As I look back on it; the day I raped my mother for the first time, all those years ago, she got exactly what she deserved.

It was 1976 and I was eighteen; Mom was in her forties and was showing her age.

Mom was divorced; Dad had gone out for cigarettes one day and had simply never returned, leaving her with a three-year-old son and five-year-old daughter. Mom worked as a secretary for a prestigious law firm in the city, leaving for work early in the morning and returning exhausted in the evening with only enough energy left to scoff down her dinner and then fall asleep on the couch in front of the TV. This was one of the catalysts in the events that led up to her rape.

Mom had to dress appropriately for her job; a strict dress code was enforced. As a legal secretary she was required to wear a suit or a skirt-blouse-blazer combination, heels and hosiery; this was the Seventies so pantsuits were forbidden for professional women, skirts were short and makeup was heavy. Pantyhose had replaced stockings for most women, and although a lot of men complained, women liked the convenience of pantyhose and I liked the look of sheer nylon encasing a woman's legs up to the very top of her thighs.

Sometimes Mom was so tired she didn't even bother to take off her jacket or high-heels. Inevitably she would be lying on the lounge snoring within a few minutes of getting home from work, and inevitably her skirt would ride up. I would sit across from her for hours looking up her skirt at her nylon encased legs, the gossamer hose stretched taut around her fat thighs. Sometimes she would get uncomfortable or agitated and fumble around on the couch until she was comfortable again and her skirt would ride right up so high on her hips that I would have an unobstructed view of her pantyhosed legs and knickers.

Mom always wore full-cut knickers over her sheer-to-the-waist pantyhose; like it was part of her own dress code. The colour of her panties varied from day to day but they were always nylon or satin, always full-cut, and always worn over her sheer-to-the-waist-pantyhose. Mom's pantyhose were mostly flesh toned; varying from nearly-nude, to taupe, to suntan; rarely she would wear light grey hosiery to match a dark suit; but she never wore black or any other colours and she never wore patterned hosiery or those awful ribbed tights that some women resorted to in the cold of winter.

I first started obsessing about my Mom when I reached pubity and I got my first erection. I didn't know what was going on with me; and as I didn't have a Dad and was a loner at school, I had no one to talk to about sex. I decided to ask my sister if she knew what was happening to me. She was two years older than me and had just started wearing pantyhose to school and she was lying on her bed studying when I went in to her room to ask her about these strange feelings I was getting, and about this strange thing that kept happening to my penis. Her school tunic had ridden up and I could see her hosed thighs and the Vee of her panties. She saw me looking and picked up the nearest thing at hand and threw it at me telling me that I was disgusting; just like all boys, and to get out of her room.

As I slammed the door behind me I realised that what she had thrown at me was a pair of her pantyhose balled up with a pair of her panties. The hose and knickers which she threw at me had been lying discarded on the floor beside her bed waiting for someone to get the energy to put them in the laundry hamper, neither my sister nor my mother were much when it came to housekeeping. I was too ashamed to open the door and throw them back at her, even though I was angry and I wanted to; but I just sauntered down to the bathroom and threw them in the laundry hamper. I closed the door to the bathroom and stood at the toilet and opened my flies. My erection was uncomfortable in my underpants and it was difficult for me to get my penis out of my flies.

It was like this very often now, me getting an erection at the most inappropriate times; such as in class, on the bus or train but especially when I was around women. I tried to pee but it wouldn't come out because my penis was so hard. It pointed straight out in front of me, six inches of sleek hard flesh with an angry red knob on the end. For the first time I noticed that there was clear liquid oozing from the end of my cock. I looked for something to wipe it away and of course that there was no toilet paper; another tribute to my mother's housekeeping skills. I reached behind me and rummaged in the laundry hamper for a pair of my Jockeys to wipe the clear substance from the end of my penis. Inadvertently I picked up my sister's pantyhose and panties and wiped them across the head of my cock.

