A Long Wet Summer

I don't usually write a preamble, but please review the tags to see if this is for you before devoting your time. Thank you.

*

"Would you grab my drink Mark?" Mom tentatively asked as I helped her down off the trampoline, my hand only leaving hers when she was safely back on two feet.

"You're serious Natalia?" Richard interjected shaking his head. "You don't think you've embarrassed yourself enough for one day?"

I scowled at my stepfather before looking back at Mom, the 'accident' hard not to notice. The crotch of her white linen pants saturated, the inner leg of one whole side as transparent as her groin and buttocks.

"No offence Mom, but maybe you have had too much," I stated. "I mean..." looking down at her urine-soaked pants, I let my statement trail away.

"Oh, Sweetheart this has nothing to do with the alcohol," she explained though her speech was somewhat slurred. "No, I think I need a drink now more than ever," she reasoned, her cheeks rosy.

"Pfft," Richard scoffed, looking at one of his friends. "You see what I have to put up with?"

When the adults commandeered the trampoline, the few children at the party had looked for other adventures and the only other female of the small group gathered came forward to assist Mom as I went for her wine.

"Come on Natalia," the woman whose name I didn't know but I immediately took a liking to, offered. "Let's see if we can find you a towel."

"Better call a cab," one of the other partygoers commented as I took Mom's glass from the table and glaring at him, I followed the direction the two women had taken back toward the house.

Mom and I were out of our comfort zone at the party. Acquaintances of my stepfathers, it was attended by the social elites of the city and Mom had dragged me along as insurance if she couldn't find anyone to talk to. Looking at her wet bottom as I came up behind, I was admittedly starting to wish we hadn't come at all.

The woman assisting Mom (whom I found out was a close friend of the host) skirted the main gathering of the party and took us through a side entrance of the house to a bathroom, offering a towel.

"I'm sure we can find you something else to wear," the woman offered.

Mom, finding the towel did little to soak up her pants, politely declined the offer and looked at me as I was beginning to feel more than a little uncomfortable in her presence.

"Actually Honey, I think I'd like to head off," she understandably admitted. "Could you go and see if Richard's ready?"

*

I looked across at Mom in the passenger seat as I drove back down the long driveway of the estate, careful not to sideswipe the array of luxury vehicles parked either side. Sitting on the towel we'd taken from the house, (the helpful woman having admitted, 'they won't miss it') I could see Mom was still embarrassed about the incident.

"I can't believe Richard didn't want to leave!" I changed the subject.

"Well there are a lot of contacts there," Mom defended him. "He's thinking about his business."

"And not about you," I quickly sniped and Mom didn't respond.

I dialled up the air-con, the day becoming progressively hotter and turned on the radio in the process, a news report warning of fires in the Hills.

"That's near here," I acknowledged before turning the volume down, again eyeing Mom who seemed to be taking no interest.

"You know you shouldn't be embarrassed," I offered after minutes of silence. "It's those idiots back at the party that should be."

"What?" Mom looked in my direction before smiling. "Oh no Honey, I'm not. I'm just disappointed I ruined the day."

"No, you didn't," I adamantly replied. "I was happy to get out of there."

She laughed and I was glad she was starting to cheer up.

"Wasn't really our scene, was it?" She smiled.

I finally hit the highway and looking back toward the Hills could see evidence of the fires the radio had discussed.

"I think Richard'll be leaving that party sooner than he expected if that fire flares up," I stated and Mom also looked back at the smoke without commenting. "Hey, you are alright, aren't you?" I asked, referring to her wetting.

"Oh, yes of course," she confirmed. "There's nothing for you to worry about," she added, her hand reaching across and touching my thigh in a sign of reassurance and I guess, affection. "It can happen. Women my age. The problem with childbirth I suppose," she laughed, though strangely it made me feel a little guilty.

"I've never noticed before," I casually commented, all of a sudden wondering if her toilet habits were an acceptable form of conversation between mother and son?

"Well it doesn't happen all the time," she giggled, slapping my thigh before removing her hand completely. The absence of her contact noted and weirdly missed. "When I sneeze, laugh sometimes; when I cu..."

"What?" I asked when she didn't finish

"Oh. Nothing," she blushed. "And...obviously, jumping up and down on a trampoline!" she added, laughing.

