Eye of the Appreciator

If Mom noticed how often I was now glancing over at her, she didn't give any sign.

I then started to darken a few of the lines and add some tone and texture. Since I drew mostly with pens I was pretty good at cross-hatching the darker areas to create a smooth range of values and a sense of depth. I didn't need to look over at her quite as much for this part.

While I worked, I noticed Mom's hand drop away from her magazine and land on her thigh. Then her fingers started to play with the hem of her dress. Her feet were still on the edge of the coffee table, so her dress was in a position to slide farther up her legs with only the slightest tug. As Mom played with her dress, she bunched it up a little bit and tugged it toward her palm. This movement revealed a few more inches of her smooth thighs to me.

My drawing slowed down as I became transfixed on the show she was giving me. Every few minutes she'd drag her dress another inch up her thighs. I started to stiffen in my pants as I watched her fingers crawling along the fabric. Would she drag it any higher? I could already see the pale swells of her inner thighs. Just a little more and I be might able to see her panties!

"So are you going to let me see this masterpiece, or what?" My hypnosis broke at the sudden question.

Mom still hadn't turned her head and was looking at the magazine in her lap.

"You sure you want to see it?"

"Oh don't be a tease. Show me," she insisted.

I handed my book to her.

Her eyes widened slightly and after a moment a big smile broke out across her face. I had put a lot more detail and effort into this drawing and she really did look great in it.

Finally she turned her head to face me. She gave me what felt more like a look at admiration. "How on Earth did you learn to draw like this?"

"It helps when you have some inspiration," I said as I lightly poked her shoulder.

"Oh, cut it out." She teased back.

I felt strangely brave in that moment and started to softly play with her hair while we sat together. She continued looking at the drawing, obviously enjoying herself, and I brushed a few strands of hair behind her ear before letting my hand fall to her shoulder and lightly stroke the skin of her upper back. My cock stiffened at the intimacy between us.

I noticed Mom starting to squirm a little and she closed my sketchbook, setting it on the table in front of her. Then, to my disappointment, she straightened out her dress, covering those beautiful, milky-white thighs.

I had turned toward her and brought my right leg sideways onto the couch between us so that I could easily face her. When you put a lot of effort into drawing somebody, you become hyper aware of how they look. I continued lightly rubbing her shoulder and the side of her arm with the backs of my fingers, admiring her, while taking note of every little freckle and curve on her.

Mom had closed her eyes and stiffened slightly, but seemed to be enjoying my touches, at least accepting them.

Finally, she faced me and, dropping her hand onto my right thigh, said, "Sweetie, I need to go to bed now."

I held her gaze and brushed some hair behind her ear. "Are you sure?" I asked softly. "We could stay up a little longer."

Her hips squirmed again and she bit her lip. "No, not tonight. I... have to go... to bed." She leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek. "Thanks for appreciating me," she whispered.

As she pulled away I, emboldened once again, gripped her forearm and gently tugged her back down toward me. Then, before she could object, I kissed her on the corner of her mouth, just close enough to feel the moisture. Our eyes met for a split second and I kissed her again, this time directly on her lips. It was just a peck, but it felt momentous.

Mom's face reddened and she smoothed her skirt once more while casting her gaze downward. "Goodnight, sweetie," she said as she turned and walked to her bedroom.

Again, I stared at her ass in the lamplight as she walked away. A sense of determination began to form in my mind. I've got to see what's under that dress!

---

What man would have been able to sleep after an evening like that? I lay awake for half the night, images of the gorgeous woman upstairs flashing through my mind. Every inch of her skin and curve of her womanly figure visible in my mind like a crystal clear photo. I was rock hard as I tossed and turned, remembering the feel of Mom's lips. Images began to fly through my mind. My Mother making out with me, me taking her dress off, sliding my hand up her torso and over her bare tits, pulling her panties down...

After laying awake for a couple of hours, I got up to get a drink of water. As I was walking through the laundry room to the stairs I heard some muffled voices through the vent in the corner. I'd noticed before that I could hear my parents in their room if I stood under that vent but I'd always just ignored it. This time, though, I was curious. I stopped and listened.

