Mom Spreads Her Legs

Jill Mulvaney loved to spread her legs open.

As a teen, many years earlier, Jill competed in gymnastics. Her body was lean and limber. She learned the thrill of pushing her body to its utmost. When she stretched and pushed her limbs as far as they could go, Jill felt most in sync with her deep animal core. That connection always gave her joy.

Later, in college, Jill discovered the sexual advantages of being limber. She could fold and extend and contort her arms and legs and torso in ways that held her lovers in rapt attention. The men she knew intimately always marveled at the many positions Jill's lean body could hold.

Of all Jill's positions, one inspired admiration above the others: legs spread wide, pussy on display.

No other position left her feeling quite the same exquisite combination of vulnerability and strength. When spread, Jill could never forget that she exposed and revealed her most private parts. But when spread, she had power, too. She could see that power reflected in her lovers' eyes. Around pussies, men became little boys. They could never get enough, never see enough. When confronted with one, open and on view, they all seemed to be subdued by its power. A delicious thrill took Jill every time she parted her legs. The wider she spread them, the more power she had over her lovers. The men she knew in college, exposed to Jill's spread legs, fell under her spell every time.

Her late husband John was different. John loved Jill's pussy, but he was never cowed by it. John and Jill would lie in bed, naked, Jill on her back. John would push gently against her knees, until they opened, and Jill exposed herself, and then John would attend to her. He would caress her, lick her, tease and tickle her. He would push her lips back with his fingers and carry on a long, silly conversation with her pussy. John would tell Jill's pussy what a pretty pussy she was, that she was just right in every way -- that she had the right amount of swell and curve, the ideal, flirty slit, the perfect little hooded button of a clit, and just the right degree of lippiness. Jill never could get enough of his words and his fingers and the press of his hand against her knees, pushing them open. She could never get enough of his swollen cock, pressing against her folds and entering her with the perfect mix of urgency and tenderness. John never failed to bring her to orgasm, nor did he mind that she often squirted into his hands and his face when she came. He drank whatever he could with glee. The days and nights in bed with John led Jill to connect the spreading of her legs with some of the happiest and most fulfilling moments and sensations she had ever known.

John had died two years before, of a sudden illness. Jill was 45 now, widowed, horny, and ready to find a mate again.

It was late summer, mid-morning, and her son Jack was downstairs, probably still sleeping in his bedroom. Jack had just graduated from college, and he was staying at home with mom until the fall, when he would move to another city to start a job.

Jill sat on the floor of her upstairs bedroom, back propped up against the side of the bed. She sat naked, with her legs spread straight out from her body. She looked at her reflection in a full length mirror a few feet away.

When she was a gymnast Jill could have spread her legs perfectly straight out, so that they formed a horizontal line from toe to toe. Though still fit for her age, she was neither as lean nor as limber as she was as a teen, and now she had to settle for her legs forming a wide, shallow 'V' instead of a straight line.

She wasn't a teen, anymore, but she looked good, she thought. She ate smartly and exercised. Her body held up well against the onset of middle age.

She reached between her legs and pulled her labia back.

Jill liked the contrast between the damp, rich pinkness inside her pussy and the pale, freckled skin of her body. John had liked it, too, and he had told her, many times, how much he had liked it. She thought about his words as she touched herself.

My God, I miss him, she thought.

She dipped a finger into her pussy, pushed it deep inside and curved it up to feel the spongy G-spot, and then pulled it out again to press it against her clitoris. Her hand moved in quick circles. Her breathing grew faster and shallower and louder. It wouldn't take long for her to make herself come. Her ass bounced off the carpet. She closed her eyes to concentrate on the coming orgasm.

Before she came, she heard footsteps. Her eyes opened. Looking up, she saw her son Jack, just inside the bedroom door, staring at her, mouth open and eyes wide.

Jill shrieked, and her legs snapped closed. Her hands flew to her breasts and to her pussy, to shield her nudity from her son.

"Sorry!" Jack cried. He jumped off the carpet, put his hands up, and turned and ran away, out of the bedroom.

Jill sat against the bed, quivering. She wondered why she hadn't closed the door. She wondered what her son thought of her. She wondered how she would face him.

She jumped off the floor and closed the bedroom door. She sat on her bed for a long time, thinking.

