21-08-2019, 06:25 PM
I hadn’t seen the ones under the tarp, which I suspected were the nudes that Dad had referred to. I hoped that one day Mom would show them to me since I knew they had to be mirror images of her. “If you’re going to make a website, you’d better get a closer look at my stuff,” Mom said, folding the towel and hanging it over the oven door handle. “Should I put them out on the lawn so you can take pictures, or would the patio be better?” “Either way. It doesn’t matter.” My eyes betrayed my dirty mind, dropping to Mom’s chest even though I was strongly willing them to remain focused on her face. “Oh, for Christ’s sake, Ben. Here.” Mom took two quick strides toward me and, standing in front of my chair, grabbed my hand and pulled it up to the side of her breast. I was shocked as the soft yet firm flesh filled my hand. Mom pushed my hand underneath, guiding my finger to a small, hard spot part way but not quite in the middle of the underside of her breast. “See? It’s quite small and it’s benign. It’s nothing to worry about.” I was stunned.
I was sitting there, looking up at Mom’s breast, resting in my hand and hers, reveling in the sensation of its warmth and weight, and the perfect curvature of its globular form. Despite my mental effort, there was a stirring in my loins. “Come on, stand up.” Mom pulled me up with her free hand, then used it to guide my other mit to her left breast. “See? Nothing there.” Mom rubbed my hand in a small semi-circle under her other breast. “Nada. All clear. Nothing to worry about.” Mom dropped her hands and, reluctantly, I let mine fall away too. “It doesn’t hurt to check,” I mumbled. “That’s true, and I check all the time. Now, let’s get down to business.” Mom swept out the patio door and headed for her studio at the far end of the yard. A few seconds later, I jolted into action, following her, my eyes firmly on the tick-tock, tick-tock action of her jeans. I had to rearrange myself before we got to the studio. I don’t know what was the matter with me but I couldn’t keep my eyes off Mom’s body. ————————————— Moving the statues out ready to take pictures, I discovered something else about Mom’s new life.
There were several bottles of wine in the cupboard in the cupboard near where she sat to shape the new statues. She saw me make the discovery and simply remarked, “'Sometimes it helps my creative juices get going.” I shrugged. It wasn’t really any of my business. We hauled all of Mom’s finished pieces out into the yard, all except for the ones under the tarp. I took pictures and then put them in a more orderly fashion at one end of the studio except for the best ones which I placed around the patio. If we managed to get someone to visit, they would be the first ones to be seen. I stayed up to the wee hours of the morning that night getting a basic website up and running. It was noon before I got up. Mom was working in her studio. I made myself a cup of coffee and wandered out there, standing in the doorway for several minutes before she became aware of me. She paused to review her progress, picking up a glass of wine to sip as she eyed it critically. Putting the glass down, Mom arched her back and held her arms high, then bent her elbows so her hands could stretch her fingers along the back of her neck, her breasts thrust wonderfully tight against her cotton shirt.
She turned to face me, smiled and let her arms drop slowly to her sides. “Oh, good morning sleepyhead.” The sun shining through the window cast a bright slash across Mom’s face but it couldn’t compete with the sparkle in her eyes. Clearly, she thoroughly enjoyed what she was doing. If sculpting could do that, it was well worth it. I had to find a way for Dad to see how much Mom loved it. “Hey, I have an excuse. I was up all night working on your website.” “Really?” Mom’s smile widened and her face brightened even more, if that was possible. “Can I see it?” “Anytime,” I said, sweeping my arm toward the house in a wide guesture to show the way and spilling my coffee in the process. Mom giggled. “Go get your breakfast started and I’ll join you in a minute… for lunch,” she laughed. “Then we’ll see your new creation.” Mom sat across from me with a plate of fruits and vegetables she had pulled out of the fridge. I was eating Honey Nut Cheerios again and feeling a bit guilty about it. Mom was wearing a pair of black pants smeared with sculpting stuff and a white blouse similiarly streaked with clay. That, however, wasn’t where my attention was drawn.
