By Mike Escondido (as told to and recorded by Tony Reeno)

Chapter 1: The Seductive Showoff

This is a story that some of you may find engaging, while others will want to ignore. It deals with an erotic bond that developed between my mother and me. Be aware that you know that before proceeding. Moreover, be advised that the story is not about full-blown sex. If anything this is just a reminiscence that is laced with eroticism and exhibitionism more than explosive sex between parent and offspring.

My mother had me when she was in her mid-twenties, which means that by the time I was five or six, she was in her very early thirties. I mention this because I think it was at this time that she began to question the power of her sexuality - her capacity to attract and lure the attention of men. Don't get me wrong. My mother and father were happily married, but upon reflection - and from the stories that my mother eventually related to me - it seems that their marriage was in flux at the time, moving from a period when the passion was running high in their relationship to a more sedate cooling off period. There was still love and still the occasional round of sex, but that, I believe, was one of the problems: the sex moved from a nightly or even twice daily activity, to three times a week romping sessions, to a once a weekend fun time. I think my father was more than content with this pattern (he worked increasingly long hours as an investment consultant and had his hands full by his own choosing, raking money in). My mother, on the other hand, had given up her secretary job when I was born and since money wasn't too great an issue (mind you, we weren't rich, but we were comfortable enough with Dad's earnings to allow mother the option of staying home), had elected to stay home and become a housewife. This left her with more time to build up her erotic hunger - but no one to satiate it.

She tried hard, though. Mother was a beautiful woman. She stood about five feet seven inches and had a curvy, hourglass figure that was most popular in the 60s. She wasn't fat - not by a stretch — but she was generously full in all the right places. Her hair was strawberry blonde and her most distinguishing facial features were her slightly upturned pixie nose, the dusting of very light freckles across its bridge and underneath her green eyes, and her puffy, bee-stung lips that seemed to contradict the delicate nose.

My mother used to bathe me as a kid. I remember these times very affectionately as fun "wet play" as she used to call them. Let me mention that nothing remotely sexual took places during Mother's bathing sessions. She simply let me play with my various aquatic toys and floats and supervised for a while until she decided that "wet play" was over and then she gave me a good scrubbing. Afterward, she would dry me and help me with my clothes.

At about the time that I was five or six, I started expressing a desire to bathe myself. Mom expressed some reservations and continued to supervise me, but once she saw that I had the hang of it, she let me take care of my own needs.

Life at home was gradually progressing to that stagnating stage during this time (again, I learned all this later. As a five-year-old, I wouldn't have begun to notice what was and what wasn't going on in my parents' bedroom. My biggest crisis was making sure that I secured the tube to watch Lost in Space, Time Tunnel or some other sci-fi 60s TV show.

I did notice, though, that my mother began to dress more revealingly in the evenings. My family (there were just the three of us) was not prone to overt exposure of the body. I don't think that Mom and Dad were prudes, but we weren't a household in which nudity was the rule. Even light clothing was kept respectable. Shorts and shirts or halters were worn at all times. At night, if you were to change into your nightclothes, you put on a robe.

That changed the summer that my mother started to feel my father's absences. I remember watching a TV program with my father the night that mom casually sauntered into the living room wearing a light and sheer nighty that came down to about mid-thigh. I remember, even as a kid, being unable to wrest my eyes from her bronze legs and the sinewy shadows that teased me beneath the think blue fabric of the gown.

"Forget your robe, Lisa?" my father asked.

"It's hot tonight. Isn't it?" Said my mother,

Dad laughed. "I'll say it is."

I remember lying on my stomach before the television and feeling a stirring in my loins. My little member definitely responded to my scantily clad mother.

Mother and Father disappeared for a time and then returned. This time, my mother wore her usual robe.

It became a game with them - actually, more with her than him. She tried to lure him away with various glimpses of her scantily clad body. Sometimes he responded, but as the months wore on (and this is hard to believe, since it was driving me crazy), Dad chose the tube over a trip to the bedroom.

He started working later and later, too, and many were the nights that I wouldn't see him before I was sent to my room to go to sleep. But this isn't a "woe is me because I was deprived of affection" story. Dad did his best, I'm certain, given his ambitious nature and the fact that he was trying to raise a family, pay off the mortgage and make enough to keep Mom at home so that she could care for me, etc. And there were plenty of weekend outings when I did see him.

