Chapter 1

It all started when I was 10 years old, the year my parents got divorced, a normal age for a lanky, soft-spoken only child to have his obsession with Grand Theft Auto blindsided by his first crush.

I had just started junior high, where they made us read boring stuff like Romeo & Juliet, though I was too young to understand the dangers of forbidden lust, yet old enough to notice how my mother would often do the sexiest things without knowing it.

Things might have been different had my mother been more willing to let me out of her sight. Instead, I was treated more like a pet, expected to literally follow at her heels everywhere she went. Naturally, by forcing me to spend all my free time with her, it wasn't long before I started observing some of her more peculiar tendencies.

She had an extensive shoe collection, most of which were high heels. She loved wearing heels so much that even when she took them off, I'd often catch her walking around on her tiptoes, like she was purposely training her leg muscles around the house, by practicing in invisible stilettos.

No matter what she was doing, she always seemed to need something inside her mouth. When we went out to eat, she couldn't drink anything without a straw. If she was sitting at home grading papers, she'd sit there for hours sucking on the end of a pen. She watched football every Sunday, though she knew almost nothing about sports. She just enjoyed wearing her fitted jersey and a pair of tights, rooting for whichever team had the cutest quarterback.

Whenever I got lint in my eye, she would lean down, pout her lips together and gently blow until it was gone. The feeling excited me so much that I eventually found myself actually looking forward to it.

By the time I finished high school, I was so used to being by my mother's side that leaving for college less than an hour away filled me with highly mixed emotions due to all the amazing memories left behind.

By my third year at Emerson, the novelty of living away from home had worn off almost completely. With each passing day, I was growing more lonely and homesick, with no girls and only a few male friends to help kill the boredom.

One dreary afternoon, my mother called me completely out of the blue, with the radical idea of finding a new apartment for us to live together.

Even at 42, my mother was still an incredibly striking woman, with long, flowing, chestnut brown hair, hazel eyes, flat cheeks and skinny lips set between her oval chin and the downward tip of her nose.

At 5'6", 120 lbs., she'd fully outgrown the red leotards from her glory days of high school gymnastics, where she'd collected multiple trophies, mostly for balance beam. Still, she kept her body in tremendous shape, wearing trendy outfits that proudly displayed her pert breasts, tight ass, and best of all, her long, head-turning legs.

To put it bluntly, in my own personal opinion, my mother was the hottest woman I'd ever seen. I jerked off thinking about her so much that it soon developed into a full blown obsession. I tried my best to keep her from catching on to how often I fantasized about her. Yet, over the years, she started to worry that I seemed to have no interest in other girls.

I had just started college two years earlier, so the thought of moving back in with my mother initially felt like a step backwards. Admittedly, I was living in a small, dumpy apartment. My roommate was a total slob. Yet, in spite of the headaches, and as much as I missed seeing her every day, I'd still managed to survive on my own and part of me had gotten used to fending for myself.

At 19, I was eager to spend my junior year getting hammered every night and screwing as many co-eds as possible. At least, that's what I'd always imagined college would be like. Though in reality, I was still the same skinny kid from Rhode Island, with a tendency to fidget and make awkward jokes around girls my own age, to the point where even the ugly ones started avoiding me.

The day Mom called I was lying in bed going through my favorite pictures of her on my cell phone. I never knew when I might get the sudden urge to rub one out and nothing made me cum faster than looking at pictures of my gorgeous mom, even fully clothed.

For as long as I could remember I had always been captivated by my mother's legs. When Dad left, because of all the travel, she gave up event planning to teach marketing at a nearby community college where the women on staff often wore pantyhose under their skirts. By that time, for all I knew, Mom had been wearing pantyhose for many years. Yet, it wasn't until she started teaching that I really began noticing how this basic element of her daily business attire distinctly brought out the remarkable beauty and dimension of her long, sinuous legs.

Maybe it was genetic, or perhaps it was just puberty, but around that time, I became so fixated on my mother's legs that I started to question why I was so helplessly drawn to them in the first place. As flawless as they looked by themselves, their hypnotic effect immediately doubled whenever I saw her in pantyhose.

