tagIncest/TabooDown Memory Lane with Mom

Down Memory Lane with Mom


All characters are 18 years or older.


"What's up, Mom?"

By the way her head jerked up in surprise at the sound of my voice she hadn't heard me come up the stairs but the more intriguing response was the way her hand quickly brushed over the pile of pictures strewn around her on the bed, pulling some underneath her arm.

"Scott! You scared the hell out of me," she cried, pulling a pillow over the pictures she had just swept to her side.

"Nothing," Mom added as I approached her bed. "Just looking at some old pictures."

Her blushing face made me even more curious about the pictures she was hiding.


My expression subtly requested more information. Mom was wearing a soft plaid shirt over a loose white t-shirt tucked into faded and threadbare blue jeans and that prodded me to verbalize my curiosity.

"Looking at pictures of your old school friend, what's her name — Jena?"

"She wasn't a school friend. We met each other at the commune."

"Oh, yeah, in Hippieville," I teased, reaching across Mom's legs toward the pillow hiding the pictures.

Mom leaned back, dropping her elbow to block my outstretched fingers.

"You don't need to see your mother in the 'olden' days," she laughed.

"Come on, Mom. Why are you so weird about your old pictures? Afraid to let your son see you stoned?"

"No. It's just that it was a different world. You kids just laugh at it because you don't understand what times were like then."

Mom stretched flat on the bed, her hand bending around to grasp my wrist. As she looked down to make sure no embarrassing pictures had come loose, my eyes strayed to the t-shirt exposed by the widening lapels of her shirt. Mom's breasts, unencumbered by the usual bra, pressed against the thin white material, especially where the left nipple threatened to poke through.

I had never seen Mom braless and was captivated by her usually unnoticeable tits. They sagged lower on her chest than they did when encapsulated within their normal prison but were all the more exciting for it, two bulging globes of surprising firmness straining to be free. I moved my hand in a circle on the bed in a fake attempt to grab some photos but I was really just trying to prolong the opportunity to examine Mom's assets unobserved.

"Hey," Mom cried, trying to still my hand and twisting her hip into the bed to cover the pictures.

Her breasts slumped sideways toward the mattress as she twisted away from me, displaying their full round bottoms and dragging her nipples in noticeable arc across the t-shirt. I sat down on the edge of the bed and Mom twisted all the way onto her side, dragging my forearm under her hip. She pushed back as she hunched over, pressing her bottom against my hip. I flexed my fingers as if grasping for pictures and Mom yanked my wrist up toward her into the bottom of her breasts.

"Ok, ok. I won't," I pleaded.

"Let go then. Open your hand."

"Just show me one picture of you and your friends."


"Of your friends, then." I let my hand open and close, rubbing between the bottoms of her breasts.

"Alright, but just one."


"Get off the bed first."

"Do you promise?" I sought assurance, flexing my fingers again.


"Ok." Mom let go and I stood, pulling my hand away.

Mom searched around for a minute, looking at several pictures covertly, then turned with one in her hand. She held up a photo of an attractive girl in her early twenties wearing a long, hippyish (granny?) dress, with her long, dark brown hair tied into a single braid. She clearly wasn't wearing a bra and, although there wasn't much skin showing, the picture made me want to be there, in that time, with that young woman rather than in the late nineties. She exuded a quiet, earthy sexuality that made me want to impregnate her.

"Nice, wasn't she?" Mom teased, the tinkle in her voice obviously amused by my sudden rapture.

I couldn't respond, my attention was riveted on the picture, at the bulge of her full breasts above a disproportionately narrow waist. Were those pinpoints her nipples? Mom's tinkle turned into a full-throated laugh.

"All the guys reacted like that to Jena but she she couldn't have cared less. She liked hanging out with the girls more."

"Was she a lesbian?" I asked, not quite able to believe this perfect receptacle would shun the attentions of those so eager to fill her needs.

"No," Mom laughed. "But we did wonder sometimes. All the guys wanted to hook up with her but she wouldn't do anything unless it was in a group."

I looked at my mother. "You were in orgies?"

Mom grabbed the picture out of my hand. "None of your business," she snapped good naturedly. "and quit trying to twist my words. Away you go now." She shooed me away with her hand.

