At the time of this narrative I was finishing my first year of a Master of Fine Arts degree at a university in the northeast. I was living with my mother, Connie, who while I was in college had divorced my father because of his philandering. When I asked mom if I could stay at her place while in graduate school, she was delighted by the idea. While she’s a strong and self-reliant woman, it still gave her tremendous peace of mind to have a man around the house.
I was specializing in photography and for the first-year capstone project we were to submit a portfolio of photographs in a sub-genre of our choosing. I would then write a paper on my subject to go along with the portfolio. Despite my experience, a bit of what could be called photographer’s block was giving me trouble as I tried to come up with something original.
One early spring day I was walking in the commercial district near our house when I passed a photography shop that had some samples in the window. I stopped, drawn to a particular portrait of a striking older woman. She was the epitome of elegant beauty, with long, straight platinum hair and a figure that could still attract the longing gaze of a young man at least half her age. It was then that I had the idea of centering my portfolio theme on photos of mom, every bit as tasteful as the one before me.
The block was gone as I envisioned photos of mom elegantly dressed – which she does naturally – and in various settings, like the local park as spring is blooming, or next to a shelf full of books. In her early fifties, mom is still a very attractive woman with an enviable figure and expressive face. The artistic possibilities seemed to effortlessly unfold in front of me as I walked home.
Once there, I began making notes about what settings, wardrobe, and photographic modalities I wished to use. Being on the demure side, I thought she would be hesitant to do it, but I believed I could win her over with the artistic arguments.
I was pleasantly surprised by mom’s reaction. At first she thought I was just asking for her help in setting up my equipment and for advice on setting, but she blushed with embarrassment when I told her what I had in mind. Nevertheless, she was eager to help. As I provided more details, mom grew visibly more enthusiastic. Although a very proper and modest lady, she enjoyed the prospect of being the center of attention, if only for a short time.
The first day’s shooting was short. Mostly it involved the usual period of both photographer and subject getting used to one another, and in the subject’s case, losing her self-consciousness as the camera clicked away. With my subjects, too, I like to have a conversation with them as we’re getting underway so that everything feels natural and unaffected, which helps the subject feel natural and unaffected. In this case, I already knew a lot about mom, but I endeavored to get her talking about herself, which embarrassed her at first, but as with my other subjects she quickly grew comfortable, followed my directions without question, and before long hardly noticed the camera snapping away.
I considered the shoot a success and that evening as I viewed the day’s work, I was very pleased with the result. Mom was an excellent subject. I spent some time upstairs in my room working with the images, changing them to sepia or black and white, softening the focus, and generally trying to get them in the shape I thought best for the project.
While doing this I experienced a strange new sensation. I was starting to see mom not as my mother, but as a very attractive woman. It was a disquieting combination of guilt and excitement as I noticed her physical attributes: her pleasant smile, how tastefully she dresses, and most of all, her still eye-catching figure.
This wasn’t supposed to happen!
Granted it had been a while since my last girlfriend, but this was my mother I was admiring. Maybe I should put a stop to our photo sessions. But how could I gracefully do that since mom was nice enough to help me with my project? And she said she was looking forward to more sessions. Truth be told I think she liked the attention, but I was still of a mind to be very careful. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt her feelings or, even worse, make her think I’m some kind of pervert.
The next session was a few days later and I think my nervousness showed. Mom asked if something was bothering me, but I replied no as casually as possible. It might have been my imagination, but through the lens it looked like mom was being more flirtatious than she had before, almost as if she were trying to tease me a little as we worked.
At one point, sitting next to the picture window in the living room, I got the impression mom was showing more leg than might be considered proper under the circumstances. She gave every appearance of enjoying herself. I wondered if she might have an exhibitionist streak underneath that proper demeanor.
That night, while going grandbetting yeni giriş through the day’s shots, I found myself once again getting aroused to the point that I decided to dive into the deep end and get myself off thinking about mom. It wasn’t easy at first, but as I abandoned myself to my twisted fantasies I had an amazing orgasm. In fact, I forgot where I was and let out a couple of moans that I feared might carry to the other end of the hall where I hoped mom was soundly sleeping.
