The end of the working week. Post a very satisfying dinner, the only sound better than the cracking open of my beer was the music of the title credits to my current favorite television show. I’d just settled into the armchair, put my feet up, and was about to take my first sip when Mom called my mobile.
“I think I need a new cell phone,” she began, forgoing pleasantries. “It keeps coming up with a warning saying,” she paused, “…wait a second.” I heard the sound of her placing down the receiver of her landline then what I assumed was rummaging through her handbag. “Insufficient memory,” she continued. “It’s been slow for days now and half my apps won’t even open!” She paused to take a breath and a smile came to my lips.
“Who is this?” I joked.
“Oh, stop it, you know it’s me!”
“Alright, well hello to you too,” I highlighted her impertinence before continuing. “I told you ages ago this would happen.”
“But it’s only about five years old,” she argued and I snickered.
“Mom, that’s a lifetime in tech years. Leave it with me, I’ll look online, find one in your budget.”
“Oh, I don’t mind what it costs. Can we get it tonight?” She quickly added.
“Tonight!?”
“It’s late-night shopping,” she needlessly informed me. “Baby, my games aren’t even opening!”
I looked at the paused opening scene of my show; my as-yet-untouched beer; and I suppressed a sigh that longed to come.
“Alright,” I managed to smile. “Can’t let you miss out on your games! Be there in twenty.”
*
So, there I was. A thirty-two-year-old single man, walking alongside his mother on a Friday night through a crowded suburban mall. I looked at the generally young age of the shoppers around us and wondered what teenage Me would’ve thought about my life right now. The word ‘sad’ ultimately coming to mind. Grimacing at the thought, I changed my expression to a smile as my eye was caught by an impossibly attractive salesgirl working one of those annoying mid-aisle kiosks.
Young, blonde, and with a body straight from a NSFW website, she returned my smile before offering a flyer for her promotion.
“Win a Bahamas cruise,” she declared and I politely shook my head when I noticed the banner behind her displaying the product she was advertising.
“Ooh, I like the sound of that!” Mom however wasn’t so quick to dismiss the opportunity, reaching across in front of me to happily receive the pamphlet, causing us both to stop.
“Well, join our Bikini Club and you’ll be well on your way to winning,” the girl laughed at Mom’s enthusiasm in the face of my apathy. “You’ve heard of Wet Waves?”
I had! What red-blooded male hadn’t? Their appearances on the Home Shopping Network, legendary. YouTube clips of all the ‘best bits’ always worthy of a watch when ‘in the mood.’ Mom, however, I was sure, would have no idea of the micro and extreme bikinis the company was known for and I was ready to hasten her along to save us all from embarrassment when she answered.
“You know I have,” she giggled, touching the bare arm of the promo girl gently in acknowledgment.
“Let me guess,” the girl smiled. “The Home Shopping channel?” And Mom laughed in confirmation. “Well let me tell you about our Bikini Club promotion,” she continued straight into her spiel. “For only $29.95 per month, you’ll get two of our latest designs sent straight to your door, along with special gifts and promos. And of course, the chance to win the monthly cruise competition. It’s an offer too good to pass up!”
Sadly, for the girl, it was where the sales pitch would come to an end. Mom didn’t wear bikinis. In the moment I was struggling to even come up with the last time I’d seen her in a swimsuit, let alone go to the beach.
“Where do I sign!?” Mom laughed and to say I was shocked was an understatement.
“Fantastic,” the girl ecstatically reached for a tablet from a podium beside her and I used the opportunity to talk some sense into my mother.
“Are you sure about this?” I turned to her. “You don’t wear…” I paused, struggling to even say the word and the promo girl overheard my reticence.
“Oh, come on,” she giggled. “Wouldn’t you like to see your wife wearing something like this?” She emphasized her chest, her impressive breasts jiggling in the cups of a black bikini top, complimented by the tightest of leggings below, and given license to look I was mesmerized by the sight, only slowly registering her mistaken assumption.
“What?” I broke the spell. “We’re not…”
“Oh goodness Dear,” Mom again touched the girl’s arm. “We’re not married! He’s my son,” she laughed as she delved into her handbag for her purse. “I am flattered though,” she added, before lifting her head with a frown.
“What is it?” I questioned, feeling my face blushing and wanting this whole interaction to be done with.
“I’ve left my purse at home!”
