Mom’s Pussy BoyFrom the first time I saw my mom naked, she represents all that is woman for me. I was five or six and she suggested we shower. “Wouldn’t it be fun if we showered together?” she asked. This was how she had decided to handled the birds and bees crisis.”Sure,” I said, excited more by the newness of the idea of sharing the shower than by actually seeing mom naked.”Then let’s take our clothes off.” She pulled her sweater off. “Mommy wears a bra to . . . well . . . ” she looked uncomfortable saying more, and unzipped her skirt. Standing in her white bra, panties, garter belt, and stockings, she looked down at me, “Well, young man? Off with your clothes too.”I pulled my tee shirt off, then pushed my pants down and off. “I’ve got less on than you,” I teased, thinking this was something of a game.”Good, take your underpants off and go start the shower.”In a second I was naked and in the shower adjusting the water. The curtain was pushed aside, and mom stepped in. I looked up and saw her nervous smile. Then my eyes began to lower.”Mommy’s breasts . . . ” I stared up at them. I was surprised that they were round and as low on her chest because her bra made them high and almost cone-like. “. . . they make milk.” She touched them like she might touch something she was just casually pointing out. “It comes out my nipples.” She pinched one. “That’s how I breast fed you when you were a baby.” But I was no taller than her hips, and I couldn’t keep from gawking at the magnificent patch of brown curly hair in front of my face. Under the shower spray, it formed a perfect v and the water ran off. I giggled because of the difference between us there. “How do you pee without one?” I asked, touching her there to see if it was hiding in her hair. She stood suddenly quite still, like you might if a bee lands on you and you don’t want to get stung. I felt the soft curves of her mound and the beginnings of her cleft as the flesh formed two puffy lips. “Mommy pees down there in her . . . special place . . .but let’s get some soap on us,” she added quickly, handing me the soap. We never showered again; although I asked, it was always the wrong time. Over the years, I stopped thinking about the shower. But as puberty arrived, I began to look at mom as a woman, and the shower became a favorite fantasy.After breakfast on the weekends, when dad went to work and I didn’t have school, we’d talk and sometimes she would end up getting dressed with me still chatting away. I was always supposed to turn my back, and she would step behind a folding screen, but I often saw her in her white bra and panties, sometimes a slip, and sometimes, glorious times, she would put her stockings on while sitting next to me. One day, after school when no one was home, I went into her bedroom. I wasn’t sure what I wanted, but I smelled her perfumes and touched her side of the bed. Her top dresser drawer was slightly open and I suddenly knew the treasure I was looking for. I pulled it open. There were her neatly folded white panties, bra, garter belts, and brown rolls of paired stockings. I ran my fingers over them. They felt especially soft and magical, almost like I was touching mom. Then I took out the top pair of panties. I unfolded them, and gazed at their shape, a shape that mimicked mom’s, and that gilded her special place. My fingers tingled when I touched the thicker crotch panel. “Mommy,” I whispered.I stripped, as if for her. I was naked and aroused, standing in her bedroom. I wanted her to see me, naked and standing with an erection, to watch how I stroked myself for her. I looked at myself in the mirror, to see what she would see. Whenever I had gotten excited near her, I had hidden myself, ashamed at my arousal and afraid she would be shocked, but now I stood proud, letting it swing back and forth, beckoning. I was convinced that she would love me for it. Then I put her panties on. As I pulled them up, soft against my erection, my hands shook. I saw my reflection, flushed with excitement, wearing mom’s white panties. They were so feminine covering my swollen maleness. I reached down to caress myself, but with the first touch I gasped, shuddered, and began to squirt, filling her panties with my sticky come. My knees gave out, and I sank to the floor. I don’t know how long I just stayed that way. I was dizzy and out of breath. Then I heard mom come in. “Teddy, I’m home,” she called out. I grabbed my clothes and dashed as quickly and quietly as I could to my room. As I dressed I yelled back, “I’m doing my homework.” Then, as I heard her coming up the stairs, I realized that I only had one sock…one! My stomach sank, where was the other?For several weeks I didn’t go back to her room. I was afraid of getting caught, and I knew that if I went back I would have to try on more of her things. So I stayed in my room fantasizing; after all, I still had her panties, which had become stiff with dried come, but they hadn’t lost their magic. The allure was too great. After another month, I was hurrying home after school every day and getting lost in her room. I wore her panties, bras, stockings, and baby dolls, which I found in the back of her closet. I was careful not to squirt in anything I wore, and I always took paper towels with me to wipe up. I’d fold everything just like I had found it and sneak out before mom got home. One day I decided to get completely dressed up, and put on a skirt and sweater. To my surprise, and absolute delight, I found stashed under the sweaters canlı bahis in the deep bottom drawer, a stack of lace panties in emerald, indigo, scarlet, and black, with matching bras, garter belts, and stockings. Mom had naughty lingerie!The next day was a cold, rainy, Saturday. I kept her company in front of the TV while she folded the laundry. She had a stack of white panties folded next to her. I had a pillow over my lap as I kept watching her out of the corner of my eye. I was curious. Without thinking, I heard myself ask, “How come you don’t wear the sexy ones?”I felt my face burn with embarrassment as I heard what I had said. “You know, they advertise sexy stuff on TV,” I tried to pretend I had meant something different than what I had asked.She didn’t say anything more than, “Just ’cause.” She picked up the laundry and went upstairs. I didn’t know if I was in trouble or not. I stayed downstairs, and tried to watch a bad sci-fi movie, but I couldn’t keep from worrying. So I figured I was safer to hide in my room. I