It occurred to me afterward that since I had gone that far I could return to normal and think no more about it, but try as I might I couldn’t get it out of my mind. And I couldn’t sleep so I pulled out my Kindle and started doing some research on consensual adult incest.
It was difficult to discern fact from fiction (I suspected mostly the latter), but discovering the sheer volume in terms of just fiction and role-play, it seemed to me that this was not just something cooked up in the dark unseen depths of my psyche. If nothing else, getting off privately should allow me to focus more on the work than on my lecherous thoughts. At least, I hoped.
For the rest of the week things were pretty normal around the house. I was dealing with other school projects and mom was working. Even so, I sensed a change in her behavior toward me. She was more affectionate than usual. It wasn’t anything overtly sexual; at least I didn’t want to think it was sexual. There were more hugs, more shoulder rubs, or playfully running a hand through my hair, or touching my arm when I made her laugh. I grew worried that my mind had taken up permanent residence in the Freudian part of town.
And in the privacy of my room I continued to study the photographs of mom and imagining how much fun it would be to see her naked. I should have been ashamed, but I wasn’t. That was the kicker. The more I read online about this phenomenon the more fascinated I became. Surely it was all about the taste of forbidden fruit.
The following Monday afternoon we shot in the park near the house. It was a chilly day so mom was dressed for the weather, and even then she looked very attractive. She wore a baggy sweater, jeans, and a pair of fashionable boots. In public things were a bit more subdued. Mom was playful in front of the camera, occasionally pensive, but there was no hint of suggestiveness. Perhaps I had imagined it all. Even so, the project was taking shape nicely. My creative block was in the past.
In retrospect, I’m not sure when I crossed the line, at least not exactly. Was it when I started to fantasize about mom in the solitude of my room? Or was it the moment a few days after the session in the park when I stole quietly down the hallway and peaked into the bathroom to try to catch a glimpse of her in the shower?
I recall that vividly because even just the obscured outline of her naked body behind the glass door was exciting. It was exciting because it was taboo, of course, but also because of the prospect of getting caught. If that happened, I would have to think fast on my feet.
On the other hand, it seemed pretty obvious when mom crossed the line. We were eating dinner when she smiled cryptically and I asked her what was on her mind. She blushed a little, almost as if I had caught her out in an unguarded moment and she had forgotten I was there.
“Oh, it’s nothing, darling. I shouldn’t say.” Of course putting it that way almost guaranteed that I wouldn’t let it go at that so I pressed her gently and she relented. “It’s just that I think I’m enjoying working with you on your project a little too much.”
“How can that be?” I asked, hoping she wasn’t putting the breaks on.
“Well, when I was in my twenties I did some modeling for extra money. Your father wasn’t making much then so it seemed like an easy way to supplement our income.”
“What’s the big deal, mom? We’ve all used paid models in our work. It’s part of the program. The department keeps several on retainer.”
“Honey, I was a nude model!”
She said almost it as if it was a relief to share it, but then she looked at me expectantly, as though having declared this secret out loud she was waiting for me to burst into flames and stalk out of the room, never to speak to her again. On the contrary, I was delighted, but my response seemed to convey my thoughts perfectly.
“Oh, that doesn’t surprise me.” And it didn’t. I’ve seen pictures of mom when she was a young woman and she was a stunner (still is in fact). Frankly, I’d been hoping for some such a development, having as I did the unrealistic hope that mom would pose nude for me. Mom looked relieved, though her face was still flushed from the revelation of her youthful adventures. I wondered how many photographs or drawings or even paintings of my naked mother might be around somewhere, or even (hope against hope) posted somewhere on the Internet!
But she was caught off guard by my response.
“It doesn’t grandbetting giriş surprise you?” she asked, incredulous.
“Not at all,” I replied, continuing to eat as thought nothing unusual had happened.
