My Mum was restless. She’d changed her position on our sofa at least four times now while being totally engrossed in her paperback novel. She’d started off conventionally, sitting upright with the book on her lap and her legs together to support it, but then she’d taken a couple of cushions, adjusted her skirt beneath her and lain back with the book held high above her head. That hadn’t lasted long either though, and her arms probably ached, so she’d scooted round and lay on her side. That position proved unsuitable as well, so now she’d adopted a strange, and to me very provocative pose where she lay on her front, her head hanging over the arm of the sofa with her heavy breasts wedged up against it, and the book lying on the floor.
This might not have been her favorite position, but I have to say that from my vantage point it was certainly one of mine, so I appreciated it while I could. I was sprawled in an armchair opposite, and the view certainly had a lot going for it. The only way it might have been better would have had to involve the loosening of certain items of clothing. Since I was sure nothing of the kind was likely to happen in the foreseeable future, I resigned myself to taking in the firm round swell of her bum underneath the thin cotton skirt — so thin that I could have traced the outline of her panties beneath it. I could see they were small and trimmed with lace edging, and through the delicate mesh of the skirt’s material and by screwing my eyes up a little bit, I could even see that they were a snowy white.
It crossed my mind that I should get out more. What was I doing taking perverse pleasures from eying up my own Mum?
To turn a page, she had to bring her nearside arm forward, resulting in a flash of the side of her (matching!) white bra and a lifting of the bottom hem of her blouse to show a strip of lily-white flesh at her waist.
Ah, this was better than the TV any day — an unprogrammed reality show where you never knew what was going to happen next. What did happen next was that our lovable cat Toots decided to take an interest in her reading as well and promptly placed himself like a huge fat bookmark between her pages. Mum shooed him away and, miffed, he jumped up onto the back of the sofa. From there he eyed Mum’s bum just as intently as I was doing but, unlike me, couldn’t resist such temptation and sprang down onto her lovely buoyant cheeks which wobbled under the impact.
Mum was used to his crazy antics and hardly moved, other than to clench her cheeks alternately in an effort to unbalance him. But our Toots is never easily unbalanced, and he rode her arse like a true surfer. Mum for her part gave up and allowed him to finally nestle there in the soft valley of her backside. I was so envious of the way he was able to freely rest his head into the niche offered between her bum cheeks and the top of her slightly open long legs.
The show didn’t end there though. Anyone who’s ever had a cat will know that it has to arrange its sleeping pad just so, and this is engineered by picking at the material it is lying on with its front claws. Not deep enough to scratch, but certainly deep enough to bunch up the material beneath it. In this way Toots bunched up Mum’s skirt at the back and in no time at all I was being offered a great upskirt view of Mum’s white pantie-covered bum entirely on display, her legs splayed enough that I thought I could just make out a few wisps of itinerant pussy hairs projecting from around the edges of her panties as they swept down between her cheeks. It was only when Toots didn’t stop there and decided to rearrange her panties as well that Mum finally lost patience with him and swung up and round to give him a flick with the book and shoo him away. The book swung out of her grasp and landed with a thump onto the carpet in front of me.
“Get off me, you little pervert..!” she shouted at the spooked cat as he leapt off her and up over the back of the sofa. Mum was momentarily distracted and lifted one leg to regain a sitting position and to adjust her skirt. Oh vision. This allowed me a virtual paparazzi pic of her legs when they were open at their widest juncture. I might later take this memory of her panties clinging to the sides of her pussy lips up with me to my bedroom where I would then use it extensively in one of my increasingly frequent sordid Mum-fantasies.
So, all in all, this was turning out to be one of our regular lazy weekends where we’d both fallen into the habit of doing as little as possible. After the three years since Dad had died I no longer felt I had to be at Mum’s side on a regular basis to support her, but I had chosen to study from home instead of my first intention which had been to move away and attend Uni at Manchester or London. Now I was here because I could help out with the rent and also because I felt so comfortable in her presence. She was my Mum after all, but she was also my friend, which might go some way towards explaining the confusion I felt as a young horny fellow in the presence of a lovely, well-rounded woman who could effortlessly turn many heads in the bahis firmaları street.
