Tilley and Her Mom

It was dark. Very dark. There were no streetlights this far out of town, and there was no moon. It was also rather cold. She huddled into her topcoat and stood by the side of the road, her back to the woodland, trying not to think about what could be living among those trees, because it was late, she was alone and it was a long walk home. At least it wasn't cold She shouldn't have told him to stop the car and let her out, but then, she couldn't just let him go on doing what he was doing. He'd been disrespectful and she couldn't stand being disrespected; she wouldn't put up with it. No way! She hadn't encouraged him in any way. He'd just put his hand on her leg, just above her knee, and squeezed - and not very gently, either. And he'd been driving the car, as well! Anything could have happened! There was a law against using mobile 'phones whilst driving and there should be a law against that sort of thing on the move, too.

In the restaurant, he'd been the very embodiment of charm; he'd held her chair as she sat; he'd listened with great interest -- or so it had seemed - as she talked; he'd flattered her about her hair -- she was very proud of her long, black hair - and her clothes. Told her he loved her smile and how beautiful she was. Huh!

Was it the clothes that had inflamed his passions? No, it couldn't have been that. She was, as always, very modestly dressed. The hemline of her dress had barely reached her knees and as for her neckline... Well, there simply wasn't a neckline! The dress had covered her shoulders and almost reached her chin; there wasn't even a hint of cleavage. She'd made absolutely sure of that. Not that she had much cleavage to display. She was quite unlike her mother in that respect; Mother had nice big boobs. She'd stood in front of the mirror for ages, turning first this way and then that way, making sure that everything was perfect.

And it couldn't have been the make-up, surely? The idea was ridiculous! She was expert at applying cosmetics. Too much looked cheap and not enough, well... That looked even cheaper, in her opinion.

Everything had been just-so for her evening date.

So what had made him do it? Perhaps he was just like "that"; her mother had given her that warning about men when she'd first started dating.

"Be careful, darling," mummy had said. "You don't know what men are like. I do!" And she'd nodded knowingly, before adding, "And you shouldn't get in a car with a man you don't know!"

It had taken her a while to find out what mummy had meant, but find out she did, on her very first date, seven years ago, when she'd been just eighteen and unprepared for what had happened. Her date had been a little older; quite a lot older, actually. In his thirties. She'd felt safe with him. And why shouldn't she? A man of that age would look after her, she'd thought. Take care of her, the way a father would. The way her father would if he'd still been around. Which he hadn't been since she was two years old.

She didn't think any father would put his tongue in her mouth when he kissed her outside the restaurant, either. Fathers didn't do that, did they? She'd found out since that some fathers did do that, but her father, her daddy, wouldn't, of that she was sure. The very idea! It appalled and intrigued her at the same time.

She hadn't told mummy, of course. There would have been trouble. Hell to pay, in fact. Mummy would have had words with him; would have seen the man off for what he'd done. And she didn't want any trouble. Besides, she'd liked what he did. She'd liked it a lot! Even now, she blushed at the thought of how that kiss had made her feel: all hot and not at all bothered. And even hotter and rather wet down there, between her legs. In her 'doo-dah', as mummy called it, on the rare occasions they talked about such things.

As she got older, her doo-dah began to interest her very much. She discovered that men were interested in her doo-dah, too! There was a lot of pleasure to be had when investigating her doo-dah and she liked pleasure very much indeed. Therefore, she investigated her doo-dah on a regular and frequent basis. And it wasn't too long before she was allowing others to help her in her investigations, because that was even more fun! She kept all this to herself. Mummy would never have approved! In fact, she would have had a fit. Mummy thought this kind of thing was dirty; not something nice people did.

But a girl had to have her standards. And her date tonight had fallen woefully short of her standards. Fancy trying to grope her as he was driving!

Still, he hadn't made much of a fuss about pulling over to let her out. He'd just said that it wasn't a good idea to get out just here, on this stretch of road, in the dark, with no houses for miles and not much traffic passing by. It wasn't safe, he'd cautioned her, not safe at all, for a young woman to be on her own in this neck of the woods.

