Watch with Mother

However, as I lay in bed that night I had no clear understanding of my own motives, I was just trying to work out in my head where exactly I was going with this. Ok, I thought to myself, you've been blown away by seeing mother's half-naked body and just being near her is currently putting you in a permanent state of sexual excitement, but where is it all leading?

I remember I had some vague notion that just being around her I might get (or might be able to engineer) more opportunities to see her body ... to get turned on again by looking at those wonderful breasts, or maybe to see her without her skirt on and feast my eyes on her magnificent stockings. But as I lay there (my hand on my cock) the whole idea began to seem increasingly unlikely. What had occurred was just an accident (a lucky accident!), and it was extremely unlikely that such an opportunity would happen again.

If I tried to engineer such an event, if I actually tried to engage in spying on mother, I would be taking an enormous risk. Mother was not stupid, not by any means, and if she suspected what was going on she'd throw me out and probably never talk to me again. I wouldn't be surprised if she tried to give me a bloody good beating as well ... my mother was a tough old boot!

It was curious but thinking about how 'tough' Mother was made me go hard, and reinforced my desire to see more of her 'hidden' attributes. Somehow I wanted to have some control over her ... to make her do what I wanted! In the end, however, I decided I'd got a bit carried away by the whole experience, and I'd just have to play it cool and see if any potential opportunities presented themselves. If they did I'd take them, if not I'd try and forget the whole thing and just stay for the planned week.

In the event things turned out very different from what I'd expected or hoped. In fact they turned out better ... much much better! Over the next few days I made three conscious attempts to further my aims. Whilst they were not especially successful they triggered an entirely unforeseen series of events that was far more erotic than I could ever have hoped!

My first attempt centred on making Mother 'breakfast in bed'. I guess I didn't sleep much on that first night ... a lot of fantasies kept my mind spinning ... and somewhere in the dead of night I came up with idea of making Mum a very 'early' breakfast. Maybe, I thought to myself, if I do that it'll serve the dual purpose of making her happy with me (or at least more tolerant), and at the same time give me an opportunity to see something interesting. I mean you never know your luck!

So there I was at 7.30 in the morning, cooking fried eggs and toast, putting them on a tray, adding a cup of tea, and slipping quietly along the passageway into Mother's bedroom.

To my delight she was obviously asleep. Although she was wearing a plain cotton nightdress, it was a warm night and the covers were pulled a little way down. She lay on her back, and the covers were down enough for me to see the outline of her nipples. I walked as quietly as I could to her bedside and just stood there looking at her breasts, hidden this time, but still strangely appealing.

With a deep breath I put the tray on her bedside table and leant over her as if to awaken her with a kiss. But the kiss never came and my head simply hovered over her chest, as close as it dared, my eyes peeking and probing at her breasts and focussing intently on the shape of her nipples.

Quietly suddenly, and without warning, she opened her eyes,

"Simon!" she almost screamed in my ear.

Startled, I tried to complete the pretend manoeuvre and give her the kiss.

I don't know if it was instinct or what, but her hands pulled the covers up over her chest and she struggled to sit up. "What are you doing here for God's sake?" she snarled breathlessly, dodging my pursed lips like I was a snake about to bite her, and backing away violently.

"I ... I brought you breakfast," I said, standing up and pointing at the tray. "I thought it would be nice for you have breakfast in bed."

She looked across at the tray and then back at me, but although she visibly relaxed, the smile of gratitude I'd planned for failed to materialise, and instead I was greeted by a look of suspicion.

"What!!?" she said in a manner that was more an accusation than a question.

I could feel my guilty conscience turning my face red as I spluttered and tried to explain.

"Breakfast," I said, "Breakfast in bed. I ... I thought you might like it ... for a change. I mean it must be lonely here never having anyone to do it for you". I stopped and licked my lips and suddenly felt embarrassed. "I mean living all alone you never get it anymore do you? I mean you never get it in bed ... breakfast that is ... I mean you never get breakfast in bed... that's what I mean."

