Or, Janice would wish Matt goodnight in his bedroom, wearing a thin baby doll that was two sizes too small, tight in the bust and short in the thigh, her dark wide aureoles and fat nipples plainly visible. She’d sewn the fabric so the top ended at her toned midriff, leaving the panties exposed, so tight in the front that her shaved mons and cameltoe was clearly defined, so brief in the rear that part of her tight ass cheeks was bare.
She’d bend down and pick up the clothes, empty bags of chips, books and magazines around his bed, commenting on the men’s magazines she found. This gave her the opportunity to sit on his bed and have explicit discussions about what girls liked and disliked, how a boy should act firmly, decisively and commandingly, how girls liked to tease, provoke and test the limits with boys. She included plenty of vernacular in these talks – like “tits,” “hand job,” “blowjob” “pussy-licking,” “cockteasing” and “cuming,” which naturally aroused Matt till he was aching for his mother to leave so he could jack off, fantasizing about her.
She asked, “Why don’t you have a girlfriend, or several?”
Boldly, he answered, “There isn’t any girl as remotely hot as you, Mom. You’re my perfect type, the sexiest mother of anyone I know. I can talk to you about anything.” He admitted that he fantasized about her. Through this confession, he could see her clearly growing hot and bothered. She pressed him about the details of his fantasy, but he wouldn’t say. Abruptly, she left his room, hiding the grin on her face, eager to hurt and pleasure herself in her bedroom.
Any teenage boy would respond to her increasingly sluttish behavior, especially since it was summer in a hot, humid climate. During the week, when I wasn’t there, Matt began to walk around the apartment bare-chested, showing off his bronze skin and trim physique. He’d casually enter the bathroom while she was showering, pretending to need toothpaste or floss. The shower wall was neither pebbled nor glazed, so the only thing which prevented him from seeing her completely was steam and condensation on the glass partition. She never objected. He became bolder, patting her ass, forcefully pulling him to her when arriving or departing and kissing her on her big lips, not her cheeks.
One Saturday night, before she and I went out, she’d left a folder on her bed, filled with erotic photos she’d asked me to take of her, wearing sexy lingerie and posed in lewd and submissive ways. Matt beat off to the images all week long.
Exactly one week after leaving the first tame folder of photos for Matt to find, she left another folder on her make-up table, much more wanton and exciting, where she’d gone the next step, exposing her tits and ass, spreading her lips around a vanilla creamsicle, her sweat-covered face aroused in ecstasy, a glistening dildo lying on the bed next to her. Using the new photo set, Matt again jerked off daily.
That week, while sunbathing at the pool, she’d lie in a corner where the neighbors couldn’t see and ask Matt to slather her with sunblock, which was either thick oil or white cream, never spray. Soon she took the cockteasing to a new level. On a Friday evening, she left a drawer in her dresser open by a few inches. Inside was a stack of bondage photos of her, by me. Upon our return that night, we had proof of Matt’s snooping. Although he had attempted to return the photos in the identical order, a number were out of the sequence we’d carefully arranged.