I started wanting my Mom just after my 18th birthday in my last year of high school. It happened when I became acutely aware of her legs while watching TV. I was sitting on the floor, leaning back on the couch with my legs stretched in front of me under the coffee table. Mom was sitting on the couch at the end closest to where Dad was reading in his Lazyboy. He did this every night and usually dozed off until Mom woke him and sent him up to bed. She would usually go up with him and change into her nightgown and housecoat before returning to watch a late movie and drink a little wine.

Our living room has two Lazyboy chairs with a love seat in between against the end wall of the house. My Dad sits in the one by the front window facing the TV, even though he rarely watches it. I’m relegated to the lazy boy in the corner but you can’t see the TV from there so I often sit on the floor in front of my Mom because she likes to stretch her legs out along the sofa. For some reason, no one ever sits on the couch along the front window.

Mom was wearing a loose pleated skirt, the type she favored, when she swung her legs over and put her feet on the edge of the coffee table beside my head. After a few minutes, she started fidgeting around.

“Where’s the remote Tommy? My show’s almost on.”

“You had it. It’s not on the table.”

“Well, can you look for it? I’ve got the cat on my lap. Maybe it dropped on the floor.”

“I don’t see it,” I said, turning around to see if it was beside her on the sofa. It’s a good thing neither she or Dad could see me because I turned to look right up her skirt, straight at the back of her thighs, and I could see the bottom of her pale blue panties. I just stared, loving the ‘S’ curve of her leg as it dropped from just above her knees and thickened into her thighs. Her skin seemed so soft. Looking at the underside of a woman’s thighs is still something I find intoxicating to this day.

“Well, can you see it?” she said, jolting me back into reality. “Umm, no, just a minute,” I said, and made like I was looking around but all the time I was staring up her skirt. Then I spotted the remote; it had fallen on the floor in front of her.

“Oh, there it is,” I said, “It’s under your skirt.” I have no idea why I said that, but I picked the remote up from the floor and snuck it under her legs, being careful not to touch her so she wouldn’t realize that I had put it there. Belatedly, I glanced at my Dad, to make sure he hadn’t seen me. He wasn’t paying any attention to us at all.

“How did it get there?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, can you give it to me?” she asked. I’m not sure why she didn’t just reach around and get it herself, but she didn’t. So I reached in and picked it up. I didn’t need to but I purposely let the remote touch her, stroking up the bottom of her leg. She flinched slightly but didn’t say anything. I handed the remote to her and turned back to my book. She reached down, tousled my hair and said, “Thanks sweetie.”

I didn’t say anything, but I casually reached up with my right hand and patted the inside of her left ankle in acknowledgement, and then just held onto it for a moment before rubbing it back and forth a few times, just a few inches. I was about to drop my hand, a little startled by what I’d done, when she spoke.

“That’s nice, Tommy,” she said as she switched the TV to her show and settled back to watch it. I put my book on the table and said I’d watch the show with her. I kept stroking the inside of her calf. “That’s nice, dear,” she said again. I stroked her leg the whole time the show was on. She didn’t say anything further or react in any other way, but she didn’t come back down to watch a movie that night.

When her show was on again two nights later, I sat in the same place. She sat in her usual place too, but she kept her legs on the couch to her side, behind me. I was really disappointed and afraid that she was mad at me for touching her leg the night before. But when the time came, she said “Oh, my show’s on,” swung her legs over and planted her feet on the table beside my head. After a few minutes I raised my hand and tentatively put it on her leg, rubbed it ever so gently and, like the previous night, she said, “That’s nice, dear.”

“What?” my Dad said, raising his eyes from his book. “Nothing dear,” Mom replied and Dad quickly returned to his story.

