My Mother, My Teacher

“Oh, it is so hot,” Mom said. “I do believe I’ll take a bath.”

I quickly stared down at my plate, afraid to look up at her. I squirmed as I felt that uncomfortable swelling in my pants. I reached for the napkin in my lap, looked up and smiled as I gave my erection a gentle push to straighten it out.

Mother was just smiling at me, the same smile I’d seen the other day. She seemed so much younger when she smiled like that. And she had a sense about her. She was more confident, more relaxed, just like the girls at school. I knew that she knew what it was all about, knew that something that I didn’t know much about. My only education had been the stories the boys would tell, about kissing and touching, about tongues and fingers, and the hole between a girl’s legs…

I swallowed, a dry swallow, that made my chin lift as nothing went down my throat. That’s when I noticed the nipples, the little poking rise out of her dress. I just wanted to touch those, and the breasts, just to see what they felt like. But she stood up.

As she rose, her hands spread her dress down her body. For a split second, as her hands passed her crotch, I saw the outline of the “v” where her legs came together. I thought she was doing this on purpose, to show me, to teach me. She didn’t say anything, just turned, swirling her dress with the grace of a dancer, and walked away. As I heard her start the bath upstairs, I imagined her getting undressed. I imagined she getting undressed with me watching, with her knowing I was watching.

“I just want you to know, what it’s all about,” she says, the dress sliding off her body, her breasts, her crotch now fully visible. “Here, feel what it’s like,” she says, taking my hand, pulling it onto the pillow that is her breast. “Do you want to learn?” she asks, spreading her legs, closing her eyes while I stare, then push and probe.

“Johnny… Johnny…”

I opened my eyes and pulled my hand out of my pants. I listened, then called out, “Mom?” There was no answer, so I headed upstairs. “Mom?” The bathroom door was open a bit. “Mom, were you calling me?” As I got closer, I heard her washing herself. I pushed on the door and called to her from the hallway. “Mom, did you call me?”

“Would you come in and help me,” she said. When I didn’t answer, she said, “I need some help. I can’t reach.”

I pushed the door open all the way and stepped in. She was in the tub, her back to me. I couldn’t see anything except her hair. She had taken it down. It was hanging long and wet down her back. God, her skin looked so soft. Something deep inside me wanted to touch that wet skin, stroke that wet hair, but instead, I said, “Mom! You don’t have any clothes on!”

“Don’t be silly,” she said. “I’m taking a bath.” Without seeing the struggled reaction on my face, she went on, “I’m sure I’m not the first woman you’ve ever seen naked! Besides, you’ve seen me without my clothes many times…”

She must have felt my question.

“When you were smaller, when you were a boy,” she said, turning now to face me, her breasts dripping with water.