An hour later, dressed in khaki shorts and a white short-sleeved top, she left her room and walked down the stairs to the kitchen. She wore thick, black-rimmed eyeglasses to correct her near-sightedness. Her straight, red hair, falling about her shoulders, was not quite dry from her shower. When she turned the corner from the bottom of the stairs, she saw her son Jack in the kitchen, munching on a leftover burrito from the previous night's dinner, and holding a coffee mug.

Jack looked up from his brunch. Their eyes met, and they didn't know what to say to each other. After several awkward moments Jill broke the silence.

"Jack --."

"Mom," Jack interrupted her. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have gone into your room. I'm sorry about that."

"I should have closed the door. I'm sorry . . . I'm sorry you saw that."

"You don't need to be sorry, mom. You don't have anything to be sorry about."

"Yeah," Jill said. "But still . . . that's not something a son should see." She smiled grimly. "I hope you're not traumatized for life."

Jack smiled too.

"I think I'll recover, mom. Why don't we try to forget about it. Next time, I'll shout and knock before I come into your bedroom."

"Sounds like a plan," Jill said.

She walked to the refrigerator and pulled some fruit and leftovers out. She and Jack spent a while eating their respective meals without speaking. Jill broke the silence.

"It's been hard," she said. "Without your father. I haven't had a man in my life for a long time. I hope you understand that."

"Mom, you don't have to explain," Jack responded. "You and dad were always open-minded about things -- things having to do with sex. I always appreciated that. You don't have to explain anything to me. You don't have to be sorry about anything."

"I appreciate that," Jill said. "I should let you know . . . I'm thinking about dating. What do you think about that?"

"It's been two years, mom," Jack said. "I totally understand. I'm sure it's been, like, really hard. You don't need to worry about me."

"Thanks, Jack," she said.

"Dad would want you to be happy, mom," Jack said.

Jill almost cried at that. Her son's understanding about her needs surprised her. But Jack had always been mature for his age.

"The truth is," Jill said, "I've gone on a couple of dates already. Through an online dating site. I hope that doesn't bother you."

Jack was surprised. He had no idea his mom had started dating again.

"When . . . when did this happen?" he asked. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Jill put her head down, avoiding Jack's stare, before answering him. She was embarrassed she hadn't told him.

"I don't know, Jack. I wasn't sure how it would go. I haven't dated in a long, long time. I didn't know what to expect and I thought I'd just spare you the details of your mom's dating life."

"Mom, I understand," Jack said. "I'm an adult. I don't expect you to live the rest of your life like a nun. Can I ask, though -- is there somebody you're dating steadily now?"

"No," she said. "I've been on a few first dates -- guys I've met through the dating site. But no second dates. It hasn't gone anywhere. I've been disappointed."

"Why's that?" Jack asked.

"Well, it seems like all the guys who are interested are . . . old. I'm getting interest from guys in their late 50s and 60s. I want to date somebody younger, closer to my age, or maybe even younger than me. But it seems like guys my age are looking for women who are a lot younger. It sucks."

"You know, mom, I've, like, done some online dating myself. A lot of it is how you market yourself. You may not be marketing yourself the right way to get attention from guys your age."

Jack downed a big gulp of coffee in the mug in his hand.

"Tell you what," he said. "How about if you let me look at your dating site profile? I can give you some pointers from a guy's perspective."

"Ah," Jill said, and she hesitated. "That seems awkward. Letting my son look at my dating profile. I don't know, Jack. I'm not sure I can deal with that."

"Mom, come on," Jack said. He smiled, his face reassuring. "I can help. I want to help. I've done my share of dating online. I know how it works."

"Well," Jill responded, slowly. "I guess so. I guess I've got nothing to lose. But don't laugh, O.K.? Your old mom is feeling vulnerable."

"I won't laugh," Jack said. "And you're not so old. Let's look at it over here." Jack walked to a computer and monitor sitting in a nook to the side of the kitchen. He waved his mom over. After a moment's hesitation, she followed him.

"Go ahead," Jack said.

Jill's fingers tapped over the keyboard as she logged in to the Web site. In a minute her profile page popped up on the screen. She stood to the side to let Jack look at it, but not without feeling nervous and embarrassed.

I can't believe I'm letting him look at this, she thought.

But she let him look.

