Then suddenly, she got up. She reached down under her skirt. It lifted. I was going to see! There was the full splendid curve of her satiny thigh above the stocking as she fastened something to hold it up! I trembled! Needles of excitement ran over my skin, and a wildness began to rise in me. The light fell full on her leg, and the whiteness and the smoothness of it was clear. She kept working with the stocking and a little more of the flesh was visible. I leaned forward trying to see all, shaking as though I had a fever.
Suddenly the dress dropped but then she was doing the other stocking. I looked away. I tried to catch my breath and somehow control myself from this shameful behavior. Mother had asked me to stay so I could feel warm and close to her, and now, taking advantage of this because the mirror happened to allow it, I was spying on her body. But the skin was so soft and smooth, and I wanted so very much to just touch it! Or even just to see… I looked again.
Above the screen, Mother’s head was tilted back, and she was slipping the cardigan from her shoulders. I glanced quickly to the mirror, and there, as the sweater came off, I saw her fine, well rounded arms. The blouse was cut deep. Her torso all the way to the beginning of her breasts, was exposed bare! The light, as I said, was good, and her flesh seemed to glow in it with a pale light of its own. She turned her head and neck. Her breasts beneath the blouse rose and fell. I was terribly excited, my eyes glued to the mirror now despite myself.
Now she was beginning to unbutton her blouse, which opened down the front. I strained to see, but the breasts were covered in another garment. A sheath of lace that held her secret beauty carefully. But even this excited me, the special intimacy of this unknown clothing… and there was still more. She unbuttoned more. Flesh began again, below the lace! Her stomach! Her navel! and the curve of her waist. I drank these in. I was helpless with excitement. There she stood now, letting the blouse slip off and down her arms behind her, to the floor, sitting naked to the waist except for her brassiere. I devoured the swell of her breasts! The skin on her stomach unnerved me. As I watched, she passed her hands over her breasts cupping them, smiling down lovingly at them as she cradled them delicately. I could not move!
Then she got up, turning her back towards the mirror, and reached back to the thin strap running across it which held the brassiere. Now. Now, I thought. She’s going to open them to the light. To me! But, either she meant only to adjust it, or thought better of it, for now she opened something at the side of her skirt, and unzipped a small zipper.
This done, she reached down to the hem of her skirt. Oh please, I prayed in me. Please this time. Please let me see. The skirt lifted showing more and more of her nylon covered leg. Higher, and I saw again that white flesh of her thigh till it ended in the thinnest, sheerest pair of lace pants. The skirt continued up, but I remained fixed to the panties. All that treasure. The wealth of flesh, the lush swelling thighs so terribly white and gleaming above the stockings suddenly hiding in the film or black lace of the pants. The amplitude of the hips straining the thin material. And then curving in so beautifully to the startlingly slender waist so white and clean above the pants again. The pants plump with a luxury of woman. I remembered Gunilla last night. I remembered the mysteries my hands had played with in the dark: the softness of flesh, the hair, the wetness, the unbelievably exotic discovery of how the body had opened to my hands and mouth. And it was there. All that which was forbidden. All the final forbidden beauty of my Mother blooming in that lace, just that fragile distance from my eyes. The shame now was drowned in the shouting happiness in me. Marvelous animals prowled my blood roaring. I wanted to see her hair. I admitted it in myself. I wanted to look on my mother’s most finally hidden secret hair. All! All! But I couldn’t. I couldn’t see through that black. I thought I could see a swell of flesh or hair where I knew it to be from Gunilla, but I couldn’t really see! She turned. I saw the fullness of her buttocks, and could even make out the crack between the beautiful cheeks. I was panting open-mouthed. My heart hammered.
