Michael

Leigh entered her son's bedroom with her arms full of cleaning products and dragging the vacuum behind her. She could trust her son to keep his room relatively tidy, but liked to pop in every two weeks or so to go over it thoroughly. He was a teenager after all, albeit nearly 20.

Leigh looked about. Most of his stuff was off the floor, which was always a good start. No dirty washing left lying about, another plus point. She looked to his easel. He had been painting again, and recently, she could tell. His art materials were everywhere, spread around his work area in a semi-circle. She walked over to see what he had been painting this time.

Staring back at her, was the image of a Mediterranean looking woman. She was reaching up to pick some plums with one hand, whilst her other hand, held a wide-brimmed hat; by the looks of things, as a receptacle for the plums. But more than just a young woman picking fruit, the image was also a young man's fantasy. Her son had painted her in quarter-profile, her long, golden legs, showed the muscle detail perfectly, as the woman stood on tip-toe in her light summer shoes. But as she strained at full stretch, struggling to reach a high plum, so too was her thin cotton, flower print dress, struggling to contain the roundness of her very pert bottom, which was just peeking out beneath the hem. Michael had included the smallest glimpse of the girls white panties. Her firm, ripe breasts, were also giving the dress some issues it would appear, for several of the buttons seemed to have succumbed to the pressure and had popped open to reveal an enticing view of her cleavage and Leigh noted, that picking plums, was obviously an exciting pastime for the woman, judging by the large erections topping her thrusting breasts.

The woman's deep blue, attractive eyes, were peering through the veil of her almost coal-black hair, intently staring back at the viewer, or perhaps more accurately the artist; portraying more of an interest in him, than in the plums. Leigh suddenly felt a stab of envy, or maybe jealousy, run through her body. She had no idea where it came from, or where it went to, just as quickly. But she had felt it none-the-less.

She was stunned by the beauty of the picture. It was a fantastic study, a deeply detailed and accurate portrayal. Perfectly composed, down to the subtle lighting that in places made the young woman's dress almost transparent, and therefore all the more alluring. In all, a very sexy and therefore commercial, piece of work, should he consider selling it. She was impressed how his drawing and painting had come on, since being at art college, it was obviously doing him some good. Though she did suddenly ask herself, if the model in this picture was a real person, and maybe someone that Michael knew. Because if it was, then Michael had an admirer, she could tell just by looking into the woman's eyes.

Leigh glanced about the room. There were many sketches some of still life, some of landscapes, but his best work was figure work. In that she could see his passion and his energy. He never seemed to be quite content with these pieces though, and would always return to them, adding more, as his technique and experience grew, along with his confidence.

She would often stop and look at his work, to see if she could notice any changes; pride often swelling her chest, at the quality of his work, and the sheer number of pieces that he was turning out. He was indeed a prolific artist. She noticed too, that he was beginning to settle on a particular style of painting. Fantasy art, he called it. Sword and sorcery, alien worlds, mythical beasts, where all of the men and women in his pictures were scantily clad and perfect specimens of humanity. She had reminded him that reality was not like that. And as a consequence, he had begun to add older, less disingenuous characters to his pieces. Creating another layer of interest and realism.

Having completed the dusting, as best she could without disturbing too much. She stripped his bed clothes, and opened the window, to let in a bit of fresh air. She then plugged in the vacuum and ran it over the rugs that coved the hardwood floor. As she was running the suction tube, with a small attachment on it; under his bed. It quickly became blocked. Suspecting that she had picked up a sock, she turned off the machine and started to pull apart the suction pipes to see if she could find the blockage.

She finally came across it at the curve of the pipe, where it entered the machine. It was quickly obvious, that it was not a sock.

The black, silken material was in fact a stocking. And if she was not mistaken, judging by the stocking top, and filigreed lacework, interspersed with red roses; this was one of her stockings. She had not worn stockings for many months, but recognised this one instantly. Leigh was intrigued as to how it had gotten to be under Michael's bed. Had she dropped it when she had collected the washing those months previous? Surely she would have found it by now? And there was no way that she would have put the pair to this stocking away in her lingerie draw, without its partner?

