My Mom Is a Hot Mom

They say a picture is worth a thousand words. What they don't say -- though it's true -- is that a picture of your mom, naked and on display for you, is worth a thousand other pictures.

I know it's true, because on a Saturday, mid-morning, I sat at my desk, looking at a photograph of my mom, her pussy exposed and on display on the computer screen in front of me. I was reviewing my collection of the photos I recently had taken of mom, including the photo in which she unwittingly had exposed her pussy to me.

It was the day after my mom's birthday, when I accidentally had seen her naked in her bedroom. I had slept in. I wasn't working that day, so I had no need to get up early. I only woke up because the next-door neighbor started mowing his lawn.

The noise roused me from my sleep, and it prompted me to get out of bed. I sat up on the edge of the mattress, feet on the floor and mind turning over what had happened the night before.

I had seen my mom naked. Standing no more than few feet from me. I had seen her completely naked for no more than about two seconds, after which she had tried, with only partial success, to cover her breasts and pussy. She had remained naked in front of me for about two minutes. We'd stood like that, next to each other, her naked and me clothed. It was the hottest thing I had ever seen in my life.

I sat like that on the edge of the bed, thinking, for a while.

It wasn't until 10:30 that I roused myself from bed and made it to the kitchen for breakfast. Mom was awake and tending to eggs frying in a black pan on the stove.

Mom had squeezed her slim hips and lean legs into a faded pair of skinny jeans. Up top, she wore a loose-fitting, long-sleeve, pale pink cotton shirt. A pink scrunchie bound her hair in a ponytail trailing behind her and down her upper back. She paced from one part of the kitchen to the other in bare feet.

Mom didn't see me at first when I entered the kitchen behind her. I wasn't sure what to say to her, after last night. Seeing her in front of me, I kept thinking about having walked in on her in her bedroom, naked. I hoped it wouldn't make things too awkward between us.

It didn't, or, it didn't seem to. When she heard me she turned around and gave me a hug, with no weird pauses or weird looks. We both acted like nothing strange had happened.

We ate breakfast together without talking a lot. When we were almost done, the doorbell rang.

I walked to the front door and opened it. I was surprised to see my dad standing at the threshold. He looked happy to see me but also a little embarrassed to be standing on the doorstep. It had been his house, once, but now it was mom's, courtesy of their divorce agreement.

"Randy!" he said, and we hugged. He crossed the threshold into the house, a little awkwardly.

"How are you doing?" he asked. We chatted for a few minutes about my work and my school. Then he brought up the real reason he was there.

"Is mom home?" he asked.

I told him she was and they met and walked off together to talk about something; I didn't know what. While they were talking, I went back to my room, and that's when I sat at my computer and pulled up the photographs I had taken of mom so far.

My file of hot photos of my mom had grown quickly in recent weeks. I had the photo of her in shorts on the sofa, exposing her pussy. That was the one I looked at most, obviously. But I also had the photos I'd taken of her when we had been running together. And I had the photos I'd taken of her the night before, in the running outfit I'd bought her. When I could tear myself away from the photo of her pussy, I pored over the photos of her in the skin-tight running outfit. The material was so thin and stretched over her body so tightly it almost looked like body paint in the soft living room light. I couldn't see her most intimate parts, but the outline of her delicious, thin but shapely figure was totally revealed. My finger tapped the keyboard, over and over, as I scrolled through the shots I'd taken of my hot mom. I savored every one of them.

And yet, the photos didn't satisfy my hunger to see my mom, they just stirred it. Just the night before, I'd seen mom completely naked, for just two seconds, but I didn't have a camera handy, and I wouldn't have taken a photo of her anyway, under those circumstances, because she was so embarrassed. But I wanted that. I wanted mom to get naked for me, willingly, and let me take a photo of her.

I had no idea how I would make that happen, but I wanted to. With a desperate, singular sense of purpose, I wanted to.

While I was looking over the photos a knock sounded at my door.

"Randy?" mom called. "You dad's about to leave. Come out to say goodbye."

I left my room and the photos of my mom on the computer. I met dad at the door. We didn't say much but we hugged. My relationship with dad was O.K. after the divorce, but it still was awkward to see him at the house, which mom now owned by herself.

After seeing dad off, I shut the door and walked to the kitchen and saw mom, cleaning up after breakfast.