The blouse was unbuttoned way down, so far that Mom’s breasts threatened to spill out every time she lifted her hand to put a carrot in her mouth. She smiled when she saw where I was looking. “I checked them this morning. They’re A-OK,” her smile widened. I was surprised that my face didn’t go red. I mumbled, “Ok.” Amazing. I had just stared at my mother’s tits without any adverse repercussions. She even seemed to take it as a mark of my love for her that I was so worried rather than a lecherous leer. I made a pact that I would endeavor to be obviously worried at least once a day, if not more.
I was sitting there, looking up at Mom’s breast, resting in my hand and hers, reveling in the sensation of its warmth and weight, and the perfect curvature of its globular form. Despite my mental effort, there was a stirring in my loins. “Come on, stand up.” Mom pulled me up with her free hand, then used it to guide my other mit to her left breast. “See? Nothing there.” Mom rubbed my hand in a small semi-circle under her other breast. “Nada. All clear. Nothing to worry about.” Mom dropped her hands and, reluctantly, I let mine fall away too. “It doesn’t hurt to check,” I mumbled. “That’s true, and I check all the time. Now, let’s get down to business.” Mom swept out the patio door and headed for her studio at the far end of the yard. A few seconds later, I jolted into action, following her, my eyes firmly on the tick-tock, tick-tock action of her jeans. I had to rearrange myself before we got to the studio. I don’t know what was the matter with me but I couldn’t keep my eyes off Mom’s body. ————————————— Moving the statues out ready to take pictures, I discovered something else about Mom’s new life.
There were several bottles of wine in the cupboard in the cupboard near where she sat to shape the new statues. She saw me make the discovery and simply remarked, “'Sometimes it helps my creative juices get going.” I shrugged. It wasn’t really any of my business. We hauled all of Mom’s finished pieces out into the yard, all except for the ones under the tarp. I took pictures and then put them in a more orderly fashion at one end of the studio except for the best ones which I placed around the patio. If we managed to get someone to visit, they would be the first ones to be seen. I stayed up to the wee hours of the morning that night getting a basic website up and running. It was noon before I got up. Mom was working in her studio. I made myself a cup of coffee and wandered out there, standing in the doorway for several minutes before she became aware of me. She paused to review her progress, picking up a glass of wine to sip as she eyed it critically. Putting the glass down, Mom arched her back and held her arms high, then bent her elbows so her hands could stretch her fingers along the back of her neck, her breasts thrust wonderfully tight against her cotton shirt.
She turned to face me, smiled and let her arms drop slowly to her sides. “Oh, good morning sleepyhead.” The sun shining through the window cast a bright slash across Mom’s face but it couldn’t compete with the sparkle in her eyes. Clearly, she thoroughly enjoyed what she was doing. If sculpting could do that, it was well worth it. I had to find a way for Dad to see how much Mom loved it. “Hey, I have an excuse. I was up all night working on your website.” “Really?” Mom’s smile widened and her face brightened even more, if that was possible. “Can I see it?” “Anytime,” I said, sweeping my arm toward the house in a wide guesture to show the way and spilling my coffee in the process. Mom giggled. “Go get your breakfast started and I’ll join you in a minute… for lunch,” she laughed. “Then we’ll see your new creation.” Mom sat across from me with a plate of fruits and vegetables she had pulled out of the fridge. I was eating Honey Nut Cheerios again and feeling a bit guilty about it. Mom was wearing a pair of black pants smeared with sculpting stuff and a white blouse similiarly streaked with clay. That, however, wasn’t where my attention was drawn.
The blouse was unbuttoned way down, so far that Mom’s breasts threatened to spill out every time she lifted her hand to put a carrot in her mouth. She smiled when she saw where I was looking. “I checked them this morning. They’re A-OK,” her smile widened. I was surprised that my face didn’t go red. I mumbled, “Ok.” Amazing. I had just stared at my mother’s tits without any adverse repercussions. She even seemed to take it as a mark of my love for her that I was so worried rather than a lecherous leer. I made a pact that I would endeavor to be obviously worried at least once a day, if not more.
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