Show and Don't Tell

I honestly felt a little creepy by watching her like this. I was sneaking around darkened corners, clinging to the wall like a cockroach. Nervous sweat dripped down my neck and my heartbeat raced while my pulse soared at every noise as if I were being hunted and yet, it was I that spied my prey and watched for each vulnerable movement. She was naked and unaware that a deviant was betraying her trust and getting sexually turned-on by her simple, innocent motions. This was a temptation easily avoided and a sin seriously condemned but I was inexorably drawn to the alluring figure like a demented moth to a flame.

But in my defense, I had just recently turned nineteen and my entire sexual experience was comprised of some touch-and-feel scrambling in the back of a movie theater with my first and only girlfriend and then on prom night after we both decided that it was time to lose our virginity, we had some educational but uncomfortable sex. Since then, I have been in a constant state of arousal and have succumbed to the most taboo temptation of them all. So, there I was, standing just out of sight leering at her as she lathered her curvy body behind the translucent shower doors.

This wasn't the first time that I ogled her moistened, sensuous body as she luxuriously lingered under the cascading flow and allowed her sudsy hands to wander freely over the delicate mounds and supple sweep of her enticing form. Each swipe of her delicate fingers left a pattern of soapy waves that swept under her firm boobs or around the broad, sexy arc of her swaying hips. The foamy trail would wash cleanly away like chalk from a blackboard leaving her lithesome anatomy sparkling fresh with no trace of the subtle, solo-seduction she had performed but my vivid imagination captured each slow landing-point and they were permanently etched in my memory.

In the past week, I've stood by the opening of the bathroom door and with each passing occurrence, as she leaned against the tiled wall or sat on the small stool, I would nudge the door open a bit wider with my toe and reach into my shorts to fondle my stiffening cock. The movements are tantalizing in their delicacy and slow build but quickly become more heated. As if the whole process was set to her Soft Jazz. The choregraphed movements seem designed to heighten the intensity. Then the tempo increases. She shampoos her silken locks and washes her soft shoulders and long legs until the shower stall is misted over and only her vague form is outlined behind the steamy glass panels. As the room becomes warmer and a fine haze settles in, she slithers on to a stool and her legs raise like she is in the stirrups. I see the motion and the blur of action when her hand disappears between her legs or when she soaps her pliant breasts.

In the misty warmth of the cramped room, her sultry silhouette seemed both inviting and intimidating as she slowly caressed her nude anatomy and writhed intoxicatingly as if performing an illicit shadow drama. She would alternate between standing and massaging the creamy body lotion onto her rounded breasts while weighing the firm cups and tweaking the pointy nipples that left soft impressions on the frosted glass. Then she might sit and stretch or spread those long legs to rub more foamy lather along her velvety thighs and strong calf muscles, unknowingly driving me wild as her soapy palms traced a slippery path back up her smooth gams and in between her separated hips.

She would spend an agonizingly torturous time washing the darkened gap of her lower abdomen as I could only imagine the actual sight of those silken labia laid bare to the dreamy, feminine touch of her lithe fingers. Her head would lull back against the wall and I swear that I could hear the soft, trilling coo of her husky voice as the motion of her tender digits seemed to quicken their pace and delve deeper into the mysterious depths of her forbidden orifice. The bottom of her bare feet could be seen pressing upon the doors steadying her jittery torso and subconsciously clearing a viewing window for some unlikely Peeping Tom. And her butt squirmed on the squeaky seat while she plied her probing fingers into the steamy cavern and explored the heated opening to her pleasure center. In the act of cleansing her sensuous body, she was in reality, performing a dirty little masquerade that was testing the bounds of my morality and nearly of my sanity.

In the interim, I had descended from an indecent voyeur into a lecherously twisted deviant. My cock was straining in my hand, swelling to obscene proportions and aching to be stroked. Most of the week; what had started with that throbbing feeling that led to the twitch, which I knew signaled that I should scurry to my room and finalize the lascivious struggle, now I carried a hand-towel and loosened my engorged cock from its tight surroundings and tugged the weighty dimensions until the knee-weakening tingle directed me to aim my turgid tool towards the cloth so to carry away the evidence of my perversity. This is the way that I must live in this house alone with my mother.

