My mother is a very stunning woman who could have been a top model, or maybe even a movie star, had she not been forced by circumstances to become a writer. She’s really that beautiful, but her passion for words and language, plus an extraordinary ability to tell a story, led her to major in English at Harvard. When she graduated she took a job at a major newspaper and began a career in journalism.

She soon gave up that career because the books she had written while in college, and even before, mainly as a hobby―an outlet for the stories that kept her mind racing many nights―almost instantly became bestsellers when she self published them as ebooks. She was amazed that so many people wanted to read the stories that forced themselves out of her head and onto the screen of her laptop, but she knew a good thing when she saw it.

She signed with a handsome young literary agent, who had sought her out and convinced her that he could get her a book contract with a mainstream publisher. He guided her through the maze of mainstream publishing. He also furthered her sexual education considerably although she had been sexually active for years before she met him.

A big book deal was soon offered by a major publishing house soon after the young agent submitted her latest book, and she gave up her job at the newspaper. Overnight she was the darling of the publishing industry having spawned a new genre of fiction. She had unwittingly struck a chord that resonated with a wide spectrum of readers. Her fiction was so well received that her fans pre-ordered thousands of copies before the books were released by her publisher, and book stores competed fiercely to host her book signings which always attracted large crowds of her fans who bought books.

The young agent eventually married her and soon impregnated her. Nine months later I was born. She was twenty years old and would maintain her figure and her beautiful face and hair for many years to come. She would be envied by the mothers of all my friends all my life.

Some people claim that she owes her extraordinary good looks to many plastic surgery procedures she's undergone over the years, but there isn’t any truth to that. I've been very close to her for the last forty of her almost sixty years and I’m sure she hasn’t had any surgery of any kind during that time. Her face and body have been perfect all the years I’ve known her. I am sure there are no small, tell-tale, scars, in inconspicuous places, to give testimony to any lifts or tucks a skilled surgeon made to restore her youthful appearance.

Her body is pristine. She is just as her creator made her. No highly skilled hand has taken a scalpel to any part of her lovely body. Her face is perfect too. Sure, there are fine lines around her eyes and her mouth, but they’re hardly noticeable. She’s a nearly perfect example of the best a human being can be. Her eyes are her most striking feature. They are a very unusual shade of aquamarine that seems as transparent as the water in the Gulf of Mexico. They look right through you and see what is in your soul. As a child I could never keep anything from her because once she fixed those beautiful eyes on me I had to bare my soul. I was convinced she could already see everything in my head and my heart so she would know if I lied. I have never lied to her, not even to spare her feelings. I simply can’t do it.

Her face has a fresh scrubbed, girl next door, beauty. Her features are regular and classically carved. Her incredible eyes are wide set with long copper-gold lashes under full brows the same shade of gold. A slender nose, slightly turned up at the tip, and her wide mouth with full, cupid’s bow, lips which always seem ready to be kissed, make her look like she is about to smile even when she is fast asleep, and when she does smile she shows beautifully even pearly white teeth. A strong chin and a firm but very smoothly contoured jaw line give her an aura of strength and confidence while hinting at vulnerability. She is very strong and confident and, in certain circumstances, very vulnerable but never soft or pliable.

Believe me, her perfect hard body, beautiful face and smooth completion, are not due to a surgeon’s skill, but rather are the result of life-long careful attention to good nutrition, staying out of the sun and getting plenty of exercise. You can trust what I tell you about her. I know whereof I speak because I’m her only son and I have lived with her, or near her for the last two-thirds of her very eventful life.

She has been very sexy and desirable as long as I can remember. The smell of her is intoxicating and the way she carries herself evokes primal urges in every man who is fortunate enough to come near her. I’ve marveled at how she is able to openly show off her sexuality without giving in to temptations she must surely feel to accept at least a few of the men who openly show that they want her sexually.

When she goes out she is always perfectly put together. Her makeup is always exactly right for the occasion, usually understated, never ostentatious or gaudy. She has a sense of style that enables her to create her own look and the body to display beautiful clothes to their maximum effect.

Approaching sixty, she can still wear tight tank tops and mini skirts, and when she does the result is an absolutely devastating impact on any man she encounters in such an outfit. Whatever she wears she looks as good as any hot thirty something and is hot on the heels of the twenty somethings. If the light is right and she’s in good spirits, she can easily pass for eighteen or nineteen.