But she'd insisted and now here she was. At first, she'd hoped he'd come back. Had waited for him at the side of the road. But time had passed and he hadn't come back and no other cars had passed, either. All she'd heard were noises from the trees: the hoot of an owl and the rustle of something moving around in the undergrowth. So she'd decided to walk, thanking her lucky stars she was wearing sensible, low-heeled shoes that were ideal for just this kind of situation. If those other girls in the restaurant had been forced to walk, they wouldn't have got very far in the heels they had been wearing, that was for sure. Slutty, they had been. The shoes and the girls. She was also pleased that she never wore pantyhose. Always stockings. Wearing pantyhose wasn't healthy, according to the magazine articles she'd read. It made you sweat and caused infections in your doo-dah and the last thing she wanted was an infection in her doo-dah. Besides, she'd discovered that guys didn't like pantyhose. Apart from one man, who'd persuaded her to wear some and had really enjoyed tearing them to get at her. He'd only torn them between her legs, but they were still only fit for the trash when he'd finished. It had been rather exciting, though! She flushed and grinned at the memory.

None of this helped her present situation. She was still stuck in the middle of nowhere, on her own. If only someone would come along to offer a lift. Not just anyone, mind you. It would have to be someone above reproach, someone who wouldn't take advantage of her. A priest, perhaps? Someone respectable. A nun. A nun would be ideal. That was unlikely, she knew, but it would be nice if a woman came along to rescue her; she'd had enough of men for one night.

After half an hour's walking, she stopped to rest. Her shoes might have been eminently sensible, but her feet still hurt. She wasn't used to trudging about. Nice comfortable cars were more to her taste. She looked around for somewhere to sit; nothing, not even a fallen tree. What sort of woodland was it, with no fallen trees?

And then, she saw the lights of an approaching car, heard its engine At last! With a silent prayer that it wasn't another predatory male more interested in helping himself to her doo-dah than helping her out of a spot, she moved to the middle of the road and waved her arms. The car slowed, pulled and stopped. She rushed up to the driver's door, peered through the window... And gaped in astonishment.

"What are you doing here, mummy?" She asked. "Why aren't you at home? You were going to watch a Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers movie. You got yourself some candy and popcorn to make an evening of it!"

"Just get in the car, Tilley," her mother said. "And what the heck do you think I'm doing out here? I'm riding shotgun on my only child, that's what I'm doing. And a good thing, too, from what I can see!"

"You've been following me?" Tilley was shocked. Why..? Why would you follow me?"

"Get in the car," her mother repeated. "We'll talk about this later, at home." Tilley was an obedient daughter; she did as she was told and climbed into the front passenger seat next to her mother.

When they finally arrived home, Tilley went to the kitchen to make a pot of tea. She was bubbling with questions, but knew her mother would answer them when she felt like it. She wouldn't be rushed. So Tilley made the tea, arranged some cookies on a plate, set the whole lot on a tray and took it into the sitting-room, where her mother waited. As her mother sipped her tea, Tilley checked her watch: 10pm. It would soon be bedtime. She hoped her mother would start talking soon.

She wasn't disappointed, because her mother set down her teacup, dabbed some cookie crumbs from her lips with a snow-white napkin, leaned back in her chair and glared at her daughter.

"Don't think I don't know what's been going on, young lady," her mother said. Suddenly, Tilley was nervous. More nervous than she had been on the country road. "I know what you've been doing with those young men."

Tilley blushed. "I haven't done anything..." she began. Her mother would have none of it: she wasn't in the mood for lame excuses.

"I'm not blind and I'm not stupid," her mother went on, as though Tilley hadn't spoken. "And neither am I deaf. I heard you when you were younger, all the noise you made when you used your fingers. And probably anything you could find that resembled a man's cock. I know what you did in the back seats of those cars, too. What I didn't see I could hear. Your legs wide open and all that gasping and groaning."

Tilley gasped. That meant... "You've been spying on me! You've been following me. You've been following me to spy on me! Why did you do that? How could you!" Tilley could feel the tears about to flow, tears of rage and embarrassment. Mostly embarrassment. "How long have you been doing that?"

"Only since you started dating. You need saving from yourself," her mother said. "I've tried to guide you, to set you on the right track. But have you listened? Ooh, No. You've gone your own way. Ploughed your own furrow. And how many men have ploughed that furry little furrow between your legs? Quite a few, I'll warrant."