"What did dad want?" I asked.

Mom laughed, softly and a little grimly.

"Your dad wanted something back," she said. "Something he had agreed I could have in our settlement agreement. Some old records, that we'd collected early in our marriage. We used to do that. Even when records weren't being made anymore, we collected some. I had a collection of records from the 70s. When we got divorced, your dad didn't care about the collection, so he agreed I could have it. This morning, he was telling me how important it was to him."

"So what did you say?" I asked.

"Well," mom said, "I didn't have that strong feeling about those, to tell you the truth. Until your dad slipped. He said his girlfriend liked those old records. And somehow, when he said that, suddenly I thought that I cared about having those old records more than I had before. So I said no. He didn't take it well."

"Sorry, mom," I said. "Sounds like dad wasn't being sensitive."

She paused for a moment before replying.

"I don't want to get you wrapped up in our squabbles, Randy," she said. "But you asked, and you're an adult. I don't want to hold a grudge, but I have a hard time with some of what your dad has done."

She stopped, and I could see it wasn't easy for her to talk.

I put my arm on her shoulder.

"It's O.K., mom," I said. "I understand."

Mom's hands were in the sink, washing dishes in sudsy water.

"So what are you going to do today, lazy boy?" mom asked.

"I don't know," I answered. "Think I'll go for a run. Mason texted about getting together with the guys later tonight. We might see the new Fast and Furious movie. What about you, mom?"

"I think I'm going to take advantage of the beautiful day by doing some gardening," she said. "The bushes need some trimming. Not sure about the rest of the day."

Mom scrubbed a few more dishes and then turned to me.

"Randy," she said, "Could you get my phone out of my bedroom? I think it's on the table next to my bed."

"Sure, mom," I said.

I walked down the hallway to her room.

Inside her room, I saw that mom had done the laundry, and piles of clothes that had been folded but not yet put away sat on her bed. Near the night table where her phone lay, she had stacked her panties.

The stack of panties caught my attention and made me stop before I picked up the phone. I combed through the stack. They were all different types and colors. Some were black, some white, some red, some turquoise. She had boy shorts and thongs. Some were shiny, some plain, some lacy, some see-through. I saw a pair with an opening in the gusset -- it wouldn't cover her pussy at all. Wow, mom, I thought.

Two-thirds of the way down the stack I pulled out a pale blue thong. It was nothing more than thin satin blue strings joined to a tiny, filmy triangle in front. The film was very nearly see-through. Had I seen mom wearing it I would, no doubt, have seen the slit of her pussy plainly through the blue film. I ran the fabric between my thumb and finger.

My thumb was touching the part of the thong that had been pressed right up against mom's pussy, I thought. I was getting hard again.

I put the blue thong in my pocket, readjusted the stack of panties, grabbed mom's phone, and returned to the kitchen.

"Here's your phone, mom," I said, handing it to her.

She dried off her hands and took it.

"Thanks, Randy," she said.

She looked up at me, her face close to mine. Mom was tall, for a woman, but I was taller, and she was in bare feet, so she had to look up to me, and the sight of her eyes close and turned up toward mine stirred something in me. She put a hand up and tapped it on my chest, lightly and lovingly, and I think I puffed my chest out a little at her touch.

"I really appreciate you, Randy," she said. "It's nice to have a man around the house. In some ways you play the role better than your dad did."

I liked the way she said it. At the same time, a part of me reflected on how odd it was that she hadn't said anything about me seeing her naked the night before. Either she didn't care, I thought, or she was trying to hide or forget whatever she felt about it.

Being around mom was making me horny and antsy. But she was in her skinny jeans and seemed preoccupied with her chores. She wasn't going to show me anything, dressed like that, even though her figure looked fantastic.

The day was sunny and warm. I decided the best thing to do was to go for a run. I left mom in the kitchen and went to my room, where I dumped her thong in my drawer, next to the lotion bottle.

A few minutes later I was out the door, wearing my running shorts and sunglasses and a phone strapped to my arm, and no shirt, as before.

I ran six miles, throwing in a few hard quarter mile intervals. My brain was filled with images of mom nearly the whole time, and my body surged with lust and desire, and the urgent need to see more of her.