I bent over and picked up her book, glancing at the title, ‘Picnic at Hanging Rock’. Pleasant memories immediately came rushing back to me of those careless days out by the river, climbing trees, swinging on ropes, blankets spread out on the grass with all kinds of yummy delicacies with which you were allowed to make a beast of yourself. It was clear what we should do today.
“We should do that.” I said, indicating the book.
Mum smiled, looking at the title. “It might take at least one taxi and a couple of buses to get there. It’s in Australia.”
“Oh. No, but the picnic thing. You remember we used to go, a whole bunch of us, with Auntie Jill and Fiona?”
I called them ‘Aunties’, but they were really neighbors from where we used to live. They’d had five kids between them and we’d all used to pile onto the local bus, loaded down with bags and hampers, and ridden out into the countryside and set ourselves up where there’d been woods, a bend in the river, long stretches of pasture and, strategically for my Dad and ‘Uncles’, a village pub not half a mile away.
“Mmm, what I seem to remember from those jaunts was having to dunk your head into the river to wash it when you somehow managed to get it layered in strawberry jam. I got soaked. I felt like one of those poor women you see on the television having to do their washing in the Ganges…”
“C’mon Mum, I’m all grown-up now. I promise I’ll keep the lid on this time…”
I gave her one of my best cutest grins and she seemed to look me over as though assessing whether I really was all grown-up now. I must have passed the test because she sighed, “Well I think we could both do with a bit of fresh air instead of being cooped up in here all day long…so, okay, why not?”
Having come to a decision, we both began scurrying around like hamsters getting the gear together for our picnic. If we weren’t going to cook, we were going to gorge ourselves on other things — anything which could be spread or heaped between two slices of bread, so Mum dumped onto the table all kinds of items we might take with us, undecided about the strawberry jam until I took it from her hands with a laugh and added it to the growing pile. In no time at all we’d assembled everything we figured we’d need and I’d stuffed most of it into my old hiking rucksack while Mum took the rest in her own smaller backpack.
Of course, she felt she had to change clothes for our epic journey which she did by changing into a light pink summer dress with an additional cardigan should it turn a bit chilly. This was England after all, which meant that even though the weather might be fine in the morning there was no guarantee against snow in the afternoon. Still, within an hour of deciding, we’d already hopped onto a bus and were on our way out into the countryside.
Sitting there beside me on the bus, I could see that Mum was really looking forward to our day out. She seemed to be beaming with expectation, and her laughing face in profile made her look a lot younger. Not that she was old by any means; after all, she’d had me straight after school. No, she looked comfortable in her own body. Which meant I had to take a pic of her so I took out my phone and quickly clicked a shot off before the moment was lost.
“No!” she laughed and put up a hand to shield herself from the phone. “Put that thing away, Jamie, we’re going for a picnic which means back to nature. No mod-cons. At all.” She paused, then nudged my shoulder. “Show me.”
I did. The picture was actually quite artistic in spite of me having no time to frame and focus it. The sun reflected off the sunglasses she’d shoved up onto her head, her auburn hair shone, her eyes glistened and her regular teeth gleamed healthily in an unself-conscious laugh.
“Okay, you can keep that one.”
We chatted about where we were going and the things that had inevitably gone wrong on previous outings, which in their way had only made the days out more happily memorable, and we were both laughing as we got off the bus outside one of the local villages.
Oh. It seemed modern life had intervened in the meantime. Where there had been a stile to gain access to a ramblers’ footpath, the low wall was now stretched over with barbed wire. Foundations for houses, cement mixers and builders’ rubble were all too evident on the other side, as well as a sign warning trespassers of a fate worse than death should they encroach on the property. We stood there indecisively.
“You don’t got to worry about that sign any,” piped up a voice from behind us. “That comp’ny caused a right stink when they started buildin’. They’s the ones doin’ the trespassin’.” This wrinkled old lady stood there defiantly, daring us to commit a crime. “It’s down in t’ church ledger since olden times — that there’s a public footpath an’ they’ve no rights to go blockin’ it off. So you can go through if you like. No one’ll stop you. They reckon they’re gonna leave a space through t’ property anyway once it’s done, but they gotta put up kaçak iddaa a sign ’cause of t’ insurance comp’ny.”
And with that she ambled away.
Mum and I smiled at each other.
“We shall…not sure about this barbed wire, though.”