“Oh, that shouldn’t be a problem,” the salesgirl was swift to remedy the situation, hers along with Mom’s doe eyes quickly falling upon me. “I’m sure your son bursa escort can take care of it for you!”
“Would you Honey?” Mom questioned. “You can come on the cruise with me when I win!” She smiled, the promo girl broadly grinning, and I released the sigh that had longed to come all evening.
And so it was, along with a new phone, I purchased a bikini subscription (of all things) for my mother. Not just any bikini subscription either. Wet Waves. The most scandalous swimsuits on the market. Even the thought of Mom wearing anything by the company was troubling. But maybe I was overreacting. Maybe I was out of touch. Later that evening, simply out of curiosity I visited their website. Professional photos of their models in the patented micro bikinis, on top of amateur pics sent in by the customers. Women of all ages and body types wearing (and hardly wearing) the swimsuits. Half an hour later and two orgasms down, I left the site exhausted and made it back to my armchair and my tv show. The long-awaited beer happily washed away the zygote of an image that sparked inside my brain. Mom wearing a string bikini. I hoped to not think of it again.
*
“There’s a catch,” Mom began, as per usual, omitting a greeting as I answered her call.
“What are you talking about?” I put my phone on speaker as I set about preparing dinner.
“The Bahamas cruise,” she explained and I had to search my brain to recall to what she referred. More than a month had passed since the night; we’d spoken on the phone but never concerning the swimsuits. “I was wondering if they’d published the names of the winners on their website and I discovered, I’m not actually entered,” she said.
“Oh,” I as well was surprised. “I thought it was automatic.”
“So did I,” she admitted. “But it seems to go into the running each month you have to send in a photo of yourself…” She paused as if to add drama. “…wearing one of their swimsuits.”
That zygote of an image that I’d thought banished long before once more entered my head.
“Oh, so I guess you won’t be entering,” I surmised and was shocked at her response.
“Oh heavens no. I still want to enter!” She stated. “I’ve even tried to take a few photos,” she divulged and the image developed, recollections of the amateur women on the site. “It’s just they didn’t turn out very well. I did it with the timer, and in the mirror, but it just looks terrible.”
“Okay,” I almost whispered, not liking where I thought this was headed.
“Well, I was wondering,” she paused and I stopped my chopping of vegetables as I barely breathed. “…I mean if you wouldn’t mind…?” Again, she paused and I let the silence linger. “I mean you’re much better at taking photos with the phone than I am!”
I swallowed hard as I felt myself blush.
“You want me to take photos of you in…?” I couldn’t even finish the sentence.
“Only if you don’t mind?” Mom herself had unnecessarily lowered her voice.
It was then I had a moment of clarity. What was wrong with me? What was the big deal? I was behaving like an idiot. Juvenile. She was my mother. It was just a few photos. The glaring Freudian warning signs could fuck off. She clearly had little problem with the scenario, so why was I turning it into more than it was?
“Oh, don’t worry about…”
“I’ll do it!” I quickly committed, cutting her off.
“You will!?” I could hear the excitement in her voice and it made me feel pretty good about myself.
“Yeah, sorry I was just in the middle of doing something else,” I explained away my silence, rightly perceived as hesitance. “Yeah, why not? When shall I come around?”
*
Mid-Saturday morning and the sun shone brightly as I opened the side gate and entered the back yard of my family home. I had a fleeting image enter my head of Mom upon the back lawn, slick with lotion and laying on a beach towel awaiting my arrival, gladly finding the yard empty and even the kitchen vacant as I entered the house announcing my presence.
Strangely, despite our arrangement, she seemed surprised to see me.
“Is it 10:30 already?” She commented as I met her in the hallway, hands holding her satin robe closed at her chest as she offered a perfunctory kiss on my cheek. “You know I’d forgotten all about today,” she lied as I spied the tied bow of a pink bikini top hidden under her collar. Even as we parted I could see her breasts pushing out the triangular imprint of the bikini through the thin material, her nipples conspicuously rigid despite the warmth inside the house. Tearing my eyes away, I was happy when she headed back toward the kitchen.
“The money’s there,” she gestured to a wad of folded bills beside the fruit bowl and I understood it was for the phone and the subscription. “And I was thinking,” she paused. “We don’t have to do those photos today.”
The statement was unexpected and I was taken aback considering how excited she’d been on the phone.
“What? Why?”
“Well, it’s silly,” she scoffed. “I mean it’s not like I’d win bursa escort bayan or anything.”