As I ran I tried thinking of ways to move mom's exposure to the next step. I could suggest taking more photos of her, but at some point, if I wanted to take photos of her bare breasts, or of her exposed pussy, I'd have to ask her to slider her bra off, or pull her panties down or to the side. And I just couldn't quite visualize myself doing that, or mom saying yes if I did. As far as figuring out how to expose mom further, I was stuck.

I finished my run, jogged slowly back to the house, and let myself in the front door.

"Mom! I'm back," I shouted when I got in the front door.

I heard no response. I wondered where mom was. I'd find out, in a minute, but first I needed something to drink, so I went to the kitchen and pulled out a cold Gatorade. Ice blue, or some similar totally artificial flavor. I walked to the living room, where a large window opened onto the back yard.

Then I saw mom. She lay on a lounge chair by the pool, reading a book. She wore the little red bikini I had given her the night before for her birthday.

Shwing. Instant hard-on. In the store, when I had bought the bikini, I'd run the material of it through my fingers. I'd picked it up by the incredibly skinny string ties on the side and lusted at the idea of mom's delicious body being covered by nothing more than the bikini's miniscule pieces of fabric. And here she was, lying in the sun before me, covered in nothing but those pieces of fabric that looked even smaller on her tall, slender, shapely frame than I'd imagined. My fantasy had come true.

I had to get a closer look.

I walked out back toward the pool. "Hey, mom," I said as casually as I could.

"Hi Randy!" mom replied cheerfully. Her eyes lay hidden by a pair of sunglasses but her white teeth showed in a wide-open smile. She lay with her back propped up at a 45-degree angle in the lounge chair, a book in one hand. She turned slightly to me as she said my name and I was struck by the length and litheness of her body and her exposed supple skin. The thinness of her waist accentuated the hourglass shape of her figure. From my view point her body was covered by nothing more than three small triangles of red fabric -- two barely reining in her breasts, and the other one barely covering the intimate region between her legs.

I drew closer to her and pulled up another lounge chair and sat on it with my legs off the side toward her.

"Looks like you had a good run," she said, and she put her finger against my abs again. I liked the way she did it, and I liked that she seemed to like doing it. My chest was bare and I wondered what she was seeing when she looked at me behind the cover of her sunglasses. I was trying to read mom's mood through her body language. Whatever she felt, she showed no trace of embarrassment or nervousness from what had happened the night before. She put her hands back and crossed over each other above and her head, against the chair. She bent her leg up, the one farther from me. The pose exhibited the sculpted grace of her thighs and the prominence of her calf muscle. I noticed she was wearing open-toed wedge sandals and that she'd painted her toenails vermillion to match her suit. It was a nice, sexy touch. I also noticed the way the little triangle of bikini fabric between her legs seems to disappear in a point where her legs met. I knew it wasn't a thong, but there wasn't a lot of material at its thinnest point between her legs, and from this angle it almost looked like it vanished altogether.

"I can't believe this weather," she said. "It's almost October, and it's hot. The sun feels great."

I was glad she liked it. I hoped she was in no hurry to get out of the sun. I had nothing urgent to do, and as far as I was concerned I could enjoy spending all day watching my mom sun herself in the tiny red bikini.

"Speaking of sun," she said, "I want to get some sun on the other side but I need some lotion on my back first. Can you help me?" She gestured to a bottle of SPF 30 sun screen on a little table next to her. Mom was fortunate that she could tan without too much effort; she used sun screen to avoid overdoing it.

"Sure mom," I said. "No problem." No problem -- that was an understatement. At that moment, almost nothing could have given me more joy than to fill my hands with lotion and run them over mom's lissome body.

Mom handed me the lotion bottle while I scooted my chair as close to hers as I could. I squirted a big dab of greasy lotion in my palm, rubbed both hands together, and leaned over mom to get to work. The lusty, tropical scent of coconut wafted through the air from my hands. By this time she'd turned over, and her back was exposed to me.

Before I started I had to catch my breath, because I saw the cut of the bikini bottom on mom for the first time. The bottom was, more or less, a Brazilian cut -- it wasn't a thong, but it exposed a lot more cheek on each side than a normal bikini bottom. On either side the bikini was held in place by spaghetti-thin strings that mom had neatly bow-tied. One little, easy pull, I thought, and the whole thing would come sliding off.

