tagIncest/TabooMom Tries Belly Dancing

Mom Tries Belly Dancing


All characters are 18 years or older.

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As I walked up the driveway, I reached in my pocket only to discover my key was missing, then remembered I had put it in my backpack before gym which I left it in my locker. I had just run all the way home during my free period, evidently keyless, to get the assignment I'd forgotten.

Mother fucker! If Dad would fucking help me buy a car I wouldn't be in this predicament. Now the assignment would be late. There was no way I could get back to school, get the key, run back home, and get back to turn the assignment. No way. No fuckin' way! So, now I wouldn't get the 'B' Dad required to help me buy a car.


I stomped on the driveway, turned to go back to school, but wheeled around again. What was the use of going back to school if I had nothing to turn in? I may as well skip my last class. And do what? I turned back toward school but had only gone three steps when I spun around again.

Was that music? Was Mom home? She was supposed to be working Tuesday and Thursday afternoons. I took several steps toward the house and the music got louder. Great! I could get my assignment and still make it back to school. I ran up to the house and rung the bell. Nothing. Oh yeah, it's been busted for three fucking years. Why doesn't Dad fix the frikken thing?

I knocked on the door but I could hardly hear it myself over the weird music inside. Some kind of eastern stuff. Jesus, Mom was getting weird. I knocked louder with similar lack of effect. Maybe Mom was in the kitchen and not the living room.

I walked around the house to the back yard, thinking about Mom. A couple of years ago she 'turned over a new leaf' and got into a bunch of yoga stuff. Mom lost a lot of weight which made her feel good about herself but since then she had gotten into all sorts of weird stuff. It was a blessing when she quit telling us what she was doing because Dad and I just looked at her like she was nuts. Dad eventually believed Mom had worked through her mid-life crisis but I suspected she was still doing weird stuff and just kept quiet about it. This confirmed it. It sounded like Mom was into some kind of weirdo eastern religious thing.

Mom wasn't in the kitchen as I suspected and the back door was locked which surprised me because she usually had it open during the spring and summer if she was home. If she was out, it was always locked. So who was playing the weird music?

Then I remembered the emergency key hidden in the ornamental bird box near the corner of the house. I retrieved it and returned to open the door. I stepped inside but didn't announce myself in case some weirdo had invaded our home. I grabbed a butcher knife and stepped quietly to the doorway, first peering up the stairs to the left and then into the living room to make sure nobody was there. I didn't want anyone behind me when I went upstairs. The fucker better not have hurt Mom if she was home.

What I saw in the living room stopped me in my tracks.

A woman dressed in some kind of Arabic costume was dancing with her back to me, shaking her hips and tossing her ass, which wasn't half bad, from side to side. Her whole body was in perpetual motion.

Fuckin' hell. It was Mom!

If this was what she was doing for exercise, no wonder she had lost so much weight. I was about to say something goofy but held my tongue because a strange feeling was percolating through me, like when you're scared, except this felt good.

Mom looked good! Real good. It was like I was watching a sexy older woman instead of my mother. The flab was completely gone from her thighs and her hips looked wide only because her waist was so narrow. I already knew she had lost lots of weight, of course, but it wasn't so obvious when she was dressed in normal clothes. In this outfit, I could see how nicely toned her body actually was.

The costume was made of a shiny gold material, with a see-through cape and a red silk skirt that swirled around Mom's body as she moved. The skirt was slit way up on each side so that one of Mom's upper legs was briefly exposed whenever she dipped down and lunged forward. There were extensions from the blouse, made of the same filmy material as the skirt, that reached to Mom's wrists, adding to the overall billowing effect. Mom's hips and breasts were constantly in motion, sometimes in impossibly opposite directions around her undulating midriff.

Mom was belly dancing!

Jesus, I was getting a boner! I looked down at my crotch in disbelief. What the fuck was the matter with me? Despite myself, I felt no shame at that moment, only wonder, but I was too enthralled with the show in front of me to spend much effort worrying about it. I no longer felt the urge to say something goofy. I just wanted to watch. I couldn't believe how hot Mom looked. The way she moved was something else, so fluid and sexy.

