Karen at 50 Ch. 02

(a continuation from Karen at 50, part 1)

I drove to Mum's in the early evening that day, after Evie and I closed the shop. I saw David pulling away just as I arrived, and we waved at one another.

I knocked on Mum's door. And, like the last time, I had to knock again before she opened the door. Same housecoat and slippers. She had a bit of a flush, and a little grin.

"Hi, Sweetie," Mum said. "You just missed David."

"We waved," I said. "He was helping you out?"

"He was," said my Mum. "Glass of wine?"

"I don't know," I said. "You got a little tipsy last time."

"Oh, no," she said. "I'm just fine."

We sat down, same positions as last time, on opposite sides of the coffee table. There was an open bottle of Chardonnay, and two glasses ... both with wine in them.

"Oh, dear. David must not have finished his wine. Do you mind finishing it up for him?" asked my Mum.

"I don't mind at all," I said, taking the glass and sipping. "I'm happy to see you ply David with the good stuff when he stops by."

"The good stuff!" laughed my Mum. "To what do I owe the pleasure of this evening's visit?"

"Well, I was a little uncomfortable when I left last-time," I said. "I just wanted to me sure that we're OK, you and me. You seemed a little tipsy and forward, in an odd, sexual sort of way. That seemed so unusual for you. So, I wanted to check in. That's all. No big deal."

Mum just smiled at me, and took a sip of Chardonnay. The silence between us lingered, and felt the need to fill it.

"Oh, and I can confirm that some men do indeed like hairy women," I blathered. "I asked David that evening and he confirmed it." I expected her to laugh, but she didn't.

"Did he?" asked Mum. "That was good of him. I guess that means he might like me."

I sighed. "I guess it does, Mum, since he clearly likes you already. Hairiness is just one more point in your favor."

"I have a silly request, sweetie," said my Mum, a bit quietly, and blushing a little.

"What's that, Mum?"

"It's silly, but it's not difficult," Mum said.

"Just ask me, Mum," I said. "If I can do it, I will. I promise."

"I'd like to see you naked."

"WHAT!?" I said, loudly. "What for?"

"I haven't, you see, seen you naked since you were a girl," she said, quietly again, and not meeting my eyes. "Just an old Mum's fancy, I suppose."

"I don't know, Mum," I said. "This seems kind of weird."

"I don't want to DO anything, sweetie," she said, now looking me in the eyes. "I just want to look at you. It's an easy thing for you to do for me, really."

I sighed. Maybe Mum was just losing it. But I'd sort-of already halfway agreed. "If I said OK, how would we do this? Just looking, right?"

"We'll close the curtains and lock the door, and you can undress right here," Mum said, decisively. She walked to the windows, closed the curtains, and turned the dead-bolt on the front door.

"In fact, to make it easier, I'll go first," said my Mum.

"What? Wait!" I cried. "I didn't say yes!"

But I was too late.

Mum stood in the middle of the room. In a quick motion, she kicked off her slippers and pulled off her housecoat.

And there she was.

Naked.

My 75-year-old Mum.

Short, yes. With wild red-gray hair on her head, and a wild tangle the same color between her fat thighs. Her breasts (larger than I expected) sagged (farther than I expected ... to her belly-button, at least). Her tummy sagged.

Her hips were wide (wider than I expected). She smiled, spread her arms wide, and turned slowly around. Her bum was big and broad and round. She came back around to face me.

Still smiling. "What do you think?"

I was stunned. Surprised, both at her action and how I felt about it.

"You look fine, Mum. Really good."

"Old, fat, hairy ... right?"

"Yes, hairy – in a nice way," I said. "And you look good."

"Thank you, and ...?"

"What, Mum?"

"Your turn, I think," she said.

Now what? I didn't know what to do. I felt very self-conscious. But I'd already agreed, and I wanted to support my Mum, even if she was crazy. I could humor her. She loved me, I knew. And she was asking me to do something so simple. And she HAD gone first.

"OK, OK," I said, leaning over to unbuckle my strappy shoes.

Still sitting, I lifted by bum and reached up under my skirt to pull off my pantyhose, thumbs at the waist-band. Then my sweater, over my head, then shaking out my hair. Then I unbuttoned my blouse. Setting everything on the couch beside me. I stood up and unzipped my skirt, setting it with my other clothes.

Now, standing before my mother in just my bra and panties.

"You really want me to do this, Mum? It's crazy!" I said. I felt a little naughty ... and, I admit, a little excited.

