My Mom is a Hot Mom Ch. 02

"Randy, this lamb is wonderful," she said. "Everything is delicious. I had no idea you were such a good cook. You're going to have to cook more of the meals from now on." We both laughed.

"I don't think your dad ever cooked a meal for me like this in 20 years of marriage," she said. "I'm sure he didn't."

Mom swallowed a forkful of asparagus and munched it with her eyes closed. A dollop of sauce spilled from between her lips and dribbled down her chin. I don't know why, but there was something mesmerizing about it -- the sauce I'd cooked tracing a crooked path from her lips and stopping at her pert chin. I couldn't take my eyes off it.

When she opened her eyes she noticed I was staring at her.

"What are you looking at?" she asked.

"Oh, you have a little . . . " I said and I held my finger to my chin to indicate where the sauce was.

"Oh," she said and picked up her napkin.

"No, wait," I said. "Let me."

I leaned forward and reached across the table and put my finger to her chin and swept up the drop of sauce. Then I put the tip of my finger to her lips. I didn't think about what I was doing; I just did it. Mom didn't hesitate. She accepted my gesture graciously and eagerly. She opened her lips and I pressed my finger forward. Her lips closed around my outstretched finger and sucked the sauce off of it with a tender smacking sound.

She closed her eyes for a moment as her lips caressed my finger. I wondered if she was imagining herself somewhere else, or if she imagined her lips on something else. When she reopened her eyes, she had pulled her lips off my finger.

Until that moment, I had never imagined I could be so aroused by the touch of my finger to a woman's lips. But I was. The electricity of the moment engulfed and surrounded me. And I think mom felt it too. Her eyes were wide and they didn't leave mine.

After that, we ate in silence for a while. Mom didn't say anything, other than to exclaim from time to time how much she liked the food I had cooked for her. I had to admit, dinner had turned out well, but I enjoyed mom's reaction more than I enjoyed the taste of the food.

When we got up the urge to talk again, we talked about food, and about birthdays (mine was coming up soon, so we talked about that for a while), and I talked about my classes and what I might take the next semester.

When it was time for dessert I pulled out a small cake I'd kept on the kitchen counter. I'd bought it at a store earlier that day. I lit candles and sang "Happy Birthday" to my mom, whose eyes and smile shined and flickered in the dim dining room light. We finished the cake quickly.

When we were done with cake I took the plates to the kitchen, and then I gestured to mom to join me in the living room. We sat on the sofa together, again, where we had been a few nights before when she had exposed herself in her little shorts.

This time, mom sat in her white dress in bare feet with her legs up on the sofa and folded under her. I set two colorful gift bags in front of her, and a card peeking out from one of them.

"Here you go, mom," I said. "Open the card and then that one first."

She took her time reading the card. It wasn't anything special, but I could tell she was touched. Then she pulled the first bag toward her and reached into it.

I was nervous about the gifts I'd bought her. I had a feeling about mom, and I wanted to test if my feeling was right, and I thought the gifts I'd bought would help me find out. But I was worried I was wrong, that mom would be offended or angry about the gifts, and that she might think I had overstepped my boundaries with her.

She pulled the presents out of the first bag. She pulled out, one after the other, a pair of running shorts and a running bra. They matched -- both were blue and black. The shorts were form-fitting, and quite brief. The bra provided ample coverage and support to make mom comfortable, but I knew it still would expose plenty of cleavage and the skin of her taut torso. I knew when I bought the gift that I was taking a risk -- that mom might think it too skimpy to wear, or that it would bother her that I'd bought her something so skimpy. I didn't want her to disapprove. But I thought the risk was worth taking.

Mom didn't react right away. She held the shorts up in one hand and the bra in the other and looked both over carefully. I don't think she knew how to respond. I decided to jump in and explain before she reacted more.

"We were talking the other day about your needing a new running outfit," I said. "So I thought you could use something like this."

Mom's eyes grew wide and she looked at me with a wry smile.

"It's skimpy!" she said. "Am I supposed to go running in that?"

"Of course you are, mom," I said. "Lots of women run in outfits like that. I see women out on the trail dressed in something like that all the time. And they're not as good-looking as you are."