I continued rubbing her leg, very slowly and gently. I was very pleased. By the end of the show, I had worked up to long, slow strokes from the bottom of her foot to her knee, back and forth, stopping to gently rub my thumb in a circular motion each time I got to the underside of her knee. Mom’s legs parted as she let her left leg lean toward me. Once, Dad dropped his book in his lap and his head fell back in his chair. It startled Mom and she quickly pulled her leg back and I let my hand drop to my side. But her leg came back when he dozed off and I started stroking it again, and even started kneading her calf. Now I knew that Mom was letting me do something that she didn’t think Dad would approve of. This made me quite excited and I got very hard.

After her show was over, Mom didn’t wake Dad and I continued stroking her leg for another ten minutes until she finally woke him. I grabbed the remote and said I’d see if there were any good movies on since it was Thursday night. Mom said, “I don’t know, I’m a little tired tonight.”

Bummer! I thought she was enjoying our little game. I found a chick flick to put on anyway in case she did come down, one was about a family whose kid got sick and died. A real tear jerker. I waited but she didn’t come. I was about to give up and go beat my meat when I heard her come downstairs and go into the kitchen. I called out that there was a good movie on. She came in the living room with a glass of wine in her hand, walked over in her housecoat and sat down where she had been. “Why don’t you sit up on the couch or in your Dad’s chair, Tommy? That can’t be comfortable down there.”

“No, I like it here,” I insisted. We watched the movie for about fifteen minutes before she put her feet back on the table beside me. I didn’t wait; I immediately started stroking her leg. When the first commercial came on, she asked me to get the bottle of wine from the kitchen. As she refilled her glass, I sat down and pulled her leg over to me, parting her thighs, almost with a sense of ownership. She didn’t object. By the time she poured her third glass of wine, I had let my hand stray up above her knee to the soft under skin of her thigh. I was in heaven. She let me continue until my fingers got close to her pussy. Then she stirred uncomfortably so I quickly withdrew before she openly voiced an objection.

“Let me sit in between, Mom, so I can massage your other leg. It’s probably tense too,” I said, providing an innocent excuse for my ministrations.

“I don’t know, Tommy.”

“It’ll feel good, Mom.”

I ducked under and pulled her legs over my shoulders. She accepted the move and settled back to watch the movie. I started stroking both legs, and didn’t move higher for quite a while. When I did I found it very awkward to get my hands high enough, and eventually swung my head back under to my former position but continued stroking both legs, turning half toward her to reach. This allowed me to watch what I was doing, and made me get very excited. Mom eventually noticed I wasn’t watching the movie anymore and started to close her legs. I gently but firmly pushed them back open, wider than they had been, and started shorter strokes, just on the inside of her thighs now, getting close to her pussy.

“You’re being a bad boy, Tommy. What do you think your father would do if he saw you?”

“He never pays attention to your legs, and they deserve it. You’re really pretty, Mom. I don’t know why Dad ignores you so much.”

“He works very hard, and he gets tired.”

“Well, I like looking at you. I don’t see anything wrong with that.”

“I suppose so. But don’t go too far, and don’t let your father notice. If he sees you looking like that, this will stop. Understand?”

“OK. I won’t Mom”. She laid back in the couch, ignoring the movie, which was ending anyway, and closed her eyes. I moved my hand straight up and started stroking in the hollow of her thighs at the top of her legs, right next to her pussy.

“You’re incorrigible,” she said, but she let me do it.

I didn’t go any farther, afraid to lose this intimate gift. I didn’t venture to touch her pussy, but she let me stroke all around it. I was almost scratching, tugging the skin away from her pussy. And that’s how I kept touching her until she went up to bed. It seemed to me she was walking unsteadily.

The next night I was late getting home and Mom had already started watching her show. Dad was reading some papers from work, and was rustling around. Mom looked annoyed with him. She was already in her night clothes. The robe was undone and the silky material of her nightgown nestled revealingly over her small tits. I could plainly see her nipples through the thin material.

“Come and watch my show with me, sweetheart. Your Dad’s working again,” she said in a definitely put-out tone of voice. He didn’t react at all.

