Mum was coming to stay for the weekend. We chat on the phone every Monday and, of course, see each other on birthdays and Christmas. Mum, however, feels that the personal touch is essential, and so she is visiting. I wasn’t going to give the house a deep clean. It was clean enough for me, and so, it would have to do for her.
I put clean bedding on the bed in the spare room and opened the window to let in some fresh air. That was as far as I went to accommodate Mum. I had arranged to finish work at lunchtime on Friday; I didn’t know what time Mum would arrive, but she knew where my spare key was. If I wasn’t there, she would let herself in.
Mum was staying until Monday morning. When she let herself out, she would lock the house and put the key through the letterbox for me to find when I returned that evening. I had booked a table at Miller and Carter, a local steakhouse, for Saturday evening. We would have takeaway on Friday and Sunday.
Friday soon came, and as I pulled onto the drive, I could see Mum’s car, so she had arrived early enough to beat me home. I parked beside her car and went into the house; all was quiet. I slipped my shoes off and headed upstairs, as I needed to change out of work clothes. As I reached the landing, I could hear the shower going in the main bathroom.
That was fine; I would use my ensuite anyway. In my bedroom, I took off my suit and hung it up ready for Monday. Shirt and underpants went into my laundry pile. I went into my ensuite and got into the shower. I loved the feel of the needle jet as it sprayed on me. I took the head from its clip and sprayed the water over me, relishing the almost orgasmic feel on my crotch. My dick hardened immediately.
I turned the water off and got out of the shower and towelled myself dry and walked back naked into my bedroom.
“Hello, darling,” Mother said; she was sitting on the edge of my bed in a long, flowing dress. What I have always thought of as a hippie dress, the sort they wore in the seventies. That she never seemed to shave her underarms gave credence to the notion that Mum was a hippie.
“Bloody hell, Mum, I’ve just come out of the shower.”
I turned away, opened my underpants drawer, and grabbed the first pair. With my bum to my mum, I quickly put them on, trying to adjust my still hard dick into a slightly less obvious position.
“Well, darling,” Mum said, “I can see that you didn’t get all of your dad’s genes.”
“What?”
“Oh, you are quite a bit bigger than he is.”
“Mother!” I grabbed my dressing gown and quickly put it on, hiding as much of me as I could.
“Oh, don’t be such a prig,” Mum said with a huge smile across her face. “You forget where you came from,” she continued, her hand pointing in the direction of her crotch.
“No, Mum, I do not forget. You do not need to see your adult son naked.”
“It was a good shower by the looks,” she said.
“Couldn’t you have waited just a few more minutes until I had finished?” I asked her.
“No, darling, I couldn’t wait to talk to you; I hardly ever get the chance.”
“Mum, we talk on the phone every Friday.”
“That’s as maybe, but we hardly ever see each other.”
“Mum, you have just seen far more than you needed to. Anyway, we could always use FaceTime when we phone.”
“Oh piffle, it is so complicated.”
“No, it is very simple. Look, I will go downstairs and put the kettle on, and then I shall FaceTime you from downstairs. All you have to do is answer your phone; it is simple.”
“Oh, Gordon, it is surely not that simple.”
“Yes, it is, Mum; you wait here.”
I went downstairs and filled the kettle and turned it on to boil. I grabbed my phone and selected Mum’s number and pressed FaceTime; I heard her phone ring. “Just answer it, Mum,” I called.
The call connected, and Mum’s face appeared.
“There you are,” she said.
“Yes, Mum, see, it is simple, isn’t it, and now you can see me.”
The image of Mum’s face jiggled, and then it stabilised, and Mum got smaller on the screen and got very naked. She had taken her clothes off whilst I came downstairs.
“Bloody hell, Mum, you’re bloody naked.”
Very naked. Her bush was prominent, and her boobs sagged a little, as you would expect for a woman in her early fifties. My dick was calling ‘hello’.
“It seemed only right,” Mum said. “I saw you, so you should see me, and you can see my issue.”
“Mum, I can see more than your issue. Get dressed and come downstairs; I’m making tea.”
I ended the call. That was something that I didn’t need to see, but something my brain had permanently etched into my memory. No forgetting the sight of my stark naked mother. A little voice said, ‘You should have recorded that for later use.’ I dismissed the voice and grabbed a couple of mugs and made tea.
“So,” Mum said as she walked into the kitchen, thankfully dressed once more in her long dress. “So, you can see my issue. It has been four years since your dad left, and it is about time I got out there and dated again. I am getting lonely, and, well, I miss a man’s touch.”
“Mother, there is nothing wrong with you; you will be fine dating.”
“Oh God, Gordon, the hair, all that bloody hair.”
“What hair?” I couldn’t see the problem.
“Covering my fanny.”
“What is wrong with it? If you don’t like it, shave it off.”
“I don’t have a trimmer, and trimming it with scissors is far too dangerous. You do it for me.”
