My Neurotic Mother

II

In truth my obsession with my mother's body began to consume me and I couldn't stop it 'leaking' out into the real world. It began with me watching her more intently and looking for chances to see more of her 'flesh'. I tried to spy on her in the hope of seeing something. I'd go unexpectedly into the bathroom when I knew she was there. I even tried looking through the keyhole in her bedroom door right after she'd retired for the night. None of these attempts were particularly successful, but they were indicative of the fact I was becoming more fixated on mother and more excited about the whole idea. I began to masturbate more frequently, and imagine ways to catch her without her clothes.

Increasingly I found myself in her bedroom when she was out. Feeling her bras, fondling her stockings, and exploring deep in her underwear drawers. I found a white bone corset with clips hanging down for stockings. I wasn't quite sure how it worked, but to me it was exotic and thrilling. I pulled it around my waist and tried to imagine my mother wearing it.

Gradually these visits ramped up. Once I waited till mother had just left, stripped myself naked and went to her bedroom. I put on one of her old-fashioned pointed bras, stuffed it with panties to make it look real, and groped at it as if it contained authentic breasts. Then I slipped on one of her suspender belts and carefully rolled a pair of stockings over my legs. I stood in from of the mirror imagining this was my mother I was seeing. Then I lay on her bed and started fondling my own legs, running my hands up and down mother's stockings. I was entranced by the feel of the nylon. It was so incredibly exciting I couldn't stop myself from ejaculating there and then. But afterwards I was shaking uncontrollably, part from excitement, part from fear of getting caught, and hurriedly I put everything back and tried to clear up my mess. I was sure however I'd left some dried semen on one of her nylons.

But it was in the evening time I made my most significant moves. The dark hours just before bed had always been the most sensual, with mother sitting there (or lying on the sofa) half asleep. She'd always looked 'vulnerable' but now that vulnerability seemed exciting. The first time anything actually happened was on a Friday night. She'd been out playing bridge with some of her 'old crony' friends. Usually in the evening she worn a white linen nightdress under her dressing gown, but if she'd been out she'd often just take off her skirt and top, not bother to remove her nylons, and then just cover herself with the gown.

I think she must have had a drink or two while she was out but she still took her sleeping pills. The net result was she lay on the sofa and drifted off to sleep. I looked at her laying there snoring gently. Nothing of her body was showing apart from a small gap in the gown revealing her knee and a tiny bit of thigh. I sat there for a long time just staring at that gap. And then I did something I most definitely shouldn't have done. Slowly and gingerly I moved over to the sofa and knelt down beside her. Convinced she was deeply asleep I gently lifted the edge of her dressing gown up and over.

I rocked back on my heels is awe and fascination. One leg was revealed all the way up to her waist. My eyes travelled up from her nylon-covered knee and thigh and feasted on a dark brown multi-layer stocking top and the white flesh above. My heart was pounding as I studied the way the suspender was attached and clipped to the stocking top. I had no idea why but it seemed like the most erotic thing I'd ever seen. Then my attention was drawn higher to her white panties and the way they dived inward between her legs making a sharp 'V' shape. Immediately above the V of the panties lay a low smooth mound (which in those days I didn't really understand). It fascinated me and I had a sudden urge to run my fingers over it, and feel its shape and texture.

I didn't however, and my eyes simply travelled further up over her stomach to the bottom of a barely revealed white bra. For a long time I just looked. I was shaking with a combination of lust, fear, and excitement. Steeling myself I smoothly lifted the gown back further over her breast. It wasn't big but the bra she was wearing made it seemed pointed and sharp. I can't adequately explain just how much I wanted to wrap my hand around that breast and feel and fondle it.

But then mother stirred in her sleep and I panicked.

I grabbed at her dressing gown, half pulled it over, and scrambled back into my chair. In the event I don't think mother would have woken up if I hadn't been so scared and clumsy and noisy. But wake up she did. She turned on to her side and opened her eyes. By then I was back sitting down, but I felt both guilty and fearful and I was sure it showed in my face. She was groggy at first, but then she lifted herself up on one elbow and gave me a strange look. Then she looked down at herself and seeing there was too much of her legs and stockings on show, she pulled her gown back over. I don't know what I expected to happen next, but after a moment she just lay back down and closed her eyes.