I almost collapsed with the intensity of waves of pleasure that shot though my body. The feel of the sheer nylon against the sensitive glans of my engorged penis was exquisite. This was the first time that I ever realised how lovely the feel of nylon could be. I extricated the panties from the scrunched up pantyhose and bought them to my face. I felt the satin panties caress my face and smelt the faint aroma of my sister's vagina in the crotch.

My cock was now throbbing and I lowered the pantyhose back down to it. I opened the hose and pulled one leg over my cock and started to slowly rub the fabric against my erection. The feeling of the gossamer nylon of my sister's pantyhose on the nerve endings of my erect member was wonderful. With my left hand I gathered up the rest of the silky garment and began to slowly massage my scrotum. My thoughts drifted to the sight of my sister lying on the bed with her skirt rucked up; and then suddenly my thoughts shifted and I locked onto a scene from last night; my mother lying on the couch with her skirt hitched high up on her thighs. As I slid the diaphanous garment up and down my cock I imagined that I was sliding my cock up and down my mother's silken encased calves.

This only went on for about thirty seconds before the most exciting and sensual feelings that I had ever experienced in my short life shot though my body and I experienced my first ever orgasm. I was so overcome with pleasure that I nearly fainted and I fell against the bathroom wall; my cock wrapped in my sister's hosiery with her panties against my face, inhaling her musk, shooting my first ever emission into her nylons.

After a few minutes my breathing returned to normal and my head had cleared enough for me to realise what had just happened. I had heard the other boys at school talk about "wanking" and "coming" and "spunk" and it dawned on me what had occurred. I had just experienced my first orgasm!

What I had never heard the other boys talk about however, was anything to with sexual feelings about their Moms or their sisters and even more importantly feelings about their Moms and sisters panties or nylons. I knew that what I had just experienced was something special that was best to keep to myself. I cleaned myself up with a facecloth and stuffed my sister's knickers and pantyhose in my pockets and went and hid them in my room. When my sister asked me about them later I told her that I had threw them in the rubbish for spite because she had thrown them at me. I was careful to never bring up the subject again.

And so it went for the next few years; Mom's arse got wider and her thighs got fatter but she still wore those business suits with the short skirts, nylons and high-heels and far too much makeup. On the rare occasion that she spoke to me or we had anything like intimate contact (a birthday hug or pat on the head for passing an exam) she reeked of cheap perfume and cigarette smoke. She was doing it tough; I knew that. Sometimes I would listen to her talking on the phone to my aunt; telling her about how hard she worked and how the guys at work hit on her because she was a divorcee. She hinted that she might have given in to one or two of the senior partners in the firm to try and advance her career but she stayed in the same shitty job, working the same shitty hours, getting the same shitty wage.

And most evenings I would sit in the same shitty chair looking up her skirt as she snored on the couch, having fallen asleep in front of re-runs of American TV shows such as Star Trek or Sonny and Cher or BBC offerings such as Thunderbirds or The Avengers. I had no time for such inane distractions as they flickered on our small black and white screen; I stared in concentration at my mother's nylon encased legs, examining how her hose wrinkled behind her knees; staring at her painted toenails eclipsed by the reinforced toes of her pantyhose; at how the nylon stretched taut around her heavy thighs and glistened in the dim light of the TV. I studied her panties when she offered me a view, they were often frayed at the waist or leg-holes, but they were always clean, the satin material contrasting with her flesh-toned nylons.

I liked the way Mom wore her knickers over her nylons; the vivid colours of her panties so distinct against her choice of hosiery; it was like it was her only way to rebel against the work dress code was to wear gaudy underwear. I sometimes wondered if she wore a matching bra but to be honest I never really got excited by her tits; they were big of course, Mommy was a large lady, and on the very rare occasion that I got a hug, they felt nice and squishy, but my focus never really shifted from her legs and arse. The sight of her full-cut knickers pulled tight against her crotch over the gusset of her sheer pantyhose kept me captivated for hours.