“Just a minute,” I said, and retrieved a small comforter from the hall closet. “Here Mom,” I said, spreading the blanket over her legs, “It’s a bit chilly, tonight.” She gave me a funny look as I sat on the floor before her. She raised her feet and planted them on the table, and as I turned toward her I could see that the blanket blocked Dad’s view of me. I reached up under the blanket and ran my hand up the underside of her closed thighs a few times, and then pulled her legs apart. Then I sat back and started to watch the show, stroking my right hand up the inside of her left leg, crossing at the knee, and then down the inside of her right leg, then returning to repeat the whole process.

At some point, not on purpose, I started the crossover at the top of her thighs rather than at her knee. When I realized what I was doing, I couldn’t help but start edging my hand closer and closer to her pussy. Eventually, when I crossed my hand over, I brushed my knuckles across the front of her panties, ever so lightly. She reached down and grabbed my hair, and then relaxed. I wasn’t sure if this was a good or a bad sign, so I did it again on the way back. She clenched my hair tightly, and hissed, “Tommy!”

So I didn’t do it again for a couple of minutes but then, defiantly, I did it again. She immediately clenched my hair again, but she didn’t say anything. So I did it again every third pass and, when she didn’t object, every second, and soon, every time. Soon I was dragging my fingers across her pussy, instead of lightly brushing it, and lingering every few passes. Then I just kept the backs of my fingers on her pussy, rocking my knuckles in it, kneading her mound. I arched my big finger and pressed the knuckle into her panties as far as I could, in the crevice of her cunt. She kept clutching my hair, her grip pulsing in a quickening pace. It dawned on me that my mother was starting to orgasm. An incredible feeling washed over me. I quickened my pace hoping to make her come. It wasn’t long before she gripped my hair hard, almost pulling my hair out, and closed her legs tightly on my hand, making it wet from her soaked panties. She collapsed back, and then quickly looked over at my Dad, who was oblivious to it all.

Then she looked down at me sitting at her feet. I thought she might be really furious, but she wasn’t. Her face was flushed, and she had an odd look on her face. We had just shared a very erotic experience, my first, with someone else sitting right next to us who didn’t even know it had happened. It was a special thing just between us. I liked the feeling and the way she was looking at me. Afraid it might end, I felt I needed to keep control. I had pulled my hand away when she came and glanced at my Dad. Now, I slipped my left hand back between her legs, pushed it right up and cupped her pussy, possessively. I leaned my head down on the couch beside her blanket-covered legs and whispered, very quietly, mouthing the words clearly, “Show ... me ... your ... tits.”

She shook her head, slowly, from side to side, “No.”

“Yes.”... “No.” ... Yes!”... “no.”... “YEESSS!”

No response.

“Go ... to ... the ... kitchen.”

Incredibly, she got up and walked to the kitchen. “I’m getting some wine. Did you want some tea, Harold?”

Dad of course, didn’t answer but I got up, “I’ll make us a snack, Mom,” and followed her out of my father’s sight. When I got to the kitchen she was leaning back against the counter. She didn’t move to put the kettle on. Her robe was open and a damp spot was evident over her crotch. I moved directly to her and started pulling the laces apart that kept her nightgown closed over her chest.

“There’s nothing there to look at,” she said in a hoarse and excited voice.

She had to be kidding. So many women think guys are gaga for big tits. Hers were fantastic little pears with a little sag and long, very erect nipples riding high and poking up. I closed my hand around each tit and circled each nipple between thumb and forefinger, gently tugging them up with a slight squeeze.

“Stop it Tommy. That’s enough! Your father could walk in any minute. Now quit it,” she said, pushing me away. I lost hold of her tits, but she didn’t close her nightie, and I kept looking. Her nipples were really hard, and stood way up.

“OK, Mom but I still want to look at you. You’re beautiful and it makes me feel really good,” I said, trying to salvage something.

There was a long pause. “It’s not right.”