My mom's name is Sheila. She had me when she was just nineteen as I am now and something shameful apparently drove my father away. We never mention him though he evidently provided for us both as a condition of parting. She is still obviously a young mother though she doesn't date and seems truthfully to be afraid of men. She has fleetingly mentioned that her own father was also not to be trusted, and though alive, I rarely see or speak to my grandparents. We have been together ever since, and she is determined that we form a lasting bond.

Mom has long dark hair with auburn streaks and at five-foot-nine, has thick, toned legs and a full 36D rack. Her eyes are a deep blue, nearly violet with pouty cheeks and plump lips that suggest something slightly sexual. At thirty-eight, her tits are firm and pleasingly rounded with prominent pink nipples that often poke at the sheer material of her blouses. In heels, her sculpted legs show solid form and her rear-end shakes alluringly. She talks to me about sex in hushed, hurried sentences as if it were some repugnant, unnatural thing. And while I have seen her luscious body in shorts or swimwear, or as she prepares herself for bed in satiny nightgowns or just a large tee and tight panties, she dresses ultra-conservatively, almost prudishly in public.

That dark, glossy hair is usually bundled in a tight weave on top of her head and she will wear dark glasses or even reading glasses, hiding the purplish glow of her enticing orbs. Fashion dictates that she sometimes wear dresses that expose her shapely legs and the warm weather demands outfits that outline her statuesque figure, but she then dons an imposing countenance that dares even the boldest men to keep their distance. At home, she relaxes her guard to an extent, often cozying-up to me in almost embarrassing fashion and on occasion over a glass of wine (or two,) she lets drop that I am the only male figure that she can trust. Then recently, I discovered quite by accident, the shower door was left ajar.

We have a small house- two floors with her bedroom, mine and a spare on the top. Her room has a small bath attached and there is one other in the hall next to mine. Living alone for all these years we were fairly casual but respected each other's privacy. We have a cat who likes to wander between rooms and will claw at closed doors, plus her litter box is in the main bathroom. A plumbing problem arose in her bath so for a while we were compelled to use one bathroom. Even though the door was usually left open a crack to allow the cat access, being just the two of us, it was obvious if the bathroom was occupied and there was never any trace of exhibitionism.

It was one afternoon when I was wearing headphones that I didn't hear her music, and it being daylight ofcourse no lights were on when I sauntered into the room needing a shower after basketball. With the water running and the stereo playing, mom didn't hear me until I was practically stepping into her space. I had walked in wearing only shorts and they dropped just after I removed the headphones. As I pulled open the door, failing to register the water running, her surprised expression and total nudity stopped me cold. All that I remember from that moment was the frantic face that confronted me. Her startled eyes were wide with anguish and desperation. In an instant she gleaned from the rapid motion of my roving eyes, that I observed every fine detail of her moistened, glistening body.

Her shoulder-length raven hair was plastered to her upper chest but swept aside wear sudsy traces showed that she had spent considerable time soaping her big tits. And before she could turn her body and cross her legs, it became obvious that the triangular patch of fine black curls and the reddened skin around her pouty lower lips were excessively cleaned and shimmering. In the fractions of time that my bare leg was lifted over the threshold of the tub and that she then, spied my entirely naked form, I noticed the distinct lowering of her eyelids as she zeroed-in on my crotch. It took a mere second for my sweaty, shriveled cock to instantly inflate and jut-out directly towards her swollen pubic mound and when my jittery hand finally moved to cover myself, it was met by a raging, pulsing hard-on like I had never experienced before. This was suddenly eight granite-hard inches of thrilling, explosive sin that was literally, staring right at her.

There was the requisite sputtering, half-swallowing apologies that naturally followed such a precarious situation. Her dampened, soapy nipples were perky and pointing straight out, challenging my solid erection jutting forth like two dueling sexual swords about to joust. Though we both tried to remain dignified and unembarrassed under the cramped, carnal conditions and keep our roving eyes at head-level, there was no mistaking or hiding the fact that our eyes thoroughly examined- given the quickness- every facet of the other's body in lewd, lascivious detail.