It was as if this ordinary undergarment was imbued with extraordinary powers luring my eyes to linger over the supple tone of her lean, slender calves, moving up to the meaty flesh of her firm sculpted thighs, where her long, shapely legs gradually expanded leading to the fullness of her hips, topped by a set of luscious round asscheeks beautifully encased under sheer, shimmering threads of nylon.

Though I'd long forgotten the very first time that I noticed Mom wearing hose, the one thing that never left me was an urgent impulse to look down and gaze over the dazzling aura emanating from her legs. From the bottom of all her short skirts, down to the tips of her toes, each pair she wore had the power to enthrall me with its own seductive sparkle.

Not a single day went by where I wasn't sitting at home waiting for her to walk in and kick off her sexy heels. My dreamy eyes followed as she tiptoed around the house, lost in the warm glow of her lustrous pantyhose, completely spellbound. The longer I stared, the more I became desperate to feed my growing obsession at all cost.

Growing up, Mom and I traveled quite a bit. Wherever we were, it wasn't unusual for me to pull out my camera and get her to pose for me out in public. She'd always been the type of mother who gladly encouraged any hobby I developed, especially my growing interest in photography. Eventually, I managed to collect dozen of pictures, all of which focused on her long, gorgeous legs. I was certain she never suspected what I actually did with her pictures after she went to bed, considering I was so young, not to mention being her son.

My favorite pictures for jerking off were the ones that involved Mom sitting down and crossing her legs. Before teaching, working in corporate America had given her many years to develop this particular skill. As a trained professional, she was far too elegant to take one leg and carelessly flop it over the other.

Instead, with her head up and her perky breasts pointed straight out, she'd gracefully sit down, sweep her hands under her skirt, then with full extension, flick out one leg, flexing the tip of her shoe, as she leisurely elevated her long, silky stem, the lush contours visible though the pantyhose, as she draped it ever so gently across her lower thigh, all this in one rousingly fluid motion, seamlessly merging her firm shapely calves in deliciously perfect alignment, as I stood there completely riveted, listening as one leg brushed up against the other, sweeping against the grain, a thrilling sound that instantly made my dick throb hearing that subtle swish.

Deep down, I knew it was wrong. Still, I often tried to convince myself that it wasn't so unusual to see my mother as the hottest woman on Earth. Her voice alone sent chills down my spine, with the perfect diction and dignified restraint of a well-trained, highly confident educator, with only the slightest trace of a typical New England accent.

Despite being over forty, her nutritious diet and friendly demeanor gave her a youthful glow. She barely ate more than two bites of anything, loved yoga, and jogged two miles every morning. While it was clearly a positive thing, her healthy lifestyle only encouraged my physical attraction to continue building and become more powerful each day.

Her bra size was an average 34-B. Yet, her modest chest proudly stood out in contrast with her petite waistline, jutting from the flimsy material of her tight blouses and low-cut tops.

Despite being a hard-working single mom, I had to imagine she still had needs. Yet, to my limited knowledge, after the divorce, she had no men in her life. Perhaps, if she hadn't spent so much time worrying if I was getting laid, she might have had time to date. She should have had offers lined up considering how hot she was. But then again, I might have been somewhat biased by my own forbidden infatuation and my ever increasing lust for pantyhose.

I had already started loosening my belt, as I lay in bed, eager to stroke my cock. My phone started buzzing and Mom's cell number flashed up across the screen. The timing was terrible as I'd just settled on one of her better pictures, taken in Times Square. She had on this beautiful, wine-colored blouse, with a black miniskirt, black pumps, and a radiant pair of suntan pantyhose gleaming in broad daylight.

I snapped the picture just as Mom walked over to pose next to a tall New York streetlight. It was like she could read my thoughts as she suddenly stepped over and purposely draped her arm around it. Her face was only half visible under her long hair, as she leaned forward and pressed her forehead against the rusty pole. She rotated just enough to smile toward the camera, flexing her left knee behind her back. She stood there holding the pose for several seconds, with one shoe playfully lifted off the ground and a smile on her face as bright as the pantyhose on her legs.