“C’mon Mom. I love you.” I leaned in and kissed her on her forehead, then her cheeks and up to her eyes. “I love you, Mom. C’mon.”

“Well, maybe. We’ll see. But not too far, not like tonight. Now be a sweetie and put the kettle on before your Dad gets up.” She closed her robe and cinched the belt around her.

I’d won. I’d kept her from freaking out and cutting me off completely.

However, Mom wouldn’t put her feet on the table after that if I was sitting on the floor in front of her and nothing else happened for two weeks. But she still tousled my hair whenever she walked by me, and she hugged me a lot, as if she needed to re-establish our mother/son relationship. I didn’t try to grope her or anything. And she began to relax, letting me hug her longer and longer, even kiss her neck. Once I pulled up and quickly kissed her on her lips. She tensed up but let it pass. I took this as tacit permission and started kissing her on her mouth every time we hugged, briefly at first, but eventually I was enjoying long kisses. I never tried to put my tongue in her mouth or anything but I worked her lips as much as I could, and she seemed to enjoy it. She also liked being nibbled in the hollow of her neck. I loved it. What a fantastic game.

If I moved in small steps, I realized I could keep pushing the envelope. I praised her whenever she wore something that showed her figure or made her secret parts more available. It wasn’t long before she almost always wore sleeveless blouses or dresses. She had wonderful arms, soft, neither fat nor too muscled. And skirts or dresses that showed her bare legs were great. I hated nylons, pantyhose, and pants. I preferred loose skirts or dresses that fell just above the knee, that swirled about her legs, and that could fall high up her thighs if she was in a mood to tease me with the odd peek, like when she’d tuck her feet up to her bottom when reading a book on the sofa, or doing her toenails when I was nearby. Once, she even asked me to paint her nails for her. As long as I’d been good, she’d treat me. I was constantly aware of her, and I think she liked it.

Seven weeks after making my Mom come she hadn’t let me see or touch her tits, or rub her legs or pussy again. But I was regularly kissing her several times a day and she’d let me brush her breasts outside her blouse and sometimes slide my hands down onto her ass, as long as I didn’t linger. Sometimes she’d get lost in what we were doing and I would take advantage, tipping her head back as I worked her lips, or grinding my boner into her. Oh, yes, she had started letting me do that a little over a week ago. But she would only let me do anything if my Dad was in the house, or would be home within a few minutes. It was almost as if she was relying on his presence or imminent arrival to keep me in check. It was time to start pushing harder.

One night, I came down from the shower in my running shorts, drying my hair with a towel. She was watching TV but seemed bored, flipping the channels. I bounced down on the couch at the opposite end and said, “Why don’t you read instead of watching TV, Mom? You watch it too much.”

“I know, but I don’t have anything good to read.”

“I’ve got a book you might like. Try this.” I tossed her a book.

“Oh” she said. “What’s it about? Running?” She swung her feet up and stretched them out toward me.

“Have a look,” I said, taking her bare feet and pushing them back toward her so her knees were bent high in my favorite position letting me see the backs of her thighs. She gave me an exasperated little look as if to say, ‘OK a little bit naughty, but keep it reigned in’. Perhaps she felt safe because I was up on couch, not partly out of sight on the floor, and the pleated skirt she had on was long, sweeping almost down to her ankles.

I held onto to her feet as she started to read the book I had handed her. I could see her surprised expression as she read the story line on the back cover. It wasn’t quite the romantic, chick book it appeared to be at first glance. It was a little different. It was a romantic story about a mother and son. She glanced at me again, reproachfully, but started to read. A few minutes later, while she was engrossed, I gently pulled her feet apart a little, pushed mine between and spread her legs wide, affording me a open view under her skirt. She gave me another reproachful glance but quickly turned back to the book. I was thrilled. I was being allowed to play again.

