A Temporary Depravity

***- All characters in this story are fictional, and are eighteen years or older.

*

I don't know why I did it. I guess I just wasn't thinking. I had something important to tell my mother, so I walked down the hall to my parent's room, opened the door, and just walked in.

The sight that I was greeted to was amazing. To my left was the mesmerizing view of my mother naked, save for a pair of thong panties, thigh high stockings, and high heels, bending over the sink in the master bathroom. I stood there in the middle of the bedroom spellbound while I leered at her long shapely legs, and the sublime curve of her ass with just a wisp of material up her crack. Her round voluptuous cheeks were separated by just the thin strip of her thong.

Her breasts, full and wonderful with petite red nipples, reflected in the bathroom mirror. And as I stood there admiring this goddess of a woman, she looked in that mirror and noticed that I was standing there in the room.

"Patrick! What are you doing in here?" She screamed as she whipped around, covered her breasts with her hand and forearm, and made a dash for me.

I stood there stunned as my mind, like a camera, recorded every image: her raven black hair falling down upon her naked shoulders, the curve of her hips as they gracefully became her thin waste, the bulge of her pubic mound against the silky black material of her thong, how her high heels made her legs seem long and lean, and the cute way she tried to hide her tits behind an arm bra.

"You shouldn't be seeing you mother naked like this!" She said looking aghast as she tried to shoo me out of the room.

She was a revelation standing there in that pretty little black thong, and I don't know why I said it, it was meant to be just a thought in my head, but it slipped out. "Oh my God, you are so beautiful." I croaked.

"Just get out," she said as she gave me a wonderful, loving smile, and pushed me out of the room. I was still in shock as I stood in the second floor hallway of our house. The image of her naked, was forever burnt into my brain. How could this temptress in a thong and high heels be my mother.

The rest of the evening was uneventful, as my father came home from work, and they got ready to go out for the evening, and celebrate their anniversary.

"Mom I'm sorry," I said to her as she came into my room to say goodbye. She looked captivating in a little black dress that she wore for the occasion. The thing was, it was shorter, tighter, and showed more cleavage than any dress that I had ever seen her wear before.

As I sat at my desk, I couldn't look her in the eye because I was so ashamed, but as she bent over to kiss me, my eyes strayed down to her cleavage, and the spray of freckles across her chest.

"We'll talk about it tomorrow," she said mirthfully as she stood up, and then she just stood there with her hand out to her side. "Well?" She asked.

"What?" I said totally confused. I had all sorts of strange thoughts in my head.

"How do I look? You're supposed to tell your mother how great she looks"

"You look fine," I said bashfully, with the thought of her naked still retained in my mind.

"Just fine?" She asked playfully.

"You look great." I smiled, relieved by her joking.

"Tell me what I want to hear. Tell me what you said before."

Again I looked away bashfully, but I said what she wanted to hear. "You are so beautiful," I said emphasizing the word, so.

"That's what mama wants to hear," she said smiling, but then the smile went from her face. "Are you going out tonight?" She asked.

"It's Friday night," I answered her question with a question.

"Where?"

"Out!"

"I know out, Where out?"

"Mom I said frustrated. "It's only seven O'clock. I haven't even talked to my friends yet."

"Okay, I guess you will be gone when your father and I come back. Don't stay out too late." She lectured.

"Okay. Okay." I said frustrated by the lecture. This was the "mom" part of my mom. It was a duality that was to occur over and over again from now on. One minute she's looking all hot in some provocative outfit, and the next minute she's chiding me about picking up my underwear.

"Well goodnight," she said, and as she turned and walked out my door. I watched the sway of her ass in that clingy, silky, "catch-me fuck-me" dress. It was an epiphany to me that this woman, who I had previously known just as mom, was a sexy, sensual seductress.

My mother is a paradox. On casual observation she could easily be mistaken for a pampered woman of means. You've probably seen a women like her, in your home town.

She would be that thin elegant woman with dark impeccable hair that you see behind the wheel of a luxury sports sedan as you cruise down any street in America. She would, presumably, be on her way to an appointment at some nail salon, or off to some day spa for a day of indulgence with the girls.

