She went to the sofa and sat down. She patted the cushion next to her to indicate for me to join her there. I didn’t need a second invitation and I move out from the armchair and immediately sat down beside her. She lay back into the sofa, turned and smiled at me. For a while she was silent, and then she spoke.
“Have you ever been with a woman?” she asked in a soft voice.
Being both naive and inexperienced I didn’t know what to say (indeed I wasn’t entirely sure what she meant).
“I’ve had a couple of girlfriends …” I offered, my mouth dry and croaky.
“And you’ve been with them?”
Still uncertain I said nothing.
“I mean have you slept with them?” Mother said slightly impatiently.
Shocked by her directness I simply shook my head.
“I see,” she whispered. “So you don’t know much about women?” She smiled at me as she said this.
Again I just shook my head.
“But you fantasise I suppose? Play with yourself while thinking about girls?”
This was too much. I was immediately embarrassed and looked away. How could she ask something me like that. Suddenly I just wanted to escape.
Mother laughed with a sort of joyful merriment. “Don’t be embarrassed Michael. All little boys do it. It’s quite normal and nothing to be ashamed about.”
She reached over and took my hand, lifted it up and placed it on her knee, under the nylon gown. “Does that feel nice?” she said still smiling broadly.
I turned back to her, still mortified by what she’d said, but also excited at where she had put my hand.
“You like stockings don’t you?” she whispered. Then she drew my hand upwards till my fingers were touching the suspenders links on her stockings.
I’m sure she could tell from the sudden wonder in my eyes that I did. However I was remained anxious and uncertain, and I didn’t move my hand or try to feel her leg.
Still holding my hand over her stocking tops she leant close to my ear and whispered so softly I wasn’t sure I was hearing right.
“Is it stockings you like,” she murmured. “Or is it just mummy’s stockings?”
Even though the anxiety and uncertainty and excitement was clouding my brain I recognised the importance of this question. I knew clearly what she wanted to hear.
“It’s you Mummy,” I croaked. “Just you.”
“Oh my beautiful baby,” she cried, and pulled me over and pushed my head against her chest. “Mummy loves you too baby! Mummy loves you too!”
Then she lifted my head back up and looked straight into my eyes. “You want to touch me,” She whispered. “Feel my legs… run your hands up and down mummy’s stockings?”
I nodded, and my hand began to explore the feel of the nylon on her thigh. It moved around in a circular motion, my fingers occasionally scrapping against her suspenders. Then I slipped my hand over her stocking tops and touched the bare skin above. It felt magical and unbelievably erotic. My fingers moved to feel the suspender clips holding her stockings, and then slid downwards to momentarily brush her the area between her legs.
As I did this her hand landed on my thigh, and she leaned forward and whispered to me again. “Do my stockings make my little boy hard?”