"Hey Mom," I said, holding the phone up to my ear, as I leaned back hoping her well-trained hearing had failed to detect the noisy jangle of belt, which I'd tried to unbuckle as quietly as I could.

"Hey Chris, got a minute?" she said quickly. "There's something important I need to ask you."

There was something urgent in her voice that told me it must be serious. Still, I'd just spent the last five minutes drooling over her sexy photos. I'd even pulled out a pair of pantyhose I'd recently stolen from her dresser on my last trip home. She had over a dozen. So I easily convinced myself that she wouldn't notice if I only took one. My dick was already throbbing. All I could think about was taking her pantyhose, sliding them over my hand, then taking my silky fingers and wrapping them gently around my cock. Naturally, the more she talked, the quicker I found myself doing just that.

"My lease is up in two months," she said. "I just got a letter that my rent is increasing by almost 200 dollars. There's no way I can afford that."

"Okay," I answered, trying to refocus, as I slowly began stroking myself with her stolen hose.

"No, it's really not okay," she said. "I'm going to have to move out. I was actually wondering how you'd feel if I moved up to Boston."

At that particular moment, I probably should have been listening more carefully, but her pantyhose felt so good around my cock that I almost blurted out yes without thinking, just for the chance to be up close and personal with her amazing legs again.

"I understand if you need to think about it," Mom continued. "I've barely given it much thought myself. I'm just not sure what else I can do."

Again, my mind drifted off. I lay there trying to imagine what she was wearing. I purposely asked her a random question hoping to get a clearer picture.

"So, um, where are you?"

"In the teacher's lounge," she said. "I'm on my lunch break. Why?"

"No reason," I said, smiling to myself, as I pictured the image of her sitting there with her legs crossed, knowing the way she typically dangled one shoe off her foot, especially when she was stressed.

"You seem distracted," she said. "Is everything all right?"

"Yeah, everything's fine," I said. "I was just thinking that living up here would be even more expensive. How would that make things easier?"

"You're right," she said. "That's actually the real reason why I called. I know how you feel about your roommate. And I've never been crazy about the neighborhood you live in. So I was actually thinking of finding a nice place for the two of us."

It took me another moment to respond. I was still lying there quietly teasing myself with the smooth velvety texture of the nylon. My hose-covered fingers were gently grazing up and down the length of my shaft.

"Oh, umm, yeah, that's an idea."

By then, I could barely concentrate. I was too busy wondering what her free hand was doing as she sat there with one hand holding the phone. Was she gently rubbing her fingers over the nylon like I'd caught her doing so many times at home? Was she dipping one foot in and out of her shoe, or wiggling her hose-covered toes? There was no way to know for sure. Still, I pictured her doing all three, right there in the teacher's lounge, in full view of anyone walking by.

"Come on," Mom continued. "It'll be just like old times. I can always find work at another campus. Plus we can find a place with more space for your camera equipment. I'll even do all the cooking."

There was a thought, Mom in the kitchen, bending over to reach inside the oven. I could already see her skirt riding up, framing her heart-shaped ass, with just a hint of her pantyhose gusset peeking out between her legs.

"Hmm, I don't know," I said, trying to keep myself from breathing too heavily while I kept beating off. "I'll have to talk to Jimmy about this," I said, knowing that I couldn't just bail on my roommate, even if our lease was month to month. "Plus, we'll have to lay down some ground rules," I added, when I started to realize the freedoms I'd be giving up purely to see her legs every day.

"Oh, I see," she said. "So you want to make the rules now, huh? Okay. Like what?"

"Nothing major," I explained. "I'm just not a kid anymore. I want to be sure we'll respect each other's privacy. That's all"

"I get that," Mom said. "But it's not like I'm bringing guys home or anything. There hasn't been anyone since your father. You won't have to worry about that."

My rhythm was getting faster as the conversation went on. My grip was tight, but thankfully her pantyhose provided a smoother, more delicate friction to my teasing hand strokes.

"I know. It's not that," I said, clenching my fist. "I'm talking about respecting each other's space."