We were face-to-face so to speak, for a nano-second but in that brief time we both took-in with ogling, drooling perception an unknown appreciation and illicit desire for the glorious appendages of each other. Her stiff nipples could have etched the glass if she moved closer and my suddenly throbbing cock could have hammered nails. And forever frozen in that moment, despite stumbling, blubbering apologies from both sides, was an awkward and illegitimate coveting of what we knew was a taboo longing that needed to be dampened but could never be vanquished. I slowly backed away while she reached for a bath towel and later, we shared a guilty, awkward supper meal. At that earlier instant though, a fuse was lit. At its fiery detonation would come the surprise of our lives.

There were a few clumsy days where we almost bumped into each other because we were taking such pains to deliberately not look into the eyes of one another. One evening before bed, my mom made a general announcement (with me being the only other person in the room,) that she was going upstairs to take a shower. I purposely made a point of saying that I would stay in the living room to watch a movie. That silly scenario should have finally laid to rest our awkward situation. But the following night too, she mentioned that she would be in the shower as I said that I was going to get ready for bed.

The bathroom door was still slightly open after about a half-hour when I wondered why she was taking so long. I walked close and listened intently, just to be sure that she was okay. Her music was playing and the water poured down, the steam was floating into the hallway and I could hear that she was splashing under the flow. Even assuming that things were fine, I was still curious to see if anything had changed. As I inched further towards the lighted doorway it occurred to me that in my bare feet and dressed for bed in just my boxers, this might look suspicious. I didn't want to caught-out as an incestuous lurker though I had to admit that was what I'd become. So, I quietly crept closer and peeked around the corner, catching a foggy glimpse of her glistening frame as she sat spread-eagle on the little stool plying her lithe fingers through the dampened kinky curls of her pubic snatch and softly moaning just loud enough to be heard through the Jazz.

I didn't think that this lewd performance was entirely for my benefit but if it were not, there are simple precautions that would have lent more privacy. As I eased closer and gently pushed the door a bit wider I didn't realize that my body, backlit from the light in the hall, cast a long shadow in the tiny bath almost signaling my intruding presence. A similar show but in reverse, was about to take place for her indulgence. The glass doors were just misted enough that I could not see clearly but I came to understand that from her view, she saw me clearly... and she liked what she saw. Thinking that I was being discreet and staying back from her line of sight, where I had positioned the open door so that I was at an optimum viewing angle, this was not the first time that I watched her misty masturbation but it was the first time where I pulled out my cock and copied her. Like Pavlov's Perversions,

and possibly with no obvious intentions from either of us, I was responding to the sexual stimuli that she set in motion.

It took little coaxing for my tool to stiffen and begin to palpitate. I can't deny that the image of my mother playing with herself and the memory of literally walking in on her, stoked my every waking moment for the past week. I stared at her while her right hand vigorously rubbed the swollen mound and now I could visualize that hot pussy that I'd seen in the flesh. I knew the style and length of her pubic curls and had seen the reddened outer lips and her exposed clit begging for more attention. Those fabulous teardrop-shaped tits, swaying before my eyes and smacking together as she moved with a sloppy, wet motion.

It didn't take long. My sweaty palm stroked my hard member to the sound of her guttural moaning. The right hand glided up the swollen shaft until it abraded the thicker skin of the under-cap and the repeated the motion, causing more friction and sending sparks firing through my tingling frame. My trembling hand could hardly control the violent throbbing from my firm erection but I was too busy watching this mesmerizing show and picturing her soft, supple lips on the business end of my straining cock. The oily precum began to ooze from the swollen purplish head of my throbbing column. I picked-up speed as I strained to see through the haze, though the smoky images left just enough to my vivid imagination, that I could fantasize enough to fill in the blanks.

My up and down motion spread the warm liquid along the smooth length of my thick shaft, easing the glide of my palm as my pace doubled. I felt the hefty tool in my greasy palm but my eyes were laser-focused on my mother's naked form. The squishing sound was drowned-out by the slow music and her throaty moans but it was music to my ears. The pumping action increased as I zeroed-in on her rapid arm movements. We were both reaching a breaking point that I only wished could be shared and appreciated.

