Chapter 1: The Exploration Begins

I arrived home from my first year of college to find a different mother than the one I had left the previous fall. I didn’t go home for Christmas, partly to spare the cost of flying across the country, and partly because I needed to study to help my faltering GPA. Dad’s business had become quite competitive, so convincing Dad that it would save time and therefore money if I took some courses at the local college instead of working a summer job was quite an accomplishment for my mother. Dad actually seemed pleased that I wouldn’t be helping out at the company, if not getting a summer job somewhere else. I was looking forward to a summer without work, and to thanking Mom by being helpful any way I could.

I was surprised when Mom picked me up at the airport. She looked at least five years younger with a sleeker, tanned look capped by a new hair style with more body and longer, falling to her shoulders in the ‘wet’ look that was so much in fashion. Her clothes were more fashionable too. I suspected that this, in addition to the economic arguments, was part of the package Mom used to persuade Dad to let me go to summer school.

The first two days I was back, I noticed that Mom worked hard to hone the non-economic aspects of her persuasive techniques. By the time I got up she had already completed a workout in the basement. She quickly made a protein drink in the blender while I gulped my eggs and toast down with a mug of coffee. Though sweating and flushed from her workout, she wasn’t breathing hard. She looked good but I felt a twinge of guilt taking in her trimmer physique as I chewed my food. Jeez bud, I thought. You’re looking at your Mom’s body? How creepy can you get?

But hey. With her hand on her hip as she waited impatiently for the blender to finish its work, it was hard not to admire Mom’s legs, the jut of her butt, the deep dip from her hip into her waist, and the swell of her swollen breast under the damp t-shirt. When she shook her head, her hair seemed to swish back and forth in slow motion, like a sexy woman in a deodorant commercial; except it was my mom.

Mom stared at the blender as it worked, allowing me plenty of time to soak in her new, exciting self. As she passed by me, drink in hand, she spoke a few cheery before disappearing upstairs. A few minutes later, she sauntered back through the kitchen as I rinsed my dishes in the sink. As I put the dishes in the dishwasher, I creepily looked out the open kitchen door to watch my mother walk slowly toward the pool in a very brief bikini I had never seen before. Wow!

That day, I sat in the backyard and looked at Mom a lot. Though discreet, I got the feeling she was aware of my appreciating gaze. Sure enough, I became tongue-tied when she said, “I haven’t changed that much Jason. Just a little sun and exercise.”

After several long seconds during struggling to formulate a defense, Mom bailed me out, “Come put some sunscreen on for me. I won’t bite, I’m the same old Mom.”

She held out a squeeze bottle of suntan lotion which I took, advisedly squelching my lame response. I knelt down on the grass beside the mat Mom was lying on. As soon as I grabbed the lotion, she folded her arms and laid her head on them, closing her eyes. I applied the lotion to her shoulders and then worked my way out her upper arms, pushing her hair out of the way, before skipping to her lower back below the tie for her bikini top. I can’t say I didn’t enjoy it but I was a little uncomfortable with my feelings as I rubbed my mother’s warm skin and I was about to get up when I finished her back but Mom stopped me.

“Hey,” she said without opening her eyes. “Do under the strap.”

I put a little lotion on my fingers and gingerly spread it under the bikini strap crossing Mom’s back. I felt very uncomfortable when my fingers approached the side and quit before going over the edge where I could see Mom’s breast squishing out around the edge of the tiny top. I jumped up, ready to go back to my seat.

“Whoa,” Mom said, lifting her head. “Legs,” she jerked her head back, then lowered it back onto her arms.

“Oh. Ok,” I said, sheepishly.

I knelt down beside Mom’s legs, squirted some lotion in my palm, and started applying it to the back of Mom’s calves. I must have daydreamed for awhile because Mom had to tell me to stop putting it on there and to do above her knees. Her voice startled me because when I came to my senses I realized that I had been staring at Mom’s behind. As I rubbed the lotion into the back of Mom’s thighs, I consciously noted how skimpy her bikini was. It barely covered her buttocks. I could see the start of the crevice above her bikini and the material below did little to disguise its presence. An anxious sensation spread through my abdomen and my chest felt restricted. Try as I might, I couldn’t look away from Mom’s bottom.

I didn’t quit rubbing until Mom said, “Thanks, Jason. That should be enough for the afternoon.”

I was dismissed. I struggled to my feet and walked awkwardly away, with a lump in my shorts.

