Chapter 1

I’m now 21 with quite an unusual sex life, one which I think many of you might envy. I’ll tell you how it all started almost 3 years ago.

My name is Rasheed and I am Indian. I’m an only child and live with my parents. My mother Sheeza is 51 and my father Manish 52. My mother is a housewife and father works for the government. We live in a nice flat in Mumbai, formerly known as Bombay.

We are not rich, but my father’s income is quite adequate and we live reasonably well. At the time this story started, I would describe my mother as 5’3, quite a full figured lady - with large boobs and a round full bottom, but she was not fat and still retained a waist and curves. She sometimes wore western clothes but more often than not was more of a traditional dresser in a sari.

My father was 5’8” and a bit chubby, but not bad looking at all for his age. I always viewed him as quite serious. He had responsible job managing a local government department, and always acted kind of important and with authority. My views on him (and my mother) would soon change in a particular way, but more of that later.

Finally, just a quick word on myself at the time the story started. I’d just turned 18 and was pretty much naive to the ways of the world. I’d led quite a sheltered life, and I was quite innocent when it came to sex, but had a few magazines in which were scantly clad women, although not fully naked. It was hard to get hold of very explicit stuff unless you went into some of the rougher parts of Mumbai, and as I mentioned before, I was very innocent and shy at that time, and would have never thought about doing that.

I sort of liked one or two girls at my school, from a distance, but never really had the courage to go up to them. That was about it in terms of my experience with sex - hardly anything. I did masturbate of course, often thinking about some sexy looking girl I’d seen on the TV on in one of my magazines. At school some of boys I hung around with told me stories about girls, and of course I knew how everything should work. and all the various words people used, but most of it was theory!

This was all about to change!

About a month after my 18th birthday I was sitting on the floor in the living room with my back against the sofa watching TV. Mom was lying on the sofa with her head raised up against a cushion at one end and her feet up towards my head.

Dad was in the armchair a few feet away, his head engrossed in a newspaper, his favourite ‘activity’.

“Rasheed” said my mom. “My feet are aching after being out shopping this afternoon, please can you massage them for me.”

“Sure mom” I replied. I turned facing the sofa and she raised her sari a little above her ankles. I rubbed her feet, not thinking about it too much and with half an eye on the TV. After about 10 minutes my hands became a little tired and I asked if I could stop.

“Sure, thanks son, that’s so much better.” she said

After a couple of days mom asked me to massage her feet again. Dad was in the room again as well, reading his paper as before. This time he looked up and said “that’s right son, make sure your mom’s comfortable.” Like before, mom lifted her sari and under-petticoat a little, but this time a bit higher up to her calves.

“Give my ankles and calves a rub as well please darling” she said. I started rubbing her feet, then up toward the ankles and then her calves. For the first time I noticed how smooth her lightly tanned skin and the part of her leg that I could see were. There were no hairs visible, so my mom seemed to shave her legs, and looked after their appearance. After a few minutes I actually started to enjoy the sensation of touching her calf muscles and feeling her soft skin. I think for the first time I saw her as a woman, rather than my mom.

After about 15 minutes mom said to stop and thanked me again for making her feel “much better”. This feet and ankle rubbing continued a every other day or so for a couple of weeks. I actually started to look forward to doing it in the evenings. It was a kind of nice touching a woman’s skin, even if it was my mom’s. And I guess during those first couple of weeks, I started to look at her a little differently. I started to think about her body a bit more, in a sexual way.

At first I felt a bit ashamed, but as time went on I kind of got used to it. Maybe all sons go through this phase thinking about their mom’s like that I thought.

It was now getting warmer - the summer months were starting, and normally this meant a change of wardrobe for my mom. In the summer she would wear western style light ankle length cotton skirts with a blouse, instead of a sari. So the third week after mom first asked for a foot massage, she was lying on the sofa again, this time in a light cotton skirt and top. My dad was in his usual armchair, head buried in the newspaper.

We (at least mom and I) were watching television. I was waiting for mom to ask me to do her feet, and I didn’t have to wait long.

“Rasheed please do my feet now” she said, lying on the sofa with her head resting on a raised cushion at one end.

“Sure mom” I replied, keen to get going. This was the first time I’d be massaging her whilst she was wearing a skirt. To my surprise she raised her skirt up just above the tops of her her knees, and for the first time I saw the lower part of her legs completely exposed.

“Do my legs up to my knees as well” she said rather nonchalantly and closed her eyes as she rested.

I was kind of excited. Now it may not seem much to be excited about, but you’ve got to remember, I was very much innocent when it came to girls and women, and seeing the amount of flesh in front of me which I’d never seen before in one go got me excited.

This time I started with the tops of the calves, under the knees and rubbed both front and back silkily. I was enjoying the sensation, and so was mom, I was sure.

At one point she said “that’s very nice”, her eyes still closed.

I sneaked a look over at dad’s direction at one point and saw him looking at me. I almost felt guilty at looking as if I was enjoying myself.

“That’s right son” he said to my surprise, “give your mom a nice leg massage”, and then stuck his head back into the newspaper.

I felt relieved. Here I was getting a kick out of massaging my mom’s legs, being asked to do so by her and she enjoying it, and dad telling me to keep up the good work. Hey things were great!

Later that evening whilst in bed before sleeping, I wanked myself off thinking about my mom naked. And boy did it feel good.

This time a couple of days passed and mom didn’t ask me to massage her legs. But I noticed her wearing some new skirts. How did I know they were new you may ask? Well, since the last massage, I couldn’t keep my eyes off her rear and legs. And I was sure the skirts she were wearing were new - the material seemed more sheer and thinner and a couple of times when she stood on the balcony with the bright sun behind her, I was sure I could see through the material momentarily, and saw the shape of her upper legs and butt.

On the third evening after the last massage, I was sure she would ask me to massage her again, as she’d never gone more than a couple of days without now. Whilst she was in the kitchen preparing dinner, I took the initiative and asked rather casually “would you like me to massage your legs tonight mom?”

“Yes, that would be nice” she replied. “After dinner, when your father’s home” she added, not looking at me.

I went back to my room with a hard on and wanked myself off thinking about it.

After dinner we all settled into the living room in our usual positions - mom lying on the sofa, dad in his armchair reading the newspaper and me on the floor resting up against the sofa with my head a couple of inches from mom’s feet.