"You can tell me, Mom. I'm almost twenty-one," I pleaded.

"It's still none of your business. Anyway, Jena was the wild one."

"Awww, Mom. You can tell me." Somehow, I didn't believe her denial.

"No way. Now away you go. I have to put these away and change before your father gets home. He hated hippies."

"You knew Dad when you were in the commune?" That really did stretch the imagination. I pictured him surrounded by hippies, calculator on his belt.

"No. I met him after. Now go away."

I let Mom push me toward the door and made a huge effort not to turn around. I didn't want to make her suspicious so she wouldn't hide the pictures too well. I wanted to have my own look at what she was hiding.

- - - - - - - - - -

I rushed home from work early the next day to look for the pictures. They weren't that easy to find but I eventually succeeded. There were more of Jena, almost always in long dresses. She still looked awesome but there were several of Mom that caught my eye even more. Her hair was longer and blonder than its current light brown broken by a few wisps of grey, but that wasn't what caught my attention.

Unlike Jena, Mom seemed to favor dresses that rode high above her knees, displaying a gorgeous set of legs. Not that her legs were bad now, they were just more lean and angular, not as soft and feminine as in the pictures.

Mom's other preferred mode of dress seemed to be the tattered jeans and t-shirts she sometimes donned to knock around the house when Dad wasn't home. In the pictures, her breasts always seemed to be unencumbered. What surprised me was the way they hung down and jutted out in about the same position as they had the day before. Mom's legs may have aged but, surprisingly, her breasts seemed to be the about same.

My cock stirred as I stared at the t-shirt pictures. A strange feeling spread through my stomach and chest and my fingers trembled as my eyes bored into the photos. In my mind, I imagined her breasts jostling below her youthful smile as she walked, hair dancing over her chest but unable to conceal the wayward life within.

One picture was particularly intriguing. Mom was lying on the ground, arms raised to adjust a flower in her hair, pulling her t-shirt up to expose her belly and a sprinkle of tiny blonde hairs glinting in the bright sunlight. The gentle pout of her tummy gradually descended into her jeans which, although tight around her hips, were loose enough around her narrow waist to leave a substantial gap. Unlike the jeans girls wore today which dipped low in front, Mom's rode high on the waist and were so loose there it seemed you could put a hand inside without touching skin or jeans.

I stiffened into full hardness on that thought, my fingers tingling from the imaginary sensation of sliding my hand past Mom's pouting belly and down the front of her silky panties. I groaned and covered my crotch with my free hand, palm fitting over my stiff cock and fingers wrapping under my tightening balls.

The sound of the front door jerked me out of my reverie. I scrambled to put the pictures back into the drawer where I'd found them. I pushed the drawer closed but it didn't go all the way. I hesitated, then realized I didn't have time to shove it home; Mom's footsteps were already climbing the stairs. I had to get out, now!

I rushed to Mom's bedroom door and just managed to bolt down the hall and disappear into my room before Mom reached the middle landing and turned to climb the final four steps to the hallway. She walked into her room, humming some old seventies song. I stood near my open door, listening intently for any sign that Mom had discovered my intrusion or my presence upstairs but all I heard was the sound of whispering cloth. Mom was getting undressed. Hadn't she seen my Jeep parked in front of the neighbor's house?

My cock, which had shriveled in fear when I heard Mom close the door, now reasserted itself. I imagined Mom's skirt falling to the floor, exposing a tiny set of panties I knew she would never wear, and watching the flex of her shoulders as her blouse was unbuttoned. Jesus. I felt like slapping myself. What a sick fuck, getting hard imagining my own mother undressing.

But I didn't slap myself. Instead, I stepped stealthily into the hall. Slowly, trying desperately to control my ragged breathing, I stole toward her room. The door was open and I knew that the mirror on the dresser against the far wall would afford me a view back toward the bathroom ensuite where Mom would almost assuredly be removing her clothes and dropping them onto the bed. I pressed close to the wall and inched my way forward until I could lean out and peek into Mom's room.

I sucked in my breath. There, through the mirror, stood Mom with her back to me. She had removed her blouse, unzipped the top of her skirt, and her arms were now reaching up to the back of her bra. As I watched, her hands parted, pulling the bra around the front and sliding the straps down her arms. Mom turned and threw the bra onto the bed, her breasts jutting out in magnificent profile, slinging down and out, nipples riding high on the upper crests of her jiggling tits. There were more awesome than my imagination had allowed.

