There was a young fellow called Clyde
Who fell in an outhouse and died.

He had a twin brother

Who fell in another
So now they're interred side by side.

I didn't know it at the time, just what a special look can do to me. In fact it took many years for me to come to gripes with the realization that a passion-filled gaze can affect me so powerfully. I never tried to define or analysis what was within me that drew a gaze, nor why it affected me so.

Back in the beginning of my self-awareness in my own sexuality; I was a cute kid, a short chubby teen that developed early and a short voluptuous mother and wife. My face retrained a round cuteness through my years - aging appropriately as time progressed.

As a young girl, I noticed men looking at me and asked my mother about it, she just smiled almost sadly and told me that I should enjoy it while it lasted. I never understood but I took her advice. I liked men looking at me, even my granddad smiling when I danced around before him in only my panties and nothing else. He was smiling and it made me feel good that he should enjoy the sight I presented to him.

My curves started before most of my friends and the guys my age were looking at me with an animal-like obsession. I never went through the common self-concious stage, I wanted them to look, I liked it. Contrary to this I would not call myself an exhibitionist, I did not go out of my way to be noticed, to tantalize a man to look at me - I found it a gift when they did. So when I discovered how I caused the dents in their pants I was thrilled to the point of breathlessness.

The first boy to see me naked was my younger brother, and to this day I believe it was a mistake - he simply strode into the bathroom as I was climbing out of the tub. I froze and he stood looking at me slowly up and down for what seemed like forever, both of us trembling and after a long while a stain spread over the front of his pygamas and before he retreated his cheeks turned a bright red.

Masturbation up to that point was romantic explorations and fantastic story lines - but that epesode caused my secret images to be more graphic, more intense and I would have the first orgasm of my life the same night that my brother saw me naked. Of course I associated that delightful new discovery to the look my brother gave me while naked.

I lost my virginity not long after that, a boy that could not take his eyes off my large chest - and when they were exposed, could not get enough of his hands or mouth on them. It turned me on when I turned someone else on - I had small orgasms just from that boy sucking on my nipples and licking my soft breast flesh.

Contrary to what you may think, I didn't have many boyfriends through my teenage years and to this day I don't think I'm an exhibitionist. I just enjoyed when someone was looking at me. My younger brother was peeking at me frequently, beneath the table and even through my bedroom door - but I didn't encourage him even while still enjoying his desire. With three boyfriends by the time I was nineteen, the only three men I have been intimate with to that point, I left home after my step-father's interest turned into pawing of my breasts when mom's back was turned. Years later, I can confess it wasn't his interest that bothered me so much as my betrayed of my mother - I could not stay and trust myself.

I worked a handful of menial jobs before finding a full-time position at a large factory as a secretary. There was nearly a hundred guys working there and only three women - a girl about twenty five, some old grandmother-type and me. Well that older girl and I hit it off, laughing with pleasure as the men whistled and made rude remarks, feeling their eyes like a physical touch as we walked across the floor. We even moved in together and she became my best friend for many years - but while we lived together we also became lovers. She looking at me in private, with that powerful gaze of desire that I craved and had up to then associated with men - I never saw a need to deny the advances that came next. I still have strong feelings about her - and if society had been different, I think she and I would still be together and the rest of this tale would be very different.

Then along came my future husband Nick - full of energy and ideas. He looked at me with lust as well as something a little new, what I interpreted to be love but learned that it was a jealous desire to own everything. I was the youngest of three women that worked in the factory, perhaps not the prettiest but most certainly the most well endowed and thus the target of most lewd comments, catcalls and whistles. Of course Nick had to possess me. He wanted to walk through the factory with his arm about my shoulder so everyone could see that he had conquered me when no one else had. He was the factory owners son and Nick would not accept anything less than me as his dutiful wife - so we dated. Our sexual relationship started on the first date and it was very good, the first man I had in years - he was a considerate and passionate lover and in six months he asked me to marry him.

The wedding was extravagent - our two families barely talking until later in the evening when the booze was half ways-gone. I wore white, as inappropriate as it was, and every eye was on me as I was as beautiful as I had ever been, before or since. I came three times that night - my son the product of that joyous union - I felt loved and sexy the whole day.

Nick's attention quickly changed from seducing me to changing and modernizing his father's company. Oh, he still came home and mounted me frequently enough. It took me years to realize that Nick always wanted what he can't or doesn't have - my old girlfriend telling me about the new young girls in the office at the factory, and about Nick's blatant affairs. I hurt, I was sick to my stomach most of the time - Nick had long ago stopped looking at me in that way, eventually stopped fucking me as well not long after my pregnancy showed.

I did desperate things as the years passed - things many wives may empathize with - wearing lingerie meant for a woman half my age. Nick's only response was to growl at me to stop acting silly. There was even a period that I stopped mastubrating, working hard around the house and taking car of our child instead, trying to overshadow the 'childish' needs, as I thought of them, that I wished for from my husband.

My life became a sad neverending tale of loneliness and frustration - of dirty dishes and diapers, of volunteer work and house work. My husband not only did not look at me with love or desire any more he rarely came home three nights of any week. I began to masturbate again but this seemed a mockery of my marriage and life. Wanting to feel eyes upon me again I took classes but those stopped a year later, I was just another middle-aged woman of many that was ignored and abandoned by her husband and of others of the male side of our species - no long desirous looks, nothing.