“That’s okay, I’ll hold it down with my foot while you climb over.”
I climbed up a couple of steps onto the old stile and Mum gave me her hand for balance while I trod the wire down. She stepped up past me and her scent wafted by me as she delicately put one foot across. Her bum was opposite my face and I wondered fleetingly whether I should hold her there as well, just for extra balance, of course. I must have been distracted because she took a tiny leap and when she released my hand, I also released my foot from the wire. One barb hooked onto the trailing hem of her flouncy dress, and as she continued her motion forward and down, it both lifted the hem and effectively ripped a vertical tear up the back, right up to the seat of her panties. Mum let out a shriek and made a good impression of a helicopter veering out of control as she spun this way and that trying to see what damage had been done.
“Oh no…oh the fuck…oh shit…oh bollocks!”
She frantically felt behind her to assess the damage, her hands flailing horizontally to find only fresh air behind her legs, and then vertically to find that that fresh air went up as far as her ass. She spun herself round to see if anyone had seen, but there was only me there, albeit with my mouth hanging half open in momentary disbelief and playing back the last few seconds to see whether it was my fault.
Mum looked up imploringly at me as she turned her behind away and used both hands to clench the two halves of the skirt of her dress together.
I found my voice. “Mum, calm down, calm down…let me have a look…” Had I actually asked to have a look at my Mum’s backside? “…at the damage, let’s see what the damage is. Please?”
I stepped down from the wall and joined her there. I could see that her day was ruined before it had even started.
“Turn round. It’s okay, no-one can see, we’re behind the wall.”
Mum scanned the horizon three-sixty degrees, bit her lip and then turned her back to show me the damage. I crouched down so the rip was now at eye-level and pondered the options. It was a lovely sight and I could have stayed there all day, my nose and eyes only inches away from Mum’s lovely bum, the taut white silk stretching across her globes and the bottom of her cheeks pouting out from below the delicate lace. The darker vertical shadow beneath the material made me want to insert both my hands underneath and fondle the bounciness…
Mum’s no-nonsense tone brought me back to reality.
“You got any safety pins? Clips or anything like that? Don’t women carry those sorts of things around in their purses?”
“Mmm…Let me see…No! I must have left them behind with my petticoats, my manicure set and my mascara…”
Okaaay then. A sore point. Then I was struck by an idea.
“Alright, I’ve got it…”
“I bloody hope you’ve got it, because the state I’m in, I’ll be the butt of wolf-whistles all the way home. And not just from the blokes, probably from that Linda Slater as well”
“No, we don’t need to go home, we just need a bit of privacy…”
Mum looked at me quizzically. I held up a finger.
“I’ve got an idea, and you’re about to find out that you didn’t waste your money by sending me to university to study engineering. Well, not all your money. I did spend a bit in my first year getting smashed out of my brain…”
Mum glared at me.
“Anyway, look, for now let’s take your cardigan, tie it round your waist, and then it’ll hang down behind and cover the rip — at least temporarily until I can repair it.”
“You can repair it?” A glimmer of hope.
“Of course. That’s what engineers do, Mum, they solve mechanical problems. It’s easy-peasy.”
I smiled what I hoped was an encouraging smile. It took Mum a moment to mull it over but then she shrugged in a resigned fashion and sighed, “Fine…but just know I will be wanting my money’s worth.” Then she smiled back and it was all okay.
We made our way through the deserted building site and out into the undulating fields beyond. In the distance, cows surveyed us impassively.
I turned to Mum and said, “This must be pasture for those cows over there, so watch out you don’t….” There was a squelching sound as Mum’s left foot trod squarely into the centre of a fresh cowpat. She stopped with her foot still there, immobile, and when she lifted it there was a sucking noise as her bare foot lifted out, leaving her trainer embedded, the pungent liquid which had been hidden beneath the thin scabby layer now oozing inwards to fill the vacant space.
Mum looked down in disbelief. I think I saw a tear forming in her eye. “Nooo…! They’re my best trainers! They cost me a fortune…!”
I saw that Mum was tipping over into crisis mode, so I stepped in quickly, reached down and extracted the shoe with a kaçak bahis further ‘Slurrrp’ which would have done credit to a Don Martin cartoon. I poured out the gunk and then scooped out most of the rest with my fingers and a handful of grass.
