My mother is and always has been a very beautiful woman. In fact I think most men would agree that she's pretty damn hot. Even now at 42 years old, she still turns more than her fair share of heads when we go out. She's Mexican-German in descent, so she's got dark hair and a medium complexion, but with bright blue eyes. And as far as her body is concerned, well she's got one. And that is exactly how I ended up in such a fantastic moral quandary.
See, for as long as I can remember my mother has always been an active woman. She's active in the school system, the community, you name it and she at least has a foot in the door if she's not completely running the show. It doesn't matter if it's the women's softball league, or a couple hours at the gym, or even if it's just an afternoon of vigorous gardening around our quaint two-bedroom townhouse, she can never sit still. And because of this she has easily maintained a figure that most 42 year-olds (and most 25 year-olds, for that matter) in our neighborhood would kill for.
You might think that it would be very difficult to be a 21 year-old guy living alone with a woman with a figure like hers, but my mother's figure honestly never concerned me while I was growing up. It was probably because she was never very conservative with it at home. She never thought twice about walking around the house in her "bed clothes", which more often than not consisted of nothing but panties and a tight tee-shirt or tank top. She was often braless, and wore thongs, and slinky negligees and other casual lingerie, but what woman didn't? I myself would frequently only wear boxers during the hot summer months, and this too had never really struck either of us as abnormal. It's not like we were naked in front of each other. And so our mutual state of undress in the mornings and evenings never really warranted our attention, because for us it was the norm. My mother's body, though often close to nude and always on display, never brought about any kind of sexual arousal in me, nor did mine arouse her.
That is, until recently.
About two weeks ago there was a nasty blizzard that dropped about 10 feet of snow over a period of 2 days and one night. It was the worst winter storm our area had seen in something like 30 years, and in its wake had managed to bury homes and vehicles, destroy a few older houses, and also down several power lines. That is how my mother and I became affected.
With the power lines having dropped overnight, both of our alarm clocks were dead, and I awoke that morning to my mother shaking me violently and telling me to get up, quick. I knew immediately that something was up, due to the fact that she was bundled up in sweats and a scarf. When I pulled the covers down to my waste I realized why, because the temperature in my bedroom was practically sub-zero.
"What's going on?" I asked.
"I don't know, but the power is out and it's freezing in here!" She was shivering through her scarf and wool socks, and looked worried. "I need you to get some of that firewood from the basement, so we can have some heat."
"Okay," I replied, confused and not moving.
"Well come on, what are you waiting for?" She whined and began hopping and rubbing her arms vigorously, a futile attempt at generating some body heat.
"I need you to leave before I can get up."
Her eyes narrowed for a moment and then she cracked a sarcastic smile.
"What, are you naked?" She asked.
"What's it to you?" I smiled a groggy smile back. She laughed.
"Well you ain't got nothing I haven't seen before, boy. Hurry up!" And she turned and left the room. I quickly jumped out of bed, dismissing her lewd comment, and threw on a pair of jeans and an old sweatshirt. Still cold, I decided a pair of wool socks wouldn't hurt me, either.
I didn't waste any time in running straight to the basement. We had some old firewood down there that had been stock-piled since God knows when, but we'd never had a use for it with central heating and air in the house. Now I was glad we'd kept it. In the corner of the dining room was an old wood-burning stove that we decided to keep when we moved in, not for its intended purpose, but because it gave the room a sort of old-time rustic appeal. We'd never used it in the fifteen years we'd lived there, and now we were both praying it was functional. Neither of us knew how much snow had fallen outside, but we couldn't see out of any of the windows, so we were guessing a lot. I just hoped it hadn't covered the stove pipe on the roof of the house. A quick strike of a match and we'd find out.
We got lucky, and it worked better than we'd hoped. Much to our surprise, the little stove had some real heating power. Within an hour the house was getting a little too hot for us to handle, so we shed the extra layers and were able to move about the house with at least a slight sense of normality. Mom put on a pair of tight boy shorts and an oversized cardigan. I knocked around in a pair of pajama pants and a wife-beater. We weren't going anywhere, so there was no sense in getting dressed.
A battery-operated clock-radio on the top shelf of the linen closet told us all the details of the storm, and informed us that although the power company was working diligently through adverse conditions, power most likely would not be restored for a minimum of three days. That was the bad news. The good news was that we had plenty of food and drink, and candles to at least dimly light the essential parts of the house. The storm hadn't come without warning, so we were mildly prepared. We also had an old backup generator in the basement that was practically an antique. Neither of us even knew if it worked, but we were about to find out.
We both went down into the basement to check out the generator, and mutually decided that it was next to useless. We could use it for about 20 minutes per day, based on a worst-case-scenario of five days of isolation, which would give us not more than about 5 minutes-worth of hot water, if that. At least with that we'd be able to take a quick shower before bed. We mutually decided that that was the best use for it.
We spent the rest of the day talking, playing cards and board games, and trying hard not to go stir-crazy. It was especially hard for Mom, because she couldn't stand to sit still. She had always had a way to expel her energy, and now without one she seemed to be getting very anxious. She was in her room with the door closed about six times throughout the day, something that rarely happened around our house. We weren't very secretive from each other, and rarely closed our doors. I felt bad for her, but what could I do? I just hoped it wouldn't take as long as they said it would to get things up and running again.
