As I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, I contemplated the sequence of events that had led me here. My childhood bedroom, still with my familiar boyhood posters on the wall — I never did get that Lamborghini!

One failed marriage, one failed business, numerous creditors, no money. That pretty much summed up how I ended up back in mum's house after a 20 year absence. At the grand age of 38, my life had well and truly come off the rails and I was feeling fairly sorry for myself. Mum had been just great. She was supportive when my marriage hit difficulties. Being non-judgmental and offering to help in anyway she could. She even suggested a councillor that she knew who could possibly help. Looking back on it, I could see so clearly that I was mainly to blame. It was no coincidence that my business and marriage declined at roughly the same time. The more I neglected one, the more the other suffered. To the extent, that in my feeble attempts to gain both, I lost both. My wife and I had been childhood sweethearts. You know, I can't even remember asking her to marry me, it was just sort of assumed we would end up together, both families got on well, and we sort of just fell into it.

It wasn't that I didn't love her, but it was a quiet, unassuming love, not the blinding passionate type that Hollywood seems to dwell on. I felt comfortable with her, she felt like my soul mate, and when she eventually had the courage (and good sense) to walk out on me, I fell apart.

Mum was my saviour. I had to sell up everything I had to pay divorce proceedings and business debts, and she immediately insisted that I stay with her. I had very little options. Having my own room was a lot more attractive that dosing on some friends sofa.

I stared at the ceiling again, wondering how many 38 year olds lived at home with their mum, not many I was willing to bet. I heard mum letting the water out of her bath, the bathroom door then closing, and her switching on the TV in her bedroom. Her house was very modest. Just a 3 bedroom small detached house, although one bedroom had long been converted into her sowing room. It had its own garage where my small hatchback was now parked, the Porsche having been sold some months ago.

Mum's sowing room had been the centre of her activity for as long as I can remember. When I was a small boy, she had worked in a woman's fashion shop. I remember her picking me up from school and the looks of envy she would get from the other mums because of the wonderful clothes she wore, which I later learnt were heavily subsidised by staff discount. As my dad had seen fit to walk out on us whilst I was still a baby, she had to raise me single handed, which in the 60's was nowhere near as easy or fashionable as it is now. To supplement her income, she did the alterations for the shop at home, and was so good at it, that she got business from other shops to the extent that she worked at this full time from home.

When I sat down at the breakfast table, mum had food on the table ready for me. Over night, I seemed to have reverted to childhood, willing for mum to look after me. As I thanked her, I glanced over the table and looked at her. Mum was now 61 years old. Her skin looked 20 years younger as for as long as I could remember, she had a religious bedtime routine with Ulay moisturiser. I often bought her gift sets of it. She was wearing a cream cardigan, with the top 3 buttons undone. This showed off her cleavage and I noticed the lace top of her bra. Very sexy, I had always had a thing for older women, even having fancied my ex wife's mother. Mum was not slim, but could definitely be described as voluptuous. I judged her to be around 38 b or c — must check her bra size next time I have access to the washing. (What the hell was I thinking, this was mum for gawd sake... Geeze I need a girlfriend). Her lips were coated in a gloss red, dark brown mascara, subtle blusher, and blue eye make up.

Mum was going into town to deliver & pick up some alterations this morning and always dressed up for this. When she stood up, I then noticed her tight dark knee length, grey skirt. Finished off by some black high heels & barely black tights. As she bent over to scrape her plate clean into the bin, I could just make out the unmistakeable outline through her skirt of a suspender clip. This meant that mum was wearing stockings. Now, stockings to me had always one connotation — sex. But, this was my mum, and the thought quickly passed.

She asked me what I had planned today, I replied nothing, then she asked if I would like to go into town with her just for the drive. I think she was afraid that I would just vegetate all day in bed, which was a strong possibility. My instinct was to say no, but it came out as "OK then".

I quickly dressed, came down, and got into the passenger seat of her car. It was a Merc which I had treated her to a couple of years back when my business was good. I'm glad I had it put in her name, no-one could touch it. As she drove off, her right leg extended on the accelerator, and her skirt rose up just a little to show off more of her leg. She really did have great legs. We made some small talk, updating me that she made this trip 3 times a week and could have more work than she could cope with. I looked over at her and a feeling of immense pride fell over me. This woman was abandoned just after she gave birth, yet through determination and hard work, had raised me, sent me to college, and was now looking after me all over again.

By the time we had reached town, her skirt had risen up to the extent that I could just make out the start of the dark band of her stockings. I was beginning to wish I could see her swing out of the car as maybe I could catch a glimpse up her skirt. It worried me the occasional improper thoughts that were crossing my mind about mum. We agreed a meet up place in an hour. After which, we did some shopping at a local mall.

The next few days got a little easier as mum and I got a routine. She regularly hugged me, and we kissed with a quick peck on the cheek. We would have breakfast together, she would then go to the sowing room, and I would 'surf' on my laptop, or just watch TV. Since leaving school, this was the longest break that I had ever had. My mind still wasn't clearly focused, and although I had checked out the press for job vacancies, after working so long for myself, nothing really appealed, and if I'm honest, my motivation wasn't that high. I had reverted back quickly into the helpless boy my mum took care of all those years ago.

In the mean time, I had confirmed that mum wore a 38C bra, and also had quite a selection of suspender belts and stockings. Mainly black, but a variation of colours. I particularly liked an emerald green suspender belt with black inset lace. I guess she just liked them as she didn't have any traditional tights that I could find. Despite her age, she was a good looking woman. 5 foot 3 inches tall — although she nearly always was in high heels, even in the house. Her shoulder length brown hair, was well conditioned, her smile instantly made you return one back. I was ashamed that I had thought about her last night as my masturbation fantasy. I thought of her standing at my bedside, wearing black stockings, high heels, a lace and satin basque I had seen in her wardrobe (with the labels still attached). I could see her touching her ample breasts, cupping her hands underneath them, just as I myself came. I felt guilty afterwards. I remember trying to catch a glimpse of her naked when I was a child, but all kids do this, don't they? This was different, I'm a grown man, having incestuous thoughts about his mum, this can't be good.

The next night I woke up startled. Something had fallen on the bed, and I felt decidedly wet. I turned the light on and gazed at the new whole in the ceiling. One of the central heating pipes has cracked, soaking the plaster ceiling, and making it eventually collapse. It was lucky in that it had fallen on my chest, my face had missed out on some potential cuts and bruises. Mum heard the commotion and ran in — she stood there with a short green silk robe, tied tightly around her waist. She didn't panic, just asked if I was hurt. On hearing was OK, she then proceeded to pick up debris and put in a black plastic bag whilst I got a towel and dried myself off.