The Mother Of All Sensuality

As a young man growing into puberty, I recall very well when I first began to look at women as sexual beings. I remember happening upon various men's magazines, at a very young age, and being mesmerized by the scantily clad models. And I vividly recall having a poster-sized photo of a very appealing, nude woman posed in a kneeling position, which I employed on numerous occasions as a visual aid to my masturbation fantasies. As I grew older, I took special notice of many of the women in my neighborhood, appreciating them for their physical and sensual beauty and even developing many infatuations.

I am reasonably certain that it was my friend Terry who first directed my attention toward my own mother. Terry and I often talked about women, and what physical attributes we most appreciated from each of them. I had often noticed Terry's mother walking around in very tight slacks that emphasized the lovely shape and contour of her buttocks and expressed to him my feelings one day. Terry laughed. "You know what?" He said, raising his eyebrows for emphasis. "If we had one woman with my old lady's ass and your old lady's tits, we'd have ourselves a bombshell."

"My mom's tits?" I thought to myself. It had never even occurred to me to ever imagine or consider my mother as being an object of sexuality. Obviously, Terry had certainly noticed and perceived her that way. That evening, after dinner, I watched casually, through the family room window, as my mother carried a load of washing out to the back yard to hang on the clothesline. She wore a sleeveless, white blouse and a pair of navy Capri pants with flat sandal-style shoes. I tried to see her as Eddie saw her, not my mother, but just as a woman.

At forty years of age and standing just a little over 5'4", my mother's figure tended to be slightly on the heavy side. She had wonderful legs, shapely calves, nicely plush thighs, and wide, fleshy hips with more than ample buttocks. Even in her shapeless blouse, it was easy to see why Terry had been so attracted to her breasts. My mother was, indeed, blessed with a generously endowed bosom. Until that moment, I had never perceived my mother to be anything other than just that, my mother, and it was somewhat disturbing for me to look upon her with the same discerning eye for sensuality and physical attractiveness as I would normally apply to other women in the neighborhood.

With my perception of her skewed slightly so as to attempt to perceive her as others might, I actively set about looking for and noticing, any and all, expressions of sensuality, that she might inadvertently express, in her manner of dress and physical movement. The more attention I paid, the more I could clearly see a distinctly feminine aura of sensuality about her that, as her son, I had never taken the time to notice before.

Once, when I was staying up late to watch a horror movie on television, my mother, who had been sleeping, entered the living room to see why on earth the light was still on so late at night. Wearing only her nightgown, she stood with her hands on her hips, more than a little irritated to find me up past my bedtime and admonished me to get myself up to bed that instant and turn off the television.

I had seen her in a nightgown on many occasions, so it was not that much of a shock or surprise. She was especially fond of the nylon-tricot, knee-length pullover variety and had many in her wardrobe. That particular night she wore a pink affair, which, although a pullover, buttoned completely up the front, from hem to bodice. While not exceptionally diaphanous, it did however reveal her to be completely nude, her body appearing as a lighter shadow than that which surrounded her and highlighted her figure.

We argued slightly as I grumbled about having to go to bed. I got up and turned off the television and, just as I was about to turn off the light, she turned away from me to return to her bedroom. As she turned, her breasts swayed beneath the sheer fabric of her nightgown in a manner that was more provocative and revealing than anything I had ever seen or imagined before. For the first time I perceived the inherent heaviness of her bosom, as her breasts, hanging freely, moved with a pliant, heavy sensuality that would never be completely manifested within the tight confines of a bra.

From that evening on, I became more and more intrigued and infatuated by my mother's breasts. I paid much more attention to the way she dressed, especially when she wore tighter, more revealing sweaters or pullovers. It is often difficult to tell much about the shape or contour of a woman's breasts when she is wearing a brassiere and my mother was no exception. One defining characteristic that seemed to set her apart from any other women within the realm of my personal experience was that my mother's breasts seemed to billow out into her sweater as one large swell rather than two distinct bulges. Upon watching her more closely, I began to notice that which I had never taken the time to perceive before, a restricted but very distinct, heavy sway and bounce to her bosom that even a brassiere could not completely confine. I found myself shaking my head in wonder at how I had never before noticed such an alluringly sensual attribute in my mother. And, while it was nowhere near as sensual and provocative as it had been that first night, when I had perceived the heavy movement behind her nightgown, the subtle swaying beneath her brassiere as she moved was still remarkably alluring.

