Watch with Mother

I suppose I'd always been a bit of a voyeur but before that week I'd never actually spied on anyone. I'd certainly never secretly watched a woman undress. Not any woman ... let alone my own Mother.

So when I say 'voyeur' I mean I was like most young men in those days; I liked looking at dirty photos and I masturbated quite a lot. (This was in the late 60's so the photos weren't really that 'dirty'. They were mostly scantily clad nubile young ladies revealing more in the way of lingerie than naked bodies. I guess that's where I got my taste for stockings and garter belts and high-heeled shoes). I was a voyeur in the sense I got more sexual satisfaction from 'looking' at pictures than I did from contact with girls. Partly this was because girls at the time were reluctant to share their bodies, and partly because if they did, they were equally reluctant to give anything other than straightforward intercourse. Taking pleasure in dressing them up, or showing too much interest in their under-clothes, was considered perverted!

The world ain't like that anymore!

But back then when I masturbated I could dress my fantasy girl however I liked, and make her do whatever I wanted. I guess (like many guys in those days) I had two sex lives: the 'official' proper one and the 'dirty' fantasy one, and these two never collided (I don't think they'd even met till I went to stay with Mother). My fantasy life was peopled with imaginary girls and women clad in my favourite lingerie and happy to do whatever my mood desired of them. Their existence, however, was known only to me, and they were locked away in the depth of my mind. I suppose I assumed it would always be that way, especially as modern fashion was moving girls away from shaped brassieres and seamed stockings and into tights and burnt bras!

Looking back, I assume my Mother, like all women in the late 50's and early 60's, must have worn all those things that now turned me on, but I'd never seen her undressed so I guess it never registered. Ok, I suppose as a horny kid I'd probably rummaged through her draws once or twice and felt and fingered her bra or suspender belt. I certainly remember examining her stockings, neatly folded in her bedside draw, and marvelling at the feel of them in my hands, but I never fantasised about her wearing them or masturbated to visions of her undressing for me. I mean she was my mother and not in any way sexy to me.

Quite the opposite actually, Mother was a strict, slightly puritanical, woman who took no nonsense from anyone. As a kid I did as I was told, or I got a slap from the back of her hand. I think even my father was a bit in awe of her. She certainly wore the trousers in our house. Not that she was tyrannical or anything, just tough-minded and very sure of herself. She was not the kind of woman you crossed ... or tried to get a look at in her underclothes!

It wasn't till after Father had passed away and I was at Uni that things changed. I remember I'd offered to go and stay with her for a week during the spring break, more out of guilt than anything else. Father had been gone a couple of years and she was living on her own in a big old house in Surrey. I'd hardly seen her at all in that time and I felt I had to make the effort to go see her. It was a bind of course. I was 21 and having fun with all my friends from University, and the last thing I wanted was to spend my precious time with a strict difficult old woman who would most certainly not approve of my life-style!

I say 'old', but Mother was actually about 56 or 57 by then, so she wasn't really ancient. She was medium height, thin build, and she wore simple traditional make-up. Her grey-silver hair was permed in a conservative manner, and she sported a fairly heavy set of round-rimmed glasses. Her clothing tended to match this image, being smart but old-fashioned and certainly not stylish. As for her figure, I suppose she had a reasonable pair of legs (her skirts were so long I couldn't be sure), but her chest was pretty flat ... or at least it didn't stand out much. I'd certainly never really noticed it or given any thought to her breasts. As I said, she was my mother ... enough said!

However that situation changed in several ways very soon after I arrived at her house in Wallington. For the first time in my life I saw my Mother in a state of undress, and something about that view turned me on more than I could ever have imagined.

I'm not sure why this vision had the effect it did, but part of it must have been down to the fact I'd always been a bit in 'awe' of mum. If I'm honest I suppose deep down I was scared of her. She was always in control and always telling me what to do, and I always did as I was told. As I said before, my mother was not the kind of person you crossed. She could give you a look that could make your balls freeze and the tone in her voice was sometimes worse than my old Headmaster at school! She was the primary symbol of authority in my life (up to that time), and seeing her naked must have impacted on me in a variety of ways.