I couldn't understand everything that was said, but it sounded like an argument, that much was obvious. What could they be fighting about? Mom was probably annoyed with Dad for playing golf so much and for always drinking so many beers.

I walked a little closer to the vent in the ceiling and after angling my ear toward it, I could just barely make out some words.

"It's been a long day, Maria, I'm tired. Let me sleep."

"You always say that, Rick" My Mother's voice was short and stern, a tone reserved for rare moments.

There was a pause before she spoke again, matter-of-fatly. "It's been a long time."

Another pause. Then, "Goodnight, Maria, I'm not talking about this anymore."

Then, silence.

What had all that been about? Was my Mother trying to have sex? I guess my Dad doesn't touch her like that anymore. What the hell is wrong with him? Is he gay or something?

After getting my water, I returned to bed, continuing to think about what I'd heard. Dad doesn't appreciate Mom anymore? No wonder she seems sad. I wonder how long it's been since they've fucked. Months? Years? With a woman like that? Impossible.

My thoughts started to become more clear and a plan took shape. I finally drifted off to sleep as the possibilities flooded my mind.

---

I wasn't able to get any alone time with Mom the next day as it was Sunday and Dad had stayed home all day. Mom actually seemed a bit grumpy. Is it because of their fight the night before? I mostly tried to stay out of the way and be a little helpful around the house, cleaning up the kitchen again after lunch and also mowing the lawn.

I work a regular 9-5 job during the week, so weekday afternoons were also a right-off in terms of getting Mom alone again. That just left evenings. On Monday night I had a martial arts class and by the time I got home Mom had already gone to bed. Damn.

On Tuesday night Mom went to a pottery class and didn't get home until about 9:30 PM. When she walked in the front door, Dad was already in his room and I was waiting up in the living room, reading a book. I greeted her and offered to make tea again, like the other night. She bit her lip and thought for a moment before declining, saying that she needed to go to bed early again.

Dismayed, I didn't try again for the rest of the week. I just fell back into my normal routine of going down to my room after dinner to draw or play video games. By Friday night I felt that whatever connection we had made the previous Saturday had faded away and things were normal again. But I sure as hell continued checking her out every time I got the chance.

---

The next Saturday came and Dad left for his weekly golf game after lunch, muttering a half-assed goodbye on his way out the door. Mom didn't even look up from her magazine as he left. There was a serious coldness between my parents. Have they been fighting all week? I wondered if I could use that to my advantage...

I was about to offer Mom a cup of tea when she said, "I'm going out for a while to meet a few friends." She stood up, kissed me on the cheek and was gone.

Damn, I thought. My chance to try something again was gone just like that. I had waited all week!

When I heard the front door opening later that afternoon I crossed my fingers that it was Mom and not Dad coming home and went upstairs.

I found her in the kitchen washing her hands in the sink and approached her from behind. Motivated by the week of starvation and emboldened by the knowledge that we were home alone, I placed my hands on her shoulders and let them slide down her arms softly.

"How was your visit?" I asked.

Mom looked forward out the window as I continued to gently touch her. "It was nice, honey. I like getting together with the ladies." She seemed a bit more cheerful. Seeing the girls must have let her relax a bit and release the stress of fighting with her husband all week.

"Go sit in the living room and I'll make us some tea." I decided to be commanding. Asking hadn't worked.

Mom turned and rested her butt against the counter, facing me as I stood just a foot away from her. Her hands fell to the counter on either side of her hips to support her as I continued lightly stroking up and down her arms, just looking at her.

"Don't you have anything better to do than spend another Saturday afternoon with your Mom?"

"Hell, no." I said.

"Don't talk like that, Tyson," She chastised me, suddenly serious.

"Besides," I ignored her scolding, "I'll be moving out soon and we may not have so much time together after that." Could I leverage her anxiety about me leaving the nest?

The confliction in her was obvious, her emotions painted all over her face. She sensed that we were on the verge of doing something taboo yet also longed to be closer to her only son.

"Alright," she agreed after a few long moments had passed.