I slid my bare feet forward until they rested at the bottom of Mom’s thighs where they widened out to form the cheeks of her ass. She didn’t react. I applied very slight outward pressure to put a strain on her pussy lips, hopefully stretching them apart under her panties. Subtly, I moved my feet slowly in and apart. Eventually, I could tell she had come to the first seduction scene, where the son starts to casually expose his cock to his mother. He did this when his father was in the same room, much as I had fondled her pussy with my Dad sitting in the next chair. Her breathing shortened. I slipped my right foot down and to the left, firmly pressing it directly onto her pussy. I held her feet so she couldn’t pull them away but she didn’t even try. If anything, I think I felt her push her cunt against my foot and even rub against my sole. Soon she was definitely rubbing against my foot while I struggled to get the toes of my left foot under the leg of her panties. I finally managed to get it in and pushed my big toe into her cunt lips. I couldn’t move much but I managed to wiggle my toe around in the crevice of her pussy. Before long I felt her legs tighten. Her fluid washed over my foot and she sagged back into the couch.

When she moved to look at me past her leg, her eyes widened. She looked quickly over her shoulder at Dad. Hidden from Dad behind her raised knees, I had pulled my cock out of my shorts. Her expression turned angry but she looked back at my cock. I looked her in the eye, and slowly moved it around for her. “Go to the kitchen,” I mouthed. “No way,” she emphatically mouthed back.

My Dad started to stir so I quickly stuffed my cock back in my shorts and pulled my legs back. Mom pushed her skirt down to her ankles. I sprang up and grabbed the book. “I’ll let you read it after if you’re interested, Mom.” I wanted to control her access to that book.

There was no way I was going to wait another seven weeks before touching her. The very next day, at breakfast, I made my move. My father was reading the newspaper and when she brought some juice to the table, standing beside me while filling glasses, I put my right hand behind her and grasped the inside of her left thigh. She was startled, but didn’t move away and Dad didn’t notice. That was all I was going to do, but then I starting bunching her dress up in my hand until I could reach under the hem and slide my hand up to her ass, sliding my fingers between her legs, reaching for her pussy. She finished pouring my glass without spilling a drop and then, amazingly, she leaned forward across the table and started to pour Dad’s, but very slowly. I quickly took advantage, rubbing my fingers back and forth under her pussy and ass. When she straightened up I reached up and dragged her panties down over her ass, enough for me to slip my hand inside and down to touch her bare pussy. I pressed my thumb between her ass cheeks.

Dad looked up. I froze, but he couldn’t see what I was doing. Mom remained calm. “Would you like some coffee too Harold?” He nodded and went back to his paper. She went and retrieved the coffee pot, and leaned right into me when she came back to the table. I slipped my hand back under her dress and quickly regained my position under her ass. Her panties were far lower on her legs giving me free and open access to her pussy. Had she scrunched them down while getting the coffee?

She was wet. I pushed two fingers in her cunt while she fiddled with the coffee pot, and ground my knuckles in a twisting motion several times before she leaned forward to pour my Dad’s coffee. I pressed my thumb against her little rosebud and tried to push it in. She jumped a little, spilling the coffee and quickly walked away to the sink. My breakfast adventure was over.

I tried to act sick and stay home but she insisted that Dad give me a ride to school. I could hardly wait to get home. She wasn’t there but she’d clearly been looking through my room for the book. She didn’t come home until after Dad arrived. He went to his chair to watch the news and I headed straight for the kitchen to hang with Mom while she made dinner. But she wouldn’t let me near her.

I retreated to my room, put my pajamas on and returned to the kitchen with the book in hand. Mom had dinner under control and was just waiting for things to cook. I sat down at the kitchen table and started to read the book, at the part where the son first took his Mom in the kitchen while his Dad was watching a football game. When she saw what I was reading, she came over and looked over my shoulder, reading along. I pushed the book further out into the middle of the table, and she leaned forward to read it. I pushed my chair back, reached over, and pulled her so she was standing in front of my chair.