“Oh boy.” She looks down and squeezes her fingers between her eyes. “Can I plead the fifth on that?”
“Maybe it’s you who needs that wine bottle, mom.”
She nods and draws a coy smile. “Maybe I do. Make that two bottles. Oh my goodness.” She takes another sip. “Okay, look. Assuming I once did and still do, what would you do about it? You know, that’s a question I should be asking you as well. So, I’ll ask. Billy Morris, do you harbor fantasies about getting intimate with your mom? Not to answer for you, son, but from what you’ve said over the course of the last few minutes, the answer is kind of obvious. Is it not?”
He couldn’t help but grin. Of course, the answer is obvious. He’d look awfully silly denying what he’s known via his dreams, what Tracie obviously knows, what anybody who might have overheard their conversation would know. He draws a shy, hand-caught-in-the-cookie-jar smile, then runs a hand over his short, dark brown hair and chuckles. “Yeah, I guess the answer IS kind of obvious.”
She slips off one of her flats, extends her leg and begins to rub his calf with her bare foot. “Well, I still have that Teddy I mentioned. Want me to model it for you? It still fits. Well, sort of after a few pounds gained since I last wore it. Think of it as your dream come true.”
“And then what?”
“And then…I don’t know, we’ll see. Remember, you woke up before anything else happened.” She stands up and takes his hand. “Shall we?”
Wine glass in hand, he takes a seat on a stuffed lounge chair in the living room, while Tracie goes to her room to change. He drove over here more anxious than he can remember being anxious about anything. Now what he feels is a heady excitement. He doesn’t know where this will lead, but he sure as hell intends to find out. Best of all, he’s not dreaming; there will be no waking up to spoil the party. He hears her changing in her bedroom, hears the closet open and close, hears the faint whisper of clothes being taken off and put on. Then he hears the clip-clop of what sounds like high-heeled shoes coming down the hall.
Then, into the living room she steps, more like sashays over the yellow carpet, then stands just a few feet in front of him, hands on hips, with one luscious leg slightly in front of the other. “Well?”
He swallows. Hard. “Um, ah, yeah. Wow!”
The Teddy, sheer and black, covers half her breasts and drops just above her crotch. Matching panties cover her pubic area, so there’s no beaver hanging out. Except it might as well be because those see-through panties don’t offer much of a cover. The black high heels which complete the outfit, lend a beautiful taper to her shapely calves.
She slides her hands down her smooth, luscious thighs and says, “I’ve got black stockings to go with it but I think my legs look good enough without them. Don’t you?” She giggles watching him gawk.
“Um, yes, absolutely.”
She poses the way models do, turning left, then right, then in a full circle. Yes, she’s gained a little weight since she last wore it. The backs of her curvy, still firm thighs show faint traces of cellulite. Her tummy isn’t as flat as it once was. And her biggish boobs aren’t as firm as they were twenty years ago. But damn, does she look fucking sexy! He says, “Mom, if Victoria’s Secret has a place for middle-age women modeling this kind of stuff, you ought to apply.”
“Well, I don’t know about that, but thanks.”
Still seated, now on the edge of that lounge chair, he reaches out to touch her and she accommodates him by stepping closer. He rubs his hands over her legs, feeling the silky-smooth texture of her skin. He feels her butt, not as firm as it once was, but still cute enough and curvy enough to draw looks from guys lucky enough to be walking behind her. His cock, which began to rise in anticipation even before she entered the room, completes its trajectory upward.
“Oooo,” she gasps, when he puts his nose against her crotch and then kisses it. “I hope I don’t smell bad.”
“You smell lovely,” he says, and kisses it again.
Her knees bend slightly when she spreads her legs and swishes a hand over her crotch. “You’re making me awfully wet, young man. I bet that wasn’t in your dream.”
“No, it wasn’t,” he admits, licking his lips. “So, are you wet enough to lead me into your bedroom?”
“Sure, but before that…” She straddles his lap, then puts her lips to his.
He’s never in his life kissed his mom this way. But then, the way she’s dressed, coupled with his raging libido, makes him feel like she’s more Tracie than mom. Moms aren’t supposed to appear irresistibly sensuous and erotic in front of their sons, but that’s exactly how she appears, kissing him wearing that sexy outfit and grinding her wet pussy into his stiff cock. “God, I want you so bad,” he says.
She slides off his lap and takes his hand. “And have me you shall.”
Once in the bedroom, she says, “How about if I help you recreate that dream of yours? I believe you said I was sitting on the bed with my legs tucked under me with my beaver hanging out.”
“Yeah, that’s right.” He’s practically panting, while feeling an electric-like current shoot through him, head to toe.
Tracie steps out of her heels, then assumes the position, her butt against her calves. “And now for this,” she says, and then releases the snap from the crotch of her garment. “Look familiar?”