Chapter 2

No, no, no. I wanted to find out if he’d done my grandmother. I didn’t give a shit about Frank. I could remember my grandmother when she was old but I’d seen old pictures when she was younger, and quite a desirable woman. But, I started to read Frank’s letter, anyway.

Hi everyone. My name is Frank. I won’t say my mother’s name, I’ll just call her Mom. My story isn’t that long and maybe not that exciting, but it is what happened. My Mom and Dad always seemed to get on well and were about the same age. I was close to Mom because I was sickly as a small child. There was something wrong with my heart so I couldn’t be active in sports. So I’d always been closer to Mom than Dad and she always doted on me. We spent a lot of time together.

But that all changed when I discovered girls. Or, should I say, one particular girl. I became interested in girls late, not until final year in school. I went on a few awkward dates and Mother tried to be helpful to make sure I did OK. So she would ask me about the girls and give me advice on how to deal with them. She just hated for me to be disappointed.

Then I met this girl in first year college. Mom knew something was different because I didn’t want to discuss her. This really piqued her curiosity and she was relentless in trying to find out more about Donna. Now, I really did like this girl but I think the reason I wasn’t so eager to discuss her with Mom was because she’d already taught me a lot and I didn’t need to ask her much anymore. Things were going well; I didn’t need help. And this seemed to be exactly what seemed to bother Mom. She wanted to be involved, to be in the know, for us to be confidants again.

Mom queried me when I got home. She’d corner me in the kitchen when Dad was watching TV, in the living room if he was working in the garage, or even come to my room to grill me. Somewhere along the line, I changed from avoiding Mom to feeding her a line, about how Donna was different from the other girls, more mature, sexier. I even mentioned that her figure was more womanly than the girls I’d gone out with before, how she was more confident and more casual about her dress. “Not sloppy,” I assured her, just that she didn’t get flustered if part of her blouse opens a bit, or her skirt rides up when we’re laying around studying. And there was that one time when she was just wearing a long nightdress, because she’d forgotten I was coming over and had gotten ready for bed early.

“Well,” she said, “you want to be careful, Frank. You don’t want to have to get married and not finish college.”

“Oh, Mother,” I replied, “we’re not going to go that far.” And then I added, impishly, “It’s just that she looks so good, Mom. It’s a great feeling to be around a woman who’s comfortable with you, who doesn’t mind letting you enjoy seeing her.”

“Oh, I see,” Mom’s voice trailed off and she looked away, up toward the ceiling. “I see,” she said again, and wandered off.

Now, I had led Mom on a bit. Donna had been in her nightdress but she’d covered herself up with a housecoat before we started studying, and the glimpses of her legs and bosom were not intentionally provided. I just thought I’d put Mom off her questioning by providing answers that might embarrass her. But it didn’t. In fact, it seemed to intrigue her even more, and something else: It made her jealous that another woman was garnering her son’s attention.

I twigged to this the next day when Mom asked me again about how ‘comfortable’ Donna was with me, and how she showed it. This is where something evil in me sprang forth, something that made me lead Mom further down the garden path rather than admitting that I’d stretched the truth a bit.

“Well,” I answered, “she shows her legs at lot. I mean, she doesn’t dress in really short, slutty skirts or anything like that. But she wears night clothes when we’re at her place, you know, slips and stuff that she only wears around the house. But she’s not fussed about me seeing her like that. It’s nice.”

“Nice,” Mom repeated. “And is that it, she let’s you look at her legs?”

“Well, if she’s wearing button up pajamas,” I pushed a little further, “she doesn’t seem to mind if a button or two comes loose. It’s nice to look at a woman, especially when she lets you. It doesn’t do any harm. It’s just looking.”

“I see,” Mom responded, “I see.”

After dinner, I was sitting in the living room reading over my notes for an upcoming exam while Dad was watching a baseball game. Mom had gone upstairs after finishing the dinner dishes instead of joining us in the living room as she usually did. When she came downstairs, she had already changed for bed. She was covered in a floor length robe and wore her fluffy pink slippers. She sat down in the chair next to the couch to read a magazine.

The movement of her foot, bouncing in time to some music heard only by her, distracted me from my studying. The robe had fallen from her dancing leg, baring it to her knees but was held from parting further by the magazine Mom held in her lap. Her foot was tapping to the silent melody as well, and twisting around in a small circle.

Now, I had seen my Mom’s legs before, up to her knees in any of the dresses she normally wore, and all the way up in the summer when we went swimming. But I began to pay more attention to her legs and her swirling foot than I did to my notes. I sensed that there was something strange in the air, given our conversation earlier that day and the one before. Something was very different. I could feel it, and there was something odd about the pleased smile on her face.

Suddenly, I noticed her looking at me, watching my eyes following her legs. Flustered, I went red in the face but I couldn’t help looking back down at her legs, which never stopped moving.

“Studying for a big exam?”

“Uh, yeah,” I managed to squawk.

“Would you like some help? I could ask you questions.” She tossed her magazine aside and leaned forward, reaching out for my notebook, which I numbly handed to her. She asked me a question, to which I didn’t respond.