I sat there with my heart racing wondering if the sky was going to fall in. But it didn't. A few minutes later mother yawned, mumbled something about going to bed and pulled herself up off the sofa. She pulled her gown tight about herself and headed for her bedroom door, but as she went she glanced back. Her face was blank however and I couldn't read what she was thinking.

For the next few days I kept my hands, my eyes, and my cock away from anything to do with my mother's body. She said nothing about that night, but I couldn't get it out of my head that something had changed between us. She was ever so slightly different. She seemed vague and slightly distant, and yet at the same time not nearly so obnoxious or critical. Normally I was always in trouble for not doing things up to her standard, not dusting properly or leaving marks on the washing up, etc. Now she said nothing, even if it was obvious I wasn't doing my job properly.

The next weekend she went out again and it was like a carbon copy of the previous Saturday. She even ended up on the sofa once again fast asleep in her dressing gown. I must admit I sat there for a long time struggling with myself, torn between lust and fear. I wanted to look again at her stockings and the flesh above but I was terrified she would wake up and find me leering over her. I just couldn't make the move I wanted to.

Then something happened to break the spell. Mother, who had been lying on her back breathing softy, made a snuffling noise and turned on to her side, but as she did so she moved her left leg out from under the dressing gown revealing itself to me in all it's stocking-clad glory. I thanked the Lord under my breath for his generosity and slipped off my chair. I knelt once again in front of the sofa and I lowered my head as much as I dared till my eyes were barely inches from the top of my mother's now exposed stocking top.

I had no idea why her stockings fascinated me so much. It was true I'd been sexually 'raised' on a stream pictures of half-naked women who almost always wore stockings, but that didn't quite explain it. There was something inexplicably erotic about the smoothness of the nylon, and how it gently turned darker by degrees into the stocking top, and then how that top was suddenly transformed into white flesh at the top of the woman's thigh. Maybe stocking-tops were guardians or door-wardens of a holy site (no pun intended), or maybe a beautiful ladder that men were invited to climb, if they were brave enough, in order to gain their ultimate reward. (Sorry, forgive me for musing about my own psycho-sexuality). It's enough to say this 19 year old virgin was completely lost and entirely entranced by being so close to the top of his mother's stockings. I was absorbed in the wonder before me, and my head was drawn further and further down till I could almost smell the fabric of the nylon. But my vision was so engrossed in exploring the material I failed to notice something rather important.

My mother's eyes had opened and she was watching me intently. When I eventually looked up and saw her watching I froze solid in shock and dismay. I was caught red-handed, the guilt of my lust written all over my face, and my shocking incestual desires fully revealed.

I had no idea how she would react or what would happen... something terrible at the very least. Maybe she would scream and shout and rant and rave at me. Maybe she would strike me, curse me, and eject me forever from her house, or maybe she would call the police and have me locked up! I genuinely had no idea what would come next. But what did happen shocked me to the core. She continued to look at me for the briefest of moments and then closed her eyes and went back to sleep.

III

I don't think I've ever been so frightened in my life as when I saw mother looking... and her passive reaction stunned me. For a few moments I could not move. I was rooted to the spot. Then hurriedly I got up and ran to my bedroom, dragged off my clothes, leapt into bed, and pulled the covers over my head. I lay there shaking in shock and fear. My interest in my mother's sexual merits at it's lowest ebb. I wished and wished I'd never has those feelings, that I'd never thought of my own mother in anything other than a familial way.

But as time passed, and I lay undisturbed in my bed, I began to wonder exactly why she had not reacted. Had she not noticed? Was she still asleep but with her eyes open? Was she waiting till the morning to chastise me? Why had she not simply exploded with anger and rage at seeing her own son lusting after her? Gradually I began to calm down and relax into sleep, and I have to confess (to my eternal shame) as my mind retreated into unconsciousness it's last images returned to visions of mother lying there exposed in her underwear.