Then something totally unseen happened - I caught my son looking up my skirt at the dinner table!

You could have hit me with a pan across my face it would not have shocked me any less. What could he see really? I had taken my pantyhose off before supper and was wearing a plain white cotton panty beneath the conservative woolen pleated knee-length skirt. To hide my confusion I stood to get more potatos for us but unintentionally glanced down to see his erection in his jeans.

It was like a valve had exploded open with regards to my sexuality - my panties filling up with my juices, my nipples hardening beneath my clothing. I was thankful when that supper was complete and we went our separate ways - giving me time to think and consider.

Not being able to concentrate on dirty dishes, I rushed to my room to remove my panty and spread my legs with my skirt about my waist - I brought myself to two orgasms surprisingly quickly. Laying like that, catching my breath and absentmindedly licking my juices from my fingers, I told myself I was over reacting - that its obviously been too long since a man looked at me in that way. I was so convincing I even convinced myself. The other reason was totally insane, too crazy to consider - my son must have been thinking of some young tart at school and his desperate old mom jumped to conclusion.

As a monther of a teenage son, you know when he starts to masturbate - finding the amateurishly discarded evidence - I had simply sighed and took this to mean my little boy was growing up and I was getting old. But after the peeping beneath the table I began to wonder what my boy was thinking about when he did it? Yes, I toyed with the idea that he had been looking at me and that I had not mistook his gaze. Had my child been looking at me for a while now and I had not even known about it - a travesty I will admit.

Convincing myself I was wrong I went through my son's room and found various things that he obviously had tired to hide from his mother. But it was the small box beneath his comic books that shocked me the most - oh it contained a lot of things but where I was most interested in was the photo of me at the pool last summer wearing a tight one-piece bathing suit, another photo at our vacation the same year wearing tight shorts and loose teeshirt but my nipples were obviously hard probably from the chill and finally I found one of my soiled cotton white panties. My face and body flushed with shame as well as desire.

The mother that met my son that night was a changed woman - and I don't mean just the extra time I took applying my makeup or selecting the right dress, I mean I wanted my son to look at me. As pitiful an act as it may seem to you, almost as a drug addict needed a fix, I was overjoyed that at least one person would want to look at me like that still. Of course, I reminded myself, it could never go further than that - totally inappropriate.

Dan was obviously pleased with the change within his mom. He had to realize that I only ever took extra attention to my appearance, these last years, when I was going out, so my dressing up now walking around our home was obviously for his benefit. So desperate I was for his gaze that I shamelessly flirted and teased the boy, getting his opinion on clothing he wanted me to wear to how I should wear my hair. I was secretly pleased when I realized my son liked my ass and legs most of all - all other men, and the single woman, desired my large breasts instead. I wore skirts more frequently after my realization, all kinds but usually above the knees - and hose, in a colour that complimented the skirt. I had to go shopping of course, I hadn't a single skirt that short or enough variety in hose for my plans. And my own addition, to highlight where my son was looking most often, high heeled shoes - which had to convince him my dressing was for his benefit, as none of us wore shoes in the house, ever. My son liked my shoulder length hair in a ponytail or loose, so that is how I wore it.

I suddenly felt young, desired and I loved it.

That is not to say I took any inappropriate steps, I did not allow any glances beneath my clothing for example. I never forgot who was looking at me, how old he was nor the relationship we shared. But if you recall, I was not prejudiced against who looked at me, and that included family members.

Here I strode around the house collecting dirty clothing for the wash or making food in the kitchen while in heels, hose and a skirt that highlighted my legs as well as my generous round bottom. Oh I looked good on top as well, silk blouses and the like but the fact my bottom half was capturing most of the attention it was there that I spent most of my time formulating ways to continue the gazes. My son could not be around me enough, sitting at the breakfast table pretending to talk to me as I felt his eyes upon me like a physical touch. He was more considerate of me now, holding my hand or giving me frequent hugs - kissing on the lips again as we did when he was still a toddler.

This did wild things to my lebido, I masturbated like mad - even buying two vibrators to help in my release. And when in his arms I swooned with love for him and could not feel more desired or safe if I wanted too.

When I realized my son was doing his damnest to see me through my bedroom window I began to leave the door open. He was shy at first but soon he would silently stand in the doorway as I dressed, hiding not even my nudity from him. This was what I considered my first inappropriate step to what would come next. If you remember, I wanted that invisible line of appropriateness between a son and his mother - but I was seduced by my own helplessness to the fact that I was desperate and there simply was no one else that wanted to gaze at me like that.

It was all innocent I lied to myself, usually after a full night of exquisite masturbation. That was the time my guilt hit you see - I used to feel guilt at playing with myself rather than climaxing with my husband, but those days are long gone. With the open desire I saw in my son's eyes, appreciation for his old chubby mom, a valve had opened within my sexuality. It felt as if he were the only human alive willing to give me those looks, such a powerfully sad statement to my life, that no one and I mean no one else gave me. I didn't want it to end, desperate that it should continue. Therefore, I allowed his eyes to gaze upon me changing or showering and I enjoyed every second.