She knelt down on the hardwood floor and peered under the bed. She wasn't expecting to find much, other than a collection of the usual rubbish and dust that seems to accumulate under a bed. Leigh was pleasantly surprised however, to find the area was quite clean, apart from a large A3 drawing pad, and what appeared to be an old shoe box. Drawing them out, she put them on the bed, then she sat down on it herself. Intrigued at what was in the box, thinking it might be some of the stuff he had collected as a kid, she opened that first. Immediately, the contents of the box made her heart sink.

Michael had been without a father for the last 9 years. Whilst Leigh had had a few lovers in that time, none had stayed long enough to even begin to get close to Michael in a fatherly sort of way. So she had tried to be both his mother and his father. Looking at the box contents, suddenly made her feel that she had missed the mark on that objective by a wide margin.

Leigh pulled out the matching stocking to the one that she had sucked up the vacuum. Underneath it, she found a suspender belt. Again it was hers and again, she had not worn it for some time. For that matter, Leigh couldn't even remember when the last time was that she had seen it. But the black and red, lacey piece of lingerie, had certainly been one of her favoured pieces. She had found the sheerness of the panels in it, both flattering and very sexy.

Lifting out the suspender belt, she then found three pairs of her panties. The sexy ones, rather than the every-days. There was also an unopened pair of silk stockings, and two packs containing body stockings, one black, the other blood red. These were definitely not hers. She had never seen a body stocking before, let alone worn one.

She knew that Michael was a very sensitive young man, most artists were. But she was not prepared for the fact that he liked to dress up in women's lingerie; her lingerie to be precise. For that was the only conclusion that she could come up with, to explain his 'little collection'. She was aware that this sort of thing was far more openly discussed these days, and that Michael had every right to do what he wanted to do. She was just not sure how she should handle it herself? How she would even broach the subject with him? Did it matter to her that he might be a transvestite? Of course it didn't. But Leigh knew enough about the world, to know it was a cruel place, a place where social media destroyed lives. Were even a rumour could become a vicious attack on someone's character.

Leigh sat there on Michael's bed, contemplating her next move. It only began to dawn on her, that to have procured these items of her lingerie, he must have been searching through her lingerie draw. And if he had done that..... she put her hand to her mouth and then said, "Oh Michael, what have you been up to?" She was thankful that she had not found a box full of recreational drugs, but was partly thinking that would be easier to deal with than what she had exposed. Either way, this was new territory for her.

For now, she felt the best thing to do was nothing. So put the things, including her suspender belt, back in the box. She left out the single stocking and checked over the one that had been sucked up whilst hoovering, to ensure that it had no snags or runs. As it was fine, she elected to wash them both and maybe she could then return them to him, saying that she had found them under his bed. Hopefully it might then start a conversation?

Feeling a little happier now, she put the box down and picked up his large pad, laying it across her legs. She knew that he had put the pad under his bed for a reason. That reason was to hide it from her. In opening it, she would be breaking the bond of trust that she thought she had with her son. And that once done, there was no going back from that. But a woman's curiosity, was a hungry beast, and at the moment, it was ravenous. Plus, the thought dashed through her brain, how would he know? Her fingers hovered over the outer cover as she pondered for one last time about breaking Michael's trust, then she concluded that he had also broken her trust by searching in her knicker draw, so this would make it even. She looked down to find that her hand, had made the decision for her anyway, and had already opened the pad.

On the first page in stark refined detail, were a pair of male legs. The muscle definition was, she felt, incredible. The detail and subtle lighting and shading, made the legs look almost three dimensional. The powerhouses of this man's body were obviously well developed and by the looks of the large veins apparent on the surface of the muscle, had been recently worked hard. The firmness of the flesh could almost be felt; so realistic did it look. The same thighs, had been rendered by Michael a number of times on this page, each example, meticulously drawn. Leigh was impressed, not just by the drawing, but by the man's legs.