It's funny how the meaning of innocent words can suddenly turn and bite you. Have you ever noticed that? You mean to say one thing and the words seemed to be happily following you and behaving like you planned, and then suddenly, all on their own, they turn to a meaning you never consciously intended, and you find yourself saying what you really mean but never in a month of Sundays intended to say! Of course living on her own she wasn't 'getting it' anymore, but it was hardly an appropriate thing for me to point out!

She stared at me for a long silent moment of deep dark suspicion, as if she knew exactly what I hadn't meant to say. It was as if my simple subterfuge was entirely transparent and she was asking herself if my stumbling tongue and red face really did indicate something unmentionable ... something a son should never be discussing, however unintentionally, with his own mother.

In response, I gave her a weak watery smile, imbued with as much innocence as I could find in my soul (which I have to admit wasn't much). I felt worse than I had yesterday when she'd nearly caught me masturbating, and I was sure my face must be red as a beetroot. I gave a small strangled laugh, as much for my benefit as hers, and said, "so ... is that nice then ... did I do good?"

She continued to watch me for a moment longer, and then with a grunt grabbed the tray and put it on her lap. "Thank you," she said but without much conviction. "It's ... it's good of you I suppose."

I turned to leave, inwardly sighing a deep sigh of relief, but as I left the room I heard her say with an acid tone, "but don't do it again!"

I shut the door and went out.

She hadn't really needed to tell me not to try that one again. I'd felt so bad after the early morning session I'd gone back to bed and given serious thought to abandoning the whole idea. However, this urge in my loins just wouldn't quite let go, so a couple of days later I can up with my second clever plan. Morning didn't work, so how about the evening ... or to be exact, how about the middle of the night? This plan again centred on the idea of making her less hostile to me, and maybe being in her presence when she was a bit more vulnerable. However I couldn't go to her again, she'd be much too suspicious. This time she had to come to me!

I mean she was my mother for God's sake, so she must have some feeling for me, and what I wanted was a situation in which I 'needed' some comfort from her. I'd even toyed with the idea of injuring myself in some way, but I soon chickened out of that one (I mean I was sexually aroused, not crazy!). My 'brilliant' plan therefore had to be something I could fake convincingly, and what better time or situation than to fake a terrible 'nightmare' in the middle of the night!

I guess that might sound a bit strange to you, but the idea stemmed from a real experience. When I was a kid I suffered from nightmares (I don't know why, probably something oedipal), so I knew how it felt to have a nightmare ... and maybe my mother remembered too. Back in those days she would come into my bedroom and give me a cuddle. I can still remember her smell and the feel of her hair on my face, and maybe it was those memories that led to the notion of a nightmare, but however it came to me, it still seemed a promising idea ... well, worth a try anyway.

So there I was in the middle of the next night preparing myself for a new career in acting. It was again a warm night (July is usually warm in England) so I stripped off my pyjama top and lay back, bare-chested, contemplating exactly how to play this. 'Fear and desperation' seemed like a good plan. In my 'terror' I could grab Mother and hug her, and in the confusion of the situation who knows what I might grab by mistake!

Looking back, I was being as over-optimistic as usual, and conveniently forgetting that Mother had just as often employed the strict 'pull-yourself-together' approach to my night terrors as she had the 'given-him-a-cuddle' method. Even back then she'd never been a naturally 'physical' woman. I never knew why but she always kept her distance and seemed to perceive close contact as something to be avoided. I guess I thought she was a naturally cold person ... it never occurred to me she might be afraid of physical contact, that getting too close to someone she loved might be dangerous in some way. But then I was only young and had no real concept of female sexuality.

To begin with the plan went surprisingly well. I had some vague notion about a big horrible 'thing' trying to get me (in my dream) and I'd be terrified and scream and scream till Mother came to see what was wrong. It was about 3am on the Thursday morning when I began, I shouted 'NO!' lots of times and followed it up with a roar that welled into a scream and went on for as long as I could hold it.

This finished and I was taking a deep breath for the second act when to door flew open and Mother ran in. Luckily I was ready and immediately began to thrash about on the bed, moaning and yelling 'NO! NO! Stop! Leave me alone! Help! Help!'

