A Fantasy -- With Basis in Reality
An awful lot of the following is true, but the fantasy makes it complete and fun.
Like many young men, I grew up wanting to have sex with my mother. She would be the first to say that she was not perfect, and I would not disagree. But what has become my definition of ideal is very largely based upon my perceptions of her.
I was her first, born as her 20
th
birthday present, just a day early. It was in a different place and time from the reality we now know, so a young couple, just having celebrated their first anniversary and having their first child, was totally normal. Nowadays we all would cringe, worried how they would make ends meet, practically children raising a child of their own. Anyway, I was very close to my mother in many ways.
I can vaguely recall when she would put me down for a nap in their bed, and after she would leave the room, I would get up and get into her dresser drawers and pull out a pair of stockings (not pantyhose) and slip them up my own legs, and then fall back asleep. I must have been emulating what I had seen her do at some time. That's my only rational explanation. I still keep that nylon stocking desire even today, although I am not a crossdresser. But it's the memory of the feel of those stockings on my legs that inspires and soothes me, even today.
My father did everything he could to provide for the family, and through very fortunate circumstances, we were never in need. We were often in want, but never in need. Still, a schoolteacher's salary did not then and still today does not go very far, and with Mom only having a high school diploma, she did not work outside the home until my youngest sister went off to elementary school. So, Dad had summer jobs and part-time evening jobs, just to give us what he thought we needed without having to go to his parents for help. So, as I went through the public school system and approached graduation, there was an opportunity to explore my desires about Mom.
Mom liked her Southern Comfort manhattans, probably too much. She probably got that from her mother, but that's yet another story. Anyway, when Dad would be gone on Thursday nights and Friday nights and Saturday nights, earning the extra money to help satisfy some of the wants of a five-person family, Mom would often indulge with her drinks.
It was May, before I graduated high school in June, where this comes to fruition. On a Thursday night, I was sitting and watching TV. Dad had left for his evening job, and Mom had already changed into her long, powder blue, satiny nightgown. Her bust was sized at 36C (I checked her bra), and the nightgown was tight on her chest. My sisters were upstairs in their room doing whatever 14- and 11-year-old sisters do, and she walked into the living room.
"Whatcha doin', son?" she asked
"Just watching TV. Don't feel much like reading. No homework to do. Downhill stretch for me, ya know," I answered. I looked up at her, and something seemed a little different. She had on soft, red lipstick and she'd brushed her hair out and put it up in a clip, exposing her neck. Then I noticed the dents in her nightgown, indicating her erect nipples. She took a half-step forward, exposing her right leg. No shoes on, but she was wearing nylon stockings held in place by a garter strap. The welt of the stocking was a deep coffee brown, and the toe was reinforced but the heel was not. She had my attention now.
"Mom, have you been drinking already?" I asked.
"Nope. Not tonight, son. Too important to drink tonight." She reached out her left hand to me, wedding and engagement rings in place, and wiggled her fingers, indicating she wanted my hand. Dutifully, I reached out and held her hand in mine, and she pulled me to standing. Then she turned, still holding my hand, and led me down the short hallway to her room, where she closed the door once I had entered.
"What's going on, Mom?" I inquired.
"Tonight, my son, I'm going to make you a man."
