I said, “Nothing cheers me up more than shopping, and shopping in my mom’s closet seems like the ultimate.”
“What do I get out of this?” she asked playfully, catching the mood.
“I have some fashionable stuff you can try on,” I said, deciding I was going to play Barbie with my mom.
“Hey!” she objected as she realized I was being critical of her fashion choices.
“You dress like a housewife,” I pointed out.
“I am a housewife,” she countered. “Or was, anyway.”
“Exactly,” I nodded. “But as I’m learning this very afternoon, looks can be deceiving.”
“How so?” she asked, as she went to her dresser drawer and pulled out a few pairs of stockings, still in the package.
“Well, underneath your prissy mother-goes-to-market clothes, you’re wearing some very sexy lingerie,” I pointed out.
“I like wearing lace bras, garters and stockings underneath,” she said. “They make me feel sexy.”
“They make you look sexy, too, I imagine,” I complimented, “let’s see,” as I reached around her and unzipped her dress.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“I want to see your lingerie,” I explained. “Did you say lace bra?”
“But I’m your mother,” she protested.
“We’re both adults, Mom,” I reminded her. “I see girls completely naked almost every day.” I withheld the part where we were naked so they could lick me and vice versa.
“I guess,” she responded tentatively.
When she didn’t move away, I slipped the dress off her shoulders and down her torso to her hips. Stepping a foot back for a better view, I unveiled her sexy lingerie, and gasped, a little overdramatically I suppose, “Holy shit, Mom! You have an amazing body!”
“Hannah!” she reproved me, although clearly appreciating the compliment.
“Seriously,” I continued, knowing flattery worked wonders, and that was doubly true for insecure women, at least from my experience. “Your body is better than most high school girls’.”
“You’re being silly,” she responded, but didn’t move away as I finally dropped her dress to the floor.
Taking a slight risk, I quickly unclasped her bra.
“Hannah!” she repeated, again surprised by my boldness.
I ignored her protests as I tossed her bra onto the floor and quickly cupped her big, firm breasts. As she stood there shocked, I told her, “I got your eyes and your hair, but not these.”
“Hannah, I…” she began, but I interrupted her.
“Seriously, your breasts are huge, and mine are so small,” I said, pouting, as I jerked my sweater off. “See?”
“You’re not wearing a bra,” she pointed out, surprised.
Truth was I’d left it at Amanda’s after a quickie 69 after school, but that information could remain hidden a little while longer as I continued my slow seduction. I played self-insecurity as I replied, cupping my pitiful 34B breasts, “I don’t need any bra for these.”
“Honey, trust me: yours are the perfect size,” she said.
“How so?” I asked, even though I wasn’t really insecure about my breasts. Truth was, they were almost the perfect size: not too big, not too small; as Goldilocks would say, they were just right.
She cupped her own tits and said, growing more comfortable about her semi-nudity with me, “These mommas are back breakers.”