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Tanning with Mom

During my last summer of school it slowly dawned on me that my Mom was actually a member of the sex I was particularly interested in, a real and deceptively sexy woman that I wanted to know in more ways than as just her 18 year old son.

Not being sports-minded, I didn't have many friends so I hung out with my Mom a lot. I guess you could say I was a bit of a momma's boy. And so I spent many days at the beach taking in the sun with my Mom. She didn't particularly like the beach, I think she just needed an excuse to enjoy laying in the hot sun. Mom was one of those lesser endowed women whose delicious bodies are a surprise when unveiled. She often complained about the sand and the men, young and old, who kept checking her out, even though her son was right beside her. Some openly leered or made comments while walking by, while others sat nearby with their families, covertly glancing her way, sometimes laying facing away from their own wives while staring out under their arms at her supple figure.

I have to admit that I too spent considerable time gazing a my Mom's tanned, sculptured legs. It wasn't hard to look at my Mom. She was pretty and slender, just over 5' tall, with brown wavy hair that hung to the middle of her shoulder blades, perky little tits, a narrow waist and an enticing, pear-shaped ass with a slight sag to her cheeks that seemed to make it even more inviting. But when she noticed me looking at her, she seemed comforted by my attention rather than suspicious of my thoughts.

As the summer wore on, she tired of the beach and convinced me that we should tan in the privacy of our own back yard. "It's so much nicer," she argued, "No sand, and we can get cool drinks or a snack whenever we want, and I can wear my best suit for tanning without worrying about the local macho types." Now there was a convincing argument if I'd ever heard one! "But you don't have to Tim. I know you'd miss the girls, not that you'd gawk at them like some of those jerks. But, I really do enjoy it better when you're with me."

"Don't worry, Mom. I don't like the beach either. I'd much rather hang around with you." It sounded like I was sucking up to her but I was trying to cover up my abiding interest in her. She was far more interesting than any girl on that beach. Nevertheless, she thought I was giving up the beach and teenage girls just to be with her: her loving son was making a big sacrifice to please her for the rest of the summer, probably his last at home. Although I didn't know it then, this mistaken sense of altruism would yield great dividends for me.

And so we tanned in the comfort of our back yard throughout August. Every day I was painfully aware of each twitch of her body and the play of light and shadow over every curve, painful because it cause my boner to constantly dig into the grass. I started to lay slightly behind her where I was out of sight should she suddenly turn her head my way. Here, I could stare at her ass and crotch when she spread her legs to the sun, unaware of the deviant thoughts swirling around behind her. I childishly tried to excite her by transmitting my thoughts to her. I concentrated mightily, and thought myself successful every time she adjusted her posture, sure it was in reaction to my mental thrusts into her mind.

As the summer wore on, and her tan deepened, she started using moisturizing lotions and asked me to apply the lotion more deeply than the sunscreen she had been using. As she lay under me, with both of us enjoying the sensation of my rubbing hands adoring her flesh, I was frequently rewarded with appreciative sounds and pleased twitches. I often wondered if she was purposely compensating her dutiful son for the sacrifice of missed viewing opportunities at the beach. When she first asked, I had been reluctant to apply the lotion, afraid my touch would somehow divulge my lewd thoughts, but my eagerness to touch her overcame this irrational fear.

Long after an adequate massage would have been completed, by any standard, she allowed, even encouraged, me to continue, directing me to missed spots or areas that required more lotion or deeper, more dedicated application. I complied diligently, working her over and over until she told me to stop.

By the end of the summer, I was deep massaging her for a very long time. I worked my fingers into every crevice, every nook and cranny outside her increasingly skimpier swimsuits. She would undo her top and I would work the sides of her little breasts, pressing in almost to her nipples. I always pushed in and ruffled my fingers up and down until she warned me off with a simple, "Timmy".

Then I would slip my fingers down along the sides of her tummy, under her hip bone, and follow the hollow of her pelvis toward the top of her thighs. I'd try to slide toward her pussy but she never let me get all the way there. She'd always admonish me with a somewhat harsher, "Timmy", and then I would push in and out to that spot until she reproached me again. If I didn't try to pass the boundary she had set that day with her 'Timmy' admonition, she would often let me caress her there for some time, and even reward me with little catches of her breath and soft, pleased whimpers. I think she allowed me this game in trade for being her personal masseur and the supposed lost "opportunities" at the beach.

