The Bucket List

I looked back over the page of the textbook I was currently studying and realized I hadn't taken in any of what I'd just read. Deciding it was time for a break, I closed the weighty tome and left the solitude of my bedroom to see about making a coffee, maybe grabbing a bite to eat if anything took my fancy. On the way to the kitchen, I passed Mom in the living room and in the process of asking if she'd like a cup herself, made the mistake(?) of inquiring as to what she was up to, looking over her shoulder at the screen of the iPad upon her lap.

"Nothing!" She was quick to seemingly defend her actions and to save us both from embarrassment, I immediately looked away from what was obviously a lingerie store website, the page open to what looked like lace bodystockings (of all things). "...and yes!" She agreed to a coffee, and from the corner of my eye I saw her close the screen and rise to follow me into the kitchen.

I set about making the cups as she joined me, sitting down at the island bench, the iPad, its screen black, placed conspicuously before her.

"I was just looking for some new underwear," she needlessly informed me, and I felt my face begin to blush as admittedly the idea of her wearing what I'd seen her eyeing, came to mind.

"Ok," I dismissed her confession, quickly attempting to change the subject. "I just needed a break from study," I explained my emergence.

"Oh good. You can help me then," she passionately exclaimed, turning the iPad back on, the webpage still open.

"I, ah... don't think I..." I deferred.

"It's just a question," Mom laughed and spun the tablet around in my direction. "Do women wear these?"

I looked down at the models dressed in the varying designs of sheer and lace lingerie and despite (or possibly due to) my mother's close proximity, felt a stirring in my pants.

"How would I know? You're a woman!" I scoffed back, attempting to remain nonchalant.

"I guess I mean, would a woman wear this for a man?" It was now her that began to blush. "You know to... I mean would it..."

She didn't need to finish the question; I understood fully what she was insinuating. Would they turn a man on?

"Mom... I don't think I'm the person to..." I faltered.

"But you're a man!" She smiled, turning my earlier assertion back onto me.

"Then, hell yeah!" I laughed, focusing again on the coffee. "Why are you even asking this?"

"Oh nothing," she waved a hand in dismissal. "As I said, I was just looking."

A silence descended and I filled it by humming a few bars of a song before I again changed the subject.

"Pizza, Friday!?" I enquired, alluding to our regular end of the working week take-out meal together and before she answered, there was a pause.

"Actually, no!" Her response surprised me, and I turned to look in her direction. "I... have a date!" She proclaimed.

Suddenly the lingerie question made a whole lot more sense (uncomfortable as it was) and sensing I'd made the connection; I watched her cheeks and even neck turn a deeper crimson.

"What!?" I questioned to be sure I'd heard accurately. In the ten years or so since Dad had run off with his secretary, never to be heard from again, Mom hadn't shown any interest in a relationship with another man and definitely hadn't been on a 'date', to the best of my knowledge. "Who with?" I must have sounded even more shocked than I was, and Mom raised her eyebrows in response.

"Don't sound so surprised."

"No, it's just. I mean you've not... you've never..." I was rambling, and Mom broke in to save me.

"It's just," she paused, "...an acquaintance through work. Thomas, his name is. And it's just a few drinks," she explained. "You can relax. We're not getting married and it's nothing to do with... this." She pushed lightly on the still-open tablet, the screen scrolling to reveal even more provocative lingerie below.

"Ok," I offered, not giving my opinion, but also understanding it hadn't been sought.

"It's just a few drinks," Mom repeated, accepting her coffee before somewhat sheepishly heading off further into the house.

Left alone, my eyes wandered back onto the iPad, and I continued scrolling down the page, enjoying the eye candy before noticing the little red icon in the top right corner of the screen indicating items for purchase. I looked down the hall to be sure Mom wasn't headed back and out of curiosity, tapped open the shopping cart.

I swallowed when I saw what she'd added. There was indeed a bodystocking, crotchless, I noted; as well as babydolls, a lace bodysuit, and several sets of matching bras and panties. The stirring I'd felt earlier began to form a full-on erection before I shot it down with the ultimate realization. Despite what she'd said, it was clear she was buying the items to appeal to someone, and the idea of her wearing them for 'him,' this 'Thomas,' made me feel more than a little sick. Troubled, and to be honest, somewhat confused at my reaction, I backed out of her shopping cart and left the tablet where it was; heading back to my room and the abandoned textbook, to hopefully fill my brain with my studies and not the fleeting incestuous imaginings of my mother in lingerie.