"Well, thanks, Randy," she said. "Is this because of the conversation we had the other night?"

"Yeah," I said. "I don't want you to feel like you are over the hill. You're not. You're very pretty mom, and you should dress in things that make you feel that way. And if you put a photo of yourself in that outfit on your online dating profile, you are going to get a lot of attention."

"Maybe," she said. "I just hope it's good attention."

"Don't worry. Now try the other package.

She picked up the other package, put her fingers in it, and pulled out the contents. It was a bikini, bright red and very small. Not just small, but tiny-small. At the store, I'd seen it on a mannequin, and I immediately had imagined it on my mom's body. I'd never seen her wear a bikini that small. I knew it would be risky, and that it might seem a little strange for her son to buy her such a small swim suit. But from the moment I saw it in the store I was fixated on the idea of seeing her in it. I knew she would look askance at it and at me, so I'd rehearsed what to say when she saw it for the first time.

"That is a very small swimsuit, Randy," she said to me in a soft voice, not taking her eyes off it as she turned it over in her hands.

"I know it is, mom," I said. "I was thinking about what you said the other night. I felt bad about you thinking that you were old, or not attractive. Mom, you are still very young, and you can act like it. I think you should get out there and start dating. And dress and act like the beautiful woman you are. Besides, you can get a better tan in a swimsuit this size."

I hoped I was sounding convincing. Mom seemed a little skeptical as she held up the bikini and scanned the red fabric.

"Well, it's a good brand," she said. "And the quality seems to be good." She touched the fabric between her fingers. "But I'm not sure I can pull this off at 40. I appreciate the vote of confidence. Maybe I'll try it out here at home and see what I think before wearing it out in public."

"That sounds like a good idea," I said. "Now, let me give you a birthday hug.

"Happy birthday, mom," I said as I hugged her. Her firm breasts mashed against my chest as we embraced, and my dick stiffened.

"You're very sweet, Randy," she said. "This evening was wonderful -- the dinner, the roses, the presents. You're a very thoughtful son."

"Thanks, mom," I said. "You're a wonderful mom and I wanted to show some appreciation."

"Well, you did. You did a great job. Now I hope I can pull off wearing these clothes you bought. They are skimpy."

"I'm sure you can, mom," I said.

She gestured at the running shorts and top lying next to her on the sofa. "You don't think that outfit's a little small for me to be running around the neighborhood in?" she asked.

"No," I said. "You are a serious runner. You want to wear something light and comfortable. It's functional. And you'll look great. Don't worry about it."

I had had an idea for what I wanted to do next in the evening, but I made it sound like an idea that had just come to me.

"I have an idea, mom," I said. "Why don't you put on the running outfit, and I'll take a few photos of you. You can see if you like how you look, and if it looks good you can use some photos for your online dating profile?"

Her face showed she was skeptical. I wasn't sure if it was because of uncertainty about how it would look on her or because of discomfort with posing for me.

"Well, I don't know, Randy. How would you want me to pose?"

"Just some nice, athletic shots, that will show you how you look in the outfit. And I could use some photos like that for the portfolio I need for my photography class at school."

"You're going to show these photos to other people?" she asked, concern on her face.

"Only if you approve," I said. "I'll take the photos and put them on my computer. Then you can look at them and see if you like them. O.K.?"

My earnestness and enthusiasm appeared to be winning her over and beating back her reluctance.

"O.K., I'll give it a try," she said. "Should I go put this on now?" She held it up.

I was in my photographer mode now, and I knew how to direct her. I recalled mom's readiness to follow my posing directions the previous night on the sofa and knew that once I got her going she would be more comfortable and responsive in posing for me.

"Take the shorts and top and put them on, and come back here. I'll get my camera and straighten up the room and get it ready for the photos."

With that instruction, I went to my room and she went to hers, the little running outfit clutched in one hand.

I had a fairly good DSLR camera back in my room that I'd bought on an employee discount from the Best Deal store where I worked. I fetched it. Although it was night time, I left the flash behind. The living room was well lit and I wanted to work just with the ambient light. The light was good, I thought. There was enough overhead light to ensure the photos wouldn't be too grainy, and the light from the candles and lamps would provide some interesting side lighting.