When her hand suddenly stopped its steady circling and seemed to plunge inside her aching cavern, I think we both climaxed at the same time. She wailed a deep, satisfying sigh followed by a series of "Yesses," and her feet rocked the tempered glass as she slid forward on the small seat and gasped for air. With her legs spread wide and only a darkened triangle visible to me, my mind shot graphic images of what was taking place. The shower-glass rocked and echoed in the tiny room as her bare feet trembled with the excitement of her onrushing climax. She seemed to make a sound that reminded me of an owl "hooting," and her body looked limp as she sagged against the tiles. I sucked in my breath, remarkably remembering that I was only a few feet away, but forgetting that my loaded rod was about to shoot. This was beyond my control to do anything more than remain shakily upright.

I splattered cum all over the old wooden door and splashed it back on my feet, forming a small, sticky puddle on the rug. It was a struggle just to corral the firehose-like spray that poured from my pumping pole. Like a Dali print the surrealistic pattern dissolved on the door and messily slid down its face. I too, wanted to scream and shout but fortunately my clouded senses alerted me of the disconcerting predicament that I was in.

At first embarrassed and then roused from my lewd fantasy, by hearing the faucets being turned, I scrambled to disrobe and quickly but quietly swipe the sticky residue with my shorts and hustled back to my bed with my heart pounding and fearing another shameful confrontation. In my darkened room atop the dank sheets, I wiped sweat from my brow and underarms while using the cum-drenched shorts to mop-up the remaining drips of syrupy solution sticking to my legs. She is the one who just emerged from a hot shower but my body was throwing-off heat at an alarming pace. Sweat mixed with cum, left me a sticky, sloppy mess. I could hear my mom exiting the shower and imagined her drying and applying lotion to that luscious body. I had only seconds to appear pleasantly asleep.

Ofcouse, after rinsing the remains of her own orgasm from the tub and drying off, mom was quick to find the evidence of my own exercise drying into a flaky remnant on the doorframe and leaving a whitish stain on the carpet. A selfish smile struggled for dominance over the forbidden frown that fought for a place on her confused face. For mom, she now had some serious thinking to do. Passing my open bedroom door she peeked in, which I detected through tightly clenched eyelids, but didn't say a word. The scent of arousal was in the air, confirming what she already knew. When Sheila crawled into bed, her freshly bathed body was also slickening anew with the dewy film from her hot cunt. She had vivid dreams of earlier seductions and illicit trysts that in the morning, triggered emotions that she felt had been long-buried. Wicked memories and torn secrets were rapidly dredged-up causing a terrifying and lust-filled swell of indecent emotions to torture her conscience.

I was out the door quickly that morning leaving her time alone with her thoughts. She was now forced to confront the past and deal with the incestuous encounter that was at the root of her stunted sexual behavior. It started years ago when she was changing into a bathing suit and her father "accidently" walked in on her. Though a full grown woman just starting college, she had been kept sheltered and under the watchful gaze of a wrathful god. Seeing her father suddenly appear as her undies were around her ankles and her full tits were bouncing loose, she froze with her tiny hands being no match for concealing her bodacious figure. His disarming smile and arched eyebrows scanned her naked, shivering anatomy and he approached her with open arms.

With his devious prodding, and her desiring of his praise, she continued to undress infront of him, now standing entirely nude and with her hands to her sides allowing for his full inspection and appraisal. Gentle words turned to explicit manipulation and soon she was sitting on his lap and tentatively rubbing her small hand across his bulging pelvis marveling at the swelling lump growing beneath her grip. She knew that this was wrong but with his smooth persuasion and steady hand cupping her heaving breasts and then other hand delved between her tingling thighs and brushed the damp lips of her erogenous zone, she was convinced that she was only following her daddy's wishes. When he kissed the tips of her perky tits sending a never-before-known thrill through her jittery torso, and squeezed each one like he was kneading fresh dough, she blushed with illicit pleasure and felt a sudden shiver in her virginal loins. She shuddered with the notion that she had just experienced her first orgasm brought-on by hands other than her own. Despite what she knew to be crude and perverted, she hungered for more.