I was bothered by my thoughts for the rest of the afternoon. The next day and the one after that, Mom suntanned again for a couple of hours but she didn’t ask me to do her back and legs for her. I was convinced I had given myself away and was embarrassed about it but Mom didn’t act differently toward other than not asking me to rub suntan lotion on her. I guess if she had noticed, she wasn’t too bothered by it. I started to feel glad she hadn’t asked me to put lotion on her; happy to avoid another uncomfortable situation. Sort of, anyway.

Then we had the dinner. The dinner table was graced with casual and light-hearted conversation. Everything was fine until Dad remarked, “Oh, I have to go back in tonight. Sorry, sweetheart.”

I didn’t think anything of it. Mom didn’t reply, but after she scooped as second helping of mashed potatoes, unusual for her, onto her plate. She set the bowl down sharply on the table.

“I’m sorry, honey. It can’t be helped.”

“Mmhhmm,” was Mom’s only response.

Dad started to say something more but Mom cut him off.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

The rest of the meal was eaten in silence until Dad responded to my efforts to renew our conversation. Mom didn’t join in.

After dinner, Mom left the kitchen and went to her room. Dad didn’t follow, but he called up to say goodbye before leaving. Mom didn’t come downstairs that night and I cleaned up the kitchen by myself.

The next day followed the same routine as before. I was watching Mom lying in the sun, wishing she would ask me to do her back for her, thinking it would make her feel better and, yes, I wanted to touch her again - to hell with uncomfortable feelings. The phone rang and I ran to get it. I was nervous relaying Dad’s message to Mom: He wouldn’t be home for dinner; he had to work late.

Mom didn’t raise her head or open her eyes to look at me. She just nodded, picked up the lotion and twisted her arm back toward me, holding it out in her hand. I took the bottle and dropped to my knees beside her, squirting a generous portion of lotion into my palm; it was warm in my hand. I hesitated briefly before turning my hand over and pressing my palm to Mom’s upper back. Softly, I moved my hand in a widening circle, slowly, afraid to disturb Mom’s thoughts. I felt she wanted me present for comfort but she also wanted to be alone with her thoughts.

I worked Mom’s shoulders, massaging more than rubbing the lotion in. I was consciously trying to soothe her pain, aiming for relaxation. When I moved to Mom’s lower back, I spread the lotion out from the shallow groove of her spine, down to the two large dimples on either side just above the rising swell of her buttocks. Mom’s skin rippled before the edge of my hands as I pushed outward, over the dimples and onto the fleshiness of her hips before twisting up to curl around her waist.

Finally, I finished and lifted my hands from Mom’s back but she reached behind herself with both hands and tugged on the tied bow of her bikini, pulling the straps away and laying them on the mat beside her. I stared at Mom’s bare back with the faint mark where the strap had been. The strap removed, her back seemed so much longer, and elegant. I squirted a few drops of lotion across the mark and rubbed it in.

I should have been done then but instead I placed my hands flat on Mom’s back and spread them out to the sides, just as I’d done with her lower back. I pushed until my hands fell over the edge, but this time they didn’t scrape over Mom’s waist, they pushed onto the fatty swells squishing out from her sides. Quickly, I pulled my hands away to avoid a rebuke, as if it was an accident, and returned to Mom’s back. A moment later, I started on her legs.

As I rubbed the lotion into Mom’s legs in long, loving strokes, I noticed that she was crying. It was so soft, I wouldn’t have known if I couldn’t feel the tremors in her legs. I hated my father at that moment, but not as much as I did on Saturday when he was called into work again.

Some time after Dad left, I went to the store to pick some things up for Mom. I drove past Dad’s work. Strangely, his car wasn’t there. Great, I thought. He’s gone home already. But his car wasn’t there when I got home. What is going on?

Mom was lying on the mat in the sun when I got home. Her bikini top was already undone. I put the groceries away and walked out to join her. She didn’t need to ask. I picked up the lotion and started rubbing it into her back right away. I took a long time but there was no sobbing this time. I let my hands stray over the fleshy part of her squished out boobs several times. Twice, I stroked over them from below as my fingers rubbed up Mom’s sides.

When I finished, I stayed by Mom’s side. I didn’t talk but she knew I was still there. After a while, I put the tip of my index finger between her shoulder blades and slowly dragged it down, following the course of her spine to the base of her back. Then, I traced a random, wandering path back up Mom’s back.

“Let’s go on a little trip,” I said. “We’ll explore the world, looking here and there, searching every nook and corner, until we find our own special way. Let your mind go and follow the Pathfinder.”