I adjusted the settings of the camera. Then I picked up the birthday packaging and set it aside so it wouldn't spoil the photos.

I heard soft footsteps on the floor and looked up and saw mom. She was wearing the little running outfit.

Mom looked a little tentative, a little nervous. But she didn't need to. She looked like a fitness goddess -- lean and sculpted but with skin that still was soft and supple. The shorts sat low on her waist and high on her thighs, accentuating long, shapely legs and a toned and defined torso. The bra top was more substantial and provided more coverage than a normal bra would, but it still revealed a fair amount of cleavage, and the effect of the firm, compressive material was to push her boobs up and together, accentuating the depth of the groove between them. Mom's dark blond hair flowed over her bare shoulders and down her back.

"Mom, you look great," I said to boost her confidence. "These are going to be great. We've got good light, too." I gestured around the room.

Though she looked amazing, mom seemed timid. She held her hands, clasped together, in front of her tummy. She acted like she didn't know where to go or what to do.

"Do you think this looks O.K.?" she asked.

I knew mom was feeling exposed and uncomfortable and that I had to do what I could to boost her confidence.

"Better than O.K., mom," I answered. "Trust me, you look wonderful. Now come over here, and I'll take some photos of you on the sofa."

Mom walked over to the sofa, still holding her hands together in front of her, and sat down on the sofa.

"I'm going to start with a profile photo," I said. "Just sit upright on the sofa, hands on your lap, and smile at me. Cock your head to the side just a little. Not that much. Yes, that's right."

Following my instructions seemed to give mom heart. She sat up straight and looked directly at me.

"Now give me a big smile," I said. She did. It was a great smile.

I took a few photos of her in that position. Then I got another idea. I walked over to the dining room and pulled a long stem red rose from the vase and walked back and handed it to her.

"Now," I said, "Hold the base of the stem of the rose, and hold it against you, with it just under your chin."

She did so.

"Excellent. I'll take a few shots." That's what I did. Mom was getting more comfortable. I was giving her easy poses to do, and her smile lit up with the brilliant red rose in her hand. She didn't have to pose; she was just sitting straight up, smiling into the camera lens. The rose added an appropriate romantic touch to the scene.

"That's great, mom, good smile. Now turn to the side a little, not quite 45 degrees. That's it. Shoulders back."

I was getting into it. It was fun taking charge of a photoshoot, even a strictly amateur one like this. It was doubly fun being able to tell my mom what to do and having her do it all, promptly and without reservation or hesitation.

The first few poses I had her strike were completely innocent, but it was impossible to avoid noticing how sexy mom looked in the short shorts and bra top. The mounds of her breasts strained against the tight-fitting bra. I wanted to set the camera to the side and just stare at her. But, of course, I couldn't do that. I kept up a steady patter of instructions and small talk to put her at ease and pose her, and to distract myself from the way mom's hot body was making me feel.

Then I decided to ramp up the sexiness of the shoot a little. I had mom lie back on the sofa, head against the pillow, arms bent and over her, one hand crossing over the other through the blond waves of her hair. I had her extend one leg in front of her (not fully straight, of course), and bend the other leg. Mom knew without coaching to point her toes, and I even noticed those for the first time in my life. I have my share of fetishes -- I'm a guy -- but feet had never done anything for me. But now, there was just something about mom's feet -- the curve of the instep, the thin ankles, the perfectly proportioned and -- it appeared -- freshly painted toenails.

I imagined my lips around one of those toes, spreading over it and taking it fully in my mouth and swirling my tongue around it. And as soon as I thought it I did everything I could to purge the thought. I had more photographs to take, and I didn't want to give away the rising temperature of my feelings for mom in that moment.

Lying back on the sofa, mom pushed her chest out an inch or two -- she really was getting the hang of posing with minimal instructions -- and looked squarely into the lens. She turned her face down just slightly, looking up at me through thick eyelashes, and she let her lips part without smiling. It was a seductive look, no doubt about it. I didn't think mom meant anything by it, but the look seduced me, anyway. I took my time over that pose, and took several shots.