But the truth of the matter is that I saw more of my mother - a lot more. And as time went on, I not only spent more time in her presence than in my father's, I also got to literally see more of my mother's body. You see, after awhile, Mom's erotic nighttime wardrobe carried over even into the nights that my father wasn't coming home until late. This wasn't an every-night affair, but it became pretty frequent. Short baby-doll nighties became the rule - powder blue, pink and yellow; most were extremely transparent. And there was no sign of a robe on these nights. Upon reflection, I know now exactly what was going on then. I honestly don't think that Mom was trying to seduce me, but she did start to enjoy showing her body off to me. I think that you could probably label her behavior a kind of covert incest. It was subtle. It seemed, for all intents and purposes, quite innocent; but it was most definitely sensuous activity: erotically charged for me, as a young boy (I was about seven by the time that Mom started exhibiting herself to me in this fashion) and more so for her. My mother was using me - her personal at-home audience - to get a sexual thrill that she used as a precursor to explosive masturbation sessions.

Mom favored her baby-doll nightgowns, most of which came down to just below her buttocks, but I discovered, as the night shows continued, that her wardrobe was extensive and her gowns, varied. Some were cut just above the knee. Others came down to about mid-thigh. The best and the ones that gave me the most thrills were those that barely covered her voluptuous hips and ass, and that actually let me glimpse the lower, half-moons of her butt cheeks about every third step or so that she took. All her nighties were thin and it was clear that she didn't wear underwear beneath them. I remember her strolling casually into the living room at night. A lot of times, she'd nudge me with her foot and play tickle games with me as I lay on the floor. Her feet were very pretty and her toenails were always polished, usually a bright red or a very deep burgundy.

And speaking of that particular color, Mom loved her wine at night. I think it made her a little less inhibited. She had a glass or two with dinner and nursed another couple of glasses throughout the night. Some would probably call three or four glasses a night excessive and I guess it was, but it was the sixties and everyone seemed to do more than their share of imbibing. That's not an excuse, just a rationalization.

There were also the nights when my mother exceeded her usual alcohol intake and three or four glasses of wine became about five. On these nights, Mother didn't get nasty or bitter. She got cuddly and she'd have me nuzzle up against her. I was, to be sure, living with a perpetual erection in the evenings. I wasn't sure what to do about it yet, but I knew that this feeling in my body was truly amazing and I didn't want it to stop, ever. Mom would squeeze me to her chest between the commercials and take long pulls of her wine glass and give me sloppy kisses. I remember feeling the intense warmth of her body and the soft full breasts pushing against my young chest and arms.

Her dress got sloppy too. Her nightgown straps would slip off her shoulders sometimes, especially if we got involved in a tickle fight.

Chapter 2: Total Exposure

The first time I saw my mother completely naked was during the summer of my eleventh year. I had just turned eleven, actually, at the beginning of summer vacation. I wonder if that gave Mom a kind of go-ahead signal. Maybe it did and maybe it didn't. All I know is that one afternoon, while racing down the hall to my bedroom in order to retrieve another stack of comic books. I passed by the open door of my parents' bedroom and something in the gloomy interior caught my eye. I slowed down, stopped, found myself standing at the open door. My mother must have known that I was in the house. I'd seen her shortly before lunch and I hadn't announced that I was going out to play or to a friend's house. Yet she hadn't bothered to shut her door before trying on her new dress. She stood in the center of her bedroom - stark naked.

"Oh, Mike!" she said, sounding surprised. "I thought you were at Joey's." Joey was my good friend, but he was away at camp for three weeks.

I stood stunned and drank in Mother's beauty: her bronze skin, her large and heavy breasts with their round and darker nipples, her hour-glass figure that resembled countless buxom cheesecake calendar models of days gone by. Her pubic mound was covered by dark hair but when she moved her legs in a certain way, I could see through the hair and her thick nether-lips were quickly displayed. In short, my mother was stunning and making no fast move to cover her nude body from her son's astonished gaze.

Mother stood brazenly - almost defiantly -- before me. Just when I thought she was going to ignore the incredibly surreal nature of the situation, she made mention of it. "I guess I should say run along or maybe I should grab my robe or something, but you've already seen me, so what the heck."