Tilley's nervousness and embarrassment disappeared in a flood of self-righteous anger and a jolt of shock. Was this really her mother talking? Her mother who would never talk about sex in even the most round about way? Had she been drinking? Had she been taking one of those recreational drugs? No way! Then anger took over completely.

"How dare you?" she stormed. She stormed quietly, because she didn't want the neighbors to hear. "You've invaded my privacy. I would never do that to you!"

"You can't trust men," her mother replied. "You know that. Just look at your father."

"Not all men are like my father," Tilley said.

"All the men I've ever met have been exactly like your father," her mother said. "They're all after one thing, my girl, just you mark my words. They'll get you on your back, your legs as wide apart as they can get them, have their fun and then they'll fuck off."

"Mother!" Tilley was now in a state of profound shock. What had happened to her dear mother? Why was she talking like this? This was a woman who never, ever, used strong language, never uttered the mildest profanity, whatever the provocation.

"If it's just sex you're after," her mother was saying, "You don't need a man for that. They're not essential, you know. But then you know that already, don't you? I told you: I've heard you pleasuring yourself. I'll grant though, that it's better to have someone with you when you cum. It's better still when someone makes you cum. And as I said, you don't need a man for that."

Tilley was looking at her mother in a new light. Instead of mummy sitting there facing her, she saw a woman. A human being with experience of life. A woman with needs, who'd lived without a man for twenty-three years. Had her mother lain in her own bed, her fingers between her legs, rubbing frantically at her own doo-dah. Suddenly, the word doo-dah seemed silly, childish. She should call it what it was: pussy, cunt, slit, gash. Anything but doo-dah! Had her mother rubbed her own cunt lips, teased her own clit? Had she imagined a hot throbbing cock pounding in and out of her, a man's balls slapping against her ass before she took a flood of hot cum deep inside her? Tilley flushed again. The thought was an exciting one and she could feel herself becoming aroused. She shook her head to get the image out of her mind.

Tilley wondered what her mother had got up to in bed with her father. What positions daddy had taken her in as he fucked her. Had there been other men between her mother's legs, humping her and squirting their seed into her? She could understand why a man would lust after her mother, though. She was a very well preserved fifty-years-old: still had a great figure; and she knew how to show it off, even if she didn't do it consciously. Even tonight, she looked good dressed in jeans and a shapeless old sweater that didn't hide the fact that her mother had great boobs. But why was mummy talking to her like this?

"Because it's time we had a chat," her mother replied when Tilley asked the question. "We've never really had a woman-to-woman chat, have we?" Tilley shook her head. Her mother had warned her about men, many, many times. Told her to be careful of them. But a woman-to-woman chat? They'd certainly never had one of them. Tilley was intrigued. This would be interesting.

"Yes, I've been following you. I didn't want you to get into trouble, like so many other girls do. I didn't want you to be taken advantage of. I know you've got a curious, inquiring mind. I know you want to know about things, like to experience things. But that can be dangerous, you know. That's why I followed you tonight. Why I followed you all those other nights. To catch you if you fall. And tonight you fell, didn't you. I just wish I could have got to you sooner, my darling, I wish you hadn't been alone on that road for so long. I would have been there sooner, but I took the wrong road and had to find my way back to the restaurant and start over, looking for you. And as for the way I've been talking, the words I've been using? I just wanted to prove to you that mummy is as human as you. That I know the same words others use and that I can use them too. That I think about the same things."

Tilley looked at her mother with a new respect and a lot more understanding. And love. Her darling mummy had been watching over her, protecting her. All the time, she'd been there, like a guardian angel. Tilley jumped up from her chair, ran to her mother and threw her arms around her. She kissed her over and over again, saying, "Oh, mummy, thank you, thank you! I do love you so much!" Her mother returned the hug and the kisses and then patted her daughter on the bottom.

"That's alright, my darling. That's what I'm here for. It's part of the job description! Now, go off to bed, it's late."

And Tilley, her heart full of love for her mummy, did as she was told and went off to bed.

