A Firm Resolution

When I was finished, there was a large heap of clothes on the floor, and some of the drawers were now fairly empty. My anger had left place to a strange feeling of satisfaction. I picked up the discarded clothes, and as I turned to Mom, my tone was nowhere near the virulence I had shown only minutes earlier: "I'm going to put these downstairs, and I'll drop them off at the Salvation Army tomorrow. Please change into something nicer, and bring me those old things when you're done, okay?"

Sheepishly, she nodded, and I left her room.

I was finishing setting the table when she came downstairs. She was wearing nice dark gray sweat pants, a white tank top and a white shirt. She looked at me expectantly, and I replied with a smile, indicating her seat. The meal that followed was surprisingly normal and relaxed. It was as if the incident had never occurred. And that was fine by me.

*****

The consequences of that great purge were immediate. Without a doubt, Mom was paying more attention to what she was wearing -- or maybe that was because there were now only so many things to choose from. As the week progressed, I realized I might have been a little too drastic, and some shopping definitely had to be done to bring some variety in Mom's available outfits. I broached the subject during our meal on Friday evening, and we agreed I'd take her to the mall the next day to replenish her wardrobe.

To be honest, the whole trip felt a little outlandish to me. My past experience of such shopping sprees had mainly consisted of my lurking around, looking deadly bored and wishing I was somewhere else, biding my time as I was waiting for my mother (when I was still a teenager) or my current girlfriend (later on). But not this time. This time, I was taking the lead, and Mom was gracious enough to show some interest. In a way, the previous week had been about practicality. But not anymore. I felt I had a mission, and I certainly intended to fulfill it -- and so we went from store to store, not even shirking from the lingerie section, until I was satisfied with what we had amassed. I even paid for part of it with my own money, probably as a way to make amends for my bouts of anger during the previous week.

Mom was in a good mood when we got home, and spent the better part of an hour going through our purchases in her room. When she came out, I noticed she had put on one of the new outfits, a silky white ensemble that looked great on her. I smiled but said nothing.

Uncharacteristically, it was nearly ten the next morning when I opened my eyes. I had worked late on a dissertation I had to give the following week, but I had managed to make good progress, and that was nice. I looked at the clock and thought about the day ahead. I intended to take Mom out for brunch again -- after all, I had promised her a "second date". To be honest, that had been more of a joke than anything, but I realized that Mom needed something to look forward to if she was to get out of her funk. And until I felt she was strong enough to be left on her own, I certainly intended to be the person she could rely upon. Or something like that.

I took a long shower and got dressed, taking my time and humming to myself. I was in a good mood. I went downstairs, and found Mom sitting in the kitchen, sipping on her tea as she was reading some magazine. She was still wearing the white ensemble she had on the previous day, and she flashed me a quick smile as she looked up. I got myself a glass of orange juice and sat across the table from her.

"So, are you ready for our second date?" I asked nonchalantly.

She frowned imperceptibly, before answering: "Is that today?"

I nodded. "Yes, Mom. Today is Sunday, and that's the day I take you out on a date. You don't remember?"

"Oh, okay. I guess I thought that was just a one-time thing..."

"Nope. From now on, it's an ancestral tradition of this family. 'Sunday is date day.' Or something like that," I chuckled. "Doesn't sound much worse than 'Friday night is movie night,' right?"

"Sure, if you want."

"Good. So we'll be leaving at 11:30, so you'd better go prepare yourself, Mom." I winked.

She looked at me, sighed, and closed her magazine before emptying her cup. Then she stood up and left me smiling in the kitchen. Sure, she hadn't shown much enthusiasm, but some of the apathy was gone, and that was a step in the right direction.

The 'date' itself went much better than the previous week. First, Mom had certainly put some effort in her appearance, and I was satisfied to see that she was putting her new wardrobe to good use. And second, she was warming up and participating more in the conversation. I could still see she was fragile in some places, and made sure we steered away from certain topics, but I guess we both ended up having a surprisingly good time together. She eagerly accepted my arm as I walked her back to the house from my car, and gave me a light kiss on the cheek when we got to the door. I smiled.

"Hm, Mom, does that mean I get a third date?"