“What? No, I am not shaving my mother’s fanny. You can borrow my beard trimmer to get the bulk of it off and then finish with an ordinary razor. You should have one of them for your legs and armpits, assuming you do them.”
“It is a simple ask, Gordon; surely you can help me with this little thing.”
“Mum, no. You use the trimmer to get rid of most of the hair, and then you use a razor to get rid of the fine stubble. Shave yourself every other day to keep it smooth. After you have shaved, you need to moisturise. I use a cheap supermarket brand of aftersun, and I have found it to be excellent.
She walked over and picked up her mug of tea. “Spoilsport,” she said before she put the mug to her lips and took a drink.
“It is a small ask, and I have no one else I can ask.”
“Mum, no. It is not a small ask. I am your son; I am a grown man. My body doesn’t behave the way it did when I was a child. What you ask is beyond my abilities of self-control.”
“Piffle.”
“In the cupboard under the sink are my beard trimmer and my SkullBuster razor. Use the trimmer and then use the razor. It has six rotating heads and will get rid of all the remaining hair. I suggest that you sit on the loo when you use the trimmer; all your hairs will go down the loo then, easy to flush away.”
Mum stuck her tongue out and put her mug in the sink. She turned away from me and left the kitchen; I heard her going upstairs. I shook my head in disbelief. What a strange request. I turned my mind to the takeaway for this evening. The choice of takeaway depended on what Mum wanted, as I was flexible; I didn’t mind either Chinese or Indian food, since both options could be delivered by Uber. All I had to do was go online and place an order.
I made another mug of tea and headed into the conservatory to drink it; I would enjoy the last of the day’s warmth. As I sat on the sofa, my mind wandered to mental images of my naked mother. I chided myself for remembering her nakedness in such detail.
Mum’s areolae are not large; my last girlfriend had, frankly, very large ones and also had cork-sized nipples. Mum, on the other hand, had much neater areola, and her nipples were more like peanuts. I think I preferred the smaller option that Mum had. Going down, her navel seemed deep; it had a dark, almost black centre and then her fanny.
Mum had blonde hair, and her pubic hair was also blonde. While she had a lot, it was very light in colour and seemed thin. I could see her crease through her hair, and her inner lips protruded. If she weren’t my mother, she would be offering a frankly stunning fanny. My dick was no guardian of morals and was straining hard at my zipper.
I told myself it was the initial memories of my last girlfriend; her inner fanny workings were hidden behind a neat crease, but I knew I was lying to myself. Mum and her nakedness had turned me on. I was so hard that I contemplated going into the downstairs loo whilst Mum was upstairs. The options were sitting here suffering with my hard dick or going and wanking.
I heard Mum coming down the stairs; my options were reduced to one: I wasn’t going anywhere.
“Well, that was a chore,” Mum said as she walked into the conservatory.
“Oh?” I replied.
“Yes, it is difficult to see down underneath and to shave properly.”
“You’ll soon get the hang of it. I am sure any future beau will be suitably appreciative.”
“Oh, for goodness sake, Gordon. Now, tell me what you think.”
Mum put her hands on the hem of her dress and pulled it, and at the same time, she widened her knees. I had a full-on view of her shaved fanny. Her inner lips are very nicely showing between her fatter outer lips. There was a degree of redness—shaving rash, I assumed.
“Mother!” I exclaimed, It was the last thing my dick needed. I just got even harder.
“Well?”
“You have shaved your fanny, and now nothing is left to the imagination.”
“Goodness me, look, will you? Have I missed any hairs?”
“No, Mum, not that I can see; now put it away.”
“Well, looking at your lap, it seems to certainly have produced the desired effect.”
“As I said earlier, Mum, I am not a little boy anymore.”
“Indeed, as I can tell.”
I took a sip from my tea, my eyes still drawn to her crotch. I presumed that the shininess was the moisturiser; I hoped it was nothing more. Mum smiled as she looked at me, and then she dropped her dress, and it fell, partially covering her crotch. Although it was partially covered, I could still see the lower parts, including her fanny hole and the small crease that extended to her backside. My dick did not ease.
“Right then, Mum, tea – what do you fancy? The easy options are Chinese or Indian. I will order online and get it delivered.”
“I think I’ll have Chinese tonight, along with some wine. White with Chinese. Do you have any in?”
“Yes, Mum, I have some Pinot.”
“That will be perfect.”
After I placed the order, we had about a twenty-minute wait. I placed some plates on the dining table, some chopsticks and some forks; I am useless with chopsticks. I set out two wine glasses and a bottle of Pinot. I cracked the seal and opened the wine, pouring some into each of the glasses. The doorbell chimed; the food had arrived.
I collected the bag of food and took it to the dining table, decanting the various containers onto the table and then getting some spoons from the drawer for serving. I peeled back the plastic lids and smiled at Mother. “Bon appétit,” I said as I sat down.