"So, it wasn't the alcohol?" I asked.

"Oh, no. Well, it probably didn't help."

"So, Richard was just being a dick as usual," I declared.

"Honey!"

"Well he was," I doubled down and noticed her smile as she looked at the ocean to our right.

*

I couldn't sleep. Richard had come home not long after us, having been forced to evacuate the area by the fire department. He complained about how much his taxi had cost him and that led to a fight between he and Mom. I'd holed myself up in my room to avoid the fireworks and now the evening had worn on and turned into night, the house had finally fallen silent. It didn't help me settle however, my mind struggling to remove vivid and kind of troubling memories from the day.

In the relative darkness of my room, every time I closed my eyes, I could see her. Weird, in that in my mind's eye she jumped in slow motion upon the trampoline. I tried not to picture it but I kept looking at her breasts, heaving behind the tight blue top she'd worn. And then when it happened. I think those gathered noticed before her, the dampness spreading at her groin before her hand went between her legs as she attempted to abandon her spring.

The damage done. The unmistakeable evidence of her pee running down her inner thigh. Her white pants made transparent, clinging to her skin. It was then I recalled helping her off the trampoline. The hand she'd clutched to her groin, the one I held. Not realizing at the time. Had it been damp? I immediately raised my fingers to my face. Stupidly as I'd washed my hands since then but the thrill remained as I pressed my fingertips to my lips. What the fuck was I doing?

It was then I realized I had an erection.

It caught me off guard and I sat up in bed, eyes open. What was wrong with me? My own mother. Really? But her presence lingered in my brain. I thought of her ass. The lower half of her buttocks damp, the seam of her underwear visible through the material. What color were they? I envisioned her from the front. A dark shadow at her groin that I'd taken to be her panties, yet the same not evident from the rear. No. I suddenly realized. Not her panties. That dark shadow had been her pubic hair!

I rose from my bed and turned on the light to look at myself in the mirror, wearing only my boxer shorts, my cock protruded through the fly, erect. About as hard as I got. She's your mother, I again told myself but it did nothing to lessen my hardness. No. In fact, I swelled.

*

It was wrong. Out of character. I hadn't in eighteen years done anything remotely like it, but as I navigated the house in the quiet of the night, I'd never felt so filled with adrenaline. The door to the spare room was closed and it told me immediately Mom and Richard weren't sleeping together. A feeling of satisfaction coming over me as I passed and made my way through the kitchen to the laundry.

The light switched on, I opened the door to the closet that kept the hamper and lifted the lid. For the briefest moment I thought they wouldn't be there, that possibly they remained in her bathroom but I needn't have worried. As if left for me (that's how my mind was working at that moment) her white pants sat on the top of the pile and above them, what I'd come for.

My hand was actually shaking as I lifted the flesh colored panties up from the hamper. More than six hours after the event, they remained damp. Cold to the touch I opened them out and held them before me. Almost completely saturated, the only dry area on the rear and upper sides. My dick that I'd secreted away as I'd walked the house made its own way out of my shorts as if wanting to see for itself what was happening. I obliged by lowering a hand as I lifted the material to my face.

The scent was evident. No doubt what had saturated the panties. Unmistakeable smell of urine mixed with the limited knowledge I had of the aroma of a woman's pussy. I felt shame as I breathed in my mother. Her most intimate fragrance filling my nose, my lips pressing the gusset where her sex had sat. My hand beat rapidly along my engorged column as I pictured her pissing. Standing before me, pissing through her pants, into the panties I now had in my mouth, sucking the remnants of her golden gift....

"I thought I turned this of...Oh!" My mother's voice came from behind me, startling. "Oh!" she repeated as I awkwardly stuffed my cock back into my shorts, the fact I was hard impossible to hide however. Her panties I bunched in my hand dropping to my side in a bid to keep them out of sight but failing miserably as I spun to face her, her eyes debating whether they follow the course of my hand as it went behind my back or the bulge tenting the front of my shorts. She chose a third option and looked up into my face. "I...I didn't know you were in here," she stammered, her face burning.

'Her face was burning!' If only I could see my own. I felt the blush spread from my neck to my cheeks, even my ears as I willed my cock down.