One night, as she got up from the living room sofa to get ready for bed, she bade me good night and admonished me to not stay up too much later. I continued watching the program in progress when, from the corner of my eye and through the glass sliding door, I noticed the light from her bathroom window suddenly switch on and bathe the backyard patio in a soft glow. With a start, I realized that, along with brushing her teeth and washing her face before bed, she would also be changing into her nightgown. My mind suddenly raced with the realization that I might very well be able to actually see my mother's breasts. Although the bathroom widow was completely opaque for privacy, my mother always kept the sash raised about an inch in order to dispel the steam of a shower and allow fresh air. Indeed, from my chair in the living room I could distinctly see a narrow strip of brighter light just above the sill.

With my heart pounding in my chest and my pulse racing, I slipped through the glass sliding door as quietly as I could and made my way to just below the bathroom window. All was so very quiet that I could hear the rustle of her clothing as she began to change into her nightgown. As I was too short to look directly into the window, I looked around for something I might stand on and chanced upon the old gasoline can we kept on the patio for the lawn mower. I quietly placed it beneath the window and then, supporting myself against the wall of the house, stepped up onto the can.

As my eyes reached the level of the windowsill and I peered into the bathroom, I was momentarily surprised to see only the bathroom, my mother was nowhere in sight. I moved my head from side to side to see the entire room and then started as she suddenly raised up right in front of me. She had apparently been bending over momentarily where I had been unable to see her and took me by surprise as she suddenly rose into view. As she stood, she was facing slightly away from the window, in a three-quarter profile, and she was completely nude. My eyes bulged to suddenly see her, for the first time, without clothing, her smooth, unblemished skin, the soft sensual flare of her fleshy hips and the round, plush swell of her buttocks. Her huge breasts hung in heavy profusion, the flesh a stark, milky white with small, very dark nipples. She bent again and her breasts moved freely, swaying with such sensuality that I literally gasped. I felt myself becoming hard, my penis pressing painfully in the confines of my tight jeans, as I watched her, completely enthralled, until she slowly lifted her arms and let her nightgown fall into place around her.

I quickly stepped down and made my way silently back into the living room. Moment's later she returned, wearing her robe over her nightie, and bade me goodnight once more.

What a momentous occasion it had been for me. I had just seen a woman's breasts for the first time. Not just pictures in a magazine, but for real. The fact that the breasts I had just seen belonged to my mother was completely immaterial to me. They were breasts and they were large and beautiful and moved with a sensual, erotic grace unlike anything I had ever seen before. While it did give me some slight pause to consider the fact that I had, indeed, become physically aroused by the incident, I rationalized it somewhat by telling myself that it was not my mother that had aroused me, but only her breasts. It was a generic attraction, I rationalized, and not personal.

From that night on, I took advantage of every opportunity to see her breasts, employing that gasoline can, again and again, on many occasions. One night in particular, I watched in rapt fascination as she cupped each breast with one hand and lightly applied some form of lotion to her nipples. I watched in fascination as each of her areolas wrinkled and tightened dramatically and her nipples became stiff and erect. Once, long ago, I had heard her speaking to one of her friends how, as an infant, she had nursed me for the first four months. As I watched her apply the lotion and her nipples become erect, I could not help but wonder how it might feel to take her nipple into my mouth. With some embarrassment, I realized my fantasizing had aroused me tremendously.

That was not the first time I had allowed my fantasies of my mother's breasts to inspire and arouse me. Indeed, I masturbated at least once a day imagining how it might feel to touch her breasts, kiss them and suckle at her nipples.

Several months after the first peeping incident, I was lying restlessly awake on my bed. For some reason I had awakened in the middle of the night and could not get back to sleep. Suddenly, my room was softly illuminated with a light coming from the heating vent on the wall.