*

It had worked for a while.

It wasn't until a day later that my mind meandered around to anything remotely sexual regarding my mother, and it was merely an observance. Well, it began as such. I was sitting in much the same spot as she'd been when I discovered her looking at the lingerie website. Absently flicking through channels on the television as a distraction to my studies, I was further distracted by Mom entering the room, strangely, for so late in the afternoon, on a mission to tidy the house for some unknown reason.

"We expecting guests?" I inquired, suddenly remembering her date that weekend and hoping it wasn't 'him' that was making an appearance earlier than expected.

"No," she denied, and my eyes followed as she knelt at the coffee table to order the magazines below. "Just tidying," she added, and I allowed my gaze to linger upon her ass, her jeans stretching taut and dropping down her buttocks to expose ample flesh and surprisingly, the string of a white thong disappearing into the shadow of her buttcrack. Mother or not, instinctively I puckered my lips in appreciation of the admittedly attractive sight, composing myself when she rose and turned in my direction.

It, however, wasn't the end of the show. Thankfully oblivious to my ogling, she continued with her cleaning, taking up a cloth she'd placed on the table and moving to dust the fronds of the pot plants around the room. It was then I noticed the tightness of her t-shirt. The lines of the bra she wore were clearly visible through the stretched cotton; and as she once more turned, it was her nipples which then demanded my attention. Hard. Strangely so for such a warm day. But what did I care for the reason? I simply delighted in surreptitiously devouring their state. Poking seductively against the thin material, the pink of her areola, amazingly visible through the bra and outer thread. Mesmerizing, it came as a shock to me when I realized my cock was just as distinctly tenting my track pants.

"Are you home after dinner tonight?" Mom's voice further surprised me, and I did my best to shield my hard-on with my leg as I watched her eyes descend upon me, unable to conceal the color that came to my cheeks.

"Yep," I quickly replied, concentrating upon the television which to my horror I'd turned to the home shopping network, gorgeous middle-aged models parading the screen in the smallest of bikinis, as quickly changing channel before I hoped Mom happened to notice.

"Good because I want your opinion on something," she divulged before she smiled somewhat menacingly. "And you're probably not going to like it!" she cryptically added.

*

It wasn't long after our dinner that I discovered what she'd alluded to. Excusing herself from washing up, (it was my turn anyway) it was only a moment later that I heard her call from down the hall.

"Honey, can you bring me the scissors?"

Why she couldn't have come and got them herself, I wasn't sure, especially as she knew I was busy taking care of the dishes. But when I promptly met her at her partially opened bedroom door, kitchen implement in hand, I realized the reason.

"Tricky packaging!" She explained her need, displaying what I immediately recognized as a cardboard packet of pantyhose, and also understanding why she hadn't left the sanctity of her bedroom. Her white t-shirt remained, yet the tight jeans she'd worn all day lay abandoned on the bed behind her. All that covered her groin was the white (what I discovered then was lace-fronted) thong, making its second appearance of the day. Even without focusing on the area, I could see the dark shadow of pubic hair behind the material, and fortuitously, as she gratefully took the scissors from my hand and my eyes averted her gaze, her bare buttocks reflected in the mirror behind.

"Thank you, Baby," she said as I allowed my eyes to linger on her exposed ass, a perfect peach that cried out to be spanked, then lavished with a son's loving kisses.

"It's what I'm here for," I clumsily replied, feeling the heat rising in my face and without being dismissed, immediately turned back toward the kitchen, accompanied by her affectionate giggle.

'It's what I'm here for'!? I berated and questioned myself as I dried and put away the remaining plates from dinner. I should've complimented her on her appearance; or at least offered to open the packaging for her, thereby extending my stay. But to what end? I quickly reasoned. What was I expecting to happen? That my mother would undress further in front of me? The thought saw my cock twitch in response and remained poised for action when she returned to the kitchen moments later in a dress I'd certainly have remembered her wearing. Nothing more than a black silk or satin slip, she padded into the kitchen on pantyhosed feet before stopping and shrugging, looking awkwardly at me as she spoke.

