“Come, dear, or I’ll be late!” Mother gently chided me. I opened the next button. More sweet skin. Naked. I closed my eyes as I tried to open the next.
“Mother… I…” and my hands were against the skin and I was fumbling. I was almost helpless from shame and embarrassment because my thing was getting hard again. Then I felt the top of something. I opened my eyes, and there was the blouse! A thin, backless and sleeveless summer blouse!
Mother didn’t say anything, although she made a little motion that was like a contented cat. To my further deep shame, I imagined she moved back a little toward me. I kept unbuttoning now with my shaking hands till all the buttons were loosed.
Mother turned toward me, raising her hands to the shoulders so the sweater would stay on.
“Thank you, dear,” she said, smiling at my confusion. “Now you just sit here on the bed, and I will be dressed in a minute.”
She kissed me lightly on the forehead, pressed my arm with her hand, which let the sweater start to slide! She lingered one wild moment, and just before it fell, turned and went behind the screen. I sat staring dumbly after her.
The light on the dressing table threw her silhouette sharply on the silk screen. I could see her sitting doing something with her stockings. Then I realized she was taking them off, for I could see the movement of each leg lifting, then the clear, pure outline of the leg perfectly, and her pulling the stocking slowly off. I was fascinated by this, even silhouetted, process of seeing the unknown. Then the stockings were tossed across the top of the screen. Just the sight of the silk tops which had been a few seconds ago in that private hidden world, maddened me.
“Oh, Lars, dear, would you get me those very sheer stockings that are lying on top of the bureau in the corner?”
I picked up the nylons, so sheer as to be almost invisible, shivering at their touch and the idea of what they were- about to witness, and carried them to her. As I reached the screen, I hesitated in embarrassment, not knowing her state of undress, nor what I should do.
Mother said: “Oh, thank you, dear,” and stepped out. I froze with shock at the motion. But she was still clothed as before, except that her legs and feet were bare. The naked feet were a new world for me. Why should my heart topple over just seeing her naked feet in the soft white rug? She smiled at me, took the stockings from my stunned hands, and went back behind the screen. I sat down heavily on the bed. Then suddenly discovered that the mirror showed clearly what was behind the screen.
I could not resist, although I realized that I should; looking I could see perfectly.
Above the screen I could just see Mother’s head, and below it, her ankles, but the mirror of the dressing table, turned as it was, showed me everything! Everything in between! The trumpets started in me again.
Mother, of course, was unaware of all this. In the mirror I saw her seated pulling on the stockings; pulling them and smoothing them carefully over her calves and knees. The motion sent little shivers through me. Then she pulled her skirt up a bit, and began to adjust the nylons on her thighs. I strained forward to see, but because of the angle at which she was sitting, I could see little but the folds of the skirt and the stroking. That and the almost caressing motion of her hands.
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.