I sat shaking with excitement. I tried to look away, partially succeeded, but then had to look back. And now she actually was unhooking her brassiere! She was opening it! Now, at last. She was turning so I could see all in the mirror! I tried to look away. I couldn’t. And the knowledge that I couldn’t was an ecstasy. A triumph. Now! Now! Let me see them, Mother. Let me see your breasts, Mother. The whiteness. The nipples. The hidden nipples. All, Mother! My breath must have been audible as I gasped, trying to see- but all I caught was a suggestion of the swell of her breast as she turned her back again completely to the mirror, and picked up another brassiere from the seat. As she slipped her arms through the straps, she did turn a little towards the mirror, and I peered hard, straining every muscle. For a second she seemed to meet my eye. I couldn’t tell. Her eyes fell. But I had to see.
She hesitated a minute with her arms crossed over her breasts. There was a strange pause for a second. There was a blur of motion. A sense of silk and curves and whiteness. But almost immediately the breasts were snuggled in black, and I hadn’t seen!! But the effect of this almost seeing was so great on me that I just sat there, my heart pounding so as to nearly break me open.
I remember vaguely that another white thing, a slip, I guess, went on over her head, and then the dress which she wiggled into with a motion that any other time would have excited me, but I was so close to saturation that I almost did not notice until she seemed to catch on something. The dress was very tight, and she was trying to pull it on over her head.
She struggled a moment, then called, almost with embarrassment!
“Lars! This thing is caught on me-on my strap, I distinct not of appeal, but also of frustration. “Every think! Oh- would you help me!” This last with a time I’m in a hurry, something has to happen!” she was continuing…
I was terribly embarrassed. My penis, shamefully, had grown hard again, and push as I would, I could not completely conceal it. And I was shaking so. As best I could, I pushed it down, and began to go to the screen, but I could hardly walk, and Mother called again!
“Please come, dear, I’m very late and I’m caught in this tiling!”
I hurried as best I could, and walked around the screen, trying somehow not to look at her exposed body, but more out of fear of what would happen if I did than from any sense of decency.
The dress was over her head and came down as far as her ribs. Her arms were inside, and she had been struggling to get them through the arm holes. One arm had made it, but the other had passed the hole, and in her effort to adjust this, she had hooked the dress on to one of her understraps.
“Ah, Lars, here, dear, behind me-see if you can see where it is caught!”
I felt across her back under the dress, in the warmth, over the sweet flesh! I found where the dress had caught on a shoulder strap. Even so, my eyes could not resist a glance at the curving buttocks there, right where I might touch them. I struggled with the hook a moment, trying not to tear the fine violet fabric, but as I did so, Mother turned her head slightly, dusting her slightly perfumed hair across my face. I almost died!
And then, just as I got it undone, she leaned back towards me. I steadied her somehow, then stepped back, but even the touch of the dress on my hands had them shaking.
But she was still in trouble, for her arm could not find the hole. Her whole body seemed to twist, and even at this point, I found it almost uncontrollably exciting.
“Lars-please, dar-my arm-I can’t get it into the hole! Lift the dress on me a little, and then help me down with it when I tell you!”
I reached up and, taking the dress carefully on each side about where her head was, I began to lift. Mother had to keep twisting even so to help me. The dress was incredibly tight!
But as she did this, she twice rubbed her buttocks against my leg. It was all I could do not to scream.
“There, darling,” she was saying to me. “That’s fine now, but would you just help me pull it down so that I don’t get stuck again?”
“Yes, Mother,” I muttered. “But-uh-how do I…?”
“Just pinch it at the sides and pull… OOOH!-but without pinching me, sweetheart!” She had given a little jump, and leaned on me for a second, and I just couldn’t stand it!
I helped steady her with my palms, and then paused… Her voice came, softer now, and with a tone that made me think she might be near laughing, but I couldn’t tell.
“Don’t be afraid, dear! Just be careful you get just dress between your hands-uh-fingers, and not me!”
“I’m-I’m sorry, Mother… I didn’t mean to,” I stammered, and carefully as I could with my infernal shaking, I took the dress in my fingers and thumbs and tried to pull down on it.
Mother squirmed and twisted, trying to help, and little by little we made progress. Despite my good sense, I looked several times at the flesh of her thighs and buttocks, trembling more and more and more.
Now both her arms were in the holes, and the dress was coming down below her waist when suddenly, it stuck again.