Mom chuckled. It was a wonderful sound. I couldn’t count the hours, when I was little, that Mom tickled my back until I fell asleep, delicately tracing the tip of her finger around and around, over my back, down my arms and legs, until I drifted into sleep. Follow the Pathfinder, she would whisper softly in my ear, and pocket all the treasures you find until you find a safe place to sleep.

A huge surge of goodness welled up inside me when Mom sighed out loud and wiggled her shoulders to get into a more comfortable position as my finger trailed over her back and across her shoulders. She was settling in for a long session, knowing how much payback she was owed. I readied myself for a Herculean effort.

Mom unfolded her arms and stretched them out beside her when my finger left her back to trace their lines. I was startled because she seemed to be asleep, a demeanor she resumed when my finger traveled up and down her upper arm, then across her neck and shoulder to do the other arm. Again, and again.

Mom’s breathing was very shallow when my finger made its way past her elbow and up the inside of her upper arm, a scant inch from her boob which had squished farther out after she stretched her arms out. This time, instead of crossing over to the other arm, I curved my finger down to trace the edge of Mom’s back, past her squashed breast and along her waist to her hip. On the return trip, I allowed my finger to trace a line lower down, almost to the front of Mom’s waist, and then quickly over the fleshy swell before swooping up to her shoulder and onto her arm again.

My breath caught as fear welled up inside me, bracing for an adverse action from Mom. Why did you do that? I admonished myself. What are you thinking?

Down Mom’s arm and across again to do the other arm but still no reaction from Mom, so I traced a line down her waist, this time on the side nearest to me. Again, on the return trip, I let my finger run over the swell of her breast, my breath catching in my throat as I quickly continued around on Mom’s back. It wasn’t long before Mom’s docile demeanor encouraged my errant finger to once again rub over her womanly swell. A few minutes later, it dawned on me that my finger was enjoying this path too often to keep getting away with it so I lifted my hand completely away. Mom issued a discontented groan so I dropped my hand onto the back of her leg and scribed a trail down toward her knee.

“Fingertips,” Mom mumbled. “Tread lightly, the Pathfinder says,” she said, recalling more memories of the calming platitudes she once whispered in my ear as I fell asleep under the magic of her finger, my Pathfinder.

I lifted my fingers, leaving just the tip of my index finger touching the back of her thigh. For a long time, my finger trailed up and down Mom’s legs and even onto her feet. Mom giggled quietly every time my finger dragged down the length of her sole and I felt good, knowing I was making her feel better, helping her forget Dad’s absence. I loved the soft, springy feel of her calves. Eventually, I moved up past Mom’s knees to casually drag my finger up and down the back of her thighs while I stared at the flattened sides of her breasts. My strokes had become shorter as my mind wandered and my hand lazily drooped into the crevice formed by the press of her legs.

Once, when Mom reacted to a particularly sensitive stroke, my hand fell, striking the mat between her opened legs. I quickly recovered, yanking my hand back up onto Mom’s thigh but my attention was now focused on her legs, which remained parted, and I realized with a zing through my groin that I had been missing an even better sight than the side of her breast. Mom’s bikini bottoms. They were smaller than any panties she was likely to wear, small enough that she never wore it anywhere but in our backyard.

Looking down, I realized how little of Mom’s ass her suit actually covered, and also how well the flimsy material clung to the contours of her butt. I could even make out a different puffy formation in the arch between her legs. That shot a real zing through me. The maternal pussy!

Just then, Mom wiggled her hips and I realized my hand had fallen between her legs again and was lying dormant on the mat. With a start, I put it back in motion and Mom sighed her approval. I traced a circle around the back of each thigh, cautiously letting my finger run a deeper line along the inside of Mom’s thighs, venturing close to the V in her legs, but not too close.

After a long while of this, I dug my finger in a little as I changed direction at the top of Mom’s leg, tugging her skin away from her bikini bottom. Fascinated by the intriguing gap that momentarily appeared each time, I didn’t notice the new odor in the air for several minutes. When I caught the first whiff, I looked around but couldn’t locate a likely source nearby. I lowered my head again until my face was just above my wicked finger. Ah ha. The smell was emanating from the conjunction of Mom’s legs. Was she was creaming her pants?

