Mother's Nude Day Nightmare Ch. 02

Without fail, every time I touched and massaged her, I saw some part of her that I wasn't supposed to see. I masturbated later when alone in my room while thinking of all that I touched of her and all that I saw of her while imagining touching and seeing more of her. An incestuous cycle, every time I masturbated while thinking of touching, feeling, and seeing more of her, I touched, felt, and saw more of her and masturbated more over all that I touched, felt, and saw. As if on a first date with my mother instead of a girlfriend, waiting for her to reject me or to stop me from seeing, touching, and feeling more of her, I took advantage of the fact that she was my mother and I was her son. Gradually and ever so slowly, taking my lead from her when she didn't reprimand me, ask me to stop, or swat my hand away, I saw, touched, and felt more of her.

Not wanting to ruin things by rushing things, taking my seduction of her real slow so that she didn't notice the sexual charm that I had over her, every time I rubbed and massaged her back, as if all part of my massage, I touched more of the side of her big, beautiful breasts and her round, firm ass with my fingertips. Every time I innocently massaged her shoulders, as soon as she relaxed and closed her eyes, purposely kneading and moving her shoulders forward to blouse out her nightgown, giving me even more masturbation material, I peered down her low cut nightgown at her tits, areolas, and nipples. Every time I massaged her legs while massaging her feet, I moved my horny hand higher and higher up her short nightgown until my fingertips were mere inches away from touching nirvana, her beautiful blonde, trimmed pussy.

Afraid of ruining the progress of my slow seduction of my mother, even though I so wanted to, I didn't dare finger her. Allowing her to get used to the idea of me innocently albeit seductively touching and feeling her while having her looking forward to me innocently albeit seductively touching and feeling her is what I needed to do to finally seduce my mother. Eventually, with me massaging her shapely thighs, she'd sit or lay there with her nightgown nearly up to her crotch and her knees parted enough for me to count her pussy hairs. Something I only had the courage enough to do in my dreams and sexual fantasies of her while masturbating, I so wanted to bury my face between her legs or strip myself naked and mount her.

Then something that I haven't done since forever, as an excuse to hug her even more, a bold but smart move on my part, I started kissing my mother on the mouth in the morning and at night. At first, in the way that she stared at me with her eyes wide open, I surprised her and shocked her even by kissing her. The kisses were just mother and son pecks but after a while, with her as comfortable kissing me as I was comfortable kissing her, our pecks grew into a smooch and a smooch into a kiss, albeit without tongues. Now, whenever she kissed me and I kissed her, we closed our eyes. Knowing all that was going through my mind, I could only imagine what was going through my mother's mind. Never thinking that I'd ever have the courage to do so, my next move, of course, would be to part her lips with my tongue. I'd need to get the both of us drunk for me to do that. Just the thought of French kissing my mother while feeling my mother made my cock throb and made me masturbate over the thoughts of making out with my mother.

* * * * *

In the way that she dressed or didn't dress, not sure if she was teasing me or just oblivious to how much she was showing me of her nearly naked body, she continued walking around me in her sexy nightgowns. Whether it was innocent or her way of seducing me, nonetheless with me enjoying the voyeuristic show of exhibitionism, my mother wasn't helping me with my horniness any by her hanging around the house in the way she dressed or didn't dress. Knowing she was sad, I could tell that she was lonely and depressed too.

Yet adding to my incestuous lust and sexual desire for her, unless she was getting dressed to go out, my mother lived in her sexy nightgowns day and night. Moreover, it wasn't just any nightgown that she wore. Outfitted in her best dressing gowns as if she was Miss Havisham wearing her wedding dress in Dickens' Great Expectations while waiting to be taken by her runaway suitor, she always looked sexy. With each nightgown a different color, as if sexy sleeping attire were flags that signaled her mood, it was then that I realized my mother was purposely dressing for me in the way she used to dress for my Dad.

"You have such beautiful nightgowns Mom," I said leering at her whenever she didn't see me staring.

"Thank you Charlie," she said looking down at herself.

What was she thinking in walking around me in her sexy nightgowns? Was she thinking how much she was showing me or was she wondering if I was enjoying her sexy show? For sure, she was showing me a lot and I was enjoying her sexy lingerie show. In her defense, maybe unaware that she was showing me so much, perhaps she was just oblivious. Maybe just wanting to be comfortable in her own home, she trusted me to respected her enough not to look, stare, and leer at her nearly naked body.