I wanted to push the boundary more.

"Let's stand up now, mom," I said.

"Where do you want me?" she said. I had to try hard not to show her how I was letting her words sink in.

"Over there by the wall," I said. "Where it's uncluttered. Put your back against the wall, and your hands down and against the wall, and now move your hips away, and bend your legs. Get up on the balls of your feet, bend one leg slightly across the other, and point a toe. "

I kept running through the instructions quickly, in part because I thought if I slowed down mom might start wondering whether she really wanted to strike such a sexy pose for her son's camera. It seemed to work because mom had no objection, and she gave me another sexy, slightly opened mouth expression, as before.

The outfit was perfect for her, and she looked perfect in it. Sculpted but feminine, lean and curvy, sporty and graceful: she was all these things in one.

She seemed to be enjoying herself as well. She took instructions easily and even improvised on my directions, adding gestures and poses.

"Mom, you're a natural at this," I said. "Did you pose for dad? I remember him taking a lot of photos."

"I did some posing for your father," she said with a grin and a look that said she was thinking about the poses she struck.

I kept talking as I snapped photos of her.

"Can I see them?" I asked.

"You can see some of them," she said, the grin bigger now. "Some of them I can't show you."

"Oh!" I said. "I had no idea, mom. I don't mean to pry."

"You're not prying. It's O.K. I haven't thought about those photos he took in a while."

She seemed to like thinking about them, and I wondered how dad had posed her. I was getting hard again.

Now I had another thing on my checklist. I wanted to see the photos dad had taken of mom -- even the ones I wasn't meant to see.

"Let's go over here to the table," I told her. "Put your hands on the back of the chair, turn partly to the side, but with your back to me, and get up on the balls of your feet."

"Are you trying to take a photo of my butt?" she asked, looking at me with eyebrows raised high.

"It's not a butt shot," I said. "It's a shot of your back and your figure from the back." I think I sounded convincing. Mom paused a few seconds before taking up the pose.

Mom turned her butt toward me, her feet apart and her torso twisted part-way to the left so she could hold the back of the chair and look because over her shoulder at me.

From that angle she looked magnificent. The fabric of the little shorts looked like no more than the thinnest layer of black paint over the hard, perfect mounds of her ass. The muscles of her legs were tensed under smooth, taut skin. She rose as high as she could on the balls of her feet, causing her calf muscles to pop out noticeably. Her back was uncovered, save for the three-inch strap of her running bra.

Mom looked back over her shoulder at me with an expression similar to the one from before -- chin down slightly, eyes upturned through thick eyelashes.

I took a few photos of her in that position.

I could see from my view point that mom was conflicted. She enjoyed posing and having her picture taken, but with every passing minute that she was on display in her skimpy outfit the challenge to her sense of propriety grew. I wanted to get as many sexy shots of mom as I could, but I also wanted to end the shoot before she was too uncomfortable.

After a few photos of her with her backside to me I decided to end the shoot.

"Mom, that was great," I said. "I think we got some good shots. I think that's enough for now."

With the photo shoot done, I told mom I would clean up the dinner, but she insisted on helping me. We picked the dishes up off the table together and moved into the kitchen to clean the mess off the dishes. I told her I would do it by myself, but she seemed determined to stay near me and help me. I don't know why, exactly, but I had the feeling she enjoyed lingering near me in the skimpy shorts and bra I had bought her.

When we were done cleaning up in the kitchen, we parted. Mom went to her room and I went to mine.

I wanted, before her birthday was done, to deliver copies of the photos I'd taken of her to her. I downloaded the photos on the camera to my computer, and then I saved them to a handy flash drive I'd kept in a drawer. The copying took almost no time, and when it was done I grabbed the flash drive out of the socket in the computer and walked down the hallway to my mom's room. I wanted mom to be able to see herself -- to see how youthful and attractive she looked in the shorts and bra top I'd given her.

The door to mom's room was open just a crack, so I pushed it open all the way and walked in without knocking or announcing myself.

My mom stood naked in the middle of her room, facing me. She was just stepping out of the tiny running shorts, which lay on the floor at her feet.