For reasons unknown, I found myself becoming aroused at the idea of being naked for my mother to see. It felt like an exhibitionist rush. The taboo was surreal. My heart started to race. Blood started flowing. My heart was pounding. I was slowly becoming erect.
My mother looked down and immediately saw my growing erection. It was humiliating, and I could tell she was shocked. Her eyes widened and the tension in the room was uncomfortable.
“Maybe we can compromise,” she said. “Maybe I can paint you like this, with your underwear on. I can try to paint the nude portion of your body using my imagination. But if it doesn’t look right, we can do a nude portrait tomorrow.”
“That sounds like a great idea,” I replied.
I breathed a sigh of relief. My mother just spared me the humiliation of having to get naked to reveal my hard cock, which was already bulging through my underwear. She knew it would have been extremely awkward for both of us.
“Have a seat. Sit comfortably. Any way you like. Look towards the window so I’ll only paint the side of your face.”
I did as she asked and sat on the sofa. I leaned back and got comfortable. I turned my face away from my mother. The moment I sat still, my mother began to paint me without a hint of warning. She immediately dipped her brush in the paint and began to work. She told me not to move, and I sat still.
An hour passed, and my erection slowly began to fade. The entire time she painted me, it felt like a strangely sexual experience between us. In the corner of my eye, I watched her carefully examine every inch of my body. And I enjoyed looking at her. I’ve always thought my mother was a very beautiful woman. Seeing her concentrate, doing something she loved only made her look more attractive.
When it was over, she smiled at me and told me it was ready. She seemed excited about it. I got up and walked over to where she stood, and looked at the painting. It was her version of how she thought I looked naked.
*** POSING NUDE FOR THE FIRST TIME ***
Monday was a holiday. I woke up later than usual, and I thought about what I was going to do that day. I didn’t have any plans.
When I went down the stairs for breakfast, I saw that my mother was in her art room. I looked inside, and saw that she was standing in front of the portrait she made of me, thinking to herself. She must have been in a deep state of concentration because she didn’t say anything to me, knowing that I was behind her.
“What are you thinking about?” I asked.
“The portrait,” she replied. “I’m not sure if I like it.”
“Why not? I think you did a great job. It’s the same standard as all your other work.”
She turned to me and nodded. “Yeah, but something doesn’t feel right about it. The nudity is supposed to be the centerpiece of this portrait, but it doesn’t feel authentic. I didn’t paint you nude. I substituted that part with my own imagination, that’s why this painting feels wrong.”
I knew where this was headed. My mother was having second thoughts, and she probably wanted to get me naked so she could paint me.