My Dad, the pervert that he was for marrying my Mom when she was barely 18-years-old after getting her pregnant with me, was 30-years older than she was. Old enough to be her father, he was old enough to know better. Towards the end, being that he was relegated to staying in the house and in bed because of his failing health, he enjoyed seeing my mother wearing her sexy nightgowns. Her sexy nightgowns not only showed her shapely figure but also flattered her shapely body by leaving nothing to the imagination. With her walking around in her nightgowns as if she was a Frederick's of Hollywood or Victoria Secret's lingerie model, pure masturbation material for me, all of her nightgowns were sexy, sheer, short, and low cut. Being that I was living in the house with my parents too, I was the happy recipient to seeing my mother parading around me nearly naked while attending to my father's needs whenever he was forced to stay in bed.

Trying my best not to stare, leer, and ogle, all of my mother's nightgowns showed a son more than he should ever see of his mother. Short enough to show most of her long, sexy legs, low cut enough to show much of her cleavage and the roundness of her beautiful breasts, and tight fitting enough for me to imagine the shape of her perfect ass, my Mom never wore a robe. Not embarrassed in front of me enough to cover her semi-nakedness, I guess, maybe my Mom was seducing me and waiting for me to make the next move.

Maybe my Mom trusted me not to lust over her. She was wrong in expecting that trust from me when she was so very beautiful and so very sexy. She was wrong in expecting that trust from me when I was so very sexually attracted to her and so very horny. In the way that I masturbated over seeing her in her sexy nightgowns, maybe my Mom masturbated over me seeing her in her sexy nightgowns. Maybe in her flashing me, her way of trying to seduce me, my Mom truly wanted me as much as I truly wanted her. Filled with nothing more than suppositions and suspicions, I had no idea. Too afraid to take the next step, I just didn't know.

As if she was still continuing to dress for my father but was now dressing for me, with her hair, nails, and makeup always just so, she continued to dress for me in the way she dressed for him. Perhaps, unable to change her sexy routine, by celebrating having me in her life was her way of mourning the loss of her husband. Delighted being the recipient of her bedroom attire, every night, every morning, and throughout the entire day, she looked in the way that I imagined a new bride would look on her Honeymoon. Every day, with her showing so very much of her sexy, shapely body to me, I always expected her to make the next move across the incestuous line but she never did. Was she waiting for me or was she content flashing me parts of her that I shouldn't be allowed to see but appreciated seeing?

Yet, perhaps her first move across the incestuous line was more looking sexy while waiting for me to cross the incestuous line. Maybe because I looked so much like and reminded her so much of my Dad, albeit a much younger version, she was attracted to her son in the way she had been attracted to her husband. I didn't know. I could only guess. I could only hope. I could only imagine while masturbating over the thoughts of my MILF of a mother having sex with me. Understandably and in her defense, being that she wanted to be comfortable in her own house, with just a thin piece of material between me seeing her ass, her tits, her pussy, and seeing her naked, she didn't wear any underwear beneath her short, low cut, sexy nightgowns.

A voyeuristic sexy sight to behold, seeing her in her nightgowns was what I looked forward to seeing and enjoying. Every time she opened the refrigerator door with the kitchen light off, stood in front of the TV with the living room light off, and/or opened the drapes in the morning light the next morning, I saw even more of my mother. With her nightgowns so nearly transparent, as if I was a TSA agent and she was a passenger walking through the X-Ray machine before boarding the plane, I could see through her nightgown as if she was naked.

Naked, naked, naked, my mother was always walking around me nearly naked and, when I wasn't accidentally on purpose exposing my flaccid cock to her, I was always walking around her with an erection that tented my pajama bottoms with my incestuous lust for her. I so wanted to show her my erection if only to see her reaction to seeing my hard cock. Yet, as if we had electrified barbed wire between us, one that I wanted to cross but one that I didn't know if she wanted to cross, the incestuous line was a difficult barrier to surmount.