“You’re such a natural in front of the camera, mom, that I figured you must have had some modeling experience.” She smiled at that compliment and even reached over to squeeze my free hand, letting it linger there for a moment in a way that I thought was significant. Or was that me being perverted again?
At this point, dear reader, you might be wondering about my plan, and I didn’t have one. I was playing the entire thing by ear and probably making a hash of it, but as far as I know, there’s no guide or textbook that outlines how a young man can bed his mother. One thing seemed clear was that mom was going to have to come to me. I felt aggressiveness on my part was potentially ruinous, and coercion isn’t sexy at all. I resolved on a patient course and tried not to get my hopes up. If it happened, great, and if it didn’t, then it wasn’t supposed to.
That night I lay in bed and could not stop thinking about mom as a young woman posing nude for a bunch of budding artists. The scene in my mind was startling in its clarity. Fifteen people behind easels, dabbing canvas with brush, while my mother sat on a stool at the front of the class with, as they used to say about Marilyn Monroe, nothing on but the radio. The image excited me and I was able to get off in nothing flat.
The next day, while mom was at work, I found myself going into her room and perusing her wardrobe to see if there was anything I would like to suggest for our next session. I inexplicably found myself drawn to her dresser to check out her lingerie.
I didn’t disturb anything, but I did accomplish what I wanted, which was a glimpse into her wardrobe underneath her tasteful outerwear. I saw some vintage shape-wear and found myself getting excited at the image of mom moving about the house with nothing on but those items, just going about her daily domestic routine, completely unaffected by the fact that she was in a girdle and bra.
When she arrived home about three o’clock, she popped her head into my room to say hello and ask how my day was, then went straight down the hall to her room and in a minute I could hear the shower running. Waiting a few minutes more, I took a deep breath and tip-toed down the hall in the long-odds hope that I might be able to catch a glimpse of her naked. The door to the bedroom was slightly ajar and I peeked around it to see about the bathroom door. Sure enough, it was cracked about three inches. Purposely? I didn’t let myself consider the possibility.
I stealthily moved toward it and could hear the sound of the water flowing down on mom’s naked body and splashing on the floor of the tub. Just thinking about it turned me on. Should I open the door slightly and try to see more than I had the other day? That seemed like a terribly risky thing to do, but at this point I was animated by a strange compulsion I could not resist. Slowly, quietly, I pushed the door open a little further, just far enough to see around the wall and into the bathroom.
My reward was the beautiful sexy sight of mom, naked and glistening, her figure obscured by the frosted glass, but clear enough to make out the gentle curve of her hips, her belly, and her still enticing breasts. Best of all I could make out the dark patch of hair between her legs, flattened against her mons by the water. It felt like my heart was beating in my throat. The little voice in my head telling me that I was not supposed to be there was drowned out by the arousal I felt peering at a beautiful naked woman.
Then, as if Christmas and birthday had both arrived early on the same day, I watched as mom began to pleasure herself. Steadying herself with one hand on the wall of the shower, her other found its way to that special spot between her legs and she was soon lost in her solitary pleasure.
I should have retreated then, having violated her privacy this much it would have been prudent to let her finish without her voyeuristic son gazing in, but I couldn’t stop. I watched as the motions of her hand became quicker and then her entire body trembled as she came. A soft moan escaped her lips, but she stifled the next one, probably fearful the sound would carry down the hall in my direction. It was quite the sexiest thing I had ever witnessed.
Her stifled moans slowly subsided, replaced by satisfied sighs and some residual twitching of her body. I thought it best to silently retreat before she glanced in my direction and saw my head peering around the corner at her. I was confident the running water would cover me and within a few moments I was back in my room with an erection in need of relief.
Shortly after returning to my computer pretending to work on a paper, I heard a soft knock on the door.
“Come in, mom,” I called, pretending as though grandbetting güvenilirmi nothing happened, and hoping she was unaware of my unauthorized entry into her room. I turned as she opened the door and tried to hide my admiration in her light blue satin robe and a plush white towel wrapped around her head.
“I feel like eating out tonight,” she said with a pleasant smile. “How about I treat my favorite photographer to dinner?”