Once on her page, Jack consumed it, greedily. Jill saw his eyes scanning the way she'd described herself. She saw him poring over the photos she had uploaded. She saw the intensity of his face while he looked over her profile page. She wondered what he would think of her. She realized she didn't want him to disapprove. She caught her breath and waited for him to finish.

At last his fingers stopped hitting the keyboard. He pulled back, and he turned to his mom. He pointed at the screen.

"Mom," Jack said. "It says here on your profile that you want to date guys from 45 years old to . . . 25. That's 20 years younger than you, right? That's only three years older than me."

Jill blushed. She didn't want her son seeing that. She wished she hadn't let him log on to her profile page.

"Yeah," she said. "Yes. That's right. It's just . . . I keep myself in very good shape. I go to the gym. I want somebody . . . compatible. I don't want to date old guys. I thought it might be fun . . . to date somebody a lot younger. I've never done that." She put her head in her hands. "Is this weird? Do you think I'm a bad person?"

Jack looked at his mom with patience and love.

"No, mom!" he said. "There's nothing wrong with wanting to date younger guys. But if you want to do that, you gotta change your profile."

Jack pulled up her dating site pictures.

"Mom, no offense," Jack said. "But your pictures suck. The ones of you are all selfies. Your main portrait picture is fuzzy. It doesn't even look like you. And this one -- it's a bathroom selfie. You're wearing some long dress I've never seen you wear. It totally hides your figure. And what's this?"

He pointed to a photo of a flower in the garden in the backyard.

"Well," Jill stammered. "I like gardening. I wanted to let them know that."

"Mom," Jack said. "No guy gives a shit about that. Pardon my French. Guys want to know what you look like. And if you're interested in younger guys, they want to know if you're hot. They don't want to look at a bunch of plants."

Jill didn't know what to say. Jack seemed to know more about online dating profiles than she would have guessed. But as she looked over the photos of her on her page, she had to admit, they weren't very glamorous.

"What do you think I should do?" she asked.

"You need new pictures, mom," Jack replied.

"O.K.," she said. "I guess I'll do that. I'm not much of a photographer, though. I try, but, well . . . you've seen the selfies I took."

"I could help you out with that," Jack said.

"What do you mean?" Jill asked.

"I mean I could take the pictures. I'm a pretty good photographer. I could take photos of you that are way better than what you've got on your profile page."

Jill paused.

"Like, what do you have in mind?" she asked.

"Let's get a picture of you by the pool," Jack said. "In a swimsuit. Show yourself. You're a good-looking woman, mom."

It felt strange to hear those words from her son. But it felt good, too. It had been a long time since she'd shown her body, and it was still in good shape. Maybe Jack was right.

"O.K., Mr. photographer," Jill said to her son. "What do we do now?"

"You go upstairs, and put a swim suit on, and I'll get my camera. We'll meet at the pool. How's that?"

"O.K.," Jill said. "But this still seems kind of weird."

"It's only weird if you make it weird," Jack said.

Jill left the room and walked upstairs.

Her skin tingled. What Jack proposed seemed strange. She wasn't comfortable. But maybe he was right -- it was only weird if she made it weird.

She pulled open the second drawer of the dresser in her bedroom, where the swimsuits lay. She fished out a one-piece suit, pink with a floral pattern. She shucked off her shorts and top and pulled the suit over her body.

She looked at herself in the mirror. Not bad for an old lady, she thought. But she stopped by the bathroom before heading downstairs. She touched up her face with some foundation and she applied mascara around her eyes. Before she left she applied sunscreen all over her body. She rubbed it in well, so it wouldn't make her skin look greasy.

Ready, I guess, she thought. She walked downstairs.

When she reached the ground floor, she looked for Jack. She didn't see him at first. Then she saw him, through the window. He stood near the pool in the back yard, and he was doing something to his camera.

Jill sucked in a big breath, and she walked through the back door.

It was a strange feeling, parading in front of her son in a swimsuit, wanting him to take pictures of her. Jack's reaction eased her nervousness. He smiled, kindly, and beckoned her toward the pool with his hand.

"Over here, mom," he said, gesturing toward a reclining chair near the pool. "We'll get some pictures of you lying on this lounge chair." Jill walked toward the reclining lounge chair. A thick off-white cushion covered its heavy, stained teak frame.