Just as I enjoyed seeing what I could see of her nakedness through her barely there nightgowns, I needed to be content with all that I saw and imagined what I saw while masturbating. More than once, I caught her looking or imagined her looking at my manly bulge. I wondered what she was thinking when seeing the jean covered impression of my hardening cock. Was she sexually thinking of me in the way that I was sexually thinking of her? Was she horny for me in the way that I was horny for her? With both of us playing by the unspoken rules of the code of propriety of a mother alone with her son, obviously, we could look so long as we didn't touch and so long as one or the other weren't caught staring.

With all the leering that I did of her semi-naked body, seeing so much of my mother turned me into a regular masturbation machine that did little to lessen my sexual frustration. If anything, masturbating while thinking of my mother naked and imagining having sex with her added to my sexual lust for her. I wanted her and couldn't wait to have her. Not just sexually attracted to my Mom, I was in love with her, or at least I thought I was in love with her, especially before Julie became my steady girlfriend and my affections of love switched to her. More than anything or anyone else and perhaps it had to do with my father dying and leaving us alone, I wanted my mother in that incestuously, forbidden way. Now with my father not around, wanting to complete the Oedipus Complex, Sigmund Freud's psychoanalytical theory of a son wanting to have sex with his mother, I really wanted her now more than I ever wanted her before.

* * * * *

Being that my Mom didn't have to work, never had to work, especially after the death of my Dad, he made sure that we were provided for and well taken care of in his will. With my Dad so much older than my mother and with all the illnesses he suffered and endured before he died, I suspected it had been a long while since my mother had sex. Always attracted to much older men, father-fixated in the way that a son wants to have sex with his mother in Freud's Oedipus Complex, I suspected my mother suffered from the Elektra Complex of a daughter wanting to have sex with her father. Even convincing me to wear it and smoke them, fashioning me into a younger version of my Dad, she loved Old Spice cologne and the smell of tobacco when smoked in a pipe.

Knowing that she preferred older men to younger men, she made me wish that I was much older than her so that she'd be attracted to me. Maybe it was enough that I looked and acted so much like my Dad, but for the wrinkles and the crankiness. Yet, not wanting to wish my life away for the sole purpose of bedding my mother, maybe I could make her want me in the way that she wanted my Dad and imagined she wanted her father. Being that incest is incest, if my mother did indeed have a sexual attraction for and/or an incestuous relationship with her father, then the groundwork was already laid for her to have a sexual attraction for and an incestuous relationship with her son.

With me being the horny, young guy that I am, who doesn't know much about women, especially older women, perhaps wishful thinking on my part, but I suspected that my mother was horny too, wishfully as horny as I was. Now with Dad gone and out of the way, so to speak, it was just me and my mother in the house alone for me to play my sexy games of stealing peeks of her and masturbating over all that I saw, touched, and felt of her later. Only, wanting to make the next move but fearing to take the next step, I was afraid that I'd ruin the close relationship we enjoyed by adding the pressure of unwanted sex that ruined a mother's love for her son with a son's incestuous lust for his mother. Still, the fact that she still dressed in her sexy nightgowns and perhaps, with her being just as fearful of making the next move as I was, her teasing me and flashing me should have told me that she was fishing to have sex with me. Even worse when it's a son trying to bed his mother, most men need to be hit over the head with a baseball bat for them to see that the woman is attracted to and wants them too.

After a while of seeing so very much of my mother's body and with her always in her nightgown, I couldn't help but wonder if she knew that I could see as much of her body as I could. How could she not know that I could see so much of her body? All she had to do was to look in the mirror to see what I could see of her. Maybe because I watched one too many mother and son porn videos online, perhaps now too incestuously twisted to think clearly, I couldn't help but wonder if my Mom was flashing me in the way that those mothers in the videos routinely flashed their sons while trying to seduce them. Maybe because I wanted to believe that she was purposely flashing me, I couldn't help but suspect that my mother was flashing me her body as much as I wanted her to continue flashing me her body. Maybe because I wanted to believe that my mother was seducing me by sexually teasing me, I couldn't help but suspect that my Mom wanted me as much as I wanted her.

