zipped down his jeans and let his other side take control...
"... Ah!" a bald suntanned man placed his coffee cup away from his lips. "This?" he pointed, "is a plan coming together."
The man leaned back in his chair, placed his cup on the nearby table, and watched the action unfold on the monitor.
The teen operating the circuit board, a slim black British male, turned and smiled. "I gotta shake your hand on this." He swivelled his chair and exchanged a hardy handshake with the man.
"Thank you," the man replied with a smooth low tempo voice and a warm smile.
"Man, you got the mother to do the Argos, all so her son could do..." He turned to the series of monitors. "Damn, you're the best at this, Ned."
"Oh, I'm nothing special," Ned said with a mild chuckle.
The two of them were in a surveillance van, watching one of six monitors, the one located in Larry Holmes' bedroom.
