After Brett Burgess’ mother had watched him orgasm in front of her, he hoped the next step in their relationship journey would involve her intimately touching him. But the unexpected and unwanted presence of his father had put those fantasies on hold. His father had returned from a prolonged business trip. He was about the house constantly and as much as he had interrupted the emotional sharing Brett had with his mum, his father also had disturbed the delicate balancing act that had led to Brett sharing his naked body.
To make matters worse the early heat wave of June had given way to incessant rains. The downpour had left little opportunity for his mother to watch him from the garden even if his father hadn’t been there. Brett had started to wonder if that was for the best. Their relationship had become stronger after he ejaculated in front of her. She had watched through his bedroom window and coyly clapped for his climaxing. He felt satisfaction in the thought that she had seen him exposed. It felt right and complete, like a missing piece of the jigsaw of their mother and son relationship had fallen into place. They both had the memory of that sunny day. He knew that they would both replay it over and over again in their heads. But maybe that was enough. They didn’t need to take it any further.
He fantasized about her taking his penis in her small manicured hands with the sharp nails. He imagined what it would be like if he was to ejaculate on her face. He thought that would be an amazing sharing experience with her. Perhaps these thoughts were better left as fantasies though. There was his father to think about now and he wasn’t even sure if his mum would want to take it further. Whenever conversations with her had turned in that direction Brett would feel his mouth dry out and his tongue feel heavy and thick so that he would wonder if his mother noticed the change in his tone or sense the quickening of his pulse. He never quite knew how much to acknowledge or recognise. They had never properly discussed what had happened. It seemed as though there was another boundary there, one which both of them dare not cross.
All these factors played into Brett’s surprise when he climbed into the shower that morning in late July and he was confronted with his mum’s undergarments. He realised that until that moment in all his twenty years he had never actually seen her underwear before. His mother was prim and proper. She didn’t wear revealing clothes and never left her undergarments so that they were visible in the laundry. He had never actually seen her in just her underwear before, but he had also not seen her underwear by itself either. She had been discreet and modestly kept it from view. Brett had considered her underwear off limits and in general any talk of underwear was done with some embarrassment and awkwardness. He had once or twice wondered what type of underwear she might wear and the sensible silk skin coloured briefs and brassier were exactly what he had expected. He looked at them for a few seconds before reaching over to take them out.
Then he recalled that she had asked him not to handle her laundry after he had been running. She sometimes left clothes to drip dry in the bathroom and didn’t want her sweaty and muddy son handling her delicate items. Brett reasoned that this rule probably especially counted for her underwear. He was keenly aware that he had changed out of his running clothes before coming to the bathroom. She had asked him not to traipse about through the house in his muddy gear. He was now left with the dilemma of moving the underwear out of the shower in which case she would realise he had done so. Or he could go back to his room and change into his wet and muddy running shorts again and call her down to come remove the laundry. Both options didn’t seem very satisfactory. The first option was out because he knew it was these type of small things that really annoyed her and he certainly didn’t want to cause her any irritation, however small. The second option was unattractive because he didn’t want to change back into the wet running clothes again. A thought then entered his head that sent an electrifying pulse surging through his body. What if she wants me to call her down while I am naked, he thought. Could that be possible, he asked himself. Maybe she set it up so that I would be forced to be down here naked while she came in to get the underwear. The thought was at once both unbelievable and plausible. It didn’t seem beyond the realms of reason. She had seen him naked through the window that sunny morning, but the important difference was that there had been a very real physical barrier between them. If he called her into the bathroom now, nothing would separate her from his nakedness. It didn’t seem a coincidence either that this just happened to be the time she had asked his father to go pick up a few groceries.
On one occasion Brett had come back from a run and bumped into his mum in the passageway. He had partially undressed from his muddy clothes and was just wearing his running shorts. His mother had been startled at first but then placed her hands on his shoulders and talked to him.
‘I want you to know that I respect your privacy’ she had said. ‘I want you to feel comfortable and relaxed around me.’
‘Thanks mum’ Brett had said shifting his hands across his front. ‘I appreciate that. Privacy is important to me.’
‘That’s good dear, but also…’ she paused momentarily as if thinking how to phrase her words carefully ‘…but also you don’t have to be shy. You are a strapping young man. Any mother would be so proud with such an intelligent and athletic son.’ She ran a finger across his shoulders. She did it incidentally. It was natural. ‘You certainly don’t need to hide.’ She beamed a smile at him. It was a knowing smile. It was also a very naughty smile. ‘I don’t want to embarrass you Brett but speaking as a woman I have every confidence you will make your girlfriends very satisfied one day’. Brett felt his heart beating hard and didn’t trust himself to reply just thinking about what she was referring to. That was probably the most risqué thing he had ever heard his mother say. ‘So I don’t want you to think that you need to hide yourself.’ She looked down his body as she spoke. ‘I am not as prudish as they all make out’. She giggled sweetly. Brett loved to see her laugh. On that day Brett had walked the few steps to the bathroom without daring to look back. He wondered if his mother had watched him walk into the bathroom, he fantasised that she had.
And then the bad weather had started. At first Brett thought it would clear within a couple of days but it had set in as a steady drizzle. He had continued to go out running even in the rain. The first time he had come back from a run when it had been raining he headed straight for the shower. He found a white blouse hanging to dry. He realised that his mum was forced to drip dry the more delicate clothes in the bathroom as they couldn’t hang outside in this weather. He carefully hung it outside before climbing in. This happened a few more times until his mother eventually asked him to call her to collect them instead. She said she would prefer to hang them up herself and Brett thought nothing of it and guessed that her sweaty son handling her clean laundry wasn’t the best idea. The next time he called her to collect the laundry he handed it to her with his head sticking around the door. It gave him an exhilarating rush thinking that the door acted as the only barrier protecting his nakedness. She had thanked him but said that next time she could come in and collect it herself.
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