“I’m sure you had to do worse when I was a baby, didn’t you?”
“True, but we had running water and wet wipes and stuff.”
I wiped my hand across the grass, and with my other hand took out a plastic bag from my backpack and dropped the offending shoe into it then put the bag back into the pack.
“My shoe! How will I walk now??”
I transferred the rucksack to my front, smiled at Mum and turning my back to her, said, “The river’s not too far, and it’s downhill. Madam, your steed awaits.”
Mum giggled and jumped up onto my back, her arms around my neck and my arms cradling her beneath her thighs.
We wended our way delicately through the cow minefield, out through another field and then the landscape dipped down towards the river valley. All this time, Mum was hugging me from behind, squeezing me with her thighs and occasionally licking my cheek and playfully kissing my ear. She wasn’t too heavy at all. I was in good shape because of my football sessions at Uni, while she had also been persuaded by her mate at work to put time in at the gym and to start jogging. I think the gym bit was also designed to get her out of the house and back into society.
I had no complaints. In fact with her bum bouncing along in the small of my back, her breasts wobbling against my shoulder blades, and the soft scented feel of her cheek pressing up against mine had a not-unexpected arousing effect on me. The rucksack at my front wasn’t weighing down too much anymore because it was now being supported by my rock-hard horizontal cock.
We eventually came down to the river and walked along its bank until we came upon an ideal place; flat, grassy, shaded by trees with a background melody of the water gurgling its way across smooth, worn rocks. Mum whispered into my ear, “Whoa, boy.”
She alighted and I lifted the pack off my front and stretched myself backwards, arms akimbo, to straighten myself out. Mum’s bemused stare reminded me that my stretching backwards had only served to push my waist forward, and with that, my hardened cock even more so. Flustered, I busied myself with the blanket we’d brought along and began hauling stuff out of my pack. Busy, busy, busy, intent on setting out our picnic spread and not at all interested in the woman by my side who I could see out of the corner of my eye was smiling affectionately towards me.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?”
I looked up and prayed to hell I wasn’t blushing.
“You promised me I’d get my money’s worth and you’d solve the problem of my dress. So just how do you reckon on doing that, Mister?”
I figured that if my dick was hard now, then what I was about to propose might have undesired consequences.
“Umm…” I looked for how to break it gently. “I know how to do it but you’ll have to trust me. Do you trust me?” I looked straight into her eyes. She looked directly back at me, stepped close, brought a hand up to my cheek and kissed me on the lips.
“Of course I do.”
“Then you’ll have to take off your dress.”
She raised one eyebrow and there was just the hint of a smile.
“It’s alright, there’s no-one around. And look, if you like, you can wear my shirt in the meantime.”
Without waiting for an answer I clumsily wrestled my shirt open and tore it off my back, holding it out to her as a peace-offering. She didn’t take it immediately, but stood there staring at my bare chest. I was breathing heavily. I think she was, too. Then without another moment’s thought, she inverted her arms across her front, leant down and hoisted her dress up and over her head. Her disheveled hair with its jumble of waves reappeared below the neck of the dress and she shook it out as she released her arms from the shoulder straps. This also made her front shake, and the cups of her low-cut bra swung heavily from side to side. I was immediately enthralled.
“Jamie…the shirt?” She was holding the dress out towards me as barter for the shirt. As I lifted my eyes reluctantly from her chest, the smile on her face had spread wider.
“Not bad for an old crone then?”
While I was stuttering for some kind of response, she came up to me again, tossing me the dress and taking my shirt, put an arm around the back of my head and, pressing up against me, gave me yet another kiss on the lips. The way she pushed her belly up against me, there was no way she didn’t feel my erection.
And there was no way I couldn’t feel her heat either.
But then she was all business. The mother in her had taken over. She pulled away, stroking across my chest with widespread fingers, and as she pulled on my shirt, but without bothering to button it up, she said, “You do what you’ve got to do with my dress and in the meantime I’ll set out a spread for lunch. Would that be a suitable division of labour?” She sexily jutted one hip to the side and just stood there like a nineteen-sixties’ Penthouse model in open shirt, skimpy panties and thrusting bra showing just a hint of nipple, one hand held out in supplication.