Or maybe she was that fashionably dressed women that you saw at the mall with the perfect bag and the perfect shoes, and the perfect figure entering some high end store.

Yet, despite how you may prejudge her, she wasn't the pretentious bitch that that image might portray. Instead she was an incredibly approachable, gregarious woman with an incredibly warm smile who had to work a full time job just to maintain that lifestyle.

A woman who bought that luxury sedan second-hand, off lease after having driven a minivan for the last ten years. A minivan, which on numerous occasions, was filled with screaming boys on a Saturday mornings en route to a little league, or soccer game. She was that woman.

She made friends slowly, but for life. She was an average housewife who saw fashion as a calling, and knew, that like it or not, fashion was geared to the young and thin, and so maintaining her figure became not only a second job, but an obsession.

After my parents left that night, perverse thoughts of my naked mother tormented me. Though later I felt guilty and disgusted with myself. So that night, as I stood at the bar with my friends, I tried in vain to wash every disturbing memory of it out of my consciousness with alcohol.

The next morning I woke up with a blistering hang over, and the memory of a sex dream dancing in my head. I would like to say that it was of some girl that I was trying in vain to make time with the night before, but it wasn't. It was of my mom, and I cringed as the specter of her naked beneath me flashed into my mind.

My disgust with myself didn't stop me from jerking off my morning wood. At first I fought it, but when I couldn't come, I relented and fantasized to the dream I had the night before. I remembered in my dream the color of my mother's skin as I fucked her.

I took a shower, and tried in vain to shake the cobwebs from my brain. It was noon on Saturday, and as I looked out my bedroom window, I noticed that my father's car was gone from the driveway. I threw on a pair of shorts, and a t-shirt and made my way down stairs to the kitchen.

I was a sophomore in college at the time. While my older brother had scored a full ride on a Lacrosse scholarship, I opted for a community college to save money.

We weren't poor by any means, and my parents gave my brother and I money for college, but not enough to pay for all four years, not to mention graduate work.

My philosophy was that, since I had no idea what I wanted to major in, why spend the money on a four year college until I knew somewhat what I wanted to do. Then I would transfer later to a four year school. That decision left only my parents and I in the house.

I was also going through a tough time in my life. The girl that I had dated for a year had just broken up with me. I had no idea that there was a problem, and so the breakup came as quite a shock to me.

Later I found out, through some friends of hers, that she had been seeing some other guy on the side. The whole situation put me into a depression, and made me a little bit insecure. The ironic thing was that I wasn't even that much into her until after the breakup.

My mom was in the kitchen when I got there, dressed in a baggy pair of shorts and one of dad's old jerseys. It was as if there was a new person in my life.

She was casually dressed, with her hair pulled back in a pony tail, she had no makeup on, and she was wearing her reading glasses, yet she was still held my attention. She was in her early forties, had two college age kids, yet she was still an elegant, graceful woman.

"Where's dad?" I asked as I poured myself a cup of coffee.

"Sit down," she said. "We need to talk." I sensed a sorrow in her voice that I didn't expect.

"What?" I asked as I sat at the kitchen island where we took most of our meals.

"Did you happen to notice that your dad slept in your brother's old room last night?"

"No," I said with a questioning tone.

"Your dad moved out," she blurted out, and started to cry.

"What?" I said as I got up from my stool and took her in my arms. She was trembling from the tears, and I hate to admit it, but she felt so good up against me as I tried to comfort her. Finally, she got a hold of herself, and she was able to tell me what was going on.

"Your dad and I have been having troubles for some time now."

"But you guys went out last night for your anniversary?"

"Yeah, that's when he announced he was leaving; at dinner. The schmuck."

"I don't understand," I stated.

"Sit down," she said, and I sat back down. "I thought that if we went out and had a nice dinner, we could work it out. I even bought sexy lingerie for him. Part of it you saw last night, but that's another conversation we must have.

I went all out. I don't normally wear thongs, but your father loves them, and I even wore a thigh high stockings and push-up bra for him. I thought that maybe I could light a spark in our relationship."

