Chapter 2

I turned it over and over in my mind all the way home. Had she worn the sexy dress? Was she angrily awaiting my arrival for daring to suggest what underwear she should wear, especially such racy stuff? Though eager to get home the closer I got the more apprehensive I became and accidentally went a block out of my way. Upon realizing my error I almost repeated it on purpose but desire to see Mom in the sexy dress overcame my fear.

I opened the door ready to bolt for the street if need be. I stepped cautiously inside but Mom wasn’t in the kitchen or her office. I was about to call out when she appeared at the top of the stairs and slowly descended, the black dress hugging her figure, molding her breasts and emphasizing the breadth of her hips as they flared out from her narrow waist. Only the glimmer of the sheer nylon stockings drew my attention lower to her legs and then the right foot which hovered for a moment, then failed to complete the final step. I looked up, my breath caught in my throat. Mom was smiling and looking right at me.

“No camera?”

I shook my head, my thick tongue preventing speech.

“I thought that’s why you picked this dress, so I could look my best for your class.”

“We’re not supposed to show anyone. Remember?”

“Oh yes, I forgot. And you forgot something too, mister.”

“What?”

“Dinner.”

“Dinner?”

“Yes, dinner. Now we have to go out again.”

She stepped onto the main floor and twirled around, looking down at her dress and then at me, smiling radiantly.

“Oh well, it would be a waste not to wear this dress for something.”

“We’re going out again?”

“Of course. Go get your father.”

I started to turn but Mom called me back.

“Take a picture of me first. I forgot how good it feels to wear this dress.”

I took several pictures because Mom struck different poses. They were the first pictures I took of her and I still love every one of them.

I found Dad in his office. He didn’t want to go for dinner.

“You forget to pick what we should eat so I have to take you out for dinner?”

“I guess. It was Mom’s idea,” I added, to deflect blame.

“I see.” He stumbled as he got up from his chair. “Be careful, son. Your mother only plays the servant when she wants something.”

“I’m already going to college,” I said, in a tone that conveyed ‘what else could she possibly want’. I didn’t mention where the money was coming from to pay for it because I knew he’d be pissed when he found out.

Dad laughed. “Well, that’ll keep you in the good books, for a while anyway.”

His comments made me uncomfortable though I was sure he didn’t know Mom was letting me telling her what to wear, especially her underwear, or how I was thinking about her. I couldn’t look at her now without thinking about how attractive she was and dreamed about having her every night. If he knew, he’d probably kick me out of the house.

“I could tell her you don’t want to go,” I suggested.

I hoped he’d take me up on the suggestion—the thought of being alone with Mom was immensely appealing—but sadly, it wasn’t to be.

“No, it’s not worth fighting about,” he said.

I was about to say they didn’t fight but remembered Dad getting the silent treatment whenever Mom was peeved. Of course, that was years ago. Nowadays Dad didn’t pay attention to Mom and she ignored him just as much. They had an understanding: mutual disengagement.

When Mom saw us coming down the stairs, she said, “You better drive. It looks like your father has started early.”

I drank very little wine during the meal in the hope Dad would drink more, and he did. I filled Mom’s glass as often as I could and was thrilled when Dad ordered a second bottle, probably to irk Mom. As the wine was consumed she became more talkative and Dad, to my pleasure, began to fade so I dragged dessert and coffee out as long as I could. To my disappointment Dad managed to stay conscious through both but sagged appreciatively against the passage door as soon as we got in the car. I helped Mom get in from the driver’s side and pretended to look away as she swiveled her legs around, lifting her knees high in the process. Pleased by the success of my delaying tactics, I squeezed in behind the wheel, shut the door, and turned toward my mother, ready and eager to play with the keys again.

“Keys?” I asked.

“You opened the door with them.”

“Oh. Oh, right.”

I looked stupidly at my right hand and the keys held within them. Shit! I was glad for the dim light in the car because it seemed obvious to me why I had held my hand out for the keys, directly above her legs. I stared past my father out the side window, unable to fathom how I had fucked things up, and hoping I wasn’t as obvious to Mom as I was to myself. What an idiot. Seconds passed. How could I fix this? Was it possible to salvage this colossal fuck-up? Mom was waiting. I held the keys up in front of her.

“Did you want to drive, Mom?”

“Drive? Don’t be silly. I’ve had way too much wine.”

She pushed my hand away and I let the keys drop onto Mom’s legs. It seemed hokey to me—very put on. Unfortunately, they landed on her lap above the hem of the sexy, black dress rather than between her legs where they could be pushed inside the skirt. How could I have missed the mark with so much leg showing? Mom looked at the keys and then raised her eyes. I tried to return her gaze but was starting to fail when she spoke.