This unexpected 'vision' (that changed so much inside my head) happened entirely by accident. I'd arrived at Mother's home just as she was changing for work. I hadn't realised it before but Mother did a couple of shifts a week at a Rest Home, just for a little extra pocket money. She'd given up full-time work and had enough money to survive, but a little extra was always useful, and I think she enjoyed keeping in contact with friends from her working days.

When I arrived at her door she'd opened it in her dressing gown and she had a white towel curled around her head. She seemed surprised and a little flushed to see me.

"Simon?" she said, one hand holding the towel to her head. "What are you doing here? I thought you weren't coming till tomorrow!"

"No ..." I said as gently as I could, and smiling broadly to try and soften Mother's stern look. "I said Friday ... I did say Friday."

She gave me a dark frown and turned around and marched back into the hallway. Over her shoulder she called back, "well you'll have to sort yourself out, I have to be at work in half an hour!"

"Oh ..." I said, pulling my case into the hall. "Work? I didn't know you worked?"

"Hmm," she muttered, and stopped to turn back to me. "I haven't seen you in the last couple of years, and hardly spoken to you in the last 18 months. I'm surprised you remember where the house is!"

I grinned again, but this time rather sheepishly, already regretting I'd come. Mother's fierce and intolerant manner always made me feel like a small child.

"Right, ok ... not to worry," I half-whispered. "You carry on. I'll sort myself out."

With a 'tutting' noise she turned around and walked back and gave me quick kiss on the forehead. I could smell the shampoo in her hair as her face softened just a fraction and she tried to give me a smile. It wasn't an entirely successful attempt.

"Well it is nice to see you Simon. I'm sorry ... maybe I got the days wrong. You go and unpack and make yourself at home and we'll have a nice chat later. But I must go now and get ready or I'm going to be late for my work. I'll explain everything when I come back."

"OK," I murmured as she turned and disappeared down the hallway.

As it happened, the house where she now lived was not the house I'd grown up in and I wasn't entirely sure if I could remember where the spare room was. I'd stayed here once before but that was only for one night and about two years ago, so as I slowly dragged my case down the hall I was trying hard to recall where to go. I stood there puzzling for a moment but I couldn't remember. It was a big house with several corridors off the main hall, and so with nothing on my mind other than orientating myself, I left the case behind and wandered off down the hallway. As I came around the corner I saw an intersection I vaguely remembered and I turned left, thinking the room Mother had allocated me was at the end of the passage.

I was wrong (it was actually the passage on the opposite side), but I only realised this when I came to a doorway that was half-open and saw it was the main bathroom. Mother was there washing her hair, and I stopped and silently stared.

In fact I didn't just stop, I froze to the spot. Mother had removed her dressing gown and was now standing semi-naked facing the doorway. Her hands were lifted up to her head massaging her shampoo-covered hair and her bare breasts jutted up and out not three feet from where I stood. Not only was she topless but her lower half was also uncovered, revealing white panties, a white suspender belt, and brown tanned stockings. Her eyes were closed because of the shampoo in her hair and her tits jumped and juggled about as she massaged her head.

I should have realised my mistake and instantly turned and walked away. I shouldn't be looking at my own Mother in this state ... I knew that quite clearly. But for a long moment I didn't move, I just stayed there and looked. As she half-turned giving me a side-on view of her breasts I felt my cock go rock-hard. Then as I looked down, I noticed with a stomach-grabbing shock she was wearing high-heeled shoes and her stockings were seamed and fully-fashioned.

But it was her breasts that first grabbed my attention and rooted me to the spot. They were so different from any of the tits I'd seen in the magazines, or even in real life. They were smallish ... not tiny or flat but definitely small in comparison to some of the girls I knew ... but the nipples were oddly 'chunky' and pert. They stood up proud of her breasts like tiny towers, and they were big and bold and had a chewed look that was incredibly attractive. It seemed like they were begging to be engulfed by a hungry mouth! I'd never seen anything quite like them before, and they turned me on like crazy.

At the same time my mother had a great set of legs, and engulfed as they were in stockings and suspenders from my own fantasy world, they turned me on almost as much as her breasts. As she turned back to face the sink she revealed obsessively straight seams running erotically up the back of her legs, and then as she lent down over the sink her pert bottom thrust itself out above the brown stocking-tops and it was all I could do to stop myself reaching in and grabbing and fondling at her.