Much to the displeasure of my wife, Judith, my mom has, a few times, been mistaken for our daughter, and my mom and my wife are often mistaken for sisters. Once mom was carded in a restaurant when she ordered a drink and Judith wasn’t, causing Judith to pout for over an hour. Mom looks at least thirty years younger than she is, and she is the very definition of hot.

One Friday evening my mother, Irene, came over for dinner. Judith and I often entertain her since she been living alone since my father died a little over a year ago. We encouraged her to move in with us when he died, but she wasn’t ready to give up her independence. She’s still grieving so she isn’t at all her usual vivacious self. She hasn’t gone out much at all since he died. She nursed him throughout his long illness and the heart breaking descent into the unavoidable abyss which we call death, and she is still suffering, mourning her loss. We have tried our best to get her to be more active but she isn’t really comfortable with enjoying life. It’s just too soon for her to go back to life as it was before dad died.

After a very nice meal, which we all greatly enjoyed, Judith suggested that we go out to a favorite club to relax over drinks and perhaps dance a little after we recovered from our lavish meal. She said she wanted to celebrate Irene’s upcoming sixtieth birthday. She knew Irene had loved to dance before my father died and hoped she would be enticed to loosen up a little and dance with me at the club.

We hoped she’d enjoy a night out having some fun, and her birthday seemed to be the perfect excuse to get her to break free from her self-imposed retreat from anything that might be fun. After a little cajoling, Irene seemed interested, but protested that she didn’t have anything to wear. She said that, since she hadn’t planed to go out, she hadn’t worn a dress and she didn’t think her jeans and top were suitable for dancing at a club. I didn't say anything, but I thought she could go anywhere and do anything she liked in those slim jeans that showed off her trim body so nicely. Seeing the way the jeans revealed the shape of her bottom and showed just a hint of her camel-toe, when she opened her thighs wide enough, was eliciting most inappropriate thoughts for a son to entertain about his mother.

Judith was ready for that excuse, we’d discussed how to handle Irene’s concerns and efforts to avoid going out earlier, so she said, “That’s not a problem Irene. I’ve got lots of nice dresses and I know you can wear my size. My clothes might be just a little bit loose on you, but I’m sure you’ll look better in any of my dresses than I do. Let’s go look in my closet. I think I know just the one for you but there are plenty of them to choose from if that one doesn’t suit you. The one I have in mind is just a little tight on me so I know it’ll fit you perfectly.

“You’ll no doubt look a lot more attractive in it than I do. It just isn’t fair how good you look in whatever you wear. You’d make a burlap bag look like haute couture if you put it on. I’m so jealous I must be turning green, but I’m really thankful that my girls got a lot of your genes from Jason instead of being stuck with mine. They’re both well on their way to becoming jaw dropping beauties, thanks mainly to you. They’re still in their teens, but men are already looking at them like they want them.”

“I’m sure they do want them, Judith. They’re very sexy young ladies and I’m sure men looked at you that way too when you were that age―in fact I’m sure they still do. Don’t be so modest Judith, you know your own genes are very good. They’re very similar to mine in fact. We’re much more closely related than you may suspect.

“You also know that men often choose to marry women who resemble their mother. In your case the resemblance is truly remarkable, a lot of my friends, those who know how old I am, think you’re my daughter, and as you well know people who don’t know us sometimes ask you if I’m your younger sister, but the resemblance is easily explained. Your mother is one of my third cousins on my father’s side, and your father is my husband’s brother.

“Your girls benefited from your mating with Jason which resulted in a most fortunate inbreeding that accentuated the positive traits, especially beauty of face and form, while suppressing any negative traits. I know you’d have had beautiful children even if you hadn’t married my handsome son who has some of the best genes in the human genome. Get over the fact that I’m lucky to have aged well. I have no doubt that you’ll look as good as I do when you’re my age―unless you let yourself go, and get fat.”

In the large walk in closet, Judith made a show of carefully looking through her dresses. She knew which dress she wanted Irene to wear but was trying to give Irene the impression that she was a little uncertain. Eventually she found the one she wanted. It was of pale aquamarine chiffon which would pick up Irene’s eye color. The fabric was almost transparent and the dress was very daringly styled.

Jason had selected the dress earlier when he and Judith were discussing how to get Irene to go out, and he couldn’t wait to see her in it. He was sure she would be absolutely stunning in the beautiful dress, and he was becoming aroused thinking of how the dress would display her magnificent body. The fact that he was becoming sexually aroused thinking about how his mother would look in the dress bothered him, but he pushed the subconscious caution about incest out of his thoughts.


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