I was spending the weekend over at my mom's place. It was Saturday morning. I had just come out of the shower and was heading back to my room with a towel wrapped around my waist. My mother was sitting on the sofa in her robe, having coffee, and had poured me a mug. I stopped and sat down next to her. It was nice being relaxed and casual like that. My mother and father had gotten divorced three years ago, and now that I was older mom and I got along pretty well. We were enjoying having a more mature relationship and being friends.
Mom looked sort of amused to have me sitting there like that, wrapped in a towel. She was wearing a short, silky, dark blue robe. The thin fabric suggesting that she was wearing nothing beneath. Certainly not a bra, with the points of her nipples pushing visibly out at the fabric.
"I hope that no one's coming over," I remarked somewhat mindfully.
"I'm not expecting anyone," she said. Then, knowing that I was referring to our attire, she added, "And it's not like anyone's going to just come walking in. "
"No.
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I guess not," I said.
"And we're covered up," she pointed out. "And even if we weren't. . . I live in an apartment," she added, addressing the issue of privacy, "no one can see in. Not on the sixth floor. "
I grinned sheepishly.
"Good thing," I said. "That might be a little embarrassing otherwise. "
She gave me a chiding sort of smirk.
"Well, only if someone saw us sitting here with nothing on. Which they can't. " Carelessly she added, "Otherwise you never know. .
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. it might be kind of fun. "
I know that I blushed just a tiny bit. "What? Sitting here with nothing on?"
She laughed. "Well. . . " she said, being entirely practical about it, "if we just happened to be. "
We both laughed. I could hardly believe my mother saying something like that! Something so uninhibited.
"You mean. . . if I just happened to walk out of the bathroom without a towel, and you just happened to be sitting here without your robe?" I teased.
"Or if we just happened to feel like doing that," she said innocently.
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"That still might be kind of embarrassing," I remarked.
"I think that I have seen all of that before," she retorted, presenting herself as being accepting of male nudity, including my own. "I wouldn't be embarrassed, and I certainly wouldn't be shocked. "
I gave her a kind of dubious look.
Demurely she commented, "Like I said. . . it might be just a little fun. . . having nothing on. It's not like anyone would know. "
I could tell that mom found the idea kind of entertaining, doing something a little bit daring like that, and seeing it as harmless fun. Normally my mother was always quite sensible, and it was actually kind of nice seeing her having a fun side. I know that she had been understandably down after the divorce, and now she was loosing up and coming into her own.
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"No. I suppose no one would know," I admitted.
She smiled. "I mean. . . if you just slipped your towel off, and I slipped my robe off. . . just for a moment. "
"I guess we could," I found myself saying.
My mother gave me another sort of amused look.
I grinned back, and figured, why not?
I opened my towel and slipped it aside.
"Oh!" she said with delight over my doing that.
She then proceeded to open her robe and slip it off, revealing her own nakedness.
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I had never seen my mother naked before.
I was surprised to see this attractive woman sitting there. She was very shapely. Her breasts were quite full, with two cherry-brown nipples poking out, and I could see the dark, sandy bush of her pubic hair dipping between her smooth thighs. She looked at me expectantly, as if waiting to see what my reaction was. I smiled, showing my obvious approval of what I saw.
"Oooo. . . " she cooed with a modest flush. "It's kind of nice being naked with one's own son. "
"It's kind of nice being naked with my own mother," I said right back.
"Well, how many other mothers have you been naked with?" she teased.
"None," I said, being honest about that. I was only twenty-two, and my opportunities to be with naked women, mothers or not, were hardly legendary.
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"But when it's your own mother. . . "
.