Mom stepped toward the bed letting her skirt fall as she moved and stooping as she stepped out of it before laying it on the bed beside her blouse. She turned away, took two steps toward the open bathroom door, then paused. Pushing her panties down her legs, Mom bent to pull them off her feet and flung them over her head in the general direction of the bed. As she walked into the bathroom, her bare cheeks tick-tocked up and down, sagging slightly like her tits though her youthful pictures had displayed a very tight little derriere. My cock surged as I imagined it prying apart those saucy globes. I groaned aloud but thankfully Mom had disappeared through the door. The shower started.

Quickly, I made my way to the main bathroom across the hall from my room. My cock was out of my jeans and I was already pumping it by the time I entered. I barely managed four tugs before spraying all over the toilet. Mom's shower was still running by the time I cleaned up and flushed my mess away. I slipped out of the house and hung around down the street at the park until I knew Dad would be home. I couldn't stay with Mom alone, afraid my guilt was written all over my face.

- - - - - - - - - -

Dinner was uneventful. I helped Mom clean up the kitchen while Dad watched the news, as usual. I was still a little uncomfortable even though Mom had given no sign that she was aware of me being home while she had undressed in her room, with the door open. We watched TV for another hour and then Dad, as regular as clockwork, brewed a pot of green Japanese twig tea and wandered upstairs to his study, the room at the far end of the hall that had been converted from a bedroom after no more children arrived after me. He would return an hour later for a refill before disappearing upstairs for the night. This had been his ritual ever since I could remember. No wonder Mom sometimes spent hours looking through old pictures, dreaming of her glory days.

As soon as Dad disappeared, Mom spoke, her words making me immediately nervous.

"Scott, were you home earlier today?"

I looked up, trying not to look guilty as I held Mom's gaze.

"Uh, yeah. I got off work early and got changed before going out."

"Were you looking for my pictures?"

"No." I could see in her face she knew I was lying. I could always fool my Dad but Mom was a different story.


"Yeah," I admitted, looking down. "I just wanted to see what you used to look like." Hoping to throw her off the real reason for my guilty demeanor, I added, "And that girl that was your best friend, Jena."

"Is that all? Just pictures of me and Jena?"

Mom's apparent worry puzzled me. Were there more interesting pictures to see? Nude ones? Maybe even an orgy?

"Yeah. You looked pretty awesome back then, Mom."

Mom's face softened in relief and she smiled.

"Back then, in the olden days?" she chuckled.

"You know what I mean."

"Yes, I think I do."

Her smile broadened and I blushed.

"Will you promise not to look at my pictures if I let you see some?"

"Sure. But only if you don't hide all the good ones, the ones that show what it was really like to live back then."

Mom laughed. "Alright, I'll get some that will show you what it was like. You stay put. Don't come upstairs."

I called out to Mom's retreating back, "And tell me some stories about what it was like, too."

Mom didn't answer. She returned fifteen minutes later with a box of pictures and a blanket draped over her arm. She had changed into her tattered old jeans and a white t-shirt, her normal picture browsing garb. She sat down on the floor in front of the couch at the far end and pushed the box under the end table. Stacking a couple of cushions behind her, she leaned back against the couch and motioned for me to sit next to her. As I did, she used the remote to select one of the movie channels, then spread the blanket over her legs instead of using it to spread the pictures on as I expected. The blanket was folded back double down to her knees.

"When Dad comes downstairs, just tell him we're watching a movie. He doesn't like me looking at these old pictures."

I nodded my agreement, realizing the folded back blanket could be quickly pulled up to cover the t-shirt and jeans, the hippy-ware that Dad hated so much.

Mom reached around to grab a handful of pictures. I wasn't disappointed. It was summer and there were young guys and girls everywhere, frolicking around the edge of a small lake, mostly wearing shorts and t-shirts, or jeans and dresses. Soon, there were pictures of girls soaked from splashing around in the lake, then some without tops, followed by most of the girls going topless. Full nudity began to appear.