It was a dramatic turn of events from two nights before. I’d lay awake dreading this day. I had no desire to see Mom in a bikini let alone take photos of it, and yet, despite the out she’d given me, I was a little disappointed. I mean I’d come this far. Why not go through with it? After all, there was the possibility of a free vacation if she won!
“You don’t know that!” I declared and I watched a tiny spark seem to light in her eyes. “Why don’t we just take one and see how it turns out? You never know.”
“Do you think?”
“Yeah, why not? You’ve got to be in it to win it!” I added and I could see the enthusiasm in her return.
“Well,” she made a move from where she leaned against the benchtop, and for a second, I thought she’d drop the robe then and there, surprised by her next statement. “Okay, like you said, maybe just one or two…” She paused as if convincing herself. “Alright, I guess I’ll… go and get changed.”
Confused, I watched as she made her way back to the hallway, her hands ensuring the robe didn’t part at her thighs as she walked. ‘Changed.’ I questioned. Wasn’t she already wearing the bikini? Why would she lie? Twice now. I shrugged as I picked up and counted the money, finding it over and leaving $50 in the fruit bowl. It was barely a minute later when I heard her call from down the hall and I understood I was to go to her. To her bedroom.
“We’re using your phone I take it?” I called as I approached her door, having brought it with me and shaking it as I cautiously peered around the jamb to look into her room.
“If you think it’s got the best camera?” She nervously replied as I laid eyes upon her, once again surprised at developments.
Gone was the pink bikini of recent memory. In its place was a tankini. Dark brown, it covered up much of her torso, matching boy shorts over her hips. What was going on here I wasn’t sure, but one thing I was positive about was this was no Wet Waves original.
“Yeah, it is,” I answered her query regarding the phone, still taken aback by what had happened. My eyes lingered on the unflattering and yet somehow familiar-looking swimsuit, and Mom picked up the change in my disposition.
“What?” She shuffled awkwardly, seeming unsure of what to do with her hands. “Oh, it’s bad, isn’t it?” She looked down at the tankini and I was quick to assure her everything was okay.
“No, it’s just,” it was now I that was uncomfortable. “Um let’s just take the photo,” I offered, hoping to get it over with as soon as possible.
Once more, Mom stood awkwardly, a nervous flick of her hair, a tug at the hem of the tankini as I raised the phone.
“I don’t really know what to do,” she admitted and it strangely broke the ice somewhat, both of us venting a nervous laugh.
“Nor do I,” I agreed, lowering the phone. I thought back to the photos on the website and an idea came to mind. “Um, why don’t you get up on the bed?” I cautiously suggested and seemingly relieved someone was telling her what to do, Mom complied, kneeling upon the mattress. Again, I lifted the phone and offered another direction. “Okay. Maybe rise on your knees and,” I paused. “I don’t know… um, put your hands up behind your head?”
Bizarre as it was, ordering my mother to willingly take up the pose was kind of satisfying, and moving slightly to find the best angle and lighting, I quickly took the photo, then another just to be sure. And it was over.
“There, done,” I stated. “Wasn’t so bad after all.”
“No,” Mom giggled as she crawled over to kneel beside where I’d taken up position on the edge of the bed. Her hand on my shoulder for balance felt nice as I showed her the photos I’d taken, the first basically identical to the second and surprisingly quite good. “It was kind of fun,” she admitted.
“Oh yeah?” I turned to look up into her eyes and she began to blush which in turn caused me to blush and we again shared a nervous laugh.
“Yeah, you know. Pretending to be a model. It felt almost like a real photoshoot,” she giggled. “I mean what one must feel like.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “It was fun.” A silence followed and I filled it by looking back down at the photos. “Did you want to…” I paused. “I mean if you want, we could do a couple more. Just so you’ve got a few to choose from,” I added, unsure as to what my intentions ultimately were.
“Okay,” Mom was quick to agree, moving back on the bed to where she’d started and seemingly ready for me to direct once more. “What should I do?”
Before I answered, I took a second to reflect on how surreal this had all become. I was in my mother’s bedroom, taking photos of her in a swimsuit. It didn’t get any stranger than this! I assumed.
“Um, maybe just lean back on your arms,” I offered and Mom seemed to understand what I intended, stretching her legs out before herself and pushing out her chest as I freely took photos. “That’s it, great,” I played up the role of photographer escort bursa to her approving smile, becoming bolder. “Ok, what about you get on all fours?” I proposed and for the slightest of seconds, I thought I’d gone too far before she gleefully complied. “Nice,” I complimented, and seeing her in such an overtly sexual position, her breasts hanging down between her arms, rounded ass in the air, I felt a sudden and completely unexpected stirring in my pants.
