“Yeh,” he mumbled.
“I know I have been dressing differently around the house. I hope you don’t mind.”
“I was surprised to be honest the first time you wore that teddy, but this is your house and you should dress the way you like as far as I am concerned.”
“Thank you, Mark. But if you don’t like it or if it makes you uncomfortable, I don’t have to…”
Mark interrupted me. “No, mom, I like it. I mean if you want to dress sexy, I don’t mind at all.” He smiled when he said that, his eyes still on my breasts.
“Okay, then,” I said. “While the prime rib is in the oven, I am going to go change into something more comfortable.” I would have done that anyway, but now, once in my bedroom, the thought of what Mark might like entered my mind. His words triggered my history of doing things to please a man and while I had no intention of pleasing him like I did Jon or any other man for that matter, I figured dressing in a pleasing way for my son was no biggie and certainly not a betrayal of a traditional mother-son relationship – or so I told myself.
Dinner would be late – maybe 7:30 which meant by the time we were done, and I had cleaned up, my bedtime would not be far off. So, I picked a pale pink bra and panty set from my top drawer and then put on a long semi-transparent pink robe I used to wear for Jon in the bedroom. I looked in the mirror and I couldn’t keep down a small smile. I looked good. I was dressed sexy, but I was covered. Nevertheless, I wanted Mark to approve, wanted him to enjoy seeing his mother as a sexual creature.
What I did next was what made my attire provocative. I slipped on a pair of black nylon stay-ups and a pair of black high heels. I was acting a bit risqué but when I walked into the kitchen and saw the look on Mark’s face, I knew I had made the right choice.
“Mom! Wow!”
The oven timer dinged, and Mark jumped up. “Let me,” he said, his eyes clearly taking me in. While he cut the roast and drained the Brussel sprouts, I sat at the end of the table, facing in his direction, my legs crossed, which caused the robe to open to reveal my legs and thighs. It was so open it showed the flesh above the nylons.
He watched me while he cut the roast. “Too bad you can’t wear that to work, mom.”
I laughed. “Yeh that would be too much, but here at home I think it’s okay, don’t you?”
That’s when he knicked himself with the carving knife. “Shit,” he winced.
My motherly instincts took over and while he rinsed his finger off in the sink, I scurried to the bathroom to get anti-septic and a band-aid. I was in such a hurry I didn’t notice that my robe and become untied. I wiped his finger, applied the anti-septic and then the band-aid. I leaned in and kissed his cheek. “I am sorry if I distracted you.”
You might think me daft but even now I wasn’t thinking about anything untoward about my son. Sure, I had likely broken some kind of unspoken rule dressing the way I did, but to me it was all about being comfortable in my own skin in front of my appreciative, supportive son.