Now this was unusual for my mom to be so explicit about her intimate apparel, but I have to admit, as she was describing her sexy little outfit, I recalled how she looked in it, all except the bra of course.

That was the degree of debauchery that I had sunk to.

"But there I was," she went on, "in my little cocktail dress, wearing all of this sexy underwear, and he tells me he found an apartment, and is moving out." She started to tear up again. I put my arm around her, but it didn't help.

"Is there another woman?" I asked.

"He says no, but who knows. He hasn't touched me in months, and he tells me that he doesn't love me any more."

"I don't know what to say, Mom."

"I'm so embarrassed. You should have seen me standing there in our bedroom, dressed in my little outfit and all, and he goes off to sleep in your brother's room."

"I wish I had," I said under my breath. "But fuck him Mom. You don't need him. You are still a beautiful, vibrant woman, and you could have your pick of any man."

"Thanks hon. You're sweet," she said and kissed me on the cheek. She went on and on after that about how they had been fighting a lot lately, how he didn't want to have sex with her anymore, and how he had been distant lately. She said that she knew something was up, but she thought that they could work it out. Until last night of course, when he lowered the boom.

I, on the other hand, played the good son, telling her that he wasn't worth the effort, and that she was still attractive to men.

"Well that brings up the other little talk we must have," she said to me sternly. "What the hell were you thinking, barging into my room like that?"

"I don't know Mom. I guess I wasn't thinking. I had something important to tell you, but for the life of me, I can't remember what it was."

"I probably scared it out of you. The image of your wrinkly old mother naked must have been quite a shock."

I just smiled at her. She was obviously fishing for a compliment, and the image of her naked with those incredible tits, the way her thong highlighted her hips and ass, and how those stiletto heels showed off her long legs, was still fresh in my mind.

"All I can say is that I when I saw you in that little outfit, well I...," I blushed.

"Patrick!! You are so naughty!" She shouted. "But you are good for my shattered ego." And she laughed despite her troubles.

"Well can I?"

"Can you what?"

"Get to see you in that little outfit again?"

"I think that you have already seen enough of your mother's body this weekend." And she tousled my hair and walked out of the kitchen.

My dad called me later that afternoon to tell me his side of the story. I asked him straight out if there was another woman. He avoided the subject, but he didn't deny it either. So I knew that there was.

Of course that made me angry. If it was true, he should have been a man and admitted it, instead of beating around the bush. I loved my father, but I lost a lot of respect for him that day, and it took years for me to come to terms with him and the new girlfriend that we were later introduced to. Life was different after that day.

But back to me and my new found depravity. A few days later, I had come home from my job to find no one at home. Mom must have been shopping, and Dad was already in his new apartment.

I took a shower, and as I was dumping my work clothes in the laundry room, when I noticed a pile of my mother's clothes waiting to be washed. I couldn't help myself. I was like a man possessed. I rummaged through her things and came upon the object of my desire.

It was a pair of pink, iridescent panties. I hesitated at first, ashamed of my behavior, but then I picked them up and immediately my whole body was on fire. It was like I was sixteen again, and saw my first naked girl.

Slowly I put them up to my nose, and I could smell her perfume on them. Then I immersed my nose in the crotch of that pink treasure, and I could smell her; musky and dark. I was aflame with desire. I quickly took out the erection which had grown hard in my pants.

I jerked off, with her panties on my face, into the wet towel from my shower. I was insane with lust, and it took only a few minutes. God, I thought, there really is something wrong with me. I put her laundry back where I found it, and went downstairs.

Mom came home from work a half hour later. Something had changed in her over the last few days. It must have been about the separation, but instead of brooding, she was acting livelier. Even her attire was different.

She had always dressed professionally. Usually in a woman's suit with a knee length skirt, and a simple white blouse, but that day it was pencil skirts with a high slit, and her blouse was unbuttoned so much that I could easily see her bra.

"I'm sorry that I'm late, but I had to pick up take-out for dinner. I haven't had time to go shopping."

"Okay," I said as I took the opportunity to look down her blouse as she occupied herself with putting the food bag on the counter. She had on a plunging white lace bra that I could see without much effort. I didn't know what was going on, but I was enjoying the view.