"I was just..." I tried to explain my presence in the laundry in the middle of the night. "I was just dropping off my clothes," I lied, knowing full well she saw right through it. But what was I meant to say? Just admit I was in there jacking off to her pissed in panties?

"Of course," she went along with the deception. "I was just getting a drink and thought I'd left the light on in here," she needlessly explained her own appearance.

Her panties felt heavy in my hand behind me and I couldn't think of anything else to say and so we just stood there for what seemed an eternity. What must she think of me I wondered? Had she seen her panties on my face? How could she not?

"So..." her face cracked and she raised a hand to cover it as she quickly turned, clearly stifling a laugh. "Good night then," she managed as she briskly backtracked her way through the kitchen, abandoning her quest for a beverage in the process.

I slumped back against the benchtop, my cock now deciding to slowly lose some of its rigidity. "Bit late," I looked down at my groin, bringing the panties up once again before me, blaming them for the predicament I'd found myself in. "It's all your fault," I told the inanimate object of my desire before placing them back in the hamper and closing the lid. I can never look her in the eye again, I told myself as I headed back to my bedroom.

What the fuck had I done? I asked myself as I lay upon my sheets. She'll hate me. I hate me! She'll be disgusted. Oh shit, she'll tell Richard. What will he do? Kill me? It was then I came to my senses. She won't hate me; she's my mother. She won't tell Richard. What would be the point? She had smiled! There was no doubt she knew what I was doing, and yet she'd smiled. Was that just out of embarrassment or was there something more? I figuratively slapped my face. There's 'nothing more' you idiot. She was just embarrassed for me because she discovered her son sniffing her panties. I felt myself again go red at the reality of what had happened. What our next interaction would be like. I tried to dismiss it, to think of something else, but my libidinous mind drifted back to her.

I pictured the laundry. The bright light overhead illuminating everything. Me, masturbating with my mother's pee-soaked panties against my mouth and nose. And then her. It was only then did I think of what she'd been wearing. Her nightie. White. Satin. A small amount of lace at the bust. Could I see her nipples through the thin material? Was there any evidence she wore panties? My cock responded to my line of questioning and I once more took it in hand. It was her I was thinking of when I came upon my chest. A great surge of cum that I hadn't expected and would require quite the clean-up. I should've just kept them, I thought. Brought her sweet pissy panties to bed with me to cum into, to wipe the semen from my body. Better still, to have her do it. My own mother, using her panties to wipe up my cum. The cum I'd produced for her.

What the fuck was wrong with me!?

*

I lay in bed an hour later than was usual for a Sunday. Delaying the inevitable of course. I listened for Richard to leave for golf and heard the tell-tale sounds of my mother in the bathroom; in the laundry; the kitchen. Finally, when the unignorable allure of the smell of bacon crept under my door I worked up enough courage to leave my fortress of solitude.

Did she have to wear 'those' pants today?

I entered the kitchen to see her ass at the stovetop. High waisted Gymshark leggings hugging her cheeks like paint on a wall. Pale blue, they crept into the crack of her bum and I immediately wondered how they'd look on her groin? She turned when she felt my presence and provided me the answer. Was this new? I'd seen her wear the tights countless times but I'd never noticed the bulge at her pussy. No. I corrected myself. I'd just never looked. Never looked at my own mother as a woman. Not until now.

"Thought the bacon would get you up," she smiled as I did manage to drag my eyes from her pussy. "Scrambled eggs sound good?" She added as she focussed once more on her cooking, allowing me to take in the rest of her. The matching top. Long sleeved, the lines of her bra beneath. She looked amazing. At 45 she'd never pass for a fitness model but her curves were in all the right places and she had my sperm multiplying.

"Definitely," I remained relatively cool though my heart raced. I looked to the table to see she'd set it for two, obviously expecting me. "I'll grab the juice," I casually offered.

Toast. Bacon and eggs. It was just the nourishment I needed after my night-time exertions and I shook the pepper onto my eggs just as Mom sat down across from me.

"Oh God, white pepper," Mom laughed, drawing a finger up to her nose. "I can feel the sneezes coming on. You don't want me wetting my pants two days in a row!" She added. She didn't follow through with 'or do you?' But it felt as if she was thinking it as much as me.