“Are you sure you can drive?”

Thank God! She thought I’d had too much wine and not trying to satisfy a disgusting, forbidden desire. What a relief.

“Yeah, I barely had a glass and that was hours ago.”

Mom held her gaze for a few more seconds and then looked away, out Dad’s window.

“Well, pick up the keys and let’s go.”

I had second thoughts and hesitated because she seemed displeased.

“Can you get them for me?”

“You’re the one that’s driving.”

“Okay,” I agreed, reluctantly.

I tried to scoop the keys up with my right hand, I mean, I really did. My fingers started to fold around them easily but stopped when I felt the silky material of the black dress. It was much thinner than the navy blue business suit she had worn two weeks earlier and the warmth of her body transferred erotically to my fingers. A picture of the skimpy panties I’d laid out for her to wear crashed into my head and the knowledge that my hand was only a fraction of an inch from what they covered.

I couldn’t move! It was ridiculous. I was frozen with my hand in the triangle where her legs and groin met. I loosened my fingers, as if changing my mind about picking up the keys, then closed my fingers around them again in a tight grip. My knuckles scraped over the warmth emanating from beneath the dress. Mom’s thighs moved apart. She must have thought her legs were pinching the keys and preventing me from picking them up. My fist sunk between her legs until the back of my hand pressed against a hot, spongy mass.

“We should go, Mason,” Mom whispered.

I stuttered. “I meant to tell you ... you look nice tonight ... in that ... this ... dress.”

I felt like an idiot.

“Thank you. I feel good in it, too.”

“You should. You look sex ... uh, awesome in it.”

“Thanks. We really should get going. I think your father’s done.”

I looked at Dad. I had completely forgotten he was there!

“Oh. Oh yeah.”

I lifted my hand and the keys miraculously came away but they fell as I swung my arm toward the dash and crashed on the floor. I looked down, stupidly, then reached between Mom’s feet. It was too dark to see so I felt around on the carpet for the keys. My head turned toward Mom as I leaned further down and reached past the hump to the floor on Dad’s side of the car. She was looking out the passenger window, or maybe she was looking at Dad; I couldn’t tell which. I did know, however, that I was looking straight up Mom’s dress because she had parted her legs to accommodate my reach and to let me search for the keys between her feet.

It was one of those moments that seemed to drag on forever. Though it was dark on the floor, there was sufficient light coming from a street light through the windshield to see that the hem of Mom’s dress was very high up her legs. I couldn’t believe I had managed to drop the keys on her dress. I suddenly realized I had stopped searching and was gawking between her legs. I stretched further and got the keys, then sat up, awkwardly, and fumbled the keys again. I was horrified. It was completely unintentional but was that believable? The keys landed squarely between Mom’s legs and in the dim light I saw them slide through to the seat cushion and bounce into the darkness inside the dress.

I looked at Mom with dumb disbelief written on my face but she only reset her head in an impatient gesture that basically said, ‘Get on with it.’

I turned and pushed my left hand between her legs, trying not to touch them as if that would make it more innocent. I paused at the hem but then carefully reached into the dress, foraging for the keys.

I scraped skin. It was as tender and exciting as I remembered. I wanted to keep my hand there but knew I had to go higher. Where the hell were those keys? My hand had to be almost to her panties.

My fingertips struck metal and timidly curled around the keys. I tried to retrieve them without rubbing her inner thighs or scraping her panties but it was impossible. I did both and although it was a thrill it also scared the shit out of me. Still, I managed to accomplish the task quickly and retrieved my hand without a rebuke from Mom. I only missed the ignition once and then started the car. I was pulling out of the parking lot and thinking about the heat deep inside her dress when Mom spoke.

“I was surprised by the clothes you picked this morning.”

The question caught me off guard. I looked at Dad to see it he had heard but he was still slumped against the door. That was a relief but only partly. I wasn’t sure how to respond and it took almost half a minute to find an answer.

“Really? I think you look great in that dress.”

“I meant the other selections.”

I played dumb. “Other selections?”

“You know what I mean.”

I rolled through a stop sign, turned onto the main road and looked at Dad, then stared intently at the road ahead.

“Oh. I thought I was supposed to pick everything.”

“You’re not my husband.”

I glanced sharply at Dad.

“Oh. I thought I was supposed to do things the way Dad used to.”

I looked at my passed-out father as if seeking confirmation.

Mom followed the direction of my gaze.

“I guess I did say that, didn’t I?”

“Sorry, Mom. I won’t, uh, pick that kind of stuff again.”

Mom looked away from Dad and back at me.

“I didn’t say you shouldn’t. I just said I was surprised, that’s all.”

We drove in silence for a minute.