“Come on, Frank,” she urged me, stretching her leg out, scrunching her foot until her slipper fell off, poking me in the knee with her bare, pink-nailed toe.

I stumbled out an answer which I’m sure was wrong, but she went on to ask me more questions without saying anything. After each question, she poked the side of my knee with her toe, curling her foot as she drew it back a bit. The strange smile never left her face.

After a few more questions, my Dad burst in, “Come on you guys, take it upstairs. I can’t hear the game.”

Mom stood, “Come on then Frank,” and walked off with my notes. I followed her upstairs to my room, watching her hips sway from side to side all the way up the stairs. In my room, she motioned for me to sit on my bed. She closed the door and latched it. “We don’t want to be disturbed while we’re studying, now do we?” she said as she walked over to the chair by my desk.

She dragged the chair closer to the bed and then sat in it, facing me, crossing her legs as she laid my notes on her knees. “Now, where were we?”

I watched her legs as she wiggled her foot while looking over my notes, until her slipper fell off. She continued twisting her foot around, drawing my attention to her feet. “Oh, yes, here we are,” she said, lifting the notebook and letting her robe part a little above her knee, exposing the side of her thigh just a little. She began to ask me questions.

Every once in a while, she would lift her leg and poke at the side of the bed beside me where I sat with my back against the headboard. She would hold her leg there, the muscles tensing as she pushed at the bed and relaxing as she released the pressure on the mattress. When she pulled her leg away to cross it on the other, her robe would slip a little higher up her thigh. She would then pull her robe together to cover her legs, but not every time. I could see more and more of the side of her thigh, the curve of her leg at the bottom drawing my eyes as it dropped down in a gradual swell out to the fullness of her thighs.

The first time she left her robe open was after she’d left her foot on the bed, continuing to ask me questions, her leg on full display the whole time. When she pulled her leg back, she didn’t cross it over the other one right away. Instead, she held the notebook up high, hiding her face, while her legs were openly displayed right up to the top of her thighs. She examined my notes like this for several minutes, allowing me to freely gaze at her open legs before saying, “Oh yes, here we are,” and casually crossed her legs again.

I had long since raised my knees to rest my head on them, partly to improve my view of her legs and partly to hide my raging boner. When Mom heard Dad come up the stairs and enter the bathroom to get ready for bed, she stood and leaned down to give me a kiss.

“Would you like me to help you study tomorrow night too, honey?”

I tried to look into her eyes but I couldn’t tear my own eyes away from the vista yielded by her parted robe as she bent over, a clear horizontal view inside her lacy, yellow nightgown revealing unencumbered, dangling breasts, nipples barely covered by the flimsy material. Mistaking my lack of response, she went on, “Well, you think about it and let me know.”

She stood and, hips swaying, walked to the door where she turned and smiled sweetly before she went out.

The next day, Mom wore a white blouse and heavily pleated skirt that fell to her knees. Although conservative, I couldn’t help but keep my eyes on her legs while she prepared dinner. I don’t think this was lost on her and she seemed pleased. As dinner ended, just as Dad was getting up to retire to the living room, Mom asked, “Are you going over to Donna’s to study tonight, dear?” As she finished her question, she brought her hand up to toy with the top button on her blouse, threading it loose after Dad left the kitchen and pushing her blouse apart a little. She gave me a funny little smile.

Although I had made arrangements to study with Donna, I changed my mind on the spot. “Uh, no. I thought ... maybe, you could help me out again, Mom.”

“Oh, I’d be happy to. I like helping you, Frank.”

When I started to help clear up the dishes, Mom shooed me away. “You go get ready to study,” she insisted, “and I’ll be right up.”

I went to my room and changed into my pajamas. I couldn’t sit there for another hour in my jeans like the night before, bending the hell out of my dick. I dragged the desk chair closer to the bed so her feet would stretch right onto the bed against my leg or, if she pushed her feet on the edge of the mattress, her she’d have to lift and bend her knees, which would make her skirt slide up her thighs. Then I waited. I couldn’t help touching my dick and rubbing it, congratulating myself on my cleverness, while erotic images of my mother played in my head.

When she came, she was wearing the same floor length robe. I wasn’t disappointed because I was looking forward to it parting over her gorgeous legs as she stretched them from the chair to my bed. But Mom ignored the chair. She came directly over to the foot of the bed, kicked off her slippers, and sat on the end of the bed, crossing her legs indian style. Her legs were completely covered by her robe, and there was no way it could open to show her legs while she was sitting like that.

“Hand me your notes,” she commanded, stretching her hand out. I passed them over, disappointment turning to embarrassment as I shamefully realized that, in this new seating configuration, I was left with nothing to hide my still hard cock tenting my pajamas. I closed my legs together, trying to hide it. Mother didn’t seem to notice as she immediately launched into a series of questions.