Instinctively my mind was telling me to back away silently and get the hell out of there ... but I didn't. There suddenly seemed to be a new character in me, a new power that just wanted to stand there and keep looking and see as much as it could. It was wrong ... the new person in me knew quite well it was wrong ... but that just made it more exciting and more compelling. So I stood there ... ten, fifteen, twenty seconds ... ogling at my Mother's body and examining every inch of it in increasing sexual excitement.

As I mentally fondled her exposed and jiggling breasts, I could not believe I'd lived with this sexual Goddess all my life and never know the wonders she'd kept hidden under her staid ordinary clothes. And then my fantasy world reached out and touched reality for the first time in my life, and I knew I wanted more. I didn't just want to masturbate over what I'd seen till this vision lost its power. I wanted to keep feeling this excitement that was making me physically shake, and keep experiencing the strange shivering dance going on in the pit of my stomach.

But then Mother began to rub her face on the towel and I knew any second she'd open her eyes, so I stepped back as quietly as I could and retraced my steps to my battered old suitcase standing alone and silent in the hallway.

I found my bedroom easy enough at the second attempt, and I dragged my case through the door and fell back on to the bed in the corner. I was still shaking and my cock still felt like it had been pumped up almost to bursting point. My hand dropped and inserted itself down the front of my jeans and I squeezed my cock as hard as I could. I began to rub it ever so gently, but I'd hardly begun before it started to explode, so I went with the flow and pumped and pumped as it ejected unbelievable amounts of semen into my underpants. It was a heart-stopping, stomach-churning, head-exploding, mammoth of a climax, and I think I even moaned out loud.

As I lay back upon the bed with a massive sigh, my hand still down my trousers and floating in a sea of cum, the door suddenly opened and Mother came in. The dressing-gown was back on and the towel removed from her wet hair, and her face was decorated once again with its traditional scowl. My right hand instantly leaped out from my trousers and under my leg (to hide the fact it was dripping with cum), and my left hand dropped to the front of my jeans in a vain attempt to cover a moist dark stain that was growing rapidly and inexorably.

"I ..." mother started to say, and then stopped. She gave me a strange look and then said, "Are you alright?"

I wanted to jump up and go somewhere and do something to hide my embarrassment, but I knew I couldn't. My jeans were soaked at the front and any movement would reveal my shame.

"er ... I'm fine," I mumbled, aware that I was still shaking and that my face must be red and flushed. "I ... um ... damn case was heavier than I thought!"

With something close to a real smile, mother said, "What a wimp you are Simon! It's not that heavy!"

My panic notched down a peg or two in response to her seeming acceptance of my excuse. But then it jumped up again as she explained the reason for her visit.

"I just wanted to make sure you found your room and you weren't lost and wandering around somewhere. This old house can be a bit confusing if you don't know your way around."

She didn't smile this time but gave me a strange look that made me wonder if she suspected where I'd been and what I'd seen.

"No ... I'm fine thanks," I said again weakly. I ... I found it ok."

"Good," she said, still giving me that look, only this time I noticed her eyes were looking down at my crotch and the darkness spreading behind my hand. "I must go," she said simply and turned and left.

I sat there for a moment staring at the closed door and wondering exactly what she'd seen and what she was thinking. Then I lay back upon the bed and with a shuddering sigh closed my eyes.

When Mother came back from work some five hours later I was feeling much better. I'd cleaned myself up, changed my clothes, and persuaded myself she hadn't really noticed anything ... and even if she had, mother being mother, wouldn't say anything. My mother was much too straight-laced and prim and proper to bring up the subject of masturbation. Whatever she'd seen and whatever she may have thought, would be quickly despatched to that box in her head labelled 'not to be thought about ever again, and certainly never to be discussed'!

In my own head I'd moved away from the guilt and embarrassment I'd momentarily felt, and on to the echoes surrounding the experience of seeing mother without her clothes on. It was a much warmer and more comfortable subject on which to dwell. It was the kind of subject you could while away hours or days or even weeks, happily contemplating. It was certainly giving me food for thought, and the primary focus of that 'thought' was increasingly related to ways of repeating the experience.