So when the first day finally waxed and waned and nighttime came, we got together and planned our attack on the shower. First I would run down to the basement and kick on the generator while mom waited in the bathroom to jump in. Then she would do a quick in-and-out, just taking care of the bare essentials, and by the time I had run back upstairs, stripped off my clothes, and made it back to the bathroom she would be out and we would perform the old switcheroo. It wasn't going to be fun, but it was all we could do for the next few days besides going without showers, and we both agreed that that was a bad idea. So we would just have to suck it up and deal with it.
The time finally came, so Mom went into the bathroom and disrobed, and after a short pause told me she was ready. As ridiculous as this was, we had to admit that it was sort of fun trying to beat the clock.
"Okay, here I go," I shouted through the door.
"Hurry," She yelled back, no doubt shivering on the cold tile floor.
I hauled ass down into the basement and made my way to the generator. It took me three tries to start the damn thing, and then I bolted out of the basement as quickly as I could, stumbling like an idiot in the dark, but nevertheless determined.
I reached my bedroom and shucked off my clothes, threw a towel around my waste and made a beeline for the bathroom. With no hesitation I burst through the door, whipped my towel on the floor...and stopped dead in my tracks.
I Froze.
There she was, two seconds too late, having just stepped out of the shower and onto the cold tile. She too was motionless, staring back at me, wide-eyed, dripping wet from head to toe, and like me, seemed unable to even think of what the next move was. Her towel was on the rack behind me, so she couldn't get to it. I don't think the towel was what she was concerned with, anyway. She was busy letting her eyes wander over my body. I was studying her too, though not altogether intentionally. She was slender, shapely and toned. Her breasts were round and full, and appeared surprisingly firm for her age. Her nipples were hard, probably just because of the cold. And just below her nice, flat tummy was a thin line of pubic hair that ran straight down between her legs. As many times as I'd seen her almost nude, it hadn't prepared me for this, the bare flesh. All that workout time had really done her body good.
I looked up and noticed that her eyes were wide and fixed directly on my crotch. I was fully erect. Not surprising, but wholly embarrassing, as I'm sure you can imagine. Finally after what seemed like an eternity I broke first and scrambled to recover my towel and cover myself.
"Could you hand me mine, too?" She said, her voice trembling.
"Yeah," I reached and grabbed her towel off the rack and turned to hand it to her. She was standing with her knees together, one hand attempting to cover both breasts but failing miserably, the other clamped between her legs shielding her pubic region. I held her towel out for her, but with no free hands she just stood there awkwardly, unsure of what to do. I couldn't help but notice that her left nipple was exposed, and when she saw me glance at it she made a valiant effort to cover it up. I shouldn't have been looking, but who could help it? Besides, her eyes had been wandering too. Trying to juggle her breasts with one hand wasn't working, and was only making matters worse. She finally realized the attempt was futile, dropped them both and snatched the towel out of my hand.
"Oh just turn around!" She hollered. I turned, but I didn't look away. I was unsure of whether I should go or stay. The shower was still running and the water was getting colder by the second. Without another word Mom darted from the bathroom and slammed the door behind her. I hesitated a second, and then jumped in the shower.
The water was lukewarm at best, so all I could do was rinse off and then jump right out before it got too cold. It was a terrible shower, but I honestly wasn't too concerned with that at the moment. My mind was on other things.
I knew what had happened was somehow wrong, but I wasn't sure why. I replayed the images over and over again in my head: running up the stairs into my room, shedding my clothes, grabbing the towel, charging into the bathroom, and then staring at my mother's naked body, hands at her sides, the sheen of her wet skin reflecting in the candlelight, the rise and fall of her breasts as she breathed.
I dried myself off and realized I was still hard as a rock. I wanted badly to jack off right there in the bathroom, but I didn't think it was the right thing to do at the time. I decided to wait until my dick softened before I left the bathroom, but I gave up after a few minutes passed and there was no sign of that happening. I wrapped the towel around my waste with a huge tent in the front of it and peeked out the door to see if my mom was around. The coast was clear. Her door was still closed, and with any luck would stay that way until I made it to my room. I darted through the door and walked as quickly and quietly as I could to my room, and eased the door closed.
My dick was so hard now that it hurt, and I knew the only way to ease the pain was to cum. I threw off the towel, laid on my bed and began stroking myself, slowly at first, and then faster and harder. It felt too good, and I knew it wouldn't take long for me to climax. I began thinking of my mother's wet naked body again. It felt dirty and wrong, but I'm sure that's why it turned me on so much. Not to mention the fact that she was a knockout. I imagined what it would be like to cup her large breasts in my hands, stroke her nipples, and penetrate her soft shaved pussy. I could feel the pressure building in my swollen cock.
Suddenly, just when I was on the verge of climax, there came a gentle knocking on my door, which I hadn't completely shut in order to avoid unnecessary noise.
"Honey, are you in there?" I sloppily tossed the sheets and comforter up over my nakedness as the door began to open.
"Yeah," I answered softly, pretending to already be asleep. It didn't make much sense with the candle still burning, but I didn't have time to think of everything.
"Are you...decent?" She asked.
Hell no,
I wanted to reply.
But it hardly matters now, does it?