Only, having just graduate college and unable to find a job, with her holding all of the financial purse strings while supporting me, if I upset her by soliciting sex from her, I had so much more to lose than she did. Being that I was over 18-years-old and being that she owned the house, she could ask me to leave. Where would I go? How would I support myself without having a job when there were no jobs to find? The executrix of my trust fund, she could raise the age of me getting my inheritance from 25-years-old to 30-years-old. Nonetheless my lust for her and my imagining her lust for me, I didn't know how to go about seducing my mother without offending her and without making her think that I was incestuously deranged, especially if she didn't share my sexual attraction.

She wasn't just any woman and I wasn't just any man. She was my mother and I was her son. Trusting me not to ogle her, I didn't know if she was purposely flashing me by wearing her sexy nightgowns without underwear or if she just wanted to be comfortable in her own house. A tragic mistake of misreading her intentions sexual or otherwise, what if she wasn't as interested in having an incestuous, sexual relationship with her son in the way that I hoped she wanted and in the way that I wanted to have an incestuous, sexual relationship with my mother? Yet, what if she was as sexually attracted to me as I was to her?

* * * * *

Being the horny son that I was, seeing something that I shouldn't see and was forbidden to see, up skirts of her panties, up nightgowns of her pussy, down blouses of her bra, and down nightgowns of her tits were my favorite parts of her sexy body to see. As far as I was concerned, even better than seeing her naked, seeing bits and pieces of my mother, parts of her that I shouldn't see, was so much more excitingly erotic than seeing her naked. Whether her flashes were inadvertent or on purpose, it didn't matter. I didn't care. As if she was my own personal peep show, what mattered more was that I was privy to seeing them and free to masturbate over them later. Not as careful with her lady like posture when relaxing on the sofa or in her chair, she gave me lots of panty and pussy flashes, especially when she was tired in the early morning or had a little too much to drink late at night.

She'd sit across from me on the sofa drinking her coffee to wake up in the morning or she'd sip her wine to relax in the evening in her chair while I sat in the overstuffed recliner across from her waiting for the sexy show to slowly unfold. Trusting me not to look and to lust over her when I saw all that I saw of her, she trusted me to respect her privacy and modesty by not ogling her but, unable to help myself, I didn't respect her privacy and modesty and I did ogle her. Too sexually attracted to my mother's pussy, tits, and ass, I couldn't help myself from looking at all that she was inadvertently or intentionally showing me. I had no idea if she was flashing me deliberately or inadvertently. Not wanting to ruin her sexy, free shows, I didn't dare confront her to ask her either. I was young but I wasn't dumb.

With her knees spread open just enough and her short skirt or short nightgown raised high enough past her knees to mid-thigh for me to see what a son should never see of his mother, she sometimes sat like a guy sits while watching a ballgame or sitting on a toilet. Too many flashes to remember, until I recalled them all while masturbating, I can't count how many times I've seen her panty or pussy. With her low cut blouses and nightgowns revealing everything that other women tried to hide, whenever she leaned forward, she gave me a show of her sexy bra or tits that I not only enjoyed but looked forward to seeing every day and every night.

Obviously too tired in the morning and too relaxed in the evening to care what she was showing and what I was seeing, she sat there mindlessly thinking of something else other than her accidental or deliberate flashes while flashing me. With every morning and night the same sexy show, I never tired of seeing all that I could see of my mother. Hoping that she'd stay seated like that longer, I continued engaging her in conversation for her to remain there while I ogled her panties, her pussy, her bra, her tits, and/or stared at the impressions that her big nipples made in the thin material of her nightgowns.

In the back of my mind, wondering if she was flashing me deliberately or intentionally, but not allowing myself to think that my mother was just as incestuous perverted as I was, I wondered how she couldn't know she's flashing me? Even though I tried my best not to stare and leer at all that she was showing, how could she not know that I'm ogling her every time she crossed and uncrossed her shapely legs or sat with her knees parted enough for me to see all that I hoped to see? If only she knew that her son was an incestuous voyeur who was always trying to steal up skirt peeks of his mother's panties, up nightgown views of her pussy, down blouse views of her bra, and down nightgown views of her tits, without doubt, she'd think me a pervert. Cursed to continue my incestuous voyeuristic perversion of ogling my mother's hot body, I wondered if it was just me or if my incestuous perversion of exhibitionism and voyeurism ran in our family. I wondered if my sexual attraction to my mother, especially with a mother so hot and so sexy, was just a normal rite of passage path for a son who was so sexually attracted to his mother to take.