"Oh, I see," Mom answered. "Like giving you space to smoke weed and play with yourself all day. You think I don't know about all the porn you have on your computer? You're my son, Chris. There's nothing you can hide from me."

"Mom, what the hell," I said, voicing my annoyance. "Have you been checking up on me?"

Clearly, I wasn't amused. Yet, her first reaction was to giggle. Then, she started to explain, parsing her words carefully.

"Let's just say I've poked around a little bit," she said. "And if you don't mind me saying so, you really should get out more. You're very handsome. It doesn't make sense that you'd rather sit at home surfing for hot MILFs online, when there's plenty of real women out there."

"Great," I replied. "So you've checked out my history too? Jesus, Mom. What else did you see on there?"

"Enough," she said, in a sobering tone that made me a wee bit nervous. "I never knew you had such a thing for older women," she continued. "Maybe I should introduce you to some of the teachers here."

"Yeah, maybe you should," I said, playing along. As mad as I was at the thought of her checking my computer behind my back, by then my head was literally spinning as I jerked off more vigorously.

"So," I asked, switching the subject to something more stimulating. "Did you like the new shoes I sent you?"

Mom paused for a second, as I lay there waiting for her answer. The lift in her voice told me she was smiling on the other end.

"You must have been reading my mind," she said. "I'm wearing them right now. I've had nothing but compliments all day. It was nice telling everyone my son picked them out."

"Cool," I said, picturing her in the five-inch black strappy sandals I ordered from Amazon. "I can't wait to see how they look."

"Well, you're in luck," she said cheerfully. "You can see them tomorrow if you want. I'm driving up to look at places in the morning. You should come with me."

"Mmm, I'd love to come," I said, catching myself. "I mean, that sounds good. It's supposed to be cool tomorrow. You might want to wear something warm."

"Oh, I'll be fine," she said. "I normally wear pantyhose under my jeans. That usually helps. Though I seem to be a missing a pair," she added surprisingly. Naturally, I avoided the subject.

"Really," I said. "Pantyhose under your jeans," I repeated, resisting the urge to moan. "I guess that would probably help."

"Yeah, it really does," she said. "But anyway, sorry for rambling, I'm sure you're not interested in that."

"Oh, it's fine," I said, knowing it would only be another minute or so before I exploded all over my hand. "So, about tomorrow," I said, holding it together, "were you thinking of swinging by here first?"

"Yeah," Mom said. "I should be there around nine. Just make sure you tell Jimmy to wear some pants this time. It's a little awkward seeing your roommate with an erection."

"Yeah, sorry about that," I answered, stroking like a fiend. "But then again, you can't really blame him. That skirt you had on was pretty short."

"Oh, you think so?" Mom said, scoffing a bit. "It was normal length. The skirt I'm wearing today is shorter than that."

"Well that explains all the compliments," I said. "How do you keep your students from hitting on you?"

"Never said I did," she answered. "It's kind of flattering honestly, especially at my age."

"Stop it, Mom. You look great. You know you do."

"Why thank you," she said. "But I'm just like any other woman. We all like to hear it."

"Well, it's true," I told her. "I think you're beautiful. In fact, if you weren't my mother, I'd probably ... um, nevermind," I said, stopping myself. Who knows what I was thinking. By then, my penis was doing all the talking.

"No, go on," she said. "If I wasn't your mother, you'd probably what?"

That was the pivotal moment. In 19 years, my mother had never asked me a question as directly sexual as that. My balls were practically about to burst. My fist was pumping non-stop. Yet, even then, I still couldn't bring myself to voice my unnatural desire to run my hands over her soft silky pantyhose and cum all over her sexy legs. Still, I somehow managed to respond with an answer intended to hide my true feelings.

"Wow," I said, rubbing my forehead. "This is starting to take a weird turn. I really don't think we should go there, do you?"

"You brought it up," Mom answered bluntly. "Go on, tell me," she added, with a boldness I found intimidating, yet highly erotic at the same time. "Seriously, I want to know," she pressed, as I held back what felt like a massive eruption. "Do you think I'm a MILF ... like the ones you look at on those dirty websites?"

