I'm a normal male of sixteen years. Normal in that I'm well past puberty and very interested in sex, girls and sex. Being normal I'm still virgin, but being this story takes place in the middle sixties it was natural. To my knowledge only the biggest athletic stars, mostly those in high school football, ever scored. When I say scored I'm talking about off the field, at least that's what they want us to think.

Pot, LSD, free love and the Hippy Movement were big then. Guys burning draft cards, girls throwing away their bras and the beginning of the sexual revolutions were how I grew into manhood. Gone were the Sox Hops, Chubby Checker doing the Twist, Poodle skirts and the rest of the wonderful fifties. Protests, communes and dirty clothes replaced all I had known.

Suburbia was out. No more were the small bedroom communities forming housing young families. Rock and Roll was fast fading being replaced with hard rock and war protest songs. Vietnam was in full swing with young men being drafted and dieing in a far away place most people had never heard of much less cared about. Still I enjoyed my life growing up during those turbulent times, but mostly because of my family.

Mom and Dad were considered old-fashioned then. Dad still wore his pants several inches above his waist with the suit cuffs barely above the ground. Mom loved her pleated skirts that showed only her calves and ankles. She also refused to stop wearing blouses that fitted tightly showing off the size of her chest and would never leave the house unless it was tucking firmly into the waist of her skirt. I can still see the penny-loafers she wore along with the white ankle socks. Mom refused to wear the new panty hose and rarely stockings.

In reflection I thought of Dad as being really 'cool'. He didn't seem to mind my wearing jeans and a skin tight T-shirt as long as my pants didn't show the crack of my ass. Even my hair style never seemed to cause him problems. I'm sure if I'd had a sister he would have dressed her more like a Nun but I was given a lot of freedom.

We lived in one of the small bedroom communities. It was an extremely nice neighborhood with neat lawns and friendly neighbors. It wasn't quite like some areas where you could reach out from your bedroom window and shake hands with your neighbor. There was more than enough room between houses for wide driveways giving easy access to the backyard. We lived in one of the mostly two story houses and often Mom would lean from the window of her sewing room, yeah wives still had them, and talk easily with our neighbor. More than once I would be alongside the house and see Mom leaning out, her arms folded on the window sill, talking with Mrs. Peters next door.

As I said earlier, I was in my sixteenth year and my hormones were working overtime. At least once a day I found myself painfully erect. It was a rare day I didn't take matters into hand and give myself relief. About that same time I found myself walking between houses and looked to see Mom chatting with Mrs. Peters. I stopped and for some reason unknown noticed Mom was leaning with her breasts on top of her arms. My breath caught in my throat and suddenly there was a throbbing between my legs. I should tell you now that I'd never thought of or seen Mom as anything but Mom, but suddenly she was an object of my sexual desire.

It was summer so I was home everyday. School wouldn't restart for another two months. I knew that Mom and Mrs. Peters would daily talk across the way from the second story of each house. Other times they sat in the kitchen or front room having coffee. Because they so often talked with Mom leaning from the window of her sewing room I found myself more and more frequently having to pass between the houses and never missing a chance to look at Mom. Each night I found myself abusing myself long and hard just with the vision of Mom's breasts resting on her arms. What I really wanted was more; just a look or a feel and I began to make my devious incest induced plans.

Mom was talking to Mrs. Peters a few days later and I figured the time was right to put my plan into action. I scurried upstairs and silently entered Moms sewing room. She was so engrossed in her conversation she never heard my approach from behind. From only a few feet behind her I gazed with longing at her sexy calves beneath her skirt and her wide womanly hips. Inside my jeans I felt the tight uncomfortable feeling of my growing arousal. Silently I moved closer until inches separated our bodies. Slowly and with great care I placed my hands upon her hips. Mom paused for a moment in the middle of what she was saying before continuing. There came a moment when silence ruled as neither woman spoke. Mom casually turned her head and looked at me.

"Did you say something, Joan?" Mrs. Peters was asking Mom.

"No Janet," Mom responded quickly. "My son asked me about something and I was giving him an answer."

I knew that was a lie because we had not said a word to each other. My hands remained on her hips and I moved inches closer. Between my legs my teenaged manhood had grown full and throbbed in the tight confines of my pants. I carefully moved closer barely touching Moms backside with my crotch. At the first light touch Mom didn't move and I began to become bolder. Moving closer yet I gently pressed against her backside letting her feel my hardness. To my complete amazement Mom continued her conversation with Mrs. Peters while she wiggled her bottom against my lightly pressing crotch.

I couldn't believe what was happening. Pressing more and more firmly to my Moms buttocks was the rampant throbbing of my erection and she was wiggling against me. My hands tightened the grip on her hips as I pressed more firmly against her. She wiggled and squirmed not once loosing a word of what she was saying to Mrs. Peters. It was as if I wasn't there but her buttocks moving back and over my pulsing organ told me different. The friction became too much and as my fingers dug deeply into her wide hips and began gasping. Quickly the inside of my pants was soaked with my spend as my erection jerked and pulsed against Moms firm buttocks. I was spent and quickly backed away. Red faced I rushed from the room to clean myself.

Not once in the following days did Mom ever mention what I had done. She remained the loving Mother I'd always known but often I caught a secret smile that curled from the corners of her mouth. I spent a week dreading the day when she would confront me but it never happened. My courage soared and I grew confident. Of course Mom knew what had happened, of that I have no doubt. It's just for some reason she chose to not confront me.

Again I found her leaning out her sewing room window talking with Mrs. Peters. Again I found myself drawn to her and silently crept up behind her. I found my hands on her hips once more and gently pressing my erection lightly against her backside. Mom wiggled her buttocks and allowed my to press more firmly.

"Excuse me a minute, Joan," Mom said to Mrs. Peters. "My son has a question for me."

"I don't mind, June," Mrs. Peters replied. "With the sun hitting me I didn't see he was with you."

I quickly moved well away from Mom and stood looking at her with fear. She turned and smiled sweetly, then began pulling the tail of her blouse from her skirt. From behind and beneath she unclasped her bra and by a means known only to women she removed her bra without showing even the slightest hint of bare flesh. Equally amazing was her removal of her panties with only the briefest glimpse of her thighs. Both garments were casually tossed aside as she smiled and again turned to her window. Without one single word to me she picked up her conversation with Mrs. Peters.