She smiled back. "Hm, I'll have to think about that."

I shook my head, in mock desperation, and we went inside.

*****

The week that followed confirmed the improvement in Mom's mood. She seemed more open to the world around her and was showing more energy. I also noticed how she was progressively getting a little bolder in her choice of outfit -- not that she was putting on anything that would even remotely qualify as sexy; it seemed that she wasn't ready yet to try any of the sexier things I had chosen for her.

Yet, I didn't have to remind her that she had to make some effort: I still checked her outfit in the mornings before she went out to work, and I had made a point that when she got back home in the evenings, she still had to dress nicely when she changed into something more relaxed. On more than one occasion, I must confess she did catch my eye -- Mom still had it.

That was rather obvious on Friday, as she tried on a black lingerie thing with a semi-transparent nightie. I nearly gasped when I saw her, with flashes of my teenage years coming back to me, when my friends and I often fantasized about Mom. Sure, a few years had passed, but here I was, trying not to ogle too much, while hiding as much as I could the beginning of a hard-on. The fact that I was only wearing boxer shorts and a t-shirt at the time only made it worse, obviously, and I'm not sure Mom didn't notice my reaction. But if she did, she didn't say anything.

The following morning, I was lazily eating a bowl of cereal in front of the TV when Mom came to me. She seemed a little shy and stood awkwardly as she asked: "Chris, can I bother you with something?"

"Sure, Mom, what is it?"

"I... I might need your help today... Again."

"Okay, what do you need me to help you with?"

I think she actually blushed, before answering: "Well... I need to go do some shopping. Like last week..."

I smiled. "Sure, no problem, I'll come with you. What do you need to get this time?"

"There's a few things... (she blushed again) ... but it's mainly underwear."

I chuckled. "Yeah, I might have been a little too drastic when I went through your drawers... give me half an hour to get showered and ready, and I'll drive you there."

She nodded, and left. I turned the TV off, dropped my empty bowl in the kitchen and headed to the bathroom.

There was little traffic on the road that morning, which allowed me to observe Mom from the corner of my eye as we drove to the mall. She had on one of her work outfits, which were nice but a bit serious -- and I was okay with that. I had noticed the light make-up, as well as her choice for a necklace. She was more concerned about her appearance now, that showed, and well, I was going to take care of her.

Getting to the mall, to be honest, I don't know what got into me. Maybe it was those memories of peeping on her a few years ago, or maybe it was something else altogether. But I got bolder -- and I didn't pay attention to the disapproving frown I got from one of the middle-aged store clerks (probably a lifetime spinster) of the first lingerie shop we stopped at. Mom followed me, somewhat sheepishly, but always obediently nodding as I suggested her this or that outfit. Yet, I wasn't entirely satisfied by what I was seeing, so we went to the other shop in the mall. There, I was helped by a young woman who was enthusiastic about some of my choices, and even suggested some more daring ones. I noticed Mom blush once or twice, but nevertheless went with the suggestions. For good measure, I also got her half a dozen 'everyday' panties from a display rack, and we headed home loaded with frilly lace and see-through fabric.

"Well, now I guess we've more than replenished your wardrobe, Mom," I joked. She blushed and giggled a little. Always the gentleman, I brought all the bags to her room. I was tempted to stay to watch her unpack all we had bought, but I finally decided against it and left.

I headed out later that afternoon. With some friends, we had decided to go to the movies, and as expected we ended up having a burger and a beer in one of our favorite places (which, unoriginally enough, happened to be a sports bar -- boys will be boys, I'm afraid). I only made it back home rather late and somewhat tipsy, and headed directly to my room. I slept like a log.

*****

Sunday morning meant I was to invite Mom on another one of our 'dates' -- not that I saw that as a chore. The memory of her vulnerability during our first Sunday brunch was still very present in my mind, and I was hoping the recovery I had glimpsed the previous week had not been a fleeting thing. Sure, she seemed better -- as far as I could judge from the few moments we spent together on weekdays. But I was cautious about that. After all, it had taken me some time to notice she wasn't doing well. She needed all the encouragement she could get, and I felt these 'dates', these moments I made special for her, were my own little way of showing support.