But I didn't pull it. Instead I applied my hands to mom's shoulders and began spreading the lotion around. I dug my fingers in a little, too, to massage her back as I went along. I rubbed it in, in wide, deliberate circles with my hands, starting at the back of her shoulders and moving down.

I squirted a little more of it directly onto the middle of mom's back, and her body recoiled just slightly at the plop of it against her skin. My hands, now seemingly guided by a force I had no say over, pushed the lotion out toward her sides. For the first time, I noticed how much side-boob the little bikini top revealed. It revealed a lot, even though the front of her boob was mashed into the lounge. How far should I go, I wondered? My hands wanted to find out. Both of them simultaneously swept down mom's sides, and my fingers briefly passed over the exposed sides of her breasts. For the first time ever, I actually had put my hands on mom's boobs.

She didn't flinch. That was good, I thought.

I didn't stop. I massaged the lotion into her lower back, and my fingers "innocently" traced the upper edge of her bikini bottom, which lay enticingly low on her hips, the skinny strings just over her hip bones. Two fingers passed just barely under the edge of the bikini bottom. The pressure of them pushed the bottom down just a little. It might have been so little that mom might not have noticed; but I noticed, because for a second I saw the top of her butt crack as my fingers swept from one side of her back to the other.

Mom wasn't saying anything and seemed relaxed, so I figured I'd keep going. My mouth watered at the prospect of running my hands along the exposed portion of mom's butt checks -- in the tiny bikini, a lot was exposed, and her flanks looked incredibly inviting. The skin was soft, but the shape was firm, with no trace of sag. Mom's butt, plainly, benefited greatly from all her exercise. My hands burned with the desire to feel it.

I was just about to squirt some lotion on my hands again to get working on her butt when a voice called out from beyond the gate on the side of the house.

"Randy," the voice called. "Are you there?"

Mom looked up at me. "Are you expecting someone?" she asked.

"No," I said. "But that sounds like Tucker. I'll see what he wants."

I walked to the gate to let him in, cursing him under my breath the whole way for his rotten timing. My hands had been seconds away from rubbing the cheeks of mom's firm, perky butt.

I opened the gate, and Tucker stood in front of me with a huge grin on his face. He held a DVD in a plain jewel case in front of him and started talking loudly and excitedly before I could get a word in.

"Randy, my man. Looks like you've been running," he said, pointing to my shirtless chest. "You are a video god." He pointed at the DVD. "This was awesome. The one with the redhead who goes down on the janitor in the classroom --"

I waved my finger over my face in a desperate gesture to shut him up him and jerked my head back several times toward the yard to indicate we weren't alone. I had burned several porn videos on the DVD and given them to Tucker a couple of weeks earlier. Now he was returning it. I didn't think mom needed to hear his blow by blow review of the videos. Tucker got the hint and shut up.

"Mom's here," I whispered to him.

Tucker started looking over my shoulder.

"Oh," he said shifting gears. "Why didn't you say so. Can I, uh, say hello?"

"Sure," I said, and I ushered him through the gate, but as soon as I'd done so I wondered if I'd made a mistake.

Of all my friends, Tucker was the one who'd always taken the greatest joy in ogling my mom. When I was younger, I couldn't stand it. It wasn't something I'd had to deal with since my own feelings about mom had changed. I was still wrestling with how I felt about mom, and exactly what I wanted to do about those feelings, and Tucker's presence could only interfere with whatever plans I had with mom. Already, he had interfered with my hands' date with mom's hot, perky behind.

But, I'd invited him back, and I couldn't very well uninvite my best friend now. Tucker followed me along the path to the pool. I saw mom ahead, and I turned around so I could catch Tucker's expression when he saw her as well.

Tucker had stopped moving. His feet were rooted fast to the concrete path. His mouth was open. Tucker had seen my mom before in skimpy gym outfits, and even in a bikini or two. But he'd never seen her in a bikini like this one.

I wasn't sure his heart could handle it. That's only a slight exaggeration. Tucker had a steadfast aversion to exercise, and he wasn't in the best shape. He carried about 20 to 30 unneeded pounds around his middle. It took him a few seconds to regain his composure, and he followed me to the patio by the pool. Mom saw us and looked up at his in her dark sunglasses, which she took off as we approached.