It was a huge effort to drag myself out of the kitchen. I only left because, if Mom had seen me, I knew I wouldn't be able to hide what I was feeling inside—pure, raw desire. I closed the door quietly though it was unlikely Mom would have heard it over the music even if I had slammed it shut.

Outside, I dithered. How to get my assignment? Should I just walk up to the front door and bang on it, pretending I didn't have my key and had forgotten where the spare was? No, Mom would still be in her costume and I couldn't face that because I wouldn't be able to stop myself from checking her out. In the end, I decided it would be best if Mom didn't know I had even been there.

But I couldn't go back without my assignment so I climbed onto the carport and slipped through my bedroom window. Before leaving, I crept down the hall and peeked over the stairs but couldn't see Mom very well. Disappointed, I withdrew to my room and left the house, leaving the butcher knife which I had been carrying all along, in my room. When I got back to the school, I still had a hardon.

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I felt guilty for the rest of that day but once in my bed my hand found my cock and images of Mom's body dancing in that flimsy, teasing costume filled my head. I imagined having sex with it, the face a blank mask but the hair and every other detail of her body intact. I moaned as I fondled breasts and slid my hand up the inside of hot legs until I cupped a pussy while the other squeezed an ass. I wasn't overcome with guilt until after I came and remembered that several times I had moaned 'Lisa', Mom's first name.

If I could have whipped myself, I would have. As it was, I beat myself up mentally all the next day but the next night I drenched my head with images of Mom's body and my cock flooded my pajamas. I hid them under the bed and didn't remember my disgusting behavior the next morning until I walked down the hall to the bathroom sporting a huge morning hardon. The sound of Mom's voice made me look down, startled that I wasn't wearing my pajama bottoms. I barely made it back into my room before Mom topped the stairs.

At dinner, Mom said it was the strangest thing, but her favorite butcher knife was missing. Later, I got the knife from my room and put it back in the drawer. That night, before going to bed, I flung my belt over my back in an attempt to flagellate myself, like I'd seen a priest do in a movie once. It hurt, so I quit.

Once again, my hand found my cock and it filled my pajamas while I moaned into my pillow, "Mom, oh Mom."

It was Thursday. I tried to berate myself several times through the day but the punishing thoughts were replaced by potent fantasies that proved too elusive to quash. By early afternoon, I couldn't think of anything else and was admonished by my teachers for daydreaming several times.

I skipped my last class.

The music was playing again but not quite as loud as I remembered. Still, I managed to sneak in the back door and to the kitchen doorway without being discovered. I stopped to get the butcher knife, thinking that if Mom caught me watching I could claim I thought someone was in the house and the knife would back up my story.

Mom was belly dancing again, looking as fine as she had on Tuesday and even sexier than she appeared in my dreams. I hadn't imagined the muscular tone of her thighs as they thrust through the slits in the skirt, or the shadows that played over her tummy as she stretched and scrunched and twisted it around. And her ass, in constant motion, was a far cry from the stills that populated my masturbatory imagination. It was a magnet for my eyes and my cock.


My head jerked up. Mom had stopped dancing and was staring at me, in apparent shock, one hand held up in front of her mouth.

"Mom," I yelped, throwing my hands in front of myself to cover what I knew was big enough to show.

Of course, that was exactly the wrong thing to do. Mom looked down.

"What are you doing with that?"

I followed her gaze, starting to go red, then realized she was looking at my side. Oh yeah, the knife.

"I, uh...thought there was a burglar in the house."

The hand dropped away from her mouth. "What?" Mom laughed, looking relieved. "A burglar?"

"Yeah," I said, then laughed too. "You scared the shit out of me."

"Well, you scared me too," she said, ignoring my profanity. "What are you doing home?"

"My last class was canceled," I lied. "What are you doing? I thought you were working."

Mom blushed and suddenly looked self-conscious, her hands lifting to cover the costume and roaming across the front of her torso as she tried to cover everything but realized she couldn't.

"Well, uh, I'm dancing…belly dancing…for your father," she explained. "I'm going to surprise him, when I'm good enough," she added.

Mom's hands continued moving in a futile attempt to cover her womanly assets. She started moving toward the stairs.

"I better get changed."

"Wait," I cried.

I don't know why I said that. I guess I didn't want her to go just yet. But Mom ignored me and ran up the stairs. I followed, running up behind her.