When I entered the kitchen, already showered and dressed, Mom was staring out the window, her thoughts obviously far away. Hearing me, she started and seemed to blush a little, before greeting me. I reminded her of our 'date', and she gave me a small smile, telling me she hadn't forgotten. She put her mug and plate in the dishwasher, and went upstairs to get ready. She took her time, and I was getting impatient when she finally came down. I smiled. She looked great, wearing a dress that was definitely more daring than what she had the previous week. It was rather low-cut, and there was some cleavage on display, something that was emphasized by the tear-shaped pendant she had put on. I offered her my arm, and we were off.

Mom was in a good mood, there was no denying that. I almost couldn't believe it. All the little signs I had noticed throughout the week were accurate, and she was indeed making progress. There was an energy to her now, where there had been only apathy. Simply put, she was smiling again, and that made all the difference. Our conversation was almost lively, until midway through the brunch, when she seemed to hesitate. I noticed that, and tried to encourage her.

"What is it, Mom?"

She had a little smile. "Well, there's something I thought I'd tell you, but now I'm not so sure..."

"Come on, go ahead. Don't be afraid, I don't bite."

"Okay... well, it's about the things we bought yesterday. There's a little problem..."

"They don't fit? I'm sure you can go and change them and..."

"No, it's not that. It's... it's a little embarrassing."

"Mom, I'm sure it's less embarrassing than being stared at by two old crones in a lingerie store as if I was some kind of pervert for just being there. So spit it out."

She chuckled -- a sound I hadn't heard in a while. "You know, it's just that I don't know how to say it. It's... okay, okay. (she raised her hands) When you picked the panties on the rack for me, did you choose them?"

"Yes, of course."

She looked at me intently. "All of them?"

"What do you mean, all of them? I chose a style, and then I picked up six of those, and that's it. What's the matter?"

She smiled. "Okay, that explains it."

"What does?"

"Well, there is one pair that is not exactly like the others. I guess it had been misplaced or something, and you took it without noticing."

"What's the problem with that one pair?"

She blushed. "It's one of the... sexy models, I suppose."

I shrugged. "That's okay, Mom. You can do sexy, that's for sure. Some of the things we got you yesterday are pretty sexy, you know? All lacy and see-through and low-cut and all..."

"That's not what I meant."

"Then what?" I snapped, as I was starting to get annoyed by her beating around the bush. She blushed and looked down, before answering in a low voice.

"They are like lacy boxer shorts, and they look very nice, but they are... well, I guess they call them 'crotchless panties'." She took a breath, and looking at me, continued. "That's why I wanted to ask you if you had chosen them, because I didn't know what to make of it."

I chuckled. "Yeah, I can imagine. You'll have to show me though."

She gasped. "Chris, you don't mean..."

I was puzzled for a second, and then couldn't repress a chuckle. "Well, why not, after all?" I joked.

"You're not serious..."

"Oh come on, don't be prude. You see me in my underwear every day."

"But it's not the same..."

"Of course it is. Most of my boxer shorts have those buttons that never seem to stay done up, and I have a few trunks with the opening in front which is a 'wardrobe malfunction' waiting to happen. So I don't understand why you're making such a fuss..."

Suddenly, she looked sheepish again, and I felt afraid I had pushed the joke too far. "I... I didn't know..." She cast her eyes down, and continued. "I guess I can try them on once, if that's what you want."

My heart skipped a beat. I couldn't believe what I had just heard, but at the same time, I was thrilled by her answer. I gathered myself and tried to reply with a steady voice. "Good. Maybe you can do that later today..." I smiled at her, and she shrugged, surrendering.

After that exchange, there was some underlying tension between us -- or at least, I knew there was for me. Maybe it was being without a girlfriend for some time... I know I couldn't think of anything else than getting to see my mother wearing those panties. I was trying to chastise myself, because I knew I shouldn't be having those ideas, but at the same time, I couldn't deny that the woman who was sitting across from me was beautiful and sexy. When the waiter came offering desert, Mom nervously refused, making me wonder if she was as impatient as I was to get home. But no, that wasn't possible, and I pushed that thought away. I paid and we left shortly after that. My heart was beating in my chest.

