The next weekend she went out again and it was like a carbon copy of the previous Saturday. She even ended up on the sofa once again fast asleep in her dressing gown. I must admit I sat there for a long time struggling with myself, torn between lust and fear. I wanted to look again at her stockings and the flesh above but I was terrified she would wake up and find me leering over her. I just couldn’t make the move I wanted to.
Then something happened to break the spell. Mother, who had been lying on her back breathing softy, made a snuffling noise and turned on to her side, but as she did so she moved her left leg out from under the dressing gown revealing itself to me in all it’s stocking-clad glory. I thanked the Lord under my breath for his generosity and slipped off my chair. I knelt once again in front of the sofa and I lowered my head as much as I dared till my eyes were barely inches from the top of my mother’s now exposed stocking top.
I had no idea why her stockings fascinated me so much. It was true I’d been sexually ‘raised’ on a stream pictures of half-naked women who almost always wore stockings, but that didn’t quite explain it. There was something inexplicably erotic about the smoothness of the nylon, and how it gently turned darker by degrees into the stocking top, and then how that top was suddenly transformed into white flesh at the top of the woman’s thigh. Maybe stocking-tops were guardians or door-wardens of a holy site (no pun intended), or maybe a beautiful ladder that men were invited to climb, if they were brave enough, in order to gain their ultimate reward. (Sorry, forgive me for musing about my own psycho-sexuality). It’s enough to say this 19 year old virgin was completely lost and entirely entranced by being so close to the top of his mother’s stockings. I was absorbed in the wonder before me, and my head was drawn further and further down till I could almost smell the fabric of the nylon. But my vision was so engrossed in exploring the material I failed to notice something rather important.
My mother’s eyes had opened and she was watching me intently. When I eventually looked up and saw her watching I froze solid in shock and dismay. I was caught red-handed, the guilt of my lust written all over my face, and my shocking incestual desires fully revealed.
I had no idea how she would react or what would happen… something terrible at the very least. Maybe she would scream and shout and rant and rave at me. Maybe she would strike me, curse me, and eject me forever from her house, or maybe she would call the police and have me locked up! I genuinely had no idea what would come next. But what did happen shocked me to the core. She continued to look at me for the briefest of moments and then closed her eyes and went back to sleep.
III
I don’t think I’ve ever been so frightened in my life as when I saw mother looking… and her passive reaction stunned me. For a few moments I could not move. I was rooted to the spot. Then hurriedly I got up and ran to my bedroom, dragged off my clothes, leapt into bed, and pulled the covers over my head. I lay there shaking in shock and fear. My interest in my mother’s sexual merits at it’s lowest ebb. I wished and wished I’d never has those feelings, that I’d never thought of my own mother in anything other than a familial way.