“That sounds great mom, but shouldn’t I be treating you after all the help you’ve been with my project.”
“Oh, darling,” she said with a sigh, “I’ve enjoyed every minute of it. It’ll be my pleasure. Let’s leave around five-thirty, shall we?”
“Okay, I can be ready by then. Thanks, mom.”
With a smile and a nod, she retreated into the hallway, closing my door behind her. Within a minute I could hear the sound of her hair dryer coming from down the hall. If I didn’t give myself some relief now I would be fidgeting all the way through dinner, so I quietly locked the door, lay down on my bed and took care of business before mom’s hair dryer turned off.
We had dinner at a casual place not far from home and everything seemed fine. Mom looked sexy in jeans and a v-neck sweater without a blouse underneath. Did she realize how much I like that look on a woman? Surely not! If mom was aware that I’d been admiring her, she never let on.
There was one moment that brought heat to my cheeks when I returned from the bathroom and mom was laughing to herself. When I asked her what was up she said that the waitress asked “if your boyfriend would like another drink.” Mom said she was flattered and didn’t correct the woman. She thought it was funny that someone would think an “old woman” like her would have such a young boyfriend.
“These days, mom,” I replied with a smile, “there’s nothing unusual about mature women with younger men. It’s been happening the other way around since who knows when. All’s fair, you know.”
She raised her glass and said, “Indeed it is!”
Then she reached across the table and rested her other hand briefly on mine and gave me what I thought was a salacious wink. Despite having relieved my tension earlier, it caused some movement in my pants, but mom removed her hand before things could get awkward and then put on her reading glasses to peruse the menu. She was a little self-conscious about needing them, but I found them fetching. She looked like a sexy librarian.
“The old girl needs glasses,” she said.
“Don’t worry, mom,” I whispered over the top of my menu. “Smart is the new sexy.”
“Are you flirting with me, young man?” she asked with a slight laugh, gazing at me over the top of her glasses. When she smiled the lines around her eyes showed and I found it very attractive.
Now it was my turn to have a red face, but I wasn’t so embarrassed that I couldn’t think of a quick retort. “Absolutely!” I replied.
The unspoken part was that we had better let it go at that, at least for now, and in public. The remainder of the dinner was pleasant, but the flirting stopped. Still, something unspoken passed between us during that time. I kept insisting to myself that it was all one-sided and that mom would never consider doing anything physical with me. But there seemed by then to have been a sea change in our relationship. We were starting to interact as adult peers rather than mother and son. It was very liberating, even if I was still afflicted by carnal thoughts.
I awoke late the next morning to an empty house. Mom had left a note saying she was out shopping with her friend May and would be home around 2:00, so I made myself some breakfast and moved my laptop into the dining room where I could get some work done. Before mom returned home I had the urge to take a break so I went down to the campus natatorium for a swim.
When I got home later, May and mom were in the living room having coffee and chatting. Like mom, May is divorced from her husband, but lives alone. She is a slim, attractive blonde with a bubbly personality, and more than once she has been the fuel for my wicked fantasies. Leaving the two ladies alone, I went upstairs to lie down and read.
I must have dozed off because when I stirred and looked out the window closest to my bed to see that dusk had arrived. I heard mom’s voice from the foot of the stairs asking if I wanted dinner and I replied I would be down in a moment to set the table.
Mom was working in the kitchen and wearing a relaxed ensemble that really got my attention. She had on a black turtleneck, jeans, and knee high boots with heels. If that’s what she wore while out with May, she must have been turning some heads!
During a pause in the dinner conversation, mom seemed to turn serious.
“Darling, there’s something I need to discuss with you.”
Uh-oh! I feared the worst, thinking that she was onto me peeking at her in the shower, or she realized that photographing her was getting me too excited for safety, that she was calling a halt to the project, and strongly encourage me to get a place of my own, and getting a girlfriend would also be a good idea.
“Go ahead, mom,” I replied with trepidation.
“Are there photographs we’ve taken that won’t make it into your final project?”