Despite intense scrutiny, I couldn’t see any visible evidence to confirm my olfactory hypothesis. I pressed harder, intensifying the pull of my finger which I was sure had produced this intoxicating new scent, but I still couldn’t see anything. My face was so close to Mom’s butt that she almost hit me when she suddenly twisted her hip away from the matt to get up onto her side. I jerked back, my face reddening, knowing my face had no business being where it was.

“That was great, Jason. Very relaxing.” A confused expression flitted across Mom’s face as she noted my proximity to her behind but quickly disappeared as she noted my embarrassment.

“No sweat, Mom. Anytime,” I blurted, trying to recover my composure but hampered by the sight of Mom trying to hold her bikini top over breasts with one hand while she used the other to take her weight as she swung on it to help herself up. I rose to my feet ahead of her, extending my hand to help Mom up.

“You can say that again. I put a lot of years into your back you have to make up for,” Mom laughed.

Mom reached to take my hand but lost her balance and quickly dropped her other hand behind to break her fall as she swung back the other way. Her smiling face slowly changed to shock as she watched her bikini top fall across her waist. Following my awed gaze, she looked down at her bare breasts, splayed one to each side, bouncing on her chest, nipples firm and strong.

“Ohhhh,” she cried, unable to cover her jubilant jugs with both hands busy behind her supporting her weight.

I reached down into Mom’s lap and grabbed her top. Mom grasped my proffered hand and let me pull her to her feet.

“That was a nasty surprise,” Mom laughed nervously, trying to make light of the situation as soon as she was on her feet.

Mom took the top from my hand and stretched it underneath her breasts, lifting and making minor sideways adjustments so the cups fit properly, in no apparent hurry to cover the tops. Mom’s breasts were sexier than I could have imagined. Despite being the full breasts of a mature woman, they were quite jaunty, and capped by a perky set of cheeky nipples.

“Darn. This thing’s so finicky,” Mom complained, flustered and laughing nervously again as she struggled with the top, unable to find the perfect fit she was seeking. “Close your eyes, Jason” Mom ordered.

“Take your time Mom,” I cheekily suggested, closing my eyes but not all the way, leaving a narrow slit to peek through, as I did when Mom played hide’n’seek with me as a child. I watched intently as she adjusted her tits in the bikini cups. Her breast were in full display right in front of me, nipples standing firm and proud. For some reason, I was no longer embarrassed, perhaps because Mom was.

“Jason!” Mom sounded miffed but she was still laughing. Finally, she pulled the top up, covering her sexy nipples and slid the straps behind her back to tie them together.

“You peeked,” Mom scolded me lightheartedly as she tied her top, her breasts thrust hard forward, nipples prominently outlined. “You brat.”

I followed Mom into the kitchen, admiring the way her cheeks took turns moving up and down, instinctively understanding why that motion could mesmerize any man, something few women could comprehend.

“Oh my. Look at the time. I’m late for Jenny’s tea.”

Mom rushed upstairs. I poured myself a cold drink and waited for my erection to subside. Thank god Mom hadn’t noticed that, and thank god I hadn’t thought about it or I may have looked down and given myself away. Thinking about what had just happened didn’t allow my erection to go away. Twenty minutes passed, and still no Mom. I called upstairs.

“Mom?”

I walked to the bottom of the stairs.

“Mom?” No answer.

I walked up the stairs, calling again. Still no answer. Her door was ajar and I called, more quietly, as I pushed it slowly open, more to let her know I was coming so she warn me away if she wasn’t decent.

Mom was lying face down on her bed. The bikini was on the floor and a white blouse and bra were draped over the pillow beside Mom’s head. She was wearing a dark skirt and stockings but her back was bare.

“Mom?” I whispered. “Mom?”

There was no answer.

“You’ll be late for Jenny’s tea,” I said.

Mom rose up on her elbows and twisted around to face me. Her eyes were red and her cheeks wet.

“Can call her for me, please, and tell her I don’t feel well?”

Mom flopped down again, but not before I saw her left breast, the whole thing, hanging free.

“Sure Mom.” I turned away to make the call.

“And then come back and tell me if she sounded upset,” Mom’s added, her voice muffled by the pillow.

After I called Mom’s friend, I crept quietly into her room. I was just about to turn away, sure Mom was sleeping, when she asked, “What did she say?”

“She was worried about you but I told her it wasn’t anything serious, just one of those woman things.”

“You what?” Mom rose up again and turned to look at me, aghast. “You didn’t,” she added, laughing.

I laughed back, shrugged, and stretched my hands out to my sides. Mom didn’t seem to realize that her tit was hanging free.