Mom matter-of-factly named the people in each picture, holding some for quite a while as she struggled to remember their names, several times giving up with a shrug and going on to the next picture. She talked about life on the commune as she flipped the photos, honoring her commitment to me.

Some pictures she passed over quickly, especially the ones she was in, but not always. I grabbed her arm to get a better look. Strangely, she allowed that with most of the ones she was in but not some others. I couldn't see why but didn't really care because Mom was letting me look at pictures of her old friends, including herself, in partial states of undress. There was even one, which she passed by quickly, in which she and Jena were completely naked lying on the grass. Awesome.

But mostly, Mom didn't rush. I got her to go through that bunch again and this time she didn't scoot by the pic of her and Jena. I pretended to be scrutinizing her friend but Mom must have known I was taking a pretty hard look at her youthful charms too. I was surprised by her latitude.

"Not too shabby, huh?"

"Uh, yeah. She was pretty good looking," I stammered.

"I meant your mother. I can see you weren't completely ignoring me, or rather, the girl that I was."

"Yeah, Mom. Not too shabby at all," I replied, using her terminology.

"Uh, those were the days," Mom sighed. She held the picture closer and examined herself critically.

I grasped the edge of the picture and leaned in to look more closely myself, managing to brush the side of Mom's right breast with my wrist as I did. She didn't seem to notice, so I scraped my hand across her fleshy bulge several more times. It was thrilling to contact her breast which I knew was bare under the t-shirt.

"You haven't changed a bit," I laughed, making a joke of it.

"Yeah right," Mom elbowed my hand away.

Taking a last glance, she shuffled the picture under the pack and exposed the next one. It was a picture of her sitting between Jena and another girl. All of them were topless.

"Trish," Mom spoke her name quietly.

I grasped the edge of that picture too. Mom half-heartedly pushed me away but she was intent on the picture and didn't stop my hand from following when she pulled the picture back to her center. The edge of my pinky scraped over the top of her right breast. When my finger nudged her nipple, I froze, afraid she'd notice but reluctant to move away. When Mom looked about to move on, I asked about the new girl, managing several questions to prolong my stealthy caress. Finally, she shuffled that picture under the pack too.

"You haven't changed much, Mom," I said, honestly.

"That doesn't say much for me in my prime."

"You were the best looking girl there."

"Bullshit," Mom countered. "You saw the big boobs on Jena and Trish."

I was about to remark on the redeeming feature's of Mom's own, smaller assets but decided that silence would be prudent. Several more times I grabbed Mom's wrist to hold a picture longer and managing to brush my fingers against Mom's right breast on a few.

When Mom heard Dad moving upstairs, she quickly shoved the pictures out of sight under the end table and pulled the blanket up so it covered her completely from her feet to her shoulders. I got up and flopped back on the couch just before Dad came down, mug in hand, heading directly for the kitchen. A moment later he joined us, standing to one side and looking at the TV while he waited for the kettle to boil.

"Ghandi," he said, remarking on the movie we were supposedly watching.

I confess, that was the first time I noticed what was on. I nodded but kept my eyes on the TV, pretending to be absorbed by the movie. A few minutes later the kettle boiled and Dad disappeared into the kitchen, emerging a minute later with a full mug, the string from the teabab hanging over the rim. He paused before heading up the stairs.

"Are you going to watch the whole movie?" he asked Mom.

"Prabably," she replied, then added, "but I might not make it to the end."

"Try not to wake me if you come up late," Dad said. He climbed the stairs slowly, trying not to spill the mug he had filled too full.

As soon as Dad turned at the landing, I pushed off the couch and sat beside Mom again.

"I should really get to bed," Mom said.

"No, let's look at more pictures. It's really interesting seeing what it was like."

"Yeah right," Mom responded. "You just want to look at all those girls with their tits hanging out."

I was shocked by Mom's reference and the fact she had pretty much nailed it on the head, except for the biggest part, that is, looking at pictures of her and touching the side of her breast. I couldn't have imagined Mom speaking like this before, but then, it was pretty far-fetched that she would be sitting next to me looking through pictures like this of herself and her friends. Did wearing her old 'outfit' somehow bring back the sense of freedom she experienced back then? Is that why she wore those clothes when she looked through her old pictures?

Mom relented. "Alright, for a little while longer, as long as you behave yourself."

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