The next morning I remained in bed till the last possible moment. Eventually I had to had get up, and I admit I was terrified as I went into the kitchen and saw mother making some porridge.

"Morning," she said in her normal, slightly disdainful, voice.

"Morning Mom," I half whispered.

And that was it! No screaming or shouting. No anger, no telling-off, in fact no riposte of any kind. It was as if it never happened.

For the next few days I tried to act normal as possible. No close cuddling my mother, no visits to her underwear draw, and definitely no staying up late in the hope she would lie on the sofa and reveal something. Oddly though mother was still much more friendly and less abusive than usual. It was more as if I'd done something right and not something disgustingly wrong. That said, I counted myself lucky and had no intention of pushing my luck.

I guess it was about three or four days after the above events I noticed something unusual. My mother started wearing stockings all the time, not just when she went out. I knew they were stockings because they were seamed and they looked shear. I'd seen her wear these before but only on high days and holidays when she went visiting. Seeing her in them all the time was both unusual and (dangerously) provocative.

It started early one morning. I'd just got up and I remember her standing there in the kitchen doorway as I came round the corner. She was facing into the kitchen and bending over slightly and my eyes were drawn immediately to the perfectly straight seams down the back of her legs. Even with all my self-depreciation, and my stringent resolve never again to look at mother in a sexual way I was immediately hard at the sight. Slowly she stood up straight and continued whatever she was doing, and I just stood there imagining my way up her legs to the top of those seams. Then she turned suddenly around and looked at me and I'm sure I blushed bright red.

I hurriedly went on into the lounge, on the left before the kitchen, my eyes down on the ground. Again she said and did nothing out of the ordinary even though I was certain she'd seen me looking. I was sure her dressing up meant she must be going out somewhere but she didn't. In fact she started to wear those wonderful seamed stockings every day as if it was totally normal. However as much as they fascinated and attracted me I kept my distance.

That's not to say there were not strange thoughts and wishful suspicions wandering around in my head. Why the seamed stockings I kept asking myself? Was she wearing them for me? Had she seen what I liked and was she giving me some kind of adult 'come-on'? Or was it just a coincidence and I was reading my own lustful desires into her actions?

The answer came soon enough but not in any way I could have guessed.

It began about 10 days after my 'escape' from mother's eyes (or that's how I thought of it). It had started as a perfectly normal Saturday. I was at home all day (as normal at the weekend). Mother stayed late in bed (also as usual) and I made her breakfast and took it in to her on a tray. She said nothing and I left immediately and began my regular cleaning and tidying of the house. Mother got up late and seemed oddly grumpy. She was especially critical of my attempts at cleaning, moaning about how dusty everything was. At length, after a considerable period of being berated by her nagging complaints, I offered to dust all the ornaments 'properly'.

It went well for about half an hour, as I worked my way around the room, until I inadvertently dropped one of mother's prized ornaments off the mantelpiece and it smashed in the grate.

She went spare!

"You stupid useless boy!" she screamed. "You can't do anything properly can you. I don't know why I put up with you. Here I am all alone and ill, and what do you do to help me ... nothing! All you do is hang around the house like the lazy little brat you are. You can't do anything right. You can't even dust something without breaking it! That was my best miniature vase. It was priceless to me! If I was well I'd do it all myself, but I'm not, you know I'm not, and I have to rely your on stupid selfish incompetence."

It continued like that for a while, with increasing fury and it seemed over-the-top even for my mother. Finally she calmed down and was silent for a moment. Then she looked at me with fire in her eyes.

"You're so slow and so stupid," she said slowly. "A weak snivelling little boy with no idea about life. You need to grow up and act like a man!"

It was an odd comment and I tried to splutter an apology, but she ignored me and got up from the sofa and went to her bedroom and shut the door. I sighed a deep sigh of relief and went back to my cleaning duties, although with a great deal more care not to drop anything else. I didn't want to have to endure another outburst of mother's intolerant fury.

All was quiet for the next twenty minutes or so and I had just about finished the dusting when I heard mother call out from her bedroom. Her voice was no longer angry but calm and seemingly normal.

