“Exactly,” I agreed. “That’s why I’m investing it in a private business run by someone I trust more than anyone in the world,” I assuredly proposed.
She was silent as she looked around the room. I could see the cogs in her head turning. Running through the logistics.
“I don’t know Honey,” she sighed. “It’s too much to ask.”
“No it’s not,” I went to her and again took her hand, the other. “I want to do this. To help you out.”
For a moment I thought she’d say yes. That she’d hug me and we’d begin making the plans right then and there. She didn’t.
It was a shake of the head that first told me her answer.
“I can’t,” she stated. “I can’t ask that of you.” Her hands left mine and she began to move back toward the hallway, her shoulders noticeably slumped.
“Would you at least think about it?” I asked as I followed her progress and she looked back with an almost pitying expression on her face.
“It’s out of the question Lincoln,” she forced a smile before entering her bedroom and closing the door on my dreams.
There was no goodnight kiss.
*
I couldn’t sleep. I attempted to jerk off but even that, like everything else that night wasn’t working out for me. It was well after two a.m when I heard the clicking of high heels on the floor of the hallway and I thought I must have just woken up, confused as to the time of day. No. It was still night and then the light seeping down from the kitchen creeping below my closed door. What was going on? I lay there listening for another good five minutes before extracting myself from the bed.
My attire wasn’t out of the usual as I padded barefoot along the hallway in only my boxer shorts, shielding my eyes from the bright light of the kitchen as I entered. Her attire, was.
She, my mother, turned with a mug of what I could smell was hot chocolate in her hands as she obviously felt my presence behind her. It wasn’t before I took in her bottom, her luscious ass cheeks barely covered by the red lace. The nightie she’d bought herself only two days previous. A nightie? No, I was right in my first assumption. Lingerie. It could have been described as a dress I suppose. Something a daring nightclubber could get away with, had she been wearing underwear beneath. But as my mother fully turned in my direction, it was clear she hadn’t felt the need. Her legs lengthened by the heels, I attempted to travel her entire form in the least amount of time but my eyes failed me when I reached her groin, stalling as they spied her bare pubis.
Even through the tight red lace I could see the smoothness of her clearly waxed pussy, the slit below and the hint of labia. Above, and the slight swell of her belly, a navel that I’d looked upon only a night before and then her breasts. Unencumbered, supported merely by the compression of the material, her nipples so vivid she may just have been naked. In essence she was. My mother stood naked before me. The thinnest of fibres and a few feet of air separating our bodies.
“Honey!” she whispered, surprised. “What are you doing up?”
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