“So it was okay?” I mumbled.

She answered with a question of her own. “You like the dress?”

“It looks awesome, Mom.”

We drove the rest of the way home in silence. When we got there I started quickly for the house but Mom called me back.

“I need help with your father.”

I shook Dad awake and walked him to the house. He was really unsteady on his feet. Mom insisted I get him upstairs so I sat him on the bed and started to leave. Mom was reaching behind to unhook the back of her dress and the lift of her breasts caught my eye.

“Unzip me, please,” she said.

I stood at the foot of the bed with my mother in front of me and my father beyond her and unzipped the back of her dress. I tried to do it quickly but my hand wouldn’t comply and slowed to a crawl after passing her shoulders and then inched down her spine. The flesh thickened past her waist as her hips took form and the upper boundary of her behind threw the first hints of its presence. The top of her crack appeared and I sucked in my breath as I tried to tug the zipper lower.

“Don’t break it, Mason.”

I didn’t realize until then that the zipper was completely undone. Mom turned around.

“Kiss me goodnight before you go.”

Dad fell onto his side as Mom tilted her face up. I kissed her, aiming for her right cheek but seeing Dad fall over turned my head far enough for my lips to land halfway across her mouth. Instead of pulling away she applied a correction that shifted her lips until they fully meshed with mine. It was a short kiss but longer than the brief peck I believed was expected or planned. When it was over Mom settled back on her heels.

“Help me get your father undressed.”

I pulled Dad up and took his shoes off while she unbuttoned his shirt and removed it.

“Can you get his pants off? He’s too heavy for me.”

I started yanking on Dad’s pant legs to break them loose from under his ass. As I pulled, Mom put her left foot on the bed beside him, pulled the hem of the dress way up, and rolled the stocking down her leg. I stopped pulling so hard. She lifted her right foot onto the bed which put the entire inside of her leg on display, including a flash of panties, and rolled the stocking down to her ankle, then lifted her foot and slipped it off. It was a simple, innocent act but the image of her legs, being exposed as the sheer sheath of nylon bunched in front of her rolling hands, kept me awake for hours that night. Oh yeah. The slash of bare back visible through her unzipped dress as she walked to her closet and the memory of spongy heat on the back of my hand had an effect too.

“I’m not going to work on the weekend just so you can take pictures.”

“But I’m at school all day through the week.”

“You’re off early on Wednesday and Friday. Shouldn’t that be enough?”

“I don’t think so.”

“I don’t do anything but sit at my desk. How long can it take?”

I hadn’t thought of that. I lifted the camera and took a picture of Mom stirring the pancake batter.

“Stop that. I thought you were supposed to be taking pictures of me when I’m working.”

“Like you said, you don’t do much but sit.”

“But I’m a mess.”

“It’s about body movements and posture, not fashion.”

“I still don’t want to look like a wreck when I’m being photographed.”

“So get changed.”

“That reminds me. What happened to all my underwear?”

I fought the urge to look away and lost, then pretended to make adjustments to the camera to cover it up.

“I hid them.”

“What? Why? I had to get some out of the laundry.”

“Because they’re ratty and, anyway, they’re for old ladies.”

“Well, you put them right back, Mister.”

I gripped the camera but still avoided my mother’s eyes.

“I can’t,” I said.

“What do you mean, you can’t?”

“I threw them out,” I lied.

“You threw them out? What am I supposed to wear?”

“Get new stuff. You’ll feel better in something new, something...”

I choked on the word that sprang to mind—sexier— and offered another instead.

“ ... more modern.”

Mom laughed. “I guess you’re right. They were pretty old and old-ladyish.”

I was relieved. I had been ready to bring up the Cuda trump card if necessary but was glad I didn’t have to. I snapped her picture.

“Stop that.”

I turned the camera around to show her. She looked fresh and exciting with a smile on her face. The messy hair added to the effect, making her look younger and edgy. Mom was critical but seemed pleased with the picture all the same.

“I told you I look like a mess.”

I snapped another picture.

“Get to work,” I said.

Mom returned to the mixing bowl.

“You didn’t really throw them all out, did you?”

“You better go shopping,” I answered.

“Brat.”

I snapped dozens of pictures of Mom before Dad came down for breakfast. In keeping with the supposed purpose of the assignment, I got her to freeze in various poses to get pictures from different angles. Almost all had her in positions that accented some feature of her body, usually her breasts but sometimes I just captured the way she looked with her hair swept back or the light on her face. Of course, there were a quite a few with her bending over or reaching up in ways that defined her buns nicely. I hadn’t noticed before how prominent and nicely separately her buttocks were. They were shaped like two slightly sagging balloons filled with heavy water.