And so it went on; I would stare at my Mommy's legs and arse for hours until I couldn't take it any more and my throbbing cock begged for release and then I would lock myself in my bedroom and masturbate into the same pair of my sister's nylons that I had acquired two years ago. By now they were laddered and holed and had become crusty with dried semen, but I never thought of washing them; they were my talisman. Likewise the panties that I had acquired at the same time were now semen-encrusted and fraying, but they too remained unwashed. I kept them behind a loose board under my bed and I sometimes worried that the smell of the years of soaked-in semen would give away my hiding place, but Mom had little time for housework and certainly had no interest in cleaning my room. I never stole another pair of my mom's or my sister's underwear, I remained faithful to the garments that had inspired my first orgasm.

I spent my weekday evenings sitting in the same chair staring up my mother's skirt pretending I was watching TV, but I didn't really have to worry about being caught. We never had visitors during the week and my sister had dropped out high school a year ago at the age to follow a career as a checkout-chick at K-Mart, giving blow jobs to garage-band rock stars on the weekends. She wore short A-line skirts, platform shoes and too much makeup; she was a well known slut and she didn't seem to care about her reputation as long as she had enough money for cigarettes, makeup and clothes and had the latest 'it' guy hanging off her arm. She worked long shifts at K-Mart because they had just started opening during the evenings. After work she would be off with her current boyfriend and it was not unusual for me not to see her for days at a time. Even when we did see each other we seldom spoke; she was the 'sophisticated woman of the world' and I was the gawky, pimply-faced high school nerd; who wore cheap, thrift-store clothes and had no friends.

One day in December I was in K-Mart. The week before my sister had proudly told me and Mom that she had been promoted from cashier to 'floor walker' and that she had her own section in the store to attend to; she was perched at the top of a ladder fixing Christmas decorations to the ceiling. My English teacher, a fat balding man in his late fifties, was pretending to look at a display of inane knickknacks whilst furtively looking up my sister's skirt; stroking his cock though his trouser pocket. He was sweating profusely, his eyes locked up my sister's skirt, and I watched him gasp and splutter as his hand furiously worked away inside his pocket until a wet stain darkened the material at the front of his trousers. He looked around and then surreptitiously reached for his hanky and dabbed at the wet spot and then adjusted his jacket to cover the stain before sneaking away red-faced and self-conscious. I glanced up at my sister and saw her watching my English teacher walk away; she wore a self-satisfied grin.

It was the following week, on the last day of school, that I raped my Mother.

My sister had taken her Christmas holidays and had gone away for the week with her latest boring boyfriend. School had broken up for the year and I faced a lonely existence for the next few weeks, at home alone, a gawky, inadequate schoolboy with no friends, living in a house devoid of warmth or affection. I was still a virgin and except for my nightly masturbation ritual, I had no means of sexual gratification. I possessed a single stroke magazine; pictures of a heavy, middle-aged woman dressed in a corset, knickers, stockings and high-heels, heavily made up, staring at the camera with a false expression of lust on her face as she posed legs akimbo on a ratty bed. I sometimes looked at these pictures as I spent my seed into my sister's crusty hosiery; but mostly I recalled the image of my mother asleep on the lounge, her skirt hiked up, with her fat nyloned thighs spread apart as she snored the evening away.

Mom came home drunk from the office Christmas party on the day that school finished for the year. She was dressed in a navy-blue business suit with a white satin blouse, the hem of her skirt rested about six inches above her knees, she was wearing sheer taupe pantyhose and I noticed one leg had a small ladder that had started at her ankle and ran up her calf, stopping just short of her knee. She was heavily made up with red lipstick and blue-green eye-shadow; her eyes were heavily lined and mascaraed and her cheeks were rouged. She reeked of cheap perfume and alcohol. Mom was going to fat; the material of her skirt was stretched tight around her thighs and buttocks and the buttons on her blouse bulged around her breasts.