By now, my roaming fingers had found their way from her arms to the sides of her torso and were well on their way to the flare of her hips. She grasped my hands in hers and brought them forward between us as she squeezed beside me and made her way to the living room.

"I'll be waiting," she said softly.

I took my time preparing the tea. There was no rush. I brewed it perfectly.

Coming out of the kitchen a few minutes later, I set the tray on the coffee table. Mom was relaxing on the couch in her normal position, already flipping through a magazine.

We sat in silence for a few minutes while she flipped through her magazine. Today she was wearing tight blue jeans with a black belt and a white blouse tucked in and buttoned all the way up to her neck. A real classy outfit. The blouse was a bit loose everywhere except for her shapely bust, which filled it out nicely.

"So are you going to go get your sketchbook?" Mom asked without looking up from her magazine.

Of course, you idiot! She wants you to draw her again! I quickly bounded down stairs to retrieve my book. If I did a good job, I bet I could touch her some more.

When I got back upstairs and sat down I noticed that the top couple of buttons of her blouse were now undone.

"So, how do you want me to pose today?" she asked.

Her tone carried a hint of submission. Be confident, I thought. She wants you to be the leader.

"Sit in that chair over there, and cross your legs. Just keep reading."

Mom obediently stood and walked to the other corner of the room, sitting in the armchair.

I began to draw. This sketch was going to make her look dignified. I drew for about 15 minutes before speaking to her again, still using the tone that she seemed to react well to.

"Now put down the magazine and look out the window. And uncross your legs."

She did as I said and I began the second drawing of the day, finishing it in only 10 minutes. It depicted an elegant and proud woman, gazing to the side into the light source with a high-held chin and knees comfortably spread apart.

"Now look at me, Mom. And rest your chin on your hand."

Again she did as she was told, propping her elbow up on her knee to cradle her head in her palm. She looked right into my eyes, smiling and blushing. What a natural beauty!

My third drawing was quicker, just a rough portrait capturing her facial features. I used light lines to quickly box in the major parts of her face, then shaded with cross-hatches to suggest some form. I used a full range of values to really give the drawing depth. The shadows surrounding her dark eyes became deep black while the bright highlights on her forehead and cheekbones remained white. I was proud of myself for capturing the intensity and mystery of her eyes as they remained transfixed on me. What kind of woman will I find hiding behind those portals?

After only five minutes I gave her another instruction. "Stand up and come a little closer."

She obeyed.

"Undo a couple buttons on your blouse."

She hesitated for a few seconds, biting her lip as if she were deep in thought. Then, she released her bite as if she had made a decision. Her left hand crept up her torso and undid a single button, showing a bit more cleavage then before. She dropped her hand back to her side.

"Another one."

Her breath caught in her throat for a second, but she quickly brought her hand back up to undo a second button. Now she was truly showing some skin, the weight of her bust spreading her blouse apart and threatening to rip off the next button. Christ, this woman has a beautiful body! How did I never notice?

"Now cross your arms behind your back and look over your left shoulder."

She did as she was told and was now standing with her body facing me, while showing me the profile of her face. I had a nice view of her shapely legs and hips, and of her newly exposed cleavage which was jutting forward due to the twist of her upper body.

"Is this how you want me?" She asked, shyly.

"Yeah, Mom. That's perfect. Your body looks great."

"It does?" It sounded odd, her asking for reassurance.

"Hell, yes, Mom."

"Don't talk like that." This time her scolding came with a smirk.

I started to draw, spending between five and ten minutes making sure to capture all the curves of her female anatomy.

Things were going so smoothly between us. Keep pushing, I thought. Keep the momentum. Setting my book down on the couch, I stood and approached her.

"I'd like you to stand a bit more like this..." I placed my hands on her shoulders and straightened out her upper body. Her breath seemed a bit ragged and she inhaled sharply as I placed my hand on her low back, guiding her to a new position. I continued touching her far longer than was necessary and even let my hand slide over her hip and the side of her buttock when I was finished. Mom tensed a bit, but made no comment about my shameless exploring.