I chuckled at her joke but concentrated more on my plate. I actually didn't want to look at her. Not out of my shame at being discovered last night or my embarrassment that morning but to remove the temptation. Her hair tied back in a pony tail, yet to put on makeup, she looked beautiful. What was the point in fuelling my desire by staring at her any longer than need be when there could be nothing between us? She was my mother. Why torture myself?

"That reminds me," she continued, her desire to sneeze obviously diminishing. "I did the laundry this morning but didn't see anything of yours!"

Seriously? I thought as I struggled to swallow a mouthful, nearly choking. Directly referring to our altercation in the middle of the night. Did she have to bring it up so soon? What had I said? My lie to explain my presence. 'Just dropping off my clothes,' had been my response. Why didn't I go back to actually leave something there? Idiot. I felt the blush rise from my neck to my cheeks as I raised my eyes.

"Yeah look Mom, I kinda," I struggled. "I mean, what you think you saw, last night. It wasn't that," I began my defence. Lies the lot of it.

"Oh, right," she took a sip of her juice, expectantly waiting for more from me.

"I mean you're right I wasn't there with my dirty clothes," I freestyled, ad-libbing. Why the fuck I hadn't rehearsed an explanation for my actions was beyond me? "I was...I was checking the size!" I lied in a work of genius.

"Of my panties?" she casually asked, her brow furrowing.

"Yes!" I maintained my story. "For when I buy you something for your birthday."

To her credit she didn't laugh at my excuse and to my credit, even under the circumstances I began to get an erection.

"For my birthday?" She smiled. "My birthday that's what, six months away? You're planning on buying me new panties?"

"NO!" I emphatically denied. "Not panties, just I don't know, shorts or something. If I see them."

"You were holding them pretty close to your face!" She challenged.

"The tag was really small," I countered.

I'd completely lost all appetite and lifted my glass to at least hide some part of my face as I drank, knowing the worst was yet to come.

"And I was scratching!" I added when I'd drunk half the glass.

"You were what?"

"I wasn't, um, what you may think," I stated. "I was scratching down there." To be honest, although ludicrous, it surely wasn't the worst explanation I could come up with on short notice.

"You were scratching?" Mom managed to keep a straight face, in fact looked concerned. "Are you ok? It must have been pretty serious. Do you need me to take a look?"

"NO!" I once more set her straight. "It's fine, I'm good."

Who was I kidding? She saw straight through my story. She knew exactly what I'd been doing in there. I was surprised to avoid embarrassment for the both of us she hadn't just ignored the subject altogether. For the next few moments there was no more talk of the 'incident,' in fact we both ate the rest of our breakfast in silence, Mom finishing and leaving the table before me in a first.

Placing her plate and cutlery in the dishwasher, and returning for her glass to do the same, she finally went to make her way out of the kitchen before she stopped at the last moment and I raised my guilty eyes to once again look at her gorgeous appearance.

"So, let me get this straight," she looked confused. "The reason you were in the laundry in the middle of the night was to check the size of my dirty panties by holding them up to your face whilst dramatically scratching an itch on your penis?" She proposed. "Is that about right?"

A house down the road had been swallowed by a sinkhole only a week before. It was then I hoped the same would appear below me right then and there.

"That's right," I was barely able to voice, my throat constricting.

"And you're sticking to that?" Mom smirked. The first indication she was fine with everything, a subtle but telling sign that 'she knew that I knew that she knew,' so to speak and she was enjoying my agony.

"Yes," I nodded, a guilty smile coming to my own face.

"Ok," she grinned as she turned and left me. My eyes dropped to her bottom to watch it sway as she walked away. Beautiful.

*

Richard came home from golf.

A large part of me was hoping he'd be struck by lightning and be out of my life forever, or the argument he was having with Mom got worse and he decided to leave. No such luck on both counts and as the afternoon progressed, I heard them chatting as per normal from the sanctity of my bedroom. From my window I could see her pants and underwear drying on the clothesline, mocking me and my immature fantasies.

I chose to have dinner alone saying I was working on a paper for school, which contrary to my recent history of lying, wasn't entirely untrue. Really, I just couldn't look at Mom in the eye. What was worse, she'd changed from her exercise gear into a light summery dress, clearly not wearing a bra beneath. The last thing I needed was to see her making up with Richard whilst looking so hot. The thought of 'makeup sex' between them came to mind and I had to fight back vomit.