The drive back felt particularly long, but we made it eventually. I knew that our little ritual now implied that we would dress down for the afternoon, but it was with added apprehension that I followed Mom as she climbed the stairs. We parted ways on the landing, and I entered my room. I took off my jacket and my shirt, and hesitated a little. What had started as a joke had taken on a very different turn and I didn't know if I was ready to go through with it. Sure, it was tempting, but... I took a deep breath. As shaky as it was, that was the only plan I had: see how things would unfold, and use the 'just kidding' card in case they turned bad. I picked a t-shirt and a pair of my boxer shorts (with a button in the front, which I left undone), quickly changed and went downstairs.

I was in the sofa pretending to read a magazine when I heard Mom's footsteps. I carefully kept my eyes on the page in front of me, not wanting to look too eager or curious.

"Do you want anything to drink, baby?"

"Oh yes, thanks. A coffee would be nice, please."

She went to the kitchen, and I finally looked up, catching just a glimpse of her black nightie. I stifled a sigh, and turned back to the feature piece I had picked up. I was reading the same paragraph for the third time when Mom walked in and put a tray down on the coffee table in front of me. I put down the magazine and looked at her.

"Here you go, baby...", she said with a worried smile, handing me a steaming mug. She seemed apprehensive and anxious at the same time -- something I could very well understand. Under her nearly transparent nightie, she was wearing black lingerie -- a very nice bustier with spaghetti straps, which definitely suited her ample assets; and the lacy boxer shorts. She looked really good, and even if from where I was I couldn't confirm whether those panties were indeed crotchless, the simple fact that she was wearing them was turning me on incredibly.

"Thanks, Mom", I replied, sitting up and trying to appear relaxed and calm. She sat across from me, holding her own mug of what was probably tea. I gave her the once-over, and nodded in approval. "That looks good on you, really..."

She blushed a little, looking at her cup. "Thanks, baby."

"Could you stand up and turn around, please?"

She started. "Um, you mean now?"

"Of course, Mom. Come on, don't be shy..."

Timidly, she stood up, and made a slow spin before me. In the front, the panties could pass for a normal pair -- but in the back, it became clear they were crotchless, as they left uncovered the inner part of her asscheeks. My cock was rock hard in my boxers, and pushing against the thin fabric. She sat down quickly and became very interested in the content of her mug, obviously not daring to meet my eyes.

"Mom -- WOW. Just. WOW. You look great."

She blushed again, and I continued.

"Honestly, Mom. I love it."

She looked at me and smiled timidly. I scratched my stomach, and I saw her gaze mechanically move there... and then she noticed my boxers, which did nothing to hide my hard-on. She blushed again, but didn't turn her eyes away. I took a sip of my coffee, observing her, and suddenly wondering where all this would lead us eventually.

To be honest, Mom surprised me. I had more or less expected her to go and change right away now that my request had been satisfied, but to the contrary. After this little exchange, she picked up her book from the table, and sat back to read while drinking her tea. Still having trouble focusing on the article, I kept observing her from over the page of my magazine. I couldn't believe she was acting this normal. In the end, I was the one chickening out. I put the empty mugs on the tray, and under the pretense of needing to work on my assignment, I took them to the kitchen before retreating upstairs to my room.

On the way there, I made a quick stop in the bathroom. I had to jerk off, and with my head full of images of my scantily-clad mother (some real, most imagined), it wasn't long until my cum splattered the porcelain bowl. As it often happened after my masturbation sessions, I was suddenly filled with a mix of guilt and shame at what I had just done. I had no right to take advantage of my poor mother, and there was no excuse for my incestuous thoughts. I felt I was the lowest of the low, and I promised myself I wasn't going to do anything remotely close ever again.

I took a deep breath, and actually started to study. The afternoon breezed by, and thankfully when it came to dinner, Mom had changed into something more reasonable -- a long, silky robe with a sash that gracefully clung to her curves. She had taken a bath, she explained to me, and she felt like lounging in front of the television that night. I nodded and helped her put together a tray of various leftovers, which we took to the living-room. After what had been an interesting day (to say the least), there was a welcome sense of utter normality and I enjoyed the simple pleasure of a 'TV dinner' with Mom.