As part of my plan I'd already thrown the covers on the floor and was writhing about on the bed dressed only in my pyjama bottoms. Somehow the idea that I might accidentally expose myself to her just made the whole thing more exciting and compulsive. It didn't even matter if I was hard. Just a 'morning wood' after all!

Mother ran up to my bed and grabbed me by the shoulders.

"Simon?" she cried. "Simon, what is it? What's wrong?"

Through pretend sleepy-eyes I saw to my joy that her nightdress was no longer linen but some thin semi-transparent nylon. I couldn't see much in the dark but it was enough to give me encouragement to continue the play.

"No! Please don't hurt me!" I screamed as mother struggled to still my convulsions. "Oh God no don't! Please please ... arrgghhh!"

"Simon, SIMON!" She shouted in my ear. "Calm down. Calm down. It's alright ... it's just a dream. For goodness sake wake up!"

I was tempted to grab and cuddle her then but I knew instinctively it would be better to play it a bit longer, so I struggled against her grip on my shoulders, shouting "Let me go. Let me go!" as if I thought she was now the monster attacking me. It worked brilliantly and she grabbed me and held me to her chest whispering "It's ok. It's alright. Mummy's here," over and over.

The obvious next step was to throw my arms around her, bury my face in her chest and start to sob... and sure enough it worked like clockwork. Her hand dropped to the back of my head and she tenderly pressed me to her breast. Slowly she began to rock and soothe me as my face and mouth snuggled up against her tits. I could feel a hard nipple pressing into my cheek, which surprised but delighted me, and I couldn't help turning my face inwards till I could feel the nipple against my bottom lip. I really wanted to open my mouth and take it in, but I resisted.

Nevertheless I began to moan and mumble so the opening and closing of my mouth would rub against the nipple. She seemed oblivious to what I was doing and continued to hold and caress me.

"Simon," she whispered softly. "What was it? A bad dream ... is it better now?"

I mumbled something and pushed harder against her breast, feeling the strong hard nipple slip up and partly between my lips. I guess I never asked myself exactly why her nipples were so hard and erect. I think I assumed it must have been the cold night air. But whatever, this time I could not stop myself from opening my mouth wide and allowing the nipple to push in and play against my tongue.

It wasn't a very bright move as she felt it, and lifted my head from her chest. At this stage however I think she must have assumed it an accident, because apart from withdrawing my head from her breasts she didn't seem to react. Indeed it might have been a very successful night's work if it hadn't been for the fact that having mouthed her nipple, I now got over-excited and did something that was both too clumsy and too obvious. It was a shame really because it ruined a promising situation.

What happened was I had one of those spur-of-the-moment ideas which seem clever at the time, but which you later realise were pretty dumb. I'd suddenly thought I might be able to actually 'grope' her if I pretended I wasn't sure who she was. So I kept my eyes closed, pretended to still be half asleep, and went back to the 'let me go! Let me go!' stage, as if I didn't know who she was.

Then I then tried to push her away.

My aim was spot-on first time as my hand reached out and pushed against her left breast. Even then I might have got away with it if I hadn't allowed my fingers to momentarily tighten and cop a great 'feel'. Worse still I didn't think to pull my hand back but just left it there, holding her breast.

This time she reacted.

She grabbed my hand and ripped it from her breast and abruptly stood up. I half fell from the bed, bumped my head on the bedside cabinet, and completely forgot I was supposed to be asleep. The resulting moan I emitted, however, was the first genuine one that night.

"What are you doing?" Mother hissed at me. "How ... how dare you!"

"Eh?" I mumbled, genuinely dazed, but fast realising my terrible mistake. "I was asleep. Is that you Mum? I think I was having a bad dream."

It didn't sound convincing ... even to me.

Without another word she turned and stormed from the room, leaving me torn between mortification for being so stupid and excitement from the thrill of actually holding her breast. After several long minutes of mental battle the 'excitement' side won out and my hand reached down and embraced my cock.

I think I expected the next day to be problematic (to say the least), so I slept in late and went downstairs with a great deal of reluctance. I was sure I was about to pay dearly for those few moments of incestuous joy, but in the event Mother seemed quite normal. Ok, she was sullen and miserable, but then Mother was always sullen and miserable!

