The Dream Never Dared Ch. 01

"Thank you; I appreciate that. As long as you feel that way, I'm more than happy to be nude while you're with me." She seemed to stress the word "nude" in a way that sent my nerves tingling.

As time went on, she seemed to find more ways to show her body to me and do subtly erotic little things for my benefit, seeking things that I happen to like. Some were little modifications to ordinary things: for example, when she needed someone to help her unzip her dress, I might have just drawn the zipper down and then left; now I would stay to help her step out of it and in the process enjoy the sight of her in her sheer undies that she preferred to wear.

Another change was to the massages I had long been in the habit of giving her. The custom had always been that she'd wear her relatively conservative two-piece swimsuit and I'd be careful to avoid getting too close to her ass, much less anything else close by.

Then, one day, when I arrived she was wearing just skimpy, half-sheer panties. This time I let my hands find the exposed flesh.

"Where do you think you're touching me, fella?" she asked.

"That's the rule: if I can see it, I can touch it, lady." I replied. I could swear that I saw a cute little wiggle, maybe even involuntary. At the sight, the surge from the escalation of the recent past struck me and a bold and daring impulse caught me. I gently grasped the sides of the panties and tugged gently. I half-expected her to do something to stop things, to keep the panties in place, but instead, she just lifted her hips slightly to help me remove them.

"What was that rule again, fella?"

"Uh...if I can see it, I can touch it," I repeated.

"Right, just checking." Of course, I knew what she really meant, as do you. I resumed the massage, but now boldly went where I'd never gone before, freely caressing and massaging the flesh of her fine ass, trying not to let her know that what would have been an innocent massage was really sending my senses into hyperdrive. With effort I kept the shaking of my hands under control and forced myself to breathe slowly, but I don't think I fooled her very well.

Now, from the way this seems in words, you might get the impression that she was turning cockteaser, taunting me with what I could never actually have. Such are the limitations of the written word. Take it on faith that if you could hear every conversation and see the subtleties of her expressions and behavior you would drop that notion in an instant.

It occurred to me once that somehow Mom's behavior and Karen and Jerry's incestuous relationship might be in some way connected. When I managed to stick a teasing probe as to whether or not he'd ever disclosed that to Mom into a conversation he just howled laughing with a firm "Hell, no!"

One thing that I noticed in passing: while she was perfectly OK with being nude in my presence, she always kept her back to me at those times. I never quite saw her fully naked from the front; that was always veiled or concealed in some way, particularly down below. She might let me see her breasts through the sexy wet swimsuit or a semi-sheer gown but her pussy was always more closely guarded.

---

It was one Saturday night that she came home early from a date and I could see it had not gone well. When I heard someone drop her off at the door I assumed it was her date at first, until I saw it was actually Karen who had given her a ride home from somewhere. She was not really drunk but she had had more than you'd be able to take and still drive, and she was also very close to tears. I broke away from the movie I was watching and helped her to the room and out of her dress, but was not concerned with her body right then. I didn't ask what was wrong; I knew she'd come around to it soon enough. I left the room and returned to the living room to watch the rest of the movie. I'd gathered some refreshments and was seated as I often was, on the floor with my back against the sofa, goodies easily within reach, when Mom emerged from the room and seated herself beside me, and for a long time, watched in silence--stared, really; clearly, none of her attention was on the movie. From time to time I'd turn to her, smiling gently, silently inviting her to tell her tale when she was ready, but without pressing. Finally, she did.

"It's an old story, Brad," she said, with just enough slurring to disclose her intoxication. "I don't mean to lead anyone on, and I sure hope I'm not doing that--even with you, if you know what I mean."

I nodded.

"I'm no prude, but I don't buy the line that flowers and a nice dinner are the price of a good fuck. I mean...I might well go for it when I know we both choose it and respect each other, but when guy figures he's got a guarantee just because he's spent the money and the time--it makes me feel like a fucking whore."

I knew she was wrought up; that's not really the language she customarily uses.

"I've always taught you better, Son. I can't believe you'd ever get that way."

"Count on it, Mom. No way I'd ever do that. In fact, now that I think of it, the best sexual relationships I've ever had started out with more restraint than anything else. Waiting until it's right for both of us makes it better when it happens and starts things out on the right foot after that. We both know we're more than sexual toys to each other that way."

She turned to me with a bit of a smile breaking through the clouds and laid her head on my shoulder. There was nothing remotely sexual about any of this; my concern was only for her bruised emotions. We turned back to the TV in silence, and she actually did get into the movie a bit.

Sometimes I've given her little shoulder massages here. She'd sit on the floor in front of me and I'd give her a rubdown. This seemed like a good time for that. Mom moved over and took her place and slipped the robe off her shoulders, revealing herself in her nightgown. It didn't matter that it was sheer; in this position I can only see her shoulders and back anyway. I began to work on her shoulders and felt the tension slowly drain away from them. Patiently and attentively I did all I could to ease the stress of the evening.

Gradually she relaxed and returned to her usual, if a bit wobbly, self. I felt her relax and then I felt her lean back, against me, something she had never done before. This was new, and my new-found perceptions of her returned very suddenly. My arms were now around her and as I looked down, in the light from the TV, her breasts were fully revealed, though in profile. I tried instinctively to find a better view, and almost as if I knew it, she stretched a bit and snuggled back further, revealing herself even more. I was sure my suddenly elevated heart rate would give me away, but she didn't notice. I hugged her, affectionately, but also to bring my arms up to those wonderful breasts. I felt my hands pressed against her chest just below them, barely sensing them, and I felt her leaning back even further, stretching and arching her back. Barely believing my own actions, I felt my hands rise, trace the lower contours of her breasts, and then close over them, now freely caressing them. I told myself to stop, but myself wasn't listening. My fingertips sought and tweaked her nipples before returning to broader caresses. When Mom twitched and moved I was sure she'd have suddenly discovered what was going on an would angrily leave, but instead, she tugged at the nightgown and it slipped off her shoulders, and her breasts were now in open as she settled back again.

I was out of my mind now! Mom wasn't just allowing me to feel her breasts; she was asking me to! As I continued she clasped her hands behind my head, opening herself more and more to my touches. I no longer had to worry about my heartbeat and breathing; her own were steadily outpacing mine, and I heard a deep moan escape from her.

I let my touch explore her all over from her waist upward, and I knew that there were no more barriers on the road ahead.

Except one. My own.

With deliberate and not-very-comfortable effort, I very gradually decelerated, letting this moment of excitement fade gently. Mom relaxed in my arms, and after a long time of cooling down, I rose and lifted her to her feet. Unsteadily, with my help, she made her way to the bedroom. I helped her into bed, for the first time getting a half-clear view of her great body through the gown. I settled her in, took in the rest of the movie and went to bed.

There is a good long list of reasons, some more honorable, some less, why it would have been very unwise to pursue anything further than we did that night. All of them derive, directly or indirectly, from knowing how wrong and damaging it would be to take advantage of the way she was both intoxicated and so emotionally vulnerable.

Funny, though, not one of them had anything to do with the fact that she was my mother.