Turning the page, she could now see the muscular arms of what she assumed to be the same man, judging their bulk and power. The bicep muscle appeared huge, probably as large as her thigh. And once more had been recently worked hard. On these pieces, again viewed from differing angles, Michael had rendered the sweat and opened pours. The detail, Leigh knew, must have taken him some time.

The next page revealed more male legs. These ones were not as well built, but were still muscular and well-toned. The model was languishing, and the legs were stretched out, relaxed and crossed. The drawing faded out at the hip area on all of these pictures. Leigh was surprised at herself, for being disappointed that Michael had not drawn the man's genitals and 'tutted' at herself. The legs looked like a young person's, full of youthful vigour and power.

She turned the page once more and was now confronted by female legs and arms. Again the detail was incredible. On the arm drawings, Michael had added the woman's breasts, but only as a line, hinting at his awareness that they were there, but not wanting them to detract him from his focus. The woman's legs looked long, lithe and very sexy, He had drawn on one piece, as much of her bottom as he could, without revealing her privates. A very sexy piece, Leigh admitted to herself.

Turning the page, she could see that Michael had tackled hands, many hands of both sexes. Dispensing with the rumour that hands were difficult, because each of these drawings was done with impeccable detail and accuracy. She could see that even in these few short pages, his abilities as an artist had grown exponentially. It made her feel very proud. Even if the next picture made her groan despite her disappointment in not seeing it on the other drawings.

Before her was the pubic area of a man. This time it was the legs that were faded out. And within the lap of the man, was the sleeping form of his penis, and quite a large one at that, Leigh thought. The drawing was in almost one-to-one scale, and included a large area of the model's wash-board stomach. The tops of the thighs were present, in so much as they had to be, because the body of the penis was resting upon one of them. She recognised that the legs were the same as those from the earlier drawing, so this was obviously the same model. Where Michael had included some moles, these tied into both drawings too. The large scrotum and the pubic area of the model, were completely devoid of hair. The shaved look a modern day preference obviously, that she had to admit, really appealed to her too.

Leigh looked more closely at the drawing. The detail on the penis was outstanding. The large glans on the head were easily discernible beneath the thin foreskin. The lines and wrinkles of the flesh, rendered in such refinement, that Leigh could almost feel the velvet softness of the skin as she ran her forefinger over the penis and onto the taut stomach.

She realised that she had been holding her breath and released it with a "Wow." Even though it was just a drawing of a flaccid penis, she suddenly felt her stomach tensing, and the tingle of arousal begin in her loins, that caused her to squeeze together her thighs. "Oh Leigh," she chastised herself, "it would seem it has been way to long if a drawing of a penis is having this effect."

She turned the page, noticing that her fingers were trembling a little. Before her were several renditions of the woman picking the plums. Michael was trying to get the composition right, obviously. The thumb-nail sketches we all briefly done, but good none-the-less. The next page, showed the final piece, with one exception. In this picture, the female model was completely naked. Her eyes certainly portrayed the same look at the artist. Her breasts were beautifully full, and were topped with large erections, her long legs and very hard, tight bottom drew the eyes in. She too, had no pubic hair, but Michael had drawn her in such a way that you could see none of the detail of her genitals, subtly hidden by the model's pose. She was an extremely attractive woman, and Leigh felt the pang of jealousy returning, that this young woman might have designs upon her son.

She didn't know what to expect from the next page, but was prepared for a detailed study of the young woman's vulva, or her breasts and nipples or both. What she was not expecting was a picture of another woman, a woman in a particular pose, a pose that Leigh recognised instantly, because that woman was her. "What the......!"