"So, I bought this for my date..." she paused, and I assumed she wanted my opinion on it.

"Well, you should probably go with a black bra," I heard myself critique her appearance, alluding to the flesh-colored straps over her shoulders, stark and out of place behind the thin straps of the dress.

"Oh, it's not that," she dismissed, before looking down at her body. "It's the pantyhose," she, to my surprise, lifted the hem of the dress up from where it sat on her upper thighs, revealing more than she possibly would've expected as amazingly the shadow of pubic hair once more caught my eye, this time through the dark nylon. "These," she nodded down toward the black pantyhose, "...or these?" She continued as she released black thigh-high stockings from where they'd been secreted in her opposite palm, the lace stay-ups flowing over her hand.

"Mom, I..." I faltered, attempting to lift my eyes from her exposed groin, be it behind the dark nylon and shadowed by her dress.

"I just want a man's opinion," she stated, clearly seeing my embarrassment and attempting to help me out. "Forget I'm your mother. Which do you think would be more attractive?"

"Seriously?" I shook my head, managing to drag my eyes from her crotch, the fact she was trialing what would possibly turn on her date on me, now becoming annoying. "You're going to a lot of trouble for just a 'few drinks'."

"Well, I haven't done this in years," she defended herself. "I don't know what people wear on these things..." she trailed off, allowing her dress to fall once more over her hips "Oh, forget it," she turned, obviously disappointed in my reaction and I felt some sympathy for her.

"The stockings!" I called as she made her way from the room and I watched as she turned slowly to look me in the eye, an expectant look upon her face. "Go with the thigh-high stockings," I repeated, and I returned her expression as she smiled and mouthed the words 'thank you', before leaving the room proper.

The kitchen left tidy; I pictured her back in her bedroom as I disposed of some recycling in the garage. Pausing at the bin as I imagined her undressing, possibly admiring her own now naked body in the mirror, touching herself? The thought had my cock once more twitching and smiling as I adjusted myself, I headed back into the quiet house. It was on my way to my bedroom that I discovered how incorrect my musings had been.

"Oh, I thought you were in your room," Mom sheepishly exclaimed as we met in the hallway, and I attempted to remain nonchalant in the face of what was presented to me. "I was just returning the scissors," she held them up before herself, but my attention was drawn elsewhere. Gone was the black dress. But unlike my garage fantasy, she'd not undressed entirely; though she may as well have been. The bra I'd spied behind her t-shirt all day was now exposed to reveal its nylon cups, fully transparent. Her small nipples, pink and erect. And again, her pubic hair. A perfect triangle of luscious pressed down. No shadowed glimpse this. Her pronounced pubic mound, made available to my admiring gaze under the bright lights of the hallway

I caught myself as the blush came to my face. Forced my eyes from her sex to trail up her torso and meet her own.

"I... Um... I was going..." I struggled to verbalize, and I could see almost playfulness in her eyes as she recognized my discomfort.

"Oh Honey," she sympathized and unexpectedly kissed me on the cheek as she continued toward the kitchen, the fact her barely clothed breast gently caressed my arm in the process not going unnoticed. "You can relax," she giggled. "It's not like I'm naked."

I followed her journey, turning to watch her almost saunter down the hall, her ass swaying in the seamless pantyhose as if aware I was paying it, her, attention. I didn't hang around to allow her to catch me ogling. Wrenching my gaze from the beautiful sight, I completed my own journey to my room and behind the safety of my closed door, released my swelling cock to pay a masturbatory tribute to the evening.

*

It was early evening Friday when she once more presented herself to me for inspection. I had to admit I was beginning to enjoy her impromptu fashion parades and I confess my thoughts about her over the last couple of days hadn't been entirely pure. As a boy, his mother is the first woman he loves. As a teen, a daily example of the feminine form; the one to judge all other girls upon, and in my case, I wasn't oblivious to the fact, my mom was hot. All my friends had admitted it, and their obvious infatuation with her during my school days had no doubt encouraged me even back then, to look upon her as more than just my mother and see her as also a woman. I'm also not ashamed to confess, those feelings led me to partake in some not-so-proper actions.

