MY MOTHER SUSAN
I remember the day exquisitely well. The days – no the months and
years before it – are wrapped in some soft-focus, cotton-candy memory,
but that day snaps into sharp focus with a clarity that is the result of
moments of great impact long remembered. For all those years, my mother
was my Mom. Then one day she became a woman. More importantly, she
suddenly became a sexy woman. An extremely desirable woman.
I didn’t – that day at any rate – suddenly become a profligate. It
was to take a certain determinism and some considerable time before I
might aspire to that description. No, the severest criticism one could bring
to bear back then might be that I was a horny kid, one who appeared to be
a touch more aware than his peers and maybe too curious for his own
good.
I was home alone with my mother and my father was away. That
was the case a good bit of the time it seemed. I had a father, but we didn’t
know each other very well. On some level, I’d come to accept his absence,
for that’s the way it was. I suspect my mother, who didn’t complain, was
experiencing less acceptance.
I’d been coerced into wearing a sport jacket that day – in place of
my usual, more casual attire – and attending some ho-hum, boring cocktail
party at the university president’s home. I don’t recall the strong-arm
tactics that brought me to bay, but I do recall the suffering. It seemed like
endless hours of mindless chatter where everyone but me got to have
champaign or white wine. Oh, it wasn’t forbidden, but my mother had
made it clear that she was going to have “some wine” and I was the
designated driver. We both knew that champaign had more effect on my
mother than it appeared at first glance. If she didn’t try to walk, or drive,
she did quite well, at least at holding a conversation. However, those who
knew her well were aware of a characteristic scattered thought process, a
type of clang association which, when coupled with an alcoholic gaiety,
turned her into a different woman. Almost daring and perhaps borderline
loose.
Anyway, we’d returned home in the late afternoon from that well-
supplied party and we’d both fallen into facing couches in our large living
room, each of us with a welcome sigh as we put our feet up. That’s when
it happened. I don’t recall that anything had occurred to set me up for this;
it just came out of nowhere. Blind sided as it were. Out of nowhere, this
sexy woman appeared!
The late afternoon sun shone toward my mother while I sat
opposite her in deeper shadow. She’d drawn up her knees to push her
pumps off and suddenly I was looking directly up her dress at a well-lit and
unobstructed view of my mother’s thighs all the way to her undergarments.
It was no flash, for she’d placed both stockinged feet on the coffee table,
knees still up and fallen back to the cushions, head up and eyes closed with
her skirt around her mid thighs in the front and completely dropped away in
the rear.
“Oh, that feels so good.” she exclaimed, wriggling her stocking-
clad toes. “Christ, I wish I could meet someone interesting at those
parties, someone with some life in them!”
It was the type of comment that needed no reply. I suspect that I
couldn’t have replied coherently in any case, for my attention was riveted
on the view under her dress.
Even though I’d lived with this woman all my life, I suppose I had
had no interest and no awareness of her as a *woman* and even less for
her clothes. After all, she was my mother for crying out loud. So, it was
with some surprise that I realized for the very first time that she wore
stockings and garters and not what I thought all women wore, pantyhose.
I was fascinated with the stretch of her hose by the garters running down
each thigh. But her panties held even greater fascination for me.
I don’t think that I’d given it any previous thought, but had I been
grilled on what type of underwear my mother wore, I might have guessed
something white, conservative, and certainly thick. Clearly not what she
had on. Illuminated by the long rays of the afternoon sun, the pale yellow
of her panties, pooched out by a thick cushion of pubic hair faintly seen
…End of the part1. To be continued..