She ran into her room and closed the door. I was so close I almost bounced off it.

As you can probably imagine, imagine the rest of the day was quite awkward. Mom avoided me and the few times she couldn't, nothing was said.

The next morning, I woke up with crusty pajamas again which I hid under the bed with the other two pairs until I could wash them myself when nobody was home. But when I got home that afternoon, there was a pile of freshly laundered clothes on my bed, ready to put away. The pajama bottoms were there too. I felt very sheepish and didn't want to go down for breakfast. I waited until the last minute, slipped into the kitchen, gobbled my food, and got the hell out of there.

I hung around school late and didn't go home until I knew Dad would be there because I was still embarrassed. I ran straight up to my room when I got home. I didn't want to go downstairs for dinner either but went when my father bellowed for me to get downstairs. I still felt sheepish but Mom acted as if nothing was wrong and I eventually lightened up. All through the weekend, nothing was said about Mom's dancing, or my laundry problem.

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On Tuesday, I skipped last class again.

I slipped through the back door, which was unlocked, but didn't bother with the knife. The music wasn't as loud but Mom was dancing. I watched her for a while, getting more and more excited, leaning against the door jamb in a way that partially hid the effect Mom was having on me.

I was being pretty obvious, and creepy I guess, but I could help watching. Strangely, I had a sense that Mom knew I was there but she didn't look my way until the dance was over and she finished with a dip to her right knee, the left thrust forward, forceful and bare.

"Curtis," Mom said, looking as if she had just discovered I was there. "Are you playing hooky?"

"Hooky?" I asked, in a voice just as ordinary as the one in which she had asked, though I felt anything but normal.

"Skipping out," she explained.

"No, uh, I'm finished the section ahead of schedule so Mr. Garret told me I could study whatever I wanted to."

"Well, he didn't tell you to leave school, did he?"

Mom was still down on one knee, the full length of her left leg exposed, making it hard for me to concentrate on anything else.


"I said, he didn't give you permission to leave school, did he?"

"Um, yeah, actually he did. He didn't want me to stay in class and the library is being used by another class during last period."

Mom got up and I glimpsed a flash of green panties.

"Well, don't sneak into the house."

"I heard the music and didn't want to disturb you."

Mom looked suddenly self-conscious. "You should have let me know you were there." Mom walked toward me, screening herself with her hands, looking down and away from me. "And you should stay at school to study," she said.

"I...you...uh, you're pretty good," I stammered.

Mom didn't reply as she swept past me and started up the stairs. I followed her like I had on Thursday. She sped up and whisked into her room, flinging the door but not hard enough for it to close so I entered her room.


"What?" Mom picked up a dress which had been discarded on the bed and held it in front of her, a far more effective screen than her hands had been. I noted various other items of clothing on the bed: pantyhose, a bra, and most interesting, panties.

"I need to get changed," Mom said, eyes cast down in embarrassment and posture clearly indicating I should leave.

I tried to think of something to say that would allow me to stay longer. My thoughts ran around in circles as Mom looked increasingly uncomfortable.

Finally, I blurted out, "I won't tell Dad."

I didn't know how Mom would react to that and was somewhat surprised when she looked up and I saw relief in her eyes. "You won't?"

I shook my head, relieved myself and unsure of what to say next, but I rolled with, "I wouldn't want to spoil the surprise."

"Good, because I'm not ready yet."

"It looked like you were. You're pretty good."

Mom's hand relaxed and the dress lowered a bit.

"You think so?"

"Yeah, you looked like you really know what you're doing. You look ready now, but it's your call."

Mom smiled, looking quite pleased, then frowned.

"You don't know anything about belly dancing."

"I know what looks good. Don't forget Jenny took a class."

This was a big lie but I wasn't going around with Jenny anymore so it was unlikely Mom would find out. That was the second lie I'd told Mom in not many more minutes which was quite unlike me. It showed just how much I didn't want to leave, or more to the point, how much I liked seeing Mom in this costume.

"I know. I saw her in one of my classes last week."

Holy shit, that was news to me. Anger surged within me. Jenny wouldn't even let me put my hand down her pants and she was taking belly dancing lessons for that fucker Johnson?

"What's the matter?" Mom asked, stepping toward me, looking concerned, forgetting about the dress which dropped lower, exposing more cleavage.