As our house was an older variety, we had a central heating oil furnace, beneath the house, with ducts rising to several places. Each heating duct vented up into common walls of the house to provide heat to two rooms simultaneously. Since my mother's bedroom adjoined mine, we had a common vent. Curious as to why she was awake at such a late hour, I got out of bed and crouched down prone on the floor in front of the vent. Turning my head, I could easily look through the metal grating directly my mother's bedroom.

I had a clear, unobstructed view of her room. I could see the side of her bed, illuminated brightly from the glow of her bedside lamp. Her sheets and blankets were pulled aside, but I could not see her anywhere. I heard a soft sound and suddenly her legs came into view as she walked from her doorway to her bed, wearing only her light blue nightgown. She sat down on the edge of her bed, facing me and placed an ashtray on the bedside table. She had apparently been out to the living room to retrieve her cigarettes. As I watched, she pulled a cigarette from the pack and lit it with her lighter, taking a deep drag and exhaling slowly.

With the bedside lamp at her side, the light illuminated her nightgown revealingly. I could distinctly make out the shape and contour of her breasts beneath the sheer fabric and I sighed appreciatively, smiling at my wonderful good fortune to have discovered such a wonderful vantage point from which to watch her. She took another deep drag on her cigarette and then leaned back onto her elbow and crossed her legs.

"Oh, wow." I whispered as, with her legs crossed, I could look directly beneath the hem of her nightgown to see more of my mother's legs than I had ever seen before. I felt my penis rising in my briefs and adjusted them to accommodate my erection.

She reached out and picked up a magazine from her night table, flipping through it randomly as she held her cigarette between her lips. She paused, seemingly finding something of interest in the magazine, and leaned back onto her elbow. Laying the magazine on the bed beside her, she turned her body to recline on her side. Supporting her head in the palm of her hand, she lifted her knees. As she did so, the hem of her nightgown lifted to expose most of her buttocks and, to my complete and stunned surprise, a tiny glimpse of labial lips between her plush thighs. I could clearly discern her dark pubic hair contrasting with the milky white flesh.

She turned the pages of her magazine slowly, pausing occasionally to inhale deeply from the every dwindling cigarette. Moments later, she sat up and, after taking one last drag, she leaned over and pressed the butt out into the ashtray. Reaching behind her, she piled up her pillow behind her and, lifting her legs onto the bed, reclined back onto the pillows. She lay motionless for several moments, just starring at the ceiling, then she moved her hands down over her stomach, smoothing her nightgown.

With one hand held lightly over her stomach, she lifted the other and adjusted the bodice of her nightgown. She turned her hand and lightly rubbed the back of her fingers over her breast, moving her hand in a slow circle. Then, lifting her hand, she pointed her index finger and touched herself very lightly with only her fingernail, again moving slowly and in a circular motion.

I gaped in fascination as her nipple rose from beneath her gown to peak the sheer material dramatically. She took her nipple gently between her thumb and index finger and rolled it slowly, pinching lightly. As she did so, she closed her eyes. Her lips parted and she took a sighing intake of breath. Laying her head back onto her pillow, she continued to roll and pinch her nipple. As her other nipple also began to rise and peak her gown, she moved her other hand to it. I heard her sigh softly as her hand closed over her breast, her fingers splayed, she gripped it tightly, kneading the soft flesh.

All at once, she lifted both of her hands and slipped the straps of her nightgown from her shoulders, baring her breasts completely as she lowered her hands and pulled the bodice away.

I gasped to see her so sensually exposed, my penis pressing with urgency against the confines of my briefs. She lifted her hands to her breasts, cupping them and squeezing. To my wide-eyed amazement, she lifted her left breast and, raising her head from the pillow, took her nipple between her lips and pulled lightly. Her tongue darted out and circled her erect nipple several times and then her mouth closed over her nipple and she moaned softly.

With eyes closed, she lay her head back once more, moving her hands from her breasts down over her stomach. She lifted her knees, her nightgown falling away to expose her legs, and slowly moved her hands over her hips and along the outside of her thighs to her knees. From her knees, she slowly slid each hand down along the inside of her thighs. She moaned audibly as her hands met between her legs and arched her back.