"It's Mexican. You like Mexican, don't you?" She asked, and quickly looked up at me. I don't know if she caught me starring down her blouse, but she had a nice smile for me, so I guess it didn't matter if she did.

"Yes Mom. I like Mexican. Who doesn't?"

We had dinner, and we chatted about our day. After dinner she got dressed for her twice a week yoga class, and when she came downstairs she was decked out in her yoga wear.

Yet again her attire was on the racy side. She walked into the kitchen in just a white sports bra, and black leggings. She turned around and bent over to get a water bottle out of the frig. My God, I thought, how could this woman have such an incredible ass, and I had never noticed it before. Because she's your mom, I told myself.

"Does this yoga class have any men in it?" I asked.

"No. It's a yoga class. Why do you ask?"

"Because you are going to turn a lot of heads with that outfit on."

"Why do you think that its inappropriate?" She asked looking down at what she had on.

"No. Not if there's no men in the class."

"Why? Do you think momma looks sexy?" She said in her best breathless voice.

"I think that if you want to attract a guy, you have on the right outfit."

She came around the counter and sat on my lap. Oh God, I thought, does she know what she is doing to me? "You do, don't you? You think mamma looks sexy," she said in that same sexy voice, and then she ran her fingers through my hair.

"Mom!" I protested, but I did so to hide the fact that I was enjoying it.

"Come on. You like when sexy mamma sits on your lap." She then swung around and straddled me on the stool. My God. My hard on was in direct contact with her crotch. It was like she was giving me a lap dance.

"Mom really," I said. I couldn't believe that she was doing this, and I wondered if she could feel my stiff cock against her pussy. She put her arms around my neck, and kissed me on the forehead. Her tits were sticking right in my face as she did it.

"Baby," she said as she sat back down in my lap. "You know that I'm not going out to find another man. I still want your father to come to his senses, and move back home."

"I know mom," I said, though I knew the futility of that wish.

"I better go," she said, jumped off my lap, grabbed her water bottle and workout mat, and ran out the kitchen. "I'll see you later Pat," she yelled as I saw that pretty little ass of hers go out the door.

I couldn't believe it. My own mother was nothing but a tease. She got me all hot and bothered, and then she ran away. I had a raging hard on, and no way of getting rid of it. I went back upstairs, found another pair of her panties, and jerked off, but this time I came in the panties. The material felt exquisite against my cock as I rubbed one out.

You have to know that using my mother's panties to jerk off into was the farthest I ever thought about going. I had no intention to act on my perversion. It was bad enough that I was doing dirty disgusting things with my mother's underwear.

I did the laundry that night. I had to. I had just jerked off into her panties. I couldn't leave them on the floor of the laundry room dripping with jism.

But like I said, I had no intention of doing anything. I was content in my new found hobby. I didn't dare risk anything crazier. But sometimes fate has a hand in our endeavors.

That night I was awoken out of my sleep by a noise in the kitchen downstairs. My mother's door was closed as I slinked into the hall. I assumed she was in bed asleep so I made my way downstairs to investigate.

The kitchen light was on as I approached, so I wasn't concerned that it was a burglar. When I walked through the door, I was surprised to see my mother cleaning the kitchen.

It was weird to see her cleaning the kitchen at two in the morning, but it was even more unusual since she was dressed in only a thin little tank top and a pair of panties. Not my mother's usual dress.

"Mom what are you doing," I asked as I tried to wipe the sleep out of my eyes.

"This house is so dirty. I've got to get it clean before your father comes home," she said robotically.

"Mom, what are you talking about? It's two in the morning,"

"Do you remember where we put the toilet bowl cleaner?" She wasn't looking at me though she was talking to me. I got the sense that she wasn't there mentally.

"What? The toilet bowl cleaner?" I had never cleaned a toilet in my life. And then I realized what was wrong.

I had never seen this before, but my father used to tease my mother about how she would sleep walk when she was stressed out. He used to laugh saying that he'd wake up in the middle of the night, and my mother would be cleaning out the attic.