"What do you want me to do?" Jill asked her son.

"Go ahead and lie on the lounge chair, and we'll go from there."

The reclining chair stood on the pool patio, a few feet away from the kidney-shaped pool. Thick shoots of greenery sprang skyward from the ground around the patio, against the backyard fence. The bushes stood deep-green and dense, screening the backyard from the eyes of potentially peeping neighbors.

Jill lay on the reclining chair. Her body didn't feel entirely her own. She saw her son taking photos of her, stretched full-length in the chair in her pink swimsuit, but it almost felt like it was someone else having her photos taken.

Jack took many photos of her, instructing her to move this way and that. But he seemed dissatisfied. Jill sat up in the chair.

"Jack?" she asked.

"Yes?"

"Is something wrong? You don't seem happy."

"It's not that."

"Then what is it?"

Jack did not answer immediately.

"Well --" he began.

"What is it?" Jill asked.

"I don't think that's the right suit for this, mom. It's too . . . conservative. It's an old lady suit. In your dating profile you put that you want to date guys that are 25. That's near my age. You're very pretty, mom. If you want to date guys that age, mom, I think you can. But you gotta do better than that suit."

Jill was taken aback. It was strange to hear criticism from her son about her swimsuit choices. But, she had to admit, he had a point. He was 22. She was 45. If she wanted to attract younger men -- and she did -- it made sense to listen to Jack.

"What do you recommend?" she asked.

"Let's go upstairs," he said.

Jack and Jill walked into the house, Jack in the lead, taking stairs two at a time on the way up to her bedroom. She followed him close behind, until they both reached her dresser.

He opened the top drawer. Panties and bras. That wasn't it.

He opened the second one, full of swimsuits. Bingo.

Jill's mouth clenched as her son's hands went into the drawer, rifling through her large swimwear collection. John had bought many suits for her over the years, most of them skimpy. She had enjoyed showing off for him, but at 45 she wasn't sure she could fill a bikini as successfully as she had in the past. It was a lot stranger, too, having one's son handling her bikinis than having her husband do so. But she stood silent, watching him. He was trying to be helpful, and she had to admit there was a devilish thrill in watching his fingers sifting nimbly and lovingly over the tiny pieces of fabric that had hugged her body in its most intimate places.

"What's this?" Jack said suddenly.

He pulled out her smallest and sexiest bikini. It was almost impossibly tiny -- two pieces of aqua lycra held together with the thinnest of strings. It was unlined. The bottom was in a Brazilian style that left most of the ass exposed. The top consisted of tiny triangles that obviously were insufficient fully to cup and cover breasts as large as Jill's. John had bought it for her just before a vacation to Hawaii, and she had worn it only once, when they spent the day at a beach with few people. To Jill it had seemed like John was unable to take his eyes off her all day. She enjoyed the visual feast she gave him even though the suit was so brief that it left her feeling nervous and embarrassed the whole day that she wore it.

"Wow, mom!" Jack said. "You wore this? This is tiny!"

"I wore it when your dad and I went to Maui a while ago," she said. "Just one time."

"You must have looked amazing in this," Jack said. Jill saw that he caught himself as soon as he said it, as though suddenly aware that it was an odd thing to say about one's mother. He stopped talking, but Jill noted that his forefinger and thumb were rubbing over the tiny triangle of lycra meant to stretch over and cover her pubic mound. He stared at it intently, and Jill had the feeling that her son was thinking about the part of her body that this part of the suit had once covered, if only barely.

She felt goosebumps on her body.

"You need to wear this," Jack said firmly. "This will be perfect."

"Jack, that's much too skimpy," she said. "I can't put pictures of myself on the Internet in that thing. Come on."

Jack held it up to the light. It wasn't quite see-through in the bedroom light, but it almost was.

"Yeah, you can, mom," he said. "You're not going to show anything you shouldn't. I'll be careful with the angles. This color is perfect against your skin. It's going to show you off really well."

Jack meant it, but Jill wasn't entirely convinced. The suit was awfully small.

"Besides, mom," Jack said. "Taking the photos doesn't mean they're going on the Web site. You can pick and choose whatever you want to put on. Let's do it. You'll look great."

Jill decided to give it a try. What the heck, she thought. If I don't like the pics, I'll choose another suit.