Tilley's room was the smallest bedroom in the house. There was just enough room for her single-size bed, a chest of drawers, a small dressing table and a very small bedside table. Getting dressed and undressed was a struggle that involved knocked knees and elbows. When she was in her pink pajamas with the teddy-bear motif -- she hated those pajamas, she was twenty-five years' old, for goodness sake, no longer a child -- she climbed between the sheets and snuggled down. It had been a hell of an evening. That awful man; her walk in the dark; her mother's revelations. And now she was tired.

There was a tap at the door. Before she could say anything, the door opened and her mother's head peeped in.

"Tilley, are you asleep?" Her mother's voice was a loud whisper. If Tilley had been asleep, she wouldn't be now.

"What is it, mummy?" Tilley asked, yawning.

"Can I come in for a moment?"

"I'm really tired, mummy, can't it wait until morning?"

"No, it can't. There's something else I need to say and it needs to be said tonight." Her mother sounded quite insistent.

"O.k., come on in," Tilley said, groping for the switch on her bedside lamp. She flicked the switch and the room was filled with soft light. Her mother entered the room and sat on the edge of Tilley's bed. Tilley sat up and looked at her expectantly.

Her mother was still fully dressed and there was a worried look on her face.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, darling," she said, "But I'm worried. I'm worried that I've upset and offended you. Telling you those things, the language I used. You must have wondered what was going on. I won't be able to rest tonight if we don't sort things out between us."

Tilley smiled at her mother and said, "No, I'm not offended. Why should I be offended by a mother who loves me so much. And as for the language, well it was kind of a shock to hear you talking like that, but it was good, too, it really was. It makes you sort of..." Tilley groped for the right word. "It makes you a woman and not just my mother," she finished.

Her mother was delighted. "I'm so pleased! You're not angry with me? Are you sure?"

Tilley told her she was sure she wasn't angry with her and prepared to lay back down and try again to sleep.

"We've got to do something about those pajamas," her mother said. "You're too old for pajamas like that aren't you?" Tilley was pleased to hear her mother say that.

"I really don't like them any more," she replied. "I'm not a little girl any more. Am I?" Her mother's face lit up as she ran her eyes over her daughter's upper body, propped up against the pillows.

"No, you're not a little girl," she said. "And you haven't been for a long time. I've been watching you develop."

"You've been watching me rather a lot, haven't you," Tilley said, laughing. Her mother laughed, too.

"Tell you what," she said, "To make up for things, let me give you some new nightwear. Something more appropriate for your age. Something for a woman, not a child. How does that sound? Want to come to my room now? I've got just the thing."

Tilley was instantly wide awake. She liked clothes, even though she didn't have that many, and what she did have wasn't sexy or feminine, and she liked the idea of something feminine and grown up to wear in bed. Even if she didn't have anyone to show it off to. Or take it off for.

"Sounds good to me," Tilley said.

"Come on into my room, then," her mother said. "I've got lots of stuff to show you."

Tilley scrambled out of bed and followed her mother to her room. Compared to Tilley's room, it was huge and palatial. Velvet drapes at the window kept the cold night outside where it belonged. The room was deliciously warm and the queen-sized bed looked very inviting with its crisp cotton sheets already turned down and pillowcases all plumped-up and ready. Her mother crossed to a large chest, opened a draw and pulled out a flimsy piece of black satin. She held it up for Tilley to see.

Tilley was very impressed. "Wow," she breathed. "That's fantastic. Thanks, mummy." She took the nightdress and ran it through her hands.

"It's so lovely," Tilley said. "It's... well, it's grown up, isn't it?"

Her mother smiled at her. "Well, you are grown up, my darling. It's just that I haven't been aware of it until now. Not properly, anyway. You're a woman now. It's time for you to wear womanly clothes and do womanly things."

She looked a little sad and Tilley went to her, to console her, putting her arms around her. Her mother returned the embrace and kissed her daughter on the cheek. Tilley went to return the kiss, but as she did so, her mother moved and the kiss, instead of landing on her mother's cheek, was planted firmly on her lips.

"Oh," Tilley said. "Sorry, mummy."

"It's perfectly alright, my darling, don't worry about it. I rally didn't mind!"