"Nothing," I said, removing the anger from my face. "It's just that, uh, Jenny dumped me."

"Oh no. Sweetie, I didn't know."

Mom raised a loving hand to my cheek and let the other, which was holding the dress, fall to her side. I tilted my head and cast my eyes downward, as if depressed, but really I was taking in the wonderful vista of Mom's swelling upper breasts and the intriguing separation between them. The skimpy costume left little to the imagination, exposing the inner swells of Mom's breasts to the point where they swept away from her chest. Mom pulled back to look at me and I averted my eyes just in time.

"You should have told me. I wouldn't have been so friendly if I'd known." Mom's eyes slid down and to the right as a thought struck her. "Come to think of it, Jenny did seem a little uncomfortable around me."

I dropped the crestfallen look and replaced it with a cheery one. "It's okay, Mom. I didn't like her all that much anyway. Though I have to say, I did like watching her belly dance."

"Poor baby."

Mom put her hand to my cheek. She wasn't worried about me missing out on watching Jenny dance. Instead, she was consoling me, interpreting my cheery expression as simply putting on a brave face. She obviously believed Jenny had hurt me and, in truth, she was right.

"I could watch you instead."

"Watch me? Oh no, I don't think so." The hand withdrew from my cheek.

"Well, how else are you going to know if you're good enough to show Dad? You want to be sure before you do it in front of him, don't you?"

The fear of embarrassment shone in Mom's eyes and I leapt on the opportunity to take advantage.

"I'm family, for crying out loud. You don't need to be shy in front of me. You're good, Mom, but you need to practise in front of an audience. Who better than me?"

"I suppose," Mom mused, but she didn't look convinced.

"Well, I guess you could just dive right in with Dad, put yourself right out there like."

I let my voice trail off and started to turn away but Mom reached out and grasped my arm. I turned back to look at her.

"I guess it would help it you watched to see if I make any big mistakes. I know you don't know about the finer aspects, like Mrs. Sadat, but like you said, you can see if I'm making a fool of myself."

I nodded. "I can do that," I assured her.

Mom brought the dress up between us as if she had suddenly become self-conscious again.

"Okay. So let me get dressed now and on Thursday you can watch me for a bit before Dad gets home."

I took hold of the dress and tugged it toward me.

"There's still time to practise before Dad gets home."

Mom shook her head. "Thursday," she said.

"Now," I insisted. "There's no sense putting off until tomorrow what can be done today."

Mom laughed, realizing I was teasing her with her own words. "Brat."

"Slacker," I retorted.

I tugged on the dress and Mom resisted but let it slide through her fingers. I didn't want to wait until Thursday in case she changed her mind and, anyway, if we got started now it would be less awkward on Thursday.

"Come on," I urged, pulling harder and gaining six inches of dress. "Don't be lazy."

Mom reluctantly let her hands go loose and the dress came free. I stepped back several feet, holding the dress in front of me like Mom had held it in front of her. I realized then that I was hard and probably had been, unbeknownst to both of us, the whole time we had been talking. Now it was I who was thankful for the cover.

The music was still playing downstairs. Mom canted her head to the side, listening to the song, then began to move her hips in mini-movements in time with the beat. She seemed a little hesitant and I wished we were downstairs in the shadowy living room where Mom had pulled the drapes but was afraid to suggest moving now that she had started.

"I'll set the mood," I said, moving toward the large windows.

I pulled the curtains closed but it didn't darken the room much so I followed with the heavier drapes. The room darkened so much that I had to turn on one of the bedside lamps. I sat on the edge of the bed, draped Mom's dress over my lap, and looked at Mom who was now sweeping more confidently across the floor with hips that did more than just twitch.

Mom avoided my eyes as she became more animated. I sat as still as I could, hoping Mom would forget I was there. Within a minute or so, she looked much like she had downstairs, cocking, swaying, and thrashing her hips. Though her movements were more muted than when she was dancing alone, and a tinge of self-consciousness hindered her performance, it was still wonderful to behold. In fact, it was so fantastic I was glad to have the dress tossed over my lap. Thus protected, I leaned back on the bed, bracing on hands stretched behind me, to enjoy Mom's dance in comfort.

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