Indeed she seemed more concerned and annoyed I'd got up late and missed breakfast than she did because I'd groped her tit the previous night! The only time she mentioned the subject was to ask me if I was alright now. I said I was sorry I had woken her, but I occasionally had bad dreams. I even thanked her for checking I was alright. She gave me a withering look but let the subject drop.

I remember I was puzzled by her reaction and idly wondered to myself if she really hadn't minded being touched up by her own son. Maybe, I thought, it was a thrill for her too but she couldn't admit it. I mean she really did live alone and really 'didn't get it anymore'!

It was a nice thought but I didn't believe it. No, my mother was much too prim and straight-laced, and the truth was she'd chosen to suppress and forget the whole thing.

However what happened later that day proved I was more wrong than you could possibly imagine ... and not just about that incident but about my Mother's entire personality.

It began with my third attempt to 'see more' of Mother.

Today was the day when she went to work, and I knew I couldn't let this time pass without risking another chance to see her undressed. So when she excused herself after lunch, saying she was 'going to get changed for work', I waited a few minutes then followed, hoping she was now in the bathroom. Obviously I was cautious and didn't just blunder in or anything, but I still managed to make a complete hash of it!

I started by going to the passage intersection and listening to see if she was in the bathroom. When I heard the taps I guessed she was washing her hair, so I crept quietly forward to the bathroom door. My heart was pounding and my cock rock hard. I don't know why but the thought of seeing her tits again was driving me crazy. I even imagined I'd be able to touch her ... crazy I know, but I was that wound up by the thought of her standing there semi-naked!

When I reached the doorway I peeked gingerly round into the bathroom. Even though my sexual juices were boiling I was still extremely cautious. As I looked in I saw she again was washing her hair, except this time she had no panties on ... just a suspender strap and stockings. She was turned away from me, and the sight of her bare bottom made my cock jump and struggle in the confines of my trousers.

Her hands were raised again to her head, massaging her hair, and even though I was swooning at the sight of her backside, I still wanted her to turn around so I could see her breasts. After a moment she slowly began to swivel, and my hand dropped down to my cock in preparation for the feast to come. Inch by inch her breasts came into view, and I couldn't help rubbing my cock up and down as my eyes took in the wonder of her tits.

Unfortunately I was so overcome by the sight of those fabulous nipples, I didn't notice that this time her eyes were open! Indeed it was five or six seconds before I became aware she was staring at me, with a look of shock and horror on her face.

There were no excuses or clever get-outs this time ... I was well and truly caught!

I tried to say something like 'sorry' but it just came out as a spluttering moan, so I spun around to run away as quick as I could.

But she said "SIMON!!" with such force and authority I stopped. I still couldn't disobey mother's command, even though I was embarrassed and scared. All I could do was try to mitigate things by keeping my back to her and not looking at her nakedness.

"Oh God Mum!" I whispered to the passage wall, "I ... I'm so sorry. I ... I didn't know ..."

"Don't give me that crap!" she hissed at me, in a voice that said she knew exactly what was going on. "You think I'm stupid? You think I don't know what you've been up to? You think I don't know you've been spying on me ... trying to see me without my clothes on ... trying to ... to put your hands on me!"

"I ..." I started to say.

"At first I couldn't believe it," she went on. "My own son for God's sake! My own son trying to see his mother naked! How could you do such a thing Simon? Why ... why on earth would you want to?"

Again I tried to say something in my defence but again she cut me off.

"You're just like all the other men. You just want a woman for her body ... for what she can do for you. There's no love or tenderness, you just want sex. You'll go to any length ... even to spying and groping your own Mother! Your own mother for God's sake ... how could you Simon, how could you do that?"

"That's not true!" I said quickly, stung by her words. "I do love you Mother ... of course I love you. I just ..."

"Just what? Fancied a bit? Felt horny and your mother was the only woman on hand!"

Her tone was becoming harsher and harsher, and her last words dripped acid.

"No ..." I started to say.

"You're a dirty little shit, just like all the others. You want to see my tits ... feel them, fondle them! Don't you? I know ... I saw you playing with yourself. You think I'm stupid? You think I don't know what men are like?"