"Yes, sweetie. I want to see you naked."

I reached behind me and unhooked my bra, leaving it hanging from my shoulders. Placing my hands beneath my breasts, I shrugged my shoulders and let the bra drop, so that I was holding the bra cups and my breasts up with my hands. Then I lowered my hands. My breasts dropped low, and I set my bra with the rest of my clothes.

"They're bigger than I expected," said my Mum. "And they sag more than I expected, too."

"David likes them," I said, simply.

"I'm sure he does dear," said my Mum. "They're a bit like mine."

Then I bent over and pulled my panties down and off, tossing them lightly on top of my bra, and stood up straight, with my arms out to the sides, as my Mum held hers.

Mum just stared at me. I could hear the clock ticking.

"I'm not as hairy as you, down there, Mum," I said, finally.

"No, sweetie, but you're so lovely," Mum said. "So, lovely. David is a very lucky man."

"So, now what, Mum?" I said, blushing a bit.

"How do you feel, Karen?"

"Very anxious, Mum. Nervous. And a little warm, actually."

"Sexy warm?" asked my Mum.

Blushing, I quietly said, "Yes, a little." I dropped my eyes.

"Me, too," said my Mum.

"Now what?"

"Sit down, sweetie. I have one question for you, then we can get dressed, finish our wine, and you can go home to David," said my Mum.

"OK," I said, sitting self-consciously, with my legs pressed together. "Shoot. What's your question?"

"May I watch you?" asked my Mum.

"Watch me what?"

"Watch you pleasure yourself, maybe watch you with David?"

"What!? This is crazy talk, Mum! How could you ask that? How could we do that? Why would we do that?"

"Sweetie, I think we'd all enjoy it," smiled my Mum, speaking gently. "I'd really like to watch, and I doubt that you'd really mind ... you just think it sounds strange."

"Well, what about David? How do you think he'd feel about it," I implored.

"Do you think he'd mind?" asked my Mum. "He might even enjoy it. You could ask him?"

"Oh, my God. Oh, my God!" I muttered. She was right, though. I did think I might enjoy it, although I could scarcely believe my feelings. But how could I ask David – even if I thought he might enjoy it, too?

"We could start with just you, pleasuring yourself, sweetie," said my Mum. "That might be easier."

"Easier? Really? In front of my mother? I don't know. Maybe, maybe. When? Where? Another crazy thing to organize!"

"Why not now? Why not right here?" asked my Mum. "We're dressed for the occasion. In fact, to make it easier for you, I'll start."

"What!? No! Not again!"

And there was my 75-year-old mother, dropping her hand between her legs, and beginning to rub.

"I think you might find you're already wet down there, sweetie," said my Mum. I knew she was right. "Why don't you just try, and imagine David licking you."

I closed my eyes. This was insane! How could I have got in this position? But it was Mum's fault, really, wasn't it?

I opened my eyes and looked across at her. She was smiling, her eyes half closed, using the middle finger of her right hand to rub up and down slowly between the lips of her labia, in amongst the thick tangle of her pubic bush.

I closed my eyes again. What the hell? I touched myself lightly, between my legs, in through the soft brown hair. Wet. Whatever I thought was "right" or "wrong," this was clearly a turn-on of some sort for me.

I began to finger myself, and I focused on an image of David, licking me. I was getting warmer, or the room was too warm. And I was getting wetter as I rubbed a bit faster. There was David's head between my thighs. Then his slightly long brown hair changed, in my imagining, to short-cropped salt-and-pepper, and I imagined a pair of gray eyes looking up at me. Oh, no! Oh, no. Not Evie. Too weird. I needed to change-up this fantasy.

I opened my eyes, still tickling my clitoris with long strokes up and down. Mum's eyes were on me, now. Her knees were spread wider apart. As she continued stroking herself with her right hand, her left hand had moved to her right breast, and was pulling and twisting the hard nipple on her soft, floppy breast.

What was Mum imagining? I wondered, continuing to rub myself. An image of David floated up before me. His brown-haired head working away between Mum's thighs, his backside turned to me.

I imagined David's nose and mouth, buried in Mum's wet hairy place. She was moving her chubby white thighs wide and back close again, pressing against his head, as he licked and licked, faster and faster. Mum was beginning to shudder and strain. Looking up from licking, there was her wobbly tummy, her fingers twisting that hard nipple, and her head arching back. We were both fingering ourselves faster and faster.

