Chapter 3

To repeat, the incident in the bathtub involving my "periscope" really crossed a line for me -- and for my mother. We had never been candid about my exposure before. In the past, she seemed to take my nudity very much in stride; but the fact that she had actually joked about my half-hard penis and I had sustained the joke, was new territory for us.

I began to wonder how much of a sexual relationship my mother and father had, at this point in their marriage. As I mentioned earlier, my mother was (and is) a good-looking woman: a pretty redhead with a voluptuous body -- nice round breasts and a fantastic round butt. I was around 20 or 21 when these events started, which meant that Mom would've been around 39 or 40 at the time. My parents seemed to enjoy each other's company, but my father was an inspector who was based at home for a week, then on the road for four or five days at a stretch. Sometimes he'd be home three or four days, then gone for a week. I think that my mother started taking a greater interest in me because she was lacking various vital components in the marriage - namely, companionship and sex. Again, things weren't bad between my mom and father when he was around, but he was not an overly romantic person and once I started looking for it, I detected an absence of affection and attention that may have been there at one time, that was now missing, and that Mom seemed hungry to experience.

I wish I could say we lived in an isolated neighborhood, but we didn't. Nothing fancy, just middle-class Americana, to be honest. So I didn't have a huge private yard or woods in which to roam around naked. On the other hand, our backyard was spacious. Mom loved to work on it and she had several lovely flowerbeds which she tended diligently. There was a fragrant gravel path that stretched in serpentine fashion from one cluster of flowers to another. In the far corner of the yard, a massive oak tree provided plenty of shade in the summer. Underneath it, a wrought iron bench awaited lawn trekkers. Closer to the house, my parents had long ago built a screened cement patio.

One night in summer, I was out of school and wasn't scheduled to go into the convenience store until 10:30 or so. My father was on a three-day business trip and my baby sis Lisa (who, in actuality, wasn't all that much of a baby at 14) was sleeping at a friend's house. I was in my room, nude, when my mom stopped by and asked if I wanted to come out back and enjoy the evening breeze. I said sure and moved to put on some shorts, but she said, "Why bother? We'll keep the porch light off."

A thrill shot through me but I tried to maintain a poker face. "Are you sure?"

"Why, are you chicken?" She giggled.

"Is that a dare, mom?"

"Yup," then she laughed and said, "If you and your periscope are up to it!"

"Well," I said, feeling myself blush again, "I accept your challenge, Mom, periscope and all!"

About two minutes later, we were both sitting outside in the dark, sipping ice-cold glasses of lemonade. The lawn chair wasn't very comfortable on my bare bottom, but to be honest, I didn't care. I was absolutely amazed to be outside in the nude. Call me sheltered or geeky, but I'd never done the adolescent outdoor streaking routine. I think things would have played out very differently if our home had a rural setting, but it didn't. I had never done this before, and I was feeling an exhilarating head rush. And of course, there's another major piece to the equation that bears mentioning: I think the fact that my mother became my audience -- and an increasingly interested and participatory audience, as time went on -- did something to my casual nudity. Slowly but surely, I came to enjoy being naked not just for comfort, but for the thrill of being on display. It's very strange, but that's the best way I can describe it.