With that comment, she started walking toward me! I felt my face flush all shades of crimson even before Mom came up and patted my cheek.

Mom bent down low and gave my cheeks a one-handed squeeze, then planted a sloppy kiss on my nose. I could smell wine on her breath and then spotted a half-filled glass on her nightstand. Even as a young kid, I understood that my mother was being overly immodest because she'd started drinking earlier than she usually did and the alcohol helped loosen her inhibitions.

"Besides, you'll always be Mama's baby, right?"

"Give it a rest, Mom!" I protested.

She laughed, turned and headed to the queen-sized bed where her new dress lay draped. As she walked away from me, I stared as her round and generous ass-cheeks clenched tight, then moved up and down with each step she took.

"I sure hope this thing fits," she said. She bent over to retrieve the dress and now her ass was on complete display. "I think I've been porking out a bit in all the wrong places." She cupped her right buttock with one hand and gave it a squeeze and a pat.

"What do you think, baby?"

"Moooom! I think you look fine, I guess." I thought a lot more, but it was all I could get out.

Mother laughed and blew me a kiss. "You're a sweetie."

With that, she fitted the dress over her head and brought it down, then walked back to me. "Zip me, baby."

I did conscious of the inverted triangle of tanned skin between each side of the dress. I was painfully erect by now and I could literally feel my heart throbbing in my chest and both temples.

Mom moved over to her full-length, oval shaped mirror in the corner of the bedroom, turned around and placed a hand on her hip.

"What'd'ya think?"

I drank her in and watched the toes of her left foot dig into the carpet.

"You're beautiful, Mom!"

She laughed some more, came over and this time gave my cheek a kiss and told me to run along.

Chapter 3: Bathtime

My mother's displays grew from there. It became common practice for her to wait until I got home from school before she took her bath. And she always seemed to take baths when I was around, more than showers. The first time that Mom displayed herself to me in a way that involved her daily bathroom activities was when she called me in on the pretext of asking me about my day in school. I tried to answer her questions from the hallway but she kept telling me that she couldn't hear me through the door.

"Crack the door open, Sweetheart."

I did as she told me and I got a partial view into the bathroom. From my vantage point, I could hear her more than see her splashing about, but I did get a couple of fine glimpses of her legs.

Things escalated from there. A couple of afternoons later, Mom called out to me from the bathroom. Once again, I went to stand by the closed door. She complained that she forgot her towel and asked me to get her one from the closet in the hallway. Once I did, I knocked at the door and she said to come in. I stuck my hand and the towel through the door, but Mother laughed at me and told me to quit fooling around and bring her the towel. What could I do? I did as I was told. I walked into the bathroom and the reward was instantaneous.

Mom was sitting in the tub. No soapy TV or movie suds in this water. It was pretty clear. She was soaping up a washcloth as she splashed about.

"Just set it on the counter, there, Baby. And sit on the toilet so we can talk for awhile."

I was too busy feeling shock course through my body and mingling with adolescent arousal to bolt. So I did what she suggested and admired the gentle sway of her pendulous breasts, the beautiful curves of her arms and stomach leading to her thick darkness below.

I can't even tell you what we talked about that first day. I honestly don't remember. It might have been school. It might have been TV shows or the weather or vacation-planning. The sights were too good to really drink in anything but Mom. As she rose from the tub, she carefully dried off, padding her body more than drying it. When she did her back, she turned around and I took in the sight of her gorgeous rear end. Her buttocks were quite large but they seemed to anchor her voluptuous frame in a manner most appropriate. When Mom stepped out of the tub and went to hang her used towel on the rack, I watched the way those flesh globes quivered with each step she took. I memorized the way the dark curvy creases formed first under one cheek and then the other as she moved about and I stared and tried hard to penetrate the darker and deeper cleft between her generous flesh globes.

That was the first time that I was invited to join my mother in the bathroom. That day launched a routine in our afternoon activities. The very next day, and just about every day after that (as long as Dad wasn't home), Mom would invite me to come into the bathroom with her to "chit-chat and catch up" while she bathed. I would be only too happy to oblige.