tiptoed up, and thankful that I hadn’t bumped into her, I wasn’t thinking as I walked in. She was sitting on my bed, holding her come stained panties that I had forgotten to hide. Tears were running down her face. She looked up at me and tried to speak, but nothing came out. We looked at each other. Frozen in time and place. “Damn you!” she finally yelled, throwing the panties at me. “How dare you!” She stormed past me and down the hall. She knew, now, but this was not what I had fantasized, not what I wanted. I sat on the edge of the bed feeling hollow and pledging that I’d never go in her room again. I could hear her in her room, and I tried to explain myself to her in my head. Suddenly something big and soft hit my head. I was shaken out of my reverie to see her standing in the doorway and realizing that she had gathered up most of her lingerie and had thrown it at me. “You’re . . .” she glared, leaving her sentence unfinished, but it wasn’t hard to fill in a hundred apt possibilities. “Mom-“”Don’t you dare to speak to me.” She turned to leave, but hesitated with her back to me. “Don’t.”I waited alone, but knew I had to apologize and make things right before dad got home. I gathered up her lingerie and carefully folded everything. “Mom,” I said carrying her clothes back to her, “can I come in? Can we talk?”Her door was open, and she sat on the edge of the bed, a skirt, the skirt I had worn, in her hand. “This too?” she asked in a whisper. I stepped in and went to her dresser. I began to put her clothes away. “All my clothes…why?””Mom, I love you,” I whispered without looking at her.”My clothes.””Mom,” I looked up at her, “I love you.””Is this how you show your love?” Her face stiffened. “Masturbating into your mother’s lingerie?”The words were cold and they stung cruelly, but they were true. I couldn’t salvage much. I felt like slime and I was certain I was a pervert. But I wasn’t going to lie. “Yes.”She looked stunned that I’d admit that.”I’m only a k**, but I’ve never felt anything so good.” I spoke quietly, trying to be calm, and looking at her, eye to eye. “I love wearing your panties and stuff and . . . and . . . masturbating . . . for you.” I stood up and began to leave. I knew I had only made things worse. “I’ve . . . ever since we showered and you showed me your special place,” I added.I lay on my bed. Dad would be home in a couple of hours, late even for him, but he had a convention to get ready for. So in a couple of hours, my last hours, I’d feel the wrath I had earned. “Teddy,” mom whispered from the doorway, “may I come in.”I didn’t say anything. She opened my door and came in. She sat next to me. “I’m sorry. I knew I was wrong then, that was no way to answer your questions. But . . . “”But it is one of my best c***dhood memories,” I tried to say it so that although the truth it sounded like I was making light of things.”And look what it caused.” She turned to face me and she ran her fingers through my hair. “I love you. I’m so sorry, it’s my fault.”Her arms wrapped around my back and in spite of the shame I felt with tears streaming down my face, I buried my face against he neck as she hugged me to her.”Is it wrong to . . . masturbate?” “Oh, no.” She pushed me back and caressed my face. “That’s not wrong. It’s natural.””Do you?” I dared.”Yes.”I looked at her as her face reddened. “But you’re married, there’s dad.””I’m not comfortable talking about this,” she stood up, “not with you. It’s not right.”She walked out again. But, at least, I realized, not out of anger at me. Maybe, I sighed, this wouldn’t be the end of my life. And after a few minutes she was back again, holding a small pile of clothes. “I suppose this is better than your getting a girl pregnant or getting some disease,” she whispered putting them on the bed next to me and left, closing the door after her. She had given me a complete outfit, skirt and blouse, as well as stockings, garter belt, panties and bra, and a babydoll with matching panties. One by one, I carefully unfolded each item and held it up for admiration. With a sense of surprise and shock and delight, I realized that they had all been worn.Too much had happened too quickly for me to feel comfortable with these gifts, but later, I sighed, later.Nothing was said at dinner. Mom acted as if everything was normal, and, of course, I wasn’t going to say anything. That night I put on her babydoll and crawled into bed. When I came home from school on Monday, I still felt drawn güvenilir bahis to mom’s bedroom, but I also had her clothes that she had given me waiting for me in my room. I had folded them neatly and put them in my dresser, feeling no reason to hide them. But when I opened the drawer, the first thing I noticed was that the panties had been changed. In place of the white ones, there was now a pair of yellow cotton panties, and they too had been worn. Later, she said nothing to me and I didn’t dare ask.Each day was like this. I found myself hurrying home to see what she had given me. Sometimes she replaced one pair of panties for another, sometimes she left something new, but always worn. Slowly, my collection grew, and it got sexier, colors replaced whites, laces replaced cotton, naughty replaced utilitarian. But nothing was ever said between us about any of this. Even on weekends, when we were alone in the house all day, life continued as if nothing had ever changed. One day, a marvelous day, I came home to find a Polaroid picture in my drawer on top of a pair of pink lace panties. She had taken it looking down at her lap with her skirt pulled up showing that she was wearing the pink panties. For a few more weeks, every new gift was accompanied with a picture showing her wearing whatever it was, panties, stockings, even a bra.The last day of school before spring break was also the day dad left for a two week business trip. I rushed home, now conditioned to expect something from mom. Curiously, there was nothing new in my drawer. I thumbed through the stack of lingerie. Tucked towards the bottom I felt the edge of a Polaroid. One I had missed, I thought. I remember feeling vaguely disappointed that she had forgotten me as I pulled it out. It was taken in the shower. Naked, with the water running down her, she had held the camera out and aimed it back at herself. It was a picture of her magnificent brown bush, wet and pointed in the running water, exactly as I remembered from when I was five or six. “Mommy,” I whispered. I was excited by seeing her