- It'd admittedly been some time since I'd been so possessed as to take an item of her underwear from the wash. But discovering her white thong sitting atop the clothes hamper late Thursday night as if left for me as a special gift, I saw it only fitting I pay my respects to it and ultimately its owner. The erection that formed as I drew the g-string to my face was unsurprisingly hard given the taboo of my actions, and as I breathed in her motherly scent left upon the tiny gusset, the orgasm that accompanied was understandingly and ashamedly fast. -

But as she entered the living room Friday night and I looked up from casually browsing the web on my phone, I'd challenge any son to not show my level of incestuous affection. In a word, she looked stunning. The black slip sensuously hung from her shoulders by means of the previously noted spaghetti straps, supported accordingly by nothing more than the natural upturn of her obviously bra-less breasts. Nipples confidently poked against the material; they captured my gaze until I forced myself to look her in the eye. Smokey eyeshadow and lips painted red; her short blonde hair pulled back from her face with a high headband. She'd never looked as hot, and I rued the fact it wasn't I for whom she'd so dressed.

"So?" She tentatively questioned and I managed to lift my jaw, words not so forthcoming, and I merely and regretfully raised my thumb in approval of her appearance. Idiot. I thought. I should've openly expressed my attraction to her. Told her to cancel her date and spend the night in my arms, in my bed, upon my cock. The cock, which even as I watched her move into the kitchen to collect her clutch, the lace tops of her stay-up stockings visible under the swish of her dress, began to harden.

I knew she was disappointed with my lackluster response and climbing up onto the couch, conveniently pressing my hidden hard-on into the cushioned backrest, I gave her what she wanted yet only a fraction of what I really felt.

"You look beautiful Mom," I confessed, and she turned, surprise on her face quickly replaced with a joyous smile. "I hope 'he' deserves it," I added.

"We'll see," she beamed, before, with the purse in hand, she came back into the living room, leaning in to place a subtle kiss upon my cheek, (twice in a week) the scent of her perfume overpowering my senses. "Wait up for me?" She smiled and I winked in affirmation as the awaiting taxi tooted its horn.

*

Painful. That's how the next half hour felt. My pizza arrived and I ate alone with little enthusiasm for the flavor. I paced around the house and constantly checked the time imagining it was how a parent must feel when they see their child off alone. An invite to a night on the town with college friends, I declined, and almost one hour after she'd left the house, I was beginning to feel depressed. I should've been happy for her. Ten years was too long alone. Didn't she deserve to find happiness again? Especially how things had been left with Dad. I thought of her date. 'An acquaintance through work.' She'd never mentioned anyone of interest. Who was he? Thomas. Wasn't much to go on. Sounded like a douchebag, I smirked. It was then I imagined what could've been happening between them and I realized... I needed a drink!

*

The walk would do me good I felt, dismissing the car. Clear my head. Distract me. I chose a liquor store I knew would sell to me, far away from home but navigable in the time allotted and nearing, was stopped at a pedestrian crossing with nothing to do but look around as I awaited the lights. Music and conversation from a bar on the street corner caught my ear and I turned to look upon the premises, their windows giving a clear view of the patrons within. I saw her immediately. Even from the distance and obscured by the milling drinkers, I recognized the beauty sitting at the bar. The traffic signal changed, the alarm permitting my crossing, but instead, I followed Siren-like, the call of the music from within the bar.

I just want to see the guy. I thought to myself as I was nodded entry by the hulking security manning the door. With my eye on her, I skirted my way around the crowded floor of the pub and found a vacated booth, conveniently located behind a pillar yet with a clear view of my mother and the empty stool beside her from behind. And there I waited. Like some anonymous admirer, or more pointedly, a cowardly stalker. Five minutes passed and her date, whom I assumed was visiting the men's room, still hadn't returned. I watched as she ordered from the barman and was surprised when he returned with only one, clearly Mom's patented gin and tonic. What was going on here!? It was then a man sidled up beside her and I thought, finally, I would see her beau. The man who'd robbed my mother's heart from me. No! Not to be. The guy had seemingly simply enquired as to the availability of the stool beside her and to my shock, she'd acquiesced. She was alone! What the FUCK was going on here!?