In the drawing, as in the original photograph that her husband had taken of her, she was side on, with her closest leg, to the photographer, on the bed. Her other leg was stretched out straight, the toe of her extremely high-heeled shoe, was on the floor. Her long hair, was away from her face and fell behind her. She looked expectant, hungry and voracious for sex. In this depiction of her, Michael had drawn the same suspender belt she had found in his box, and the black stockings she was wearing, were the ones she now had on the bed. She had not worn those for the pose, neither, if memory served her right, was she wearing a bra or panties. Michael had at least had the decency to cover her in a matching set of lacey attire, which she knew she had in her underwear draw, so accurate his drawing, that she could tell exactly the bra and panties set he was depicting.

The shock of seeing herself on the page of his art pad, dulled her mind for a little bit. Until she fully processed the fact that in searching through her draws he must have. "Ohhh no." Leigh's cry was one of anguish. Putting the pad down, she went to her room and looked into her lingerie draw. Near the top, she found the very same set of bra and panties, that he had drawn her in. As she delved to the back of the draw, she came across the thin, round, pliable hardness of her toy. She had not used it for some time, but was sure that she had not left it there? She searched for, but could not find, what she was really after. Her erotic picture collection. Pictures that her various lovers, including her husband, had taken of her, in varied sexy and explicit positions. In going through her draw, Michael had obviously found them. And he now had them in his possession. "Shit! She shouted to her room. "You should have destroyed them you idiot." She rushed back to his room and started a thorough search, but was unable to find the picture wallet that the very personal photos were in.

In trepidation, she sat upon his bed again, all evidence of her arousal having gone, as the shame permeated through her. There was no doubt in her mind, that her son had now seen her completely naked and worse; superbly represented in all of her raunchy, wanton lustiness. As raw and explicit as any porn-star. Her face began to burn in embarrassment. She could not remember the full detail of the photo that he had drawn from, but did remember when her husband first showed it to her, that she thought it represented how aroused she felt at the time. The drawing that Michael had done, however, even though she was now clothed rather than naked, made her look less raw, and gave the image a sense of refinement, though she still had all of the willful lusts of a prostitute; the lingerie probably adding to that concept. It took but a few minutes of her studying his drawing in greater detail, to realise that she wasn't staying ashamed for very long. As she viewed all of the intricate detail of herself, and of the way that Michael had wanted to depict her, she found the tingle in her loins was back once again, and that her insides and other areas, were beginning to show signs of renewed arousal.

Her hands were shaking all the more by the time her eyes had completely devoured the contents of this page and she was ready to move onto the next. It was of her again, and was of her rear-end view, as she stood, looking back at the photographer. She knew again, that she was fully naked in the picture. She knew too that she had already had sex before the picture was taken, and... she covered her eyes with her hands, as she remembered that her labia lips were very prominent in the photo, and her vagina was gaping open, having so recently been vacated by a stiff, thick cock. Again, she was thankful that Michael had drawn her wearing the same panties, this time, he had made them look wet and he had left off her bra. Her firm breasts were hanging heavily beneath her, the nipples in a full state of arousal. She felt sick, knowing that her son had seen her, post sex. Fully aroused, fully wet and... "OH GOD!" Leigh suddenly remembered she was dribbling. Her vagina, drooling in her arousal at having so recently had an orgasm. She suddenly felt violated, at having been so exposed. She felt vulnerable, she felt like a whore, but worse, she felt a dread, deep down within her, for she knew that her son, had pictures in his possession, that were even more explicit in content than this one.

Leigh knew that as these drawings were so detailed, they would have taken him many hours to perfect and complete. That was many hours, of him staring at her body, gleaning as much detail as he could to produce these flawless pictures. She closed her eyes. So shocked was she, that she was not sure what she should do. It was one thing, thinking that her son was a transvestite. Completely another that he was drawing these sexual images of her, his own mother! Albeit that she had made that easy enough for him, in giving in and agreeing to having these photographs taken in the first place, and then keeping them; in possibly one of the worst of hiding places.

And about that? She thought on. Why had she not destroyed them? Why were they not properly hidden? It was not like she needed them close, to view herself.