Chapter 3

Two weeks later, I made a final, half hearted attempt. I walked out of my morning shower, towel firmly gripped around my waist, and up to my mother's bedroom door.

"Mom, do you have any clothes for me?" I asked across that most evocative of barriers.

"Just a second, Calvin." Mother answered.

I waited.

She opened the door, freshly dressed and stood in the doorway empty handed.

I tried to not stare at her. She was not staring at me but was simply looking at her son with a calm expression on her face. Her hands reached up to her neck and she unfastened the first button.

I stood in utter fascination, immobile, nearly slack-jawed as my mother peeled her dress from her incredible body. This time skirt followed blouse and before I could pinch myself she handed me both, stark naked but for black stockings, white girdle, and cream colored brassier. For a kid like me it was as stark naked as I was standing in front of her wearing one towel. Fortunately this time, when I took her things, I used them to block her curious glance at my loins. A tent had formed there about the time she'd released her middle buttons.

Apparently pleased with her success, she turned away and retired into her room, shutting the door behind her.

I walked like a zombie to my room where I recovered enough sense to drop her clothes, discard the towel and grab my aching prick! I blew several wads into the towel and collapsed on my bed. When I finally escaped my room, I was wearing both of my mother's clean things, struggling to keep from tripping over the oversized skirt. I tied it in a knot to keep it on my waist, and the blouse was tucked in firmly, stretching flat its slackness wherever it would.

I found mom in the kitchen, sitting at the table. She was wearing only her bra, girdle, and stockings.

"Good morning, mommy." She greeted me. I immediately sensed her unease. I didn't know it at the time, but we weren't we playing my game anymore. I was playing her's.

"Uh, hi." I returned awkwardly.

"I made my bed this morning and washed and even brushed my teeth. I hung the towels up to dry, and I filled the washer with my dirty clothes." She informed me in a meek, girl's voice.

"That's uh, real nice, eh, dear." I tried.

"What should I do now, m-mommy?" Her speech quickly degenerated.

What the heck was going on? I didn't know what to say. If I hadn't just jacked off three times, I might have tried to get more of her clothes, but I must have been blessed that day.

"Maybe you'd better go study your lessons." I suggested. It was what mother always told me to do when I had failed to occupy myself sufficiently. The mistake I made was, my mother wasn't taking any classes.

She surprised me then.

We have a piano in our house. It's an old wooden upright, made cheaply in its time but is probably somewhat valuable as an antique. It was never tuned nor played as far as I knew, but it made a great shelf for ceramic knickknacks. My mother rose from the table and went into the living room. After overcoming no little worry about my mom, I followed her.

She removed everything from the keyboard cover and folded it back, exposing yellowed and black faux ivory. Then she lifted the lid on the bench seat and produced an even older looking sheet of music from the bench's contents. I didn't have to look at the sheet to know what it said. I was a kid and peeked into the bench seat regularly. That music was titled, 'The Merry-Widow Waltz'.

I didn't know my mother could play the piano. When she began, she was sitting on the bench, posture perfect, striking keys and beating time very much like the score intended. Soft and melodic, her music caught me more than by surprise, it caught me like a mercy trap meant for small animals. I'd walked right into it, and the entrance had shut delicately behind me. For the rest of the morning I listened to my scantily clad mother relearn how to play the piano.

Eventually she looked up at the clock and said sweetly. "I'm hungry."

I wouldn't have known noon from sunset. While I originally wanted to just stare at her gorgeous, naked figure, I became entranced by beauty unexpected. I failed to answer her. Her music still danced in my head.

When I didn't reply, she told me in her full, adult voice, "Calvin, maybe you'd better take those clothes off."

Round ten: no contest.

The day left me with a lot to think about and several reliable hard-ons that blew geysers. All this time I thought I had been really clever, lucky, and downright evil. But now, everything was changed. I wasn't stripping my mother so much as she was transforming both of us. Outside of having dressed me in her clothes and act like a little girl, mother remained the same. We went to church, she ironed my stupid white shirts, and I felt trapped in a childhood without much joy other than jacking off and now trying to figure out when I could get mother to disrobe again.

My next chance occurred sooner than later. Not quite a week after mother played the piano, I brought up the subject.

"Mom, would you play the piano for me?"

"Absolutely not, Calvin. Music is a vehicle of the Devil's will." It was like she had never played. Therefore, I followed a child's logic.

"Can I wear your clothes again?"

"Why would you want to do that?" She asked indignantly.

"Uh, so I could be the mommy?"

She didn't say anything after that. She gave me a curious look then scanned down the length of her black dress and returned her eyes to me.

"Did you mean these clothes?" She gave a nod indicating her luscious body.

"Yes, mommy."

"Ask me again, a little later." And that was that.

Round... heck that wasn't a round. It was an intermission.

The next day I asked her again. We were playing a game of scrabble at the kitchen table.

"Mom, what's that thing you wear under your blouse?"

"It's my bra, Calvin." Mother always answered a straight question. You just had to be careful about what question to ask. Once I'd asked her about masturbation. She looked me in the eye and told me it was a one way ticket to hell. My dad was still alive to console me back then, and afterward I never asked mom another question about sex.

She placed a new word on the board. "'Suffrage', double word score, thirty two points.

"Can I wear your bra?"

Mother finished writing down her score. She was about a hundred points ahead of me. She looked up and asked, "You want to wear this one?" She pointed offhandedly at her chest.

"Yes mommy, very much so." My heart raced at the thought she might take it off in front of me. I again had rushed her.

"Uh, let's finish the game, okay?" Her voice seemed to falter from its usual precision confidence.

So we did. We finished the game. She beat me by a hundred and fifty points, and she congratulated me on how high a score I'd earned. She kept track of my game points after every game so I could see my improvement over time. It was a lesson I wish I had learned around that time. I wasn't playing a game against my mother. I was playing it against myself. Mother had a private reason for playing.