She lifted her nightgown to her chest, exposing the soft round rise of her belly and the smaller rise of her dark pubic mound. She slid her right hand between her legs, pressing her fingertips against her lips and moving slowly in a circular motion. I heard her take another deep intake of breath. Her hips began to move, I could see the muscles in her thighs flexing as she seemed to lift her hips toward her hand as it pressed down.

Sighing again, her breath becoming very heavy, she tossed her head from side to side on the pillow, her eyes tightly closed and her lips parted sensuously. Suddenly her whole body jolted as if shocked by electricity and she gasped, her mouth open wide and her brows arching as if she were experiencing pain.

She held only the pad of her middle finger against herself and vibrated her hand rapidly. Another jolt caused her body to shudder violently...then another...and another. She moaned softly, tossing her head once more, arching her back. I could see the whiteness of her knuckles as her other hand gripped her thigh, squeezing the soft flesh with seemingly all her strength.

With a soft cry, she pulled her hand from between her legs and reached behind her for the cushion that was supporting her head. She quickly pulled it down, and as she turned on her side to face me once more, parted her legs and placed the cushion between her thighs. Her hips began to move, slowly at first, then finding a rhythm. Her thighs squeezed the cushion as her pelvis began to rock forward and back. She grasped her breasts once more, squeezing them forcefully and pinching her nipples, pulling and stretching them roughly.

With another cry, she rolled over onto her stomach, her hips raised high in the air with the cushion still between her legs. She arched her neck, her face flushed from the heat of her exertion, and began thrusting her hips rapidly.

I could see the soft smooth flesh of her buttocks jiggling as she moved, the muscles flexing provocatively. She pulled her hands up beneath her, cupping her breasts once more. With her mouth open wide, she gasped with each hard expulsion of breath, and her hips began to move with an urgency of speed and intensity that astounded me. Her bed creaked loudly to the rhythm of her pelvic thrusts and seemed to sway dangerously.

She buried her face into her pillow and moved both of her hands between her legs, her hips flailing wildly. Then, with a muffled cry into her pillow, she thrust her hips down hard onto the cushion. Her body seemed to shudder violently, her pelvis tilting at the end of each thrust of her hips. She shuddered again...then again. She lifted her face from her pillow, her cheeks now bright pink and her disheveled hair falling over her face. Her mouth opened wide and her brows arched and her body jolted and shuddered again and again.

Her body seemed to begin to relax slowly sinking into the bed. With only her hips moving ever so slowly, her body shuddered several more times, each jolt seemingly less violent than the last. "Oh, god!" She breathed softly. "Oh, god.... Oh, God."

Her body suddenly went completely limp and she pulled her hands from between her legs to cradle the pillow beneath her face, her chest heaving and her breath ragged. She lay motionless for several minutes as her breathing normalized.

In my position, I lay completely stunned. Never had I ever seen any woman, let alone my mother, with such an intimate and erotic sensuality. That she had just so obviously masturbated while I watched was the single most sensual and erotic experience I had ever seen or felt in my entire life. To actually witness her hips moving with such an imperative urgency of desire and lust and her fleshy buttocks shuddering and shaking from the force of her desperation to reach orgasm, was completely mind boggling. And, to lay in silent witness to her orgasm, her entire body shuddering almost spasmodically with each swell of her pleasure, and her muffled screams into her pillow as she surrendered to that pleasure as it overwhelmed her, was seemingly more sensual input than my naïve little world of sexuality could manage at one time.

I touched myself and came instantaneously, the warmth of my semen permeating my briefs as I rocked my hips slowly to the rhythm of my ejaculations.

Hearing sounds coming from her room once more, I opened my eyes to watch her as she rolled onto her back, tossed the cushion aside and sat up on the edge of the bed, smoothing her hair back from her eyes. She reached over and lit up another cigarette, inhaling deeply. Then, holding the cigarette between her lips, she slowly raised the bodice of her nightgown and slipped the straps in place over her shoulders. She stood and moved out of my frame of view, returning a moment later with a small glass of water, which she sipped slowly as she finished her cigarette. She slipped beneath the blankets and, reaching out her hand, switched off her bedside lamp and plunged her room into complete darkness. After a moment, I too rose and made my way back to bed.