It wasn't just her body that had turned me on, it was more than that. Ok, so all my 'fantasy' girls had suddenly morphed themselves into copies of her (I'd masturbated again since she'd gone to work and all the women in my sexual visions had suddenly acquired mother's breasts and legs and bottom), but even that was changing. It was something to do with the fact she was my 'mother'. Increasingly the 'incest' part was coming to the fore. Making these girls in my mind (who now looked like mother) do what I wanted was one thing, but making 'mother' do what I wanted (in my fantasies) was something else again. There was a forbidden element in that idea that was still churning and growing in my loins even after two massive climaxes! The bottom line was I wanted to see more of mother ... in more ways than one!

When Mother came in she was wearing her Rest-Home gear; a sort of plain nurse-like uniform. Before I'd probably have hardly noticed, but now it seemed an incredibly sexy outfit. It was a one-piece starched white dress with buttons down the front, and it made her breasts seem larger and her entire body slimmer and more attractive. As she began talking to me I was mentally toying with the idea of slowly undoing the buttons, one by one.

She apologised to me for the earlier misunderstanding about my arrival, and she explained about her job which she did twice a week. She seemed concerned to know if I had made myself at home, and then, to my surprise, she thanked me for coming to stay with her.

I said I was fine and then I did something I'd hardly ever done before: I went up and gave her a cuddle. I'm not sure who was most surprised, her or me. I guess I knew instinctively where that had come from (it was this new person in me who wanted to get a bit 'closer' to her), but she seemed quite taken aback. As I held her tight, her arms hung in the air behind me for several seconds, before she begrudgingly returned my embrace. It was all over in a moment and I stepped back, but the look on her face was a picture. It was a cross between surprise, and pleasure, and a slightly scowling distrust.

"Simon ..." she began in a breathless uncertain manner.

But I didn't wait for her to finish. "Sorry Mum," I said with a big smile. "It's just so nice to see you. It's been a long time."

"Well yes," she replied, still a touch uncertain. "It's ... it's nice to see you too. It has been quite a while I guess."

"I was thinking," I went on, "maybe I should stay a bit longer ... you know, so we can get to know each other again. I mean you're my Mother and I hardly know you anymore, and ... well ... it would be nice," I finished rather lamely.

We were in the kitchen and she pulled a chair out from the round wooden table and sat down. "Well ..." she said slowly. "I must admit to being a bit surprised. I thought ..."

"You thought what Mother? That I didn't love you any more?"

That finally brought a smile to her face. "Don't be silly," she said. "I just thought you were so involved at University ... with all your new friends ... you really didn't have time for your boring old mother!"

"I don't think you're boring," I said, perhaps just a touch too quickly, because her smile faded as quickly as it came and was replaced with a slightly suspicious look.

Just for a moment I wondered again if she knew I'd been spying on her ... that I'd seen her undressed. But to my relief the look passed and she changed the subject, asking me what I wanted for dinner. I let it go, for there was plenty of time for me to casually tell her I planned to stay another week or two. I mean I was a free agent and I had no fixed plans for the holiday period, and if things got 'interesting' maybe I'd stay with mother till it was time to go back to Uni!

Now at this point you may find my story a little bit odd. After all I had no thought (at that stage) of anything other than looking at my Mother. All I had in mind was a bit of spying on her and a chance to see her in a state of undress ... and yet the whole idea was becoming both terribly important and highly erotic to me. '

'Why was that?' you may ask. At the time I had no clear idea why I was becoming so obsessive about the whole thing; I just had this compulsion to find a way to see her again without her clothes on ... to see her in an 'exposed' state. Now, years later, I understand that making her seem vulnerable was at the heart of the whole exercise. I'd been dominated by my mother throughout the whole of my life. I'd always done as I was told without exception, but now as I was growing up I no longer wanted to be dominated by any woman ... and somehow making mother vulnerable (reversing the 'power relationship' if you like) seemed extremely important ... especially now I'd seen her as a real 'flesh and blood' sexy woman. My mother had always been a bit of a 'bitch' to me and I think something deep inside me wanted to pay her back!