I suppose I'd always been a bit of a voyeur but before that week I'd never actually spied on anyone. I'd certainly never secretly watched a woman undress. Not any woman ... let alone my own Mother.
So when I say 'voyeur' I mean I was like most young men in those days; I liked looking at dirty photos and I masturbated quite a lot. (This was in the late 60's so the photos weren't really that 'dirty'. They were mostly scantily clad nubile young ladies revealing more in the way of lingerie than naked bodies. I guess that's where I got my taste for stockings and garter belts and high-heeled shoes). I was a voyeur in the sense I got more sexual satisfaction from 'looking' at pictures than I did from contact with girls. Partly this was because girls at the time were reluctant to share their bodies, and partly because if they did, they were equally reluctant to give anything other than straightforward intercourse. Taking pleasure in dressing them up, or showing too much interest in their under-clothes, was considered perverted!
The world ain't like that anymore!
But back then when I masturbated I could dress my fantasy girl however I liked, and make her do whatever I wanted. I guess (like many guys in those days) I had two sex lives: the 'official' proper one and the 'dirty' fantasy one, and these two never collided (I don't think they'd even met till I went to stay with Mother). My fantasy life was peopled with imaginary girls and women clad in my favourite lingerie and happy to do whatever my mood desired of them. Their existence, however, was known only to me, and they were locked away in the depth of my mind. I suppose I assumed it would always be that way, especially as modern fashion was moving girls away from shaped brassieres and seamed stockings and into tights and burnt bras!
Looking back, I assume my Mother, like all women in the late 50's and early 60's, must have worn all those things that now turned me on, but I'd never seen her undressed so I guess it never registered. Ok, I suppose as a horny kid I'd probably rummaged through her draws once or twice and felt and fingered her bra or suspender belt. I certainly remember examining her stockings, neatly folded in her bedside draw, and marvelling at the feel of them in my hands, but I never fantasised about her wearing them or masturbated to visions of her undressing for me. I mean she was my mother and not in any way sexy to me.
Quite the opposite actually, Mother was a strict, slightly puritanical, woman who took no nonsense from anyone. As a kid I did as I was told, or I got a slap from the back of her hand. I think even my father was a bit in awe of her. She certainly wore the trousers in our house. Not that she was tyrannical or anything, just tough-minded and very sure of herself. She was not the kind of woman you crossed ... or tried to get a look at in her underclothes!
It wasn't till after Father had passed away and I was at Uni that things changed. I remember I'd offered to go and stay with her for a week during the spring break, more out of guilt than anything else. Father had been gone a couple of years and she was living on her own in a big old house in Surrey. I'd hardly seen her at all in that time and I felt I had to make the effort to go see her. It was a bind of course. I was 21 and having fun with all my friends from University, and the last thing I wanted was to spend my precious time with a strict difficult old woman who would most certainly not approve of my life-style!
I say 'old', but Mother was actually about 56 or 57 by then, so she wasn't really ancient. She was medium height, thin build, and she wore simple traditional make-up. Her grey-silver hair was permed in a conservative manner, and she sported a fairly heavy set of round-rimmed glasses. Her clothing tended to match this image, being smart but old-fashioned and certainly not stylish. As for her figure, I suppose she had a reasonable pair of legs (her skirts were so long I couldn't be sure), but her chest was pretty flat ... or at least it didn't stand out much. I'd certainly never really noticed it or given any thought to her breasts. As I said, she was my mother ... enough said!
However that situation changed in several ways very soon after I arrived at her house in Wallington. For the first time in my life I saw my Mother in a state of undress, and something about that view turned me on more than I could ever have imagined.
I'm not sure why this vision had the effect it did, but part of it must have been down to the fact I'd always been a bit in 'awe' of mum. If I'm honest I suppose deep down I was scared of her. She was always in control and always telling me what to do, and I always did as I was told. As I said before, my mother was not the kind of person you crossed. She could give you a look that could make your balls freeze and the tone in her voice was sometimes worse than my old Headmaster at school! She was the primary symbol of authority in my life (up to that time), and seeing her naked must have impacted on me in a variety of ways.
This unexpected 'vision' (that changed so much inside my head) happened entirely by accident. I'd arrived at Mother's home just as she was changing for work. I hadn't realised it before but Mother did a couple of shifts a week at a Rest Home, just for a little extra pocket money. She'd given up full-time work and had enough money to survive, but a little extra was always useful, and I think she enjoyed keeping in contact with friends from her working days.
When I arrived at her door she'd opened it in her dressing gown and she had a white towel curled around her head. She seemed surprised and a little flushed to see me.
"Simon?" she said, one hand holding the towel to her head. "What are you doing here? I thought you weren't coming till tomorrow!"
"No ..." I said as gently as I could, and smiling broadly to try and soften Mother's stern look. "I said Friday ... I did say Friday."
She gave me a dark frown and turned around and marched back into the hallway. Over her shoulder she called back, "well you'll have to sort yourself out, I have to be at work in half an hour!"
"Oh ..." I said, pulling my case into the hall. "Work? I didn't know you worked?"
"Hmm," she muttered, and stopped to turn back to me. "I haven't seen you in the last couple of years, and hardly spoken to you in the last 18 months. I'm surprised you remember where the house is!"
I grinned again, but this time rather sheepishly, already regretting I'd come. Mother's fierce and intolerant manner always made me feel like a small child.
"Right, ok ... not to worry," I half-whispered. "You carry on. I'll sort myself out."
With a 'tutting' noise she turned around and walked back and gave me quick kiss on the forehead. I could smell the shampoo in her hair as her face softened just a fraction and she tried to give me a smile. It wasn't an entirely successful attempt.