Immediately I shot it down. Remembering who she was. That’s your mom dude! I told myself and focused on the job at hand. Jokingly I suggested she make a seductive face and it lightened the mood even further, both of us laughing before I signaled an end when I’d run out of poses for her to attempt. When she fell back upon her pillows, I climbed up on the bed and joined her to share the images we’d created.
“You know, some of these are pretty good,” I admitted and enjoyed the feeling of her boob touching my arm as she leaned her body in to view the screen.
“I had a good photographer,” Mom nudged against me and we momentarily looked into each other’s eyes, exchanging a smile. My gaze crept slowly back to the phone but lingered on its journey, taking time to admire a large amount of cleavage exposed at her chest, and lower, the triangular mound of pussy at her groin. Stop it, I told myself. Again, reminding myself she was my mother. Why the fuck was I even looking?
“I’m sure you can find one of these good enough to enter that comp,” I suggested and Mom was quick to reply in the negative.
“Oh, I can’t use any of these,” she stated and I was immediately taken aback.
“What!?”
“Well, this isn’t one of the Wet Waves!” She admitted and as her eyes once again found mine, she understood she’d made a mistake.
“Seriously?” I frowned. “Then what are we taking these photos for?”
My tone was probably too aggrieved and I didn’t like the discomfort she seemed to project as she squirmed beside me, her face and chest turning a red hue.
“I was embarrassed,” she admitted and I immediately felt like an asshole for coming on so strong, wanting to put an arm around her to show I wasn’t upset. I refrained. Allowing her to continue. “I was wearing the Wet Waves bikini when you arrived,” she admitted something I already knew. “But when I looked at myself in the mirror,” she paused. “…well, I chickened out,” her eyes crept back to mine.
“You chickened out!?” I repeated.
“Yeah,” her face had become a deeper crimson. “You know, it was a bit… revealing.”
“I thought you knew what the bikinis from them were like!?” I smiled and thought of all the women on the website, amateur and otherwise. “So, what’s this about then?” I picked at the waist of her tankini, letting it go, her eyes dropping to the swimsuit.
“It’s just one I’ve had for years,” she admitted.
“I knew it,” I surprised her. “Florida, right? I thought I recognized it.”
“You remember!?” She smiled. “Goodness, that vacation was more than twenty years ago.”
“So why wear it now?” I challenged.
“Well, I didn’t want you to feel you’d wasted your time. I had to put something on,” she explained.
I’d never seen her look so vulnerable. Nor blush as she’d done. Again, I had the urge to embrace her, to tell her time spent together wasn’t wasted.
“Well, it’ll be a wasted opportunity if you don’t enter this competition!” I stated and immediately saw the response in her eyes.
“You think I should put it back on? You still want to take the photos?” She questioned.
“Of course,” I sat up and made to climb off the bed, holding my hand out for her to do the same. “And any swimsuit will look better than this ugly old thing,” I laughed, tugging again at the tankini at her waist as we stood before each other.
“Alright,” she giggled, wriggling out of my hold and heading toward her dresser. “I’ll do it.”
I found myself looking at her ass, filling out the admittedly tight boy shorts nicely, and again that stirring in my pants. “I’ll wait outside,” I offered, quite aware she hadn’t asked me to do so as I forced my eyes from her body. Would she have changed in front of me? No. I automatically answered. Again, you idiot. She’s your mother! Without a further word between us, I exited the room.
*
I stood with my back to her closed door and tried not to imagine what was happening behind me. Futile, as images flooded my mind. She’d be naked by now, I pictured and immediately scolded myself, looking across to the door of my childhood bedroom. What would teenage Me think of what was happening here? Mortified, was a word that came to mind and I smiled just as a faint voice caught my ear from behind me.
“Umm,” Mom spoke sheepishly and I turned to face the door.
“Yeah?” I called back and there was a pause from within the room.
“I, ah… think I need a hand,” she tentatively proposed and I gripped the door handle.
“Ok, I’m coming in,” I warned and unsure of what I’d face, turned the knob and entered.
There was an extended moment where I indeed believed she was still naked. Facing the mirror, presented to me was her entire exposed body from behind, all that covered her flesh, the thinnest of pink string disappearing between her bare buttocks.