I was, quite frankly, in awe of my mother's beauty and her erotic displays. Today I know that she seemed intent on putting on a longer and longer show for me. How? By increasing the time she spent in the nude in my presence. About a week into our new routine, Mom started to invite me into her bedroom even before she got to the bathroom. We would start our talking there as Mother slowly stripped what little she was wearing and placed her clothing in her clothes hamper. Then, with my mother already stark naked, we would walk into the large private bathroom adjacent to her bedroom. Then my naked mother would sit on the toilet and pee. I remember the extremely casual pattern of her behavior, her movements. She'd be sitting there, her pretty feet arched and on tiptoe, her legs wide apart and I could see the stream shooting out from between her legs and hear it hissing its way into the bowl. Throughout this display (and it was a full-fledged display, more for her erotic benefit than mine, I'm certain of that now), my mom would keep up a steady stream of conversation as though sitting nude and pissing in front of a young son was the most typical of family behavior. She would cut off a long piece of toilet paper, wipe herself and then, on most occasions, bend over the tub and start running the water, her gorgeous ass practically thrust in my face.

I say that this was her normal pattern on most occasions, because there were other times when she would decide to remove her nail polish before bathing. Maybe because I was now in a constant state of arousal during these sessions, but I never once questioned her behavior. Much later, I wondered if it was really necessary to remove her toenail polish immediately before a bath. Moreover, even if it was, why did Mother feel compelled to strip her clothes and remove the polish while in the nude? Of course, I didn't think about these things then. I was too enraptured with the non-stop nude show.

And what a show: totally naked, Mom would squat low and retrieve her polish remover and cotton balls from underneath the sink and close the toilet lid. Then, still as naked as the day she was born, her legs slightly parted and the toes of her feet planted firmly on either side of the commode, she would proceed to work on her fingernails. A host of questions would come flying out of her - about school, homework, dinner possibilities, TV that night, the latest episode of a show we had both watched, etc. The conversation never ceased and now and again, Mom would glance my way and smile. For the most part though, she kept her eyes averted and fixed on her clipping and buffing fingernail activities. This afforded me ample opportunity to ogle her exposed pendulous breasts sagging this way and that as her fingers worked over her, her gorgeous curvy torso and her attractive vagina with its thick lips playing peek-a-boo games beneath her trim bush.

When she was done with her fingernails, my mother would then sit on the floor, on the bathmat, bend her legs at the knees and reach around them and between them and, using cotton balls and pungent polish remover, proceed to wipe the polish off her toenails. I still think this is astonishing behavior on her part, sitting there naked and open-legged. I remember her thick outer pussy lips literally growing more engorged and puffing open (I know now that her engorged sex was evidence that her own displays were arousing to her). Her inner lips looked slick and wet. Once, I came dangerously close to erupting in my pants when she casually reached down and fondled the hair above her vagina and said, "What do you think? Does Mommy need a trim?"

I'm sure I blushed all shades of the red. Mom laughed, reached out her hand and waved her fingers at me, which meant she wanted to be hoisted up. I did so and she gave me a quick hug — her first nude hug - and still laughing, said, "You're so much fun to tease, Mike!"

I'm glad she thought so because it only enhanced the show. Many times Mom decided to paint her nails before bathing, which meant an even longer session. And it wasn't just painting the nails that took time. It was waiting for them to dry. She would sit and wiggle her pretty round toes and her hands and dry them out. Then, finally, she would get in the tub and proceed to give herself a thorough scrubbing.

And there were those occasions when Mother did proceed to shave her legs. It was a long and slow process, full of sensuous movements. She would bathe herself thoroughly and then she would sit on the side of the tub and extend one leg across the side and lather it up, then the other. Then my mother would stand up and bend over at the waist. She always made certain to point her buttocks in my direction as she bent over and spread her legs slightly, with one pretty foot atop the side of the tub, as she traced the razor over her calf and onto her thigh, higher up, leaving a trail of tanned flesh exposed on either side of her white creamed leg. The process would continue until the cream and her excess hair were gone.

One afternoon, Mom grabbed some scissors before heading into the tub and snipped them at me, once and twice.

"I've joked about it before, but this time it's for real, Mike."

"What's that, Mom?"

"I'm going to give myself more than a shave. I'm going to go bald!"

Laughing, she snipped all of the hair off her vagina until it was shadowy stubble of growth. This she shaved after her bath, spreading herself wide open with one hand and looking up and grinning and laughing softly as she gave herself an extremely close shave.

But why, mom?"

"Some folks don't like hair on their body and I'm one of them," she said.