Indeed, if I was really helpful around the house and with the gardening, I was rewarded with extra time for tanning, and was allowed longer incursions before the 'Timmy' warning sounded. By the end of the summer, I was spending an hour at a time, sometimes twice a day, working lotion all over her body. And I was stroking my fingers along the hollow of her pelvis almost to her pussy itself, lifting up on her hips as I drew outward trying to pull her pussy lips apart to cause an excitatory friction against her swimsuit. After each session, she would go up to her room to rest, closing the door behind her. I would go to my room and jack off, reliving all the parts where I was near her tits, ass and pussy, replaying each little sigh, grunt or moan I managed to evict from her lips. I dreaded the end of summer, but end it did.

In the fall, as usual, I had to bear my Dad's constant urging to join a soccer team, just like I had to listen over and over about the merits of baseball in the spring. My dad thought I was a real momma's boy and it bothered him that I wasn't more of a jock like he was at my age. Christ, I would far rather hang around with Mom, feeling her up, than run around a field with a bunch of guys spitting and acting tough. To me it was a no brainer.

One night in late October, I overheard my parents discussing this issue. My dad was complaining about my wimpy behavior, always playing on the computer, wondering aloud if I was gay. My mother, leaping to my defense, argued that if I was gay, I'd be trying to hang out with other boys. Not so, countered my Dad. He'd be afraid to hang around with real boys.

"Well, I'm very sure he's not gay," my Mom said.

"How would you know?" my Dad inquired.

"Girls can tell. If you really want, I'll find out if he's interested in girls."

"Well for God's sake, don't go asking around. I don't want the whole neighborhood to know," he said.

In response, my Mother turned up the volume on the TV, something she often did when she didn't want to listen to him anymore. I couldn't hear any more so I snuck back to bed.

That Sunday was Dad's golf day and Mom changed the breakfast conversation as he rushed out the door. She went on about how a woman's skin needed exposure to light and nutrients all year round. She said her skin was already starting to lose the great tone it had built up over the summer, thanks to my hard work. She emphasized how much she had appreciated the sacrifice I had made to help her. She then twisted her chair sideways from the table and pulled her loose skirt up, exposing the tops of her gorgeous legs, turning them in and out. She eyed her legs intently, allowing me to freely gaze at her opened thighs. Finally, she looked up, catching me staring, and said, "What do you think, Timmy?"

I blushed furiously. "Ummm, I don't know, Mom. Your legs look nice."

"Well, thanks, honey, that's really very nice of you to say." She slid forward on her chair and turned to face me even more, "But take a really close look and tell me the truth. Can't you see what's wrong?"

"Mom, your legs are fantastic," I said, at a loss as to where this was going.

"No, they're not as tight as this summer. You did such a good job on them this summer. But now they're getting flabby and my skin's losing its resilience. Feel them, see what I mean."

She grasped my hands, pulled them toward her and placed them on her thighs just above her knees. She pulled her skirt up even further and, tentatively, I followed its retreat, sliding my hands lightly along the tops of her upper legs.

"No, no. Rub them, like in the summer, sweetheart, with your fingers," she said. I complied but nervously, not used to her watching me as I touched her. "That's it, rub them deep," her voice caught, "like those little scratches you did in the summer," her voice lowered to a whisper despite the fact that we were alone.

Although nervous, I quickly became excited. I pried my hands deeper between her legs, running them along inside of her thighs, pressing outward to open her legs more, exposing the front of her panties. I could just make out the crevice in her panties, the secret little valley I had so missed so much this past six weeks with no opportunity to lay behind her on the grass. I rubbed her legs back and forth, slowly working closer to her pussy, waiting for the 'Timmy' trigger to snap me away. But it didn't come, and it didn't come.

I let my fingers travel right up to the very top of her legs, near her crotch, paused and slid my hands straight up and down several times close to her pussy. I was surprised when she let me do it without complaint, even more so when she put her arms around me and pulled me close. Our heads were side by side, with both of us watching while I rubbed her legs so close to her panties.

She whispered, "What do you think, Timmy? Should we start tanning indoors while Dad's golfing on Sundays?"

"Tanning?" I croaked, my voice barely operating. I couldn't think, I just didn't want this new thing to stop. Unconsciously, I picked up my pace in between her legs in a desperate bid to get as much as I could before she stopped me.

"Slow down, honey." She grasped my wrists, freezing my hands near the top of her legs, resting against her inner thighs near her panties. I sat there, my hands sensing the heat and softness of her legs, my eyes glued on her panties, cock bursting painfully against my tight jeans and mind filled with growing dread that this magical moment was about to end.

"My legs need Vitamin D. It's too cold outside to tan in the sun but I can get some vitamin reinforced lotions, and tan inside. But I'll need you to rub it in deep, ...
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