"Michael," she said. "Come and see me when you have a moment."

I put down the duster and walked to her door, It was slightly ajar so I pushed it open and went in. To my surprise mother was in the process of removing her skirt. It was unzipped and halfway down as I entered.

"Don't bother to knock will you!" she hissed. "Can't you see I'm getting changed?"

I half turned to go back out.

"Wait!" Mother said in a commanding voice. "It doesn't matter, you're here now."

Then as I watched she lowered her skirt, folded it carefully and lay it on the bed.

I could not believe what I was seeing. There was mother without her skirt on, showing her stockings and suspenders, without trying to hide anything from my eyes. On her top she was wearing a white ribbed jumper which only came down to the level of her panties, leaving everything below open and revealed. As she bent forward to lay the skirt down gently on her old double-bed I could not help staring at her legs. They were slender and surprisingly appealing, and she moved with a grace entirely uncharacteristic of the mother I thought I knew.

Then she turned round to face me, beckoned me over to her side, placed her arms around my neck, and gave me a gentle peck on my cheek. "I'm sorry I was so angry before," she said softly. "I know you do your best. Now give Mummy a cuddle."

I slipped my arms around her waist and cuddled her for a moment, all the time acutely aware of the fact she was without her skirt. I was looking down at her legs and stockings even as we embraced and I could not stop myself from becoming hard. Then I was appalled as she suddenly pulled me tight, and my hardness was against her tummy. I was terrified she would feel me and I tried to squirm away. It only lasted a moment and then she released me and indicated I could go.

I made quickly for the door, but as I reached it she spoke again.

"You're a good boy really. Aren't you Michael."

I turned to reply and was immediately stunned by her pose. She stood there, legs slightly apart, hands on her hips with elbows outwards, and head slightly tilted to one side in a sort of questioning stance. I nodded responsively at her, whilst at the same time trying to keep my eyes up, and not look down at the way she was displaying her stocking-clad legs. Needless to say I failed miserably. She looked so damn sexy like that and I simply couldn't help but stare down at her nylons.

For a moment there was silence, and then she said softly, "You like mummy's stockings don't you?"

My cock was hard but my mouth was dry. I had no idea how to reply, and I just stood there looking at her.

"Well!" mother said sharply.

"I..." I began. Then it all came out. "Yes Mummy," I whispered. "I like them very much".

She smiled a strange sort of smile and dismissed me with a wave of her hand. I went out and sat straight down on the sofa in the lounge. My head was spinning. What had just happened I wondered? What did it mean? Where would it lead? I think I was shaking at little, but more with excitement than fear. This was my fantasy starting to come true. My mother clearly understood how much I was attracted to her (or to her legs anyway), and more importantly, much more importantly, she didn't seem to mind. I just sat there with a feeling of anticipation, knowing instinctively this wasn't the end of the story but just the beginning.

Some time later mother emerged from her bedroom, now fully dressed again. and seeming to act as if nothing had happened. I confess I was slightly disappointed. I obviously had no idea what was going to happen but I think I'd expected (or at least hoped) for something more significant. But the day went on as any other Saturday. Mother made dinner, I cleared up, doing the washing up and tidying the kitchen. Then we both sat down to watch the television. Neither of us said anything though, and there was a slight air of tension between us.

It wasn't until late in the evening things changed. Mother went to her bedroom (as she normally did) to take off her day clothes and put on her dressing gown. She came out shortly afterwards but something was very different. She had indeed put on a dressing gown but not the thick cloth one she usually wore. Instead she was dressed in a lacy nylon gown that was virtually transparent. I could clearly see the outlines of her underwear through the material. The dark brown of her stocking tops and the white of her brassiere poking sharply through the nylon. I also noticed she was wearing make-up, eye-liner and lipstick, making her look younger and more attractive.

She went to the sofa and sat down. She patted the cushion next to her to indicate for me to join her there. I didn't need a second invitation and I move out from the armchair and immediately sat down beside her. She lay back into the sofa, turned and smiled at me. For a while she was silent, and then she spoke.