And then it was my eyes I imagined looking up at her. My tongue probing away between her legs. My head pressed between her white thighs, as she used her right hand to pull my head farther into her. Sitting in Mum's living room, naked together, masturbating together, and me imagining licking my own mother to orgasm.

I came, and came, with a high growling moan, rubbing myself, with my Mum watching me, shuddering as she climaxed along with me.

***

And, of course, I shared some of this with Evie.

A couple of days after the embarrassing "adventure" with my Mum, Evie and I were doing inventory at the shop. Evie was at our front desk POS system monitor, calling our items, and keying in numbers for each, as I called back the counts.

"Well, that should be it," said Evie. "Did I miss anything?"

"I think we got it all," I said. "Good us! I hate inventory days. Did we come out OK, balanced and all?"

"Just finishing up here," said Evie, head lowered and eyes on the monitor. "Oh, hey! I've been meaning to ask how things went with your Mum the other evening. Everything OK there? Hairy women questions resolved?"

"It was weird, Evie. Just weird. I told her I just wanted to clear the air, after her tipsy show-and-tell before. She seemed a little frisky ... David had just left, and they'd had some wine together."

"Had they, indeed?" smiled Evie.

"Yeah, yeah. So, I finished up David's glass, Mum had a bit, and then she said she wanted to look at me."

"Look at you?"

"Like, without clothes," I said, blushing. "She said she was an old lady and wanted to see what her grown daughter looked like, naked."

"Wow, sounds like you had a sort of kinky evening, there, Karen." Evie lifted her gray eyes from the monitor to look at me. Evie is 60 ... ten years older than me ... with short salt-and pepper hair. She's sort of pear shaped: small on top, wider on the bottom. Attractive, I think, but she's always been single. I know she dates, a little, but nobody special, nor for very long.

"What did you say to that?" asked Evie.

"She surprised me, Evie," I laughed lightly. "She sort of made me promise in advance, before asking me, and then said 'I'll go first.' She stood right up, and dropped her housecoat. She was naked underneath. I couldn't have stopped her."

"No way!" chortled Evie. "Your Mum must be losing it!"

"I don't think so," I replied. "She spread her arms and turned slowly around. She seemed perfectly natural and comfortable. Smiling the whole time."

"Did she look OK?" asked Evie, eyes wide.

"She's old, and short, and chubby. White skin, saggy breasts, saggy tummy, fat thighs, big bum, and, yes, she is very hairy down below."

"Then what?" asked Evie. "That can't have been all."

I paused a moment, then said, "She told me it was my turn."

"And did you?" Evie pressed. "Did you strip for her?"

"I did. It seemed strange, but she is my Mum, I do love her, and she did go first," I said. "Mum said I looked nice, naked. Not as hairy as her, but nice. And she said that David is a lucky man."

"He is," said Evie quickly. "Very lucky, to have you. And that was it? You got dressed and went home?"

"Not quite," I said. "This is the embarrassing part, the part I'm not sure about. We sat down, still naked, and I thought she wanted to explain her behavior, but instead she said she wanted to watch – watch me 'pleasure' myself, or me making love with David."

Evie gasped. "Oh, Karen, your life has taken a very interesting turn, my friend!"

"It has," I admitted. "Because Mum said again, 'I'll go first' and started to rub herself, down there. She told me I should, too, and imagine that it was David, licking me."

Evie just stared at me, saying nothing.

"So, I did. I masturbated with my mother. Sitting naked together in her living room. It's so crazy I can scarcely believe it happened. I can scarcely believe I'm telling you. It was such a wild dreamy thing, though, I had to share it with someone – and who but you, Evie?"

"I'm pleased and honored that you share with me, Karen," said Evie slowly. "I trust you with everything, and you know you can trust me."

"I know, Evie," I said. "Thank you for listening to me blather on about my weird Mum adventure."

"Did you climax?" asked Evie. "Or is that too personal?" Evie was blushing, and seemed very keen.

"That's OK. I did, actually. Imagining David, and more, and watching my mother come at the same time as me," I said. "It all feels very naughty."

"And very exciting," suggested Evie, with a smile. "Masturbating together isn't such a big deal. I did it, when I was a kid. No harm done."

"But I'm a middle-aged woman, doing it with my own mother," I said. "That seems a little ... different."

Evie said, "It's all consensual, and nobody's getting hurt."

"What about David?" I asked. "I don't know how he would feel about it."

"I think David will be fine with it, when you tell him," said Evie. "He likes your Mum."

"You think I should tell him?"

"You have to," smiled Evie. "When you tell him your Mum is asking to watch you two."