Returning to my seat on the couch, I drew another quick five minute sketch. I then stood again and moved my mannequin into another new position. This time I put her hands on her knees and turned her to the side. I placed my hands on both her low back and her belly, squeezing them together slightly to control her torso and put her back into a straight position. Boldly, I let my fingers graze her hanging breasts while pulling my hand from her front side. This time, she said something.

"Enjoying yourself?"

"Mhmm."

"Okay, but don't get too frisky," she lightly chastised.

"Alright, Mom."

She had communicated her limit and I would respect it. Reel it in a bit, don't scare her off.

From then on, each sketch lasted five minutes at the most. I wasn't going to waste time drawing when I could be touching. Between each position I gently moved her into the next pose but I didn't let my fingers get away from me.

We continued chatting while I drew. Mom loosened up completely, smiling and laughing as I gently teased her. I loved seeing this new side of her.

Over the course of about an hour, I filled up four pages in my sketchbook. At this point, Mom was beginning to tire and her blouse was becoming sweaty from the effort of holding the poses. I told her to sit down on the couch while I got her something to drink.

I returned from the kitchen a minute later, after cleaning up the tray of tea cups, to see Mom already flipping through the drawings, smiling broadly. I joined her on the couch, setting her glass of water in front of her.

I sat next to her and enjoyed the fruits of my labor, watching her grin and beam as she flipped through the drawings.

When she saw one she liked she excitedly shifted closer to me and pointed to it. "I love this!"

Her left leg was now pressed against me as she nuzzled against me. The contact between us felt electric. I had already been semi-stiff the whole time she was posing, but now the scent of her hair and closeness of her body sent my prick into launch position.

She set the book on our legs, one side on each of us. As she flipped through the pages, seemingly enamored by how beautifully I had depicted her, I began to slowly rub the side of her arm and play with her hair. My touches started fairly innocuously, but within a minute they became more suggestive, tender, loving even. Any doubts as to my intentions were rapidly evaporating, but Mom made no attempt to chastise me again.

"How do the drawings make you feel, Mom?" I asked.

I began touching her back more firmly now. Rubbing with my open hand rather than just grazing with my fingertips as I had before. I brought my hand up near her neck and kneaded the soft flesh in a suggestive way. Earlier, I had appreciated her with my eyes and my pen, and now I was doing the same with my hands. I was going to take full advantage of the permission she had given me. My cock throbbed as I lightly played with her hair.

"They're beautiful. Nobody... nobody had ever drawn me before you did. Is this really how you see me? I had no idea that I looked like this."

My ministrations were either approved of or unnoticed because I received no complaint when I continued to softly attend to my Mother, now rubbing my finger tips along her throat and the skin of her upper chest.

She turned and girlishly pecked me once on the cheek.

I just smiled at her, letting her spend another minute looking at the pages before whispering in her ear, "do you like them, Mom? The ones that show off your body?"

By answering me, she would be acknowledging that part of what she had been doing was more than mere modeling. To drop that pretense, that layer of security, was a big step to ask of Mom. And I gave her the time she needed to respond.

"Yes," she whispered back, barely audible.

This time, I kissed her cheek. It wasn't a peck.

Mom flushed, goosebumps appearing on her exposed chest as she took long, deep breaths.

Slow it down a bit. Don't rush her.

Sliding away from her ever-so-slightly, I brought my left hand to the sketchbook in her lap and began pointing to various parts of the drawings while talking a bit about how I drew them. I talked about some of the less erogenous parts of her, the elbows, fingers, knees, etc... I then gestured to the corresponding part of her real body, letting my fingers barely graze her.

"Do you know why you make such a great drawing model, Mom?" I asked.

My shameless charms were obvious, but she let me continue anyways, loving the open appreciation.

"I couldn't possibly guess. My body isn't what it used to be, that's for sure." She said.

"Stop, Mom," I scolded her. "It's your hips." I motioned to a few sketches that featured her hip jutting out to the side in truly womanly fashion. I hadn't even exaggerated them. She really did have amazing hips. Then I brought my hand away from the page and let it fall to her leg, sliding it up her thigh. When it reached her hip and flared outward I continued, "practicing how to draw hips while learning anatomy is important because they're one of the body parts that clearly distinguish between males and females."