We managed to get through the bottle of wine, and so I went to my cupboard and got a second, topping up Mum’s glass before my own. I had given up with the chopsticks, despite my attempt at using them giving Mum much cause for merriment. As the wine had gone down, I had to accept that it was quite funny. Nevertheless, I abandoned the sticks of ridicule and returned my attentions to Sheffield’s finest stainless steel fork.
A degree of sensibility returned, and we finally finished the last of the Chinese food. I stacked everything in either the dishwasher or the kitchen waste bin as appropriate, and we retired to the lounge, our glasses full with the last of the wine. We sat on the sofa facing the TV, but at Mum’s request, we left it turned off.
“So, you want to start dating again?” I asked Mum.
“Yes, life can become quite lonely, you know.”
“I suppose it can. What sort of man are you looking for?”
“Oh, I don’t want any complications. Young perhaps and virile; oh yes, virility is important. I am fed up with cold lonely nights.”
“Mother!” I exclaimed, not for the first time today.
“Oh, don’t be a prude, Gordon.”
“I am not sure I want to think of my mum in bed with a man who isn’t my father.”
“Are you suggesting that you used to think of me in bed with your father, you know, intimately?”
I was flabbergasted; I hadn’t expected that kind of question.
“Well, Mother, I could hear you guys, you know.”
“No, I don’t know. So, you listened to us; what did you think? How did it make you feel?”
Wine is a great tongue loosener, and it was not an exception for me. “I didn’t have to imagine; I saw you.”
“What? You saw me and Gerald having sex? Goodness, what did you see?”
“A few times, I suppose. I mean, you never shut your bedroom door. I heard noises, and I got up to investigate. The first time I wasn’t sure what I was watching; the subsequent times I was very sure.”
“Well, I suppose that must have been an education. What did you think?”
“What do you expect? I was jealous of Dad. You were the first nude woman I had seen outside of a magazine.”
“Did it turn you on, Gordon? Did you get aroused, hard?”
“Mum, can we change the subject? That was a long time ago; I was younger and inexperienced.”
“It did, didn’t it? Well, I never knew. I guess that contributed to the sticky bedding I had to wash.”
I didn’t say anything; I was embarrassed. I suppose that I hadn’t really thought about it back then; Mum must have had to deal with many a sticky sheet. I didn’t want to think about it now. My brain was just ticking over; I had wanted to wank earlier, but Mum had come down before I could, and now I would likely be wanking in my bed as Mum slept in her guest bed in the room next door. It seems the world was little different for me now that I was an adult.
We chatted a little longer, and then Mum declared that she was ready for bed. I stood up and kissed her goodnight. As Mum went upstairs, I just checked that the doors and windows were locked, the dishwasher was set, and the lights were off. I headed up to my room, turning the landing light off, and only my small bedside light remained lit, giving light to my bedroom.
I stripped and went into my ensuite and washed and then cleaned my dick, which remained resolutely hard, waiting for my ministrations. I took some tissue with me into the bedroom and placed it on my bedside. I knew it would come in handy. I slipped into bed, and as I took my dick in my hand, my bedroom door opened and Mum came in. She was nude, and her only words were “budge over” as she lifted my quilt and slipped into my bed and lay next to me.
“Mother!” I exclaimed yet again; I seemed to be doing a lot of exclaiming.
Her response was to move her hand to my crotch and grab my dick and give it a little tug.
“Oh, that feels so good, Gordon,” she said, and then her head disappeared under the covers, and I gasped as her mouth surrounded my dick. Her mouth was hot and wet, and it simply added to the hardness I was already experiencing. She began bobbing up and down on my dick, her hands gently squeezing my balls; my breath caught in my throat.
Mum moved, swivelled a little and lifted a leg and straddled me, her head at my crotch, her fanny an inch from my face. She pressed back, and my nose slipped into her crease, sliding between the folds of her fanny. Her aroma was intoxicating, her taste sublime. There was no hint of soap, only a simple femininity that aroused my senses.
My nose slid down, and I found it pressing against her nubbin. As it touched, Mum gasped and sucked a little harder on my dick. Her anus was directly in front of my eyes, a swirl of wrinkles heading to a central point. Perhaps it was her blonde hair that influenced it, but her crinkle was the same colour as the rest of her, with no darkening skin between her buttocks. My last girlfriend had been very dark there; Mum was not.
I was gasping; Mum had me on the edge. I knew that I was very close to blowing. Mum pulled back, and my dick suddenly felt cold. I had a fanny in front of me for the first time in a long time; I was not inclined to move away. My tongue pressed between her folds, and I flattened them as I moved up and down. I brought my hand up, and I circled her fanny entrance with two fingers.
I could hear Mum gasping and feel her body twitching as my tongue found her nubbin. I flicked at her nubbin, and Mum flinched with each flick. My fingers made…