As our interaction turned into a real study session, quite like my real visits with Donna, my hardon subsided. Just as I was really thinking about my exam, Mom stretched, arching her back as her arms reached up toward the ceiling. “Oh, I need a break,” she said, standing up. She walked in a little circle and stopped again at the end of the bed. Without saying anything, she toyed with the belt on her robe, loosening it slowly, and then pulled it completely undone. Opening the robe with her hands, she pulled it wide, holding it open for a moment, and then slipped it off her shoulders, wriggling her hips to help it fall to the floor. She stood there for another moment, clad only in her nightdress, before saying, “Are you comfortable studying with me, sweetheart?”

“Yeah, Mom. You’re great to study with,” I blurted out, closely examining her figure, her body hardly hidden by the thin material of her nightgown which fell short of her knees. The thin silky material clung to the side of her breasts despite the plunging, lace-lined neckline in the front, the holes in the lacy part providing tantalizing peeks at the skin underneath. She stretched again, her breasts bulging and almost parting her bodice.

“Good,” she said, “because I’m very comfortable studying with you, you know.”

She resumed her position on the bed, again crossing her legs, but this time they were bare, and her openness lifted the hem way up, so high I could see her panties. Instead of holding my notes in front of her, she laid them on the bed between us, leaning over to read, opening a gap in her bodice which allowed me a clear view of her bare breasts as they dangled slightly from her chest.

She asked questions slowly from then on. It was as if we both understood that studying was now peripheral to something else we were doing. As my cock hardened and bulged against my pajamas, I realized she could see it, just as I could see her panties from my similar vantage point. I didn’t care. I didn’t want to move lest I break the spell surrounding my bed. I kept my eyes steadily on her jiggling breasts, straining to peer down the gap in her nightgown as she leaned over, absurdly far, to read my notes.

Mom nudged the notes closer to me until the top edge pressed against the bottom of my legs. She grasped my ankles, pressing down on them to lift herself, and dragged herself forward closer to me, bringing her bent knees to rest under my legs that were stretched over hers so that my feet were planted on either side of her thighs. Her gaze fell to my tented pajamas.

“Is this how you study with Donna?”

“Yes,” I lied.

“Is this how she lets you look at her?”

“Yes,” I lied again, “almost.”

“Almost?” Mom asked.

“She lets me touch her legs.” Truth had now been left far behind.

“Like this?” Mom took my hands and laid them on the upside of her knees where they were bent, her calves tightly squeezing against the bottom of her thighs. When she drew her hands away, I started to stroke her legs along the crease between her calves and the inside of her thighs.

“Yes,” I croaked out.

“Do my legs feel as nice as hers?”

“Better,” I croaked again.

“Better?” she smiled.

“Yes.”

She seemed pleased. “What else does she let you do?”

“She lets me look at her, up here,” I nodded at her chest. Pinnochio must be turning over in his grave. Mom looked skeptical.

“She does. Honest, Mom,” I lied shamelessly, holding the most innocent look I could muster on my face. I stared at her breasts intently. I let my palms fall flat against her leg, near the juncture of her thigh and her hip, my thumbs trailing down between her legs. I gently pinched her legs as I stared, as if to emphasize how important it was to see her breasts.

“You’re sure she lets you do that?”

“Yes, Mom. She really does.” I slid my hands deeper between her legs.

“Alright, then. But just a peek for now.” She reached down, grabbed the hem of her nightie and pulled it up, slowly. It seemed to take forever to bare her belly. It took even longer to clear the bottom of her breasts, but then there they were, her hands held up in front of her face, holding her nightgown, her tits springing out toward me.

Gorgeous. Simply fantastic, beautiful tits. Her arching back stripped any sag that might be there and jutted her nipples into the air. Just as I was losing all restraint, about to plunge my mouth down onto one of those incredible globes, she yanked her nightie down.

“That’s all for tonight,” she gasped, her breathing rapid for some reason, matching my own. We sat facing each other, in collusion. She smiled, then laughed softly. “Maybe we’re getting too comfortable with each other,” she sighed, leaning her head forward.

I moved ahead myself, until we were cheek to cheek. I looked down at my hands on her thighs. My cock was very, very hard. I could tell that it had poked through the open fly in my pajamas and was bare to her sight.

“I don’t think so, Mom. I think we’re just right, perfectly comfortable.”

Reaching up I tilted her head forward tight against my cheek so that she was facing straight down at my cock, its head straining up toward her. Neither of us spoke and there was no other acknowledgement that my bare cock was pointing up to her face. I pushed my left hand even deeper between her thighs and let my thumb slide out across the front of her panties.

To distract her from this action I immediately prompted, “Could I look one more time before I go to bed, Mom?” as if I was asking for yet another bedtime story like I always did when I was little, and she always complied. I held her head against me as once more she lifted her nightgown up and over her breasts.

“Let me look for a while, Mom,” I pleaded, continuing to brush my thumb across her panties.

After a minute, I dropped my right hand down from her head, and slowly moved it toward her hanging breast. We both watched, heads together, as my hand moved closer until it cupped her right tit. Gently, I brought pressure to bear until I was squeezing her tit, massaging it. She didn’t pull away. I pulled down on it, squeezing as my palm and fingers slid off, pinching her nipple and tugging it down toward the bed.