My body trembled. I honestly couldn't tell whether she wanted the truth, or whether she was just testing me.

"Really Mom, stop," I said, assuming the latter. "I don't think we should talk about this anymore."

"Okay, fine," she said. "I wasn't trying to make you uncomfortable. Just tell me one thing. Which part of a woman's body do you like most? Wait, let me guess, you're a leg man, right?"

Now she was pushing it. My best option was to push back.

"Yes, Mom, I'm a leg man," I answered flatly. "There, I said it. Can we drop it now?"

To my amazement, she didn't stop there.

"With or without pantyhose?" she said, pushing me to my wit's end. By then, I was jerking off so hard if she hadn't already gathered the state I was in, she was only seconds from figuring it out.

"Definitely with pantyhose," I said. "Now seriously, stop it. I can't take this anymore."

"So you're really into pantyhose," she said. "I guess that makes sense, considering how often I wear them. I suppose it's good that I found out. Maybe we should reconsider this whole idea. It's bad enough you can't find a girlfriend. I'd hate to do anything that makes you feel even more frustrated."

"Look Mom, for the last time," I said, starting to lose it. "If I really wanted a girlfriend, I'd get one."

"Oh, really?" she said. "And when will that be? When I've already got one foot in the grave? Seriously, Chris, I'm worried about you, especially with this pantyhose fetish I'm just now hearing about. You know I wear them all the time. I certainly don't want you having sexual thoughts about me. Surely, I don't have to tell you how inappropriate that would be."

Of course she didn't. I'd known all along how inappropriate it was. In that moment, I honestly didn't care. By then, I was pummeling my cock with a vengeance, bent on ruining her pantyhose no matter what, dying to soak every thread with a massive wad of thick greasy spunk, purely out of spite.

I closed my eyes, instantly reliving the indelible memories that triggered my fetish in the first place.

I vividly pictured Mom strolling through the house wearing see-through pantyhose with no skirt on. I could see her returning from work in her black fuck-me pumps, the stale odor of damp, sweaty nylon spreading through the air as she took off her shoes and asked me to rub her swollen feet. I could even picture the way she smiled as she walked down the street, hips switching from side to side, pretending not to love how men spun toward the sound of her spiked heels clicking on the sidewalk, only to come home, peel off her pantyhose and carelessly toss them in the hamper, leaving them for me to salvage, as I secretly pulled them out, slid my tongue over the wet spot, and deeply inhaled her strong, musky scent.

My lurid memories pushed me right over the edge. With each violent spurt, I was forced to stifle my urge to groan, watching jets of semen blast into the air, surging from the head of my cock, splattering down, drenching the nylon around my hand, while my mother patiently waited on the other end, with no idea what was happening as I lay there shamelessly enjoying my reckless act, her pantyhose swimming in a pool of cum.

Finally, I managed to collect myself, leading with a heavy sigh.

"Look Mom, I'm sorry," I answered wearily. "You asked me to be honest. I wasn't trying to upset you. Maybe we should just hang up now."

"No," she said, softening her tone. "Don't hang up. I know you were just being honest. I realize that's how I raised you. But before we make such an important decision, I think you should tell me everything. Tell me the truth, Chris. Have you ever fantasized about me?"

As soon as she asked, I instantly knew that I was stuck. On the one hand, by saying no, she'd most likely sense that I was lying, which would only make her angry and potentially spoil any chance of us moving back in together. On the other hand, telling the truth would most likely freak her out so much that she might not speak to me again for months, and that was even worse.

Normally, in situations like this, where I wasn't exactly sure what to do, the first thing I usually did was try to imagine what Mom would do if she was in my position. That's when it hit me that the best way to answer her question was to turn it around and ask her a question of my own.

"I'll be honest," I said, pausing before slyly attempting to redirect. "But first I'd like to hear what you think?"

"What I think?" she said, pausing for a short breath. "I think that all that porn you've been watching is starting to mess with your head. I think if we're going to live together, then you have to promise to find a girlfriend and start living in the real world. Can you do that?"

"Sure Mom, I can do that."

"Good," she said. "I'll see you in the morning. And don't forget to bring back my pantyhose."

