It started out like any other Wednesday morning. Hit snooze alarm three times then drag body out of bed. Feed dog, make coffee, brush teeth, and hop in the shower. My life was satisfying but oh so predictable.
By the time I got out of the shower my wife, Tami, was up and ready to hit the streets for her morning run. Damn she looked great in her tank top and running tights.
We've been married for ten years but I still admired her small perky breasts, flat stomach and cute bubble butt as much as when I first fell in love with her.
She looked at me with her sexy pout and asked "why don't you go into work just a little late and run with me today?"
"God, I'd love to but early meetings beckon," I responded.
"Well, your loss," she said, stating the obvious. "See you tonight," she added and playfully slapped my ass on her way out the door.
I filled a travel mug with coffee, grabbed my keys and headed to work. I was employed by local PR/Marketing firm. I handled crisis communications for our clients, far away from the exciting world of the creative wing. Level headed and deliberative was my calling card.
I had just turned onto the freeway on ramp when my cell rang. The caller id indicated it was Diane Stuart calling. Strange, I thought, since I believed she was still on vacation in Key West. In any event, it was a call to ignore. Shortly after it stopped ringing she tried again. On her third attempt I reluctantly took the call.
"Hello Mother...how's vacation?"
"I'm having a great time Wayne," she replied. "I've run into a bit of a problem though and I need your help."
"What's up?" I asked.
"I lost my driver license and I need an ID to catch my flight tomorrow night. I really need you to stop by the house this morning, find my passport, and overnight it to the hotel."
"Not a good day Mother...I really need to get to work," I responded.
"Please Wayne," she pleaded. "You're the only person with a key to the house and I'm in a real bind down here."
She did have a point. "Fine," I answered. "Any clue where I might find it?"
"It should be in my desk or the file cabinet in my bedroom," she replied.
"I'll call you when I find it." I replied. "Text me the address of the hotel and I'll get it out this morning."
"Thanks so much Wayne! I'll make it up to you," she said in an obviously relieved tone.
As I pulled off the next off ramp and back tracked toward her home, I thought of how our relationship had improved. When I was young I didn't have much of a relationship with Mother. She was very quiet and did little but clean, cook and fill the role of traditional Midwest housewife.
My Father ran the house with an iron fist. Whoever came up with the phrase "spare the rod, spoil the child" definitely had my Father in mind. I was whipped for the most minor offense and always resented my Mother for not intervening. He was often drunk and always abusive. I don't recall ever receiving encouragement from him or a compliment or "thank you" directed toward Mother.
When I was in Junior High School he left. I never learned why he left but I felt like I should leave well enough alone and enjoy the peace his absence created in our household.
Once he was gone my Mother became more engaged in my life. Her demeanor changed and I actually saw her smile from time to time. She went out at night and started to create a seemingly happy life for herself. I had no idea what she did when she went out but she seemed to enjoy herself as she always returned in a great mood.
My day dreaming down memory lane ended as I approached my childhood home. I hoped I could be in and out quickly and get my morning back on track.
Once I entered the house I looked through every drawer in her desk and file cabinet and couldn't find the elusive passport. I gave Mother a call to let her know it was lost.
"Please keep looking" she pleaded. "I really need an ID to get through TSA...try my dresser."
With Mother still on the phone I walked over to the dresser and started rummaging through the drawers. The top drawer was full of bras and panties...certainly not the conservative type I would have expected of my seemingly prudish Mother. I felt like a true pervert rummaging through her garter belts, lacy bras and silky panties. "Good for her," I thought to myself. She had g-strings and thongs mixed in with more traditional, yet very sexy, panties. I was embarrassed that I found myself becoming uncomfortably aroused by touching these intimate items.
My curiosity got the best of me and I picked up a brassiere to check the size. I was surprised to see a 38DD label attached to the strap. "Wow," I thought to myself. "Her clothes certainly hide her impressive assets."
But as I tossed a hand full of panties to the side I gasped in shock. Hidden in her lingerie drawer was a stack a photographs and assorted VHS tapes. The video tapes were obviously porn with explicit handwritten labels such as My First Taste of Pussy, Abused at the Truck Stop, and My Rape.
The top photo was an 8X10 picture of my Mother. She was standing in the downstairs rec room. Her hair was disheveled and she looked angry. She was wearing nothing but a back garter belt, bright red panties and dark nylon stockings. She was leaning over as she was pulling down the panties, exposing a dark and very thick hairy bush. Her breasts were large and full...much bigger than I would have guessed from the concealing outfits she always wore in my presence. Her areolas were small and light but her nipples were hard and long.
I lifted the picture to look at the photo beneath it. It was more shocking than the first. Mother was on her knees with her hands tied behind her back with, what appeared to be, black stockings. Standing in front of her was a short and very fat man who I recognized as Frank, our next-door neighbor when I was young. Frank had his balls in her mouth and his hands on the back of her head.