The next morning, Mom showed up right on schedule, in a form-fitting, black, V-neck sweater, fairly low cut, with her first initial, L for Lauren, dangling from a silver necklace which failed to keep me from noticing the cleavage swelling over her plunging neckline. Her blue skinny jeans sat low on her shapely hips, hugging every curve under skin-tight denim, leading down, just as promised, to her brand new, high-heeled, black leather sandals, with thin straps spanning over her naked feet.

Looking down at the cuff of her jeans, the first thing I noticed was the disturbing absence of pantyhose I'd been expecting. Naturally, I was disappointed, especially after spending my whole night tossing and turning in anticipation of seeing them the next morning.

My first instinct was to say something about it. Then, I remembered how concerned she was talking about my fetish. So the last thing I wanted to do was call any undue attention to it right away.

We stood there enjoying a warm hug, when my roommate, Jimmy, promptly emerged from his room. The grin on his face told me he liked what he saw, as Mom reached over and greeted him with a polite handshake. For a few minutes, she and Jimmy stood there making small talk, until Mom finally excused herself, turning to ask if she could speak to me in my room.

I led her back to my bedroom and there she explained that she'd accidentally put a run in her last pair of pantyhose with a sheer heel and toe. Fortunately, I'd remembered to rinse out the pair I'd taken from her dresser. So I promptly fished them from the pile of laundry thrown on my bed and handed them right over. She then asked if I would give her a moment to put them on. So I quickly stepped out and waited for her out in the hallway.

She must have been hurrying too much to realize that I'd purposely left the door slightly ajar. I stood there peering through the narrow crack, knowing it was wrong, yet still unable to tear my eyes from watching her undress.

With her back turned, I stood there watching as she reached down and pulled off one shoe at a time, enjoying the lovely sight of denim smothering her tight round butt. I then heard the sound as she yanked down her zipper, then continued watching as her hands went up to her sides. She hooked her thumbs into the narrow waistband and promptly began squirming and wiggling her hips side to side. I fully expected to see panties, or at least a G-string, resisting the urge to gasp as she peeled down the jeans, revealing her naked ass. My dick instantly started to swell. Then she bent over, folding at the waist, presenting me with a clear view of her outer pussy lips, smooth, pink, and fully-shaved.

I worried that Jimmy would walk by and see me standing there at any moment. Still, my incredible fortune was too good to pass up, as I stood there watching and waiting to see even more.

I gulped with anticipation as she wisely removed the jewelry from her fingers, then reached over and lifted her pantyhose off the bed. Within seconds, her nimble fingers rolled up the first leg. She then lifted her left foot, then reached down and slid the ring of nylon over her sharply pointed toes. She then carefully slid the delicate fabric up to her slightly bended knee. She set down her left foot, then steadily raised the other, pointing her toes once again as she slowly eased her right foot inside the opposite sleeve, leaving me breathless as she patiently slid the pantyhose over her knees, drawing the nylon inch by inch over her supple thighs, and finally squirming to squeeze her shapely hips under the straining waistband, making one final adjustment to line up the stitching along her narrow butt crack, where her high-toned asscheeks, under a wondrous layer of tan, glossy, sheer-to-waist pantyhose, shimmered like a pair of half-moons.

I could have stood there watching forever, but my instincts told me to quit while I was ahead, knowing she could turn around and catch me at any moment.

I went back to the living room to find Jimmy rolling a joint, which I'd come to expect as part of his morning routine. The night before, he and I had sat down for a long talk where I'd delicately broken the news to him that I was moving out. To my surprise, Jimmy took it in stride, explaining that he had already been planning to move in with his girlfriend in a few weeks anyway. Fortunately, there were no hard feelings between us, especially when I stopped to consider who my new roommate was soon to be.

Moments later, my lovely mother finally returned from my room, smiling cheerfully, as I looked down grinning over the sight of pantyhose covering her pretty feet. I promptly turned and hurried toward the door, hoping to shield my raging hard-on from her view. We left my apartment and set out to find our new place, quickly escaping so Mom could avoid Jimmy staring at her ass, and practically cumming in his pants.