This story takes place a little over ten years ago. I was in my mid-thirties living the single life after a hellish divorce. My ex and I had called it quits about four years prior and I had decided to start a new life. I moved back to my old home town just to be in closer proximity to my friends, family, but mostly my Mother. She had been living alone for almost two years after her most recent relationship had ended in disaster. The fact that I was starting to get concerned about her overall welfare and being all by herself was the deciding factor. It was hard to recall a time when she was ever single for very long. She always had someone there to be by her side.
Almost inevitably, one winter’s day Mom had taken a bit of a nasty spill on some ice in her driveway. She was a southern gal and not used to severe cold weather yet. I’m still not sure why she decided to grocery shop wearing high heels in the dead of winter in the first place. I got the call from the hospital and raced to Mom’s rescue immediately. Fortunately, the injuries weren’t too severe and she would make a full recovery with a little time. One of the doctors informed me that she had two nasty fractures in her upper right arm and a broken wrist on the opposite.
The medical folks had put a large plaster cast on the troubled arm which kept it bent at the elbow but still stuck out at her side to keep it somewhat elevated. Her wrist also had a smaller version of the same type of cast but she still had a little more mobility with this arm, but could barely move her hand. She was quite a sight. Despite the ordeal, Mom was in pretty good spirits which made me wonder just what kind of pain medication they had administered, and how much. Before she was discharged, the nurse had handed me a stack of informational papers on how to care for Mom in her weakened state for the next month or two. I glanced at them briefly and I could already tell this was not going to be easy.
Upon returning Mom to her home, the first step was to get her as comfortable as possible. It seemed she wouldn’t be going anywhere especially to work for a while and neither was I. After getting Mom up the stairs to her room, it was decided that I was obviously the one who would be in charge of wardrobe among other things. It wasn’t intentional but I was rendered immediately bashful at the task. Mom had picked up on it right away.
“Oh come on now baby, it’s perfectly normal for a son to see his Mother’s naked body at some point.” she said in all seriousness.
In my head I responded “Yes but not when I’m THIS old!” I had seen her in the buff several times when I was a child, but this was a whole other set of circumstances. With Mom’s blessing, I reluctantly sat her down and started taking her hospital slippers and slacks off then started up towards her pantyhose. I tried not to stare as I fumbled to find the waistband of her hose when Mom spoke up.
“No, leave em’ on hon. They keep my legs warm. I usually just sleep in em’ anyways.”
The thought of that statement was admittedly a little exciting. I had always been a great admirer of my Mother’s perfectly sculpted legs. They really did compliment her petite little physique. As a kid, I used to love seeing her wear pantyhose of any color and she wore them all the time around the house. They just seemed so silky and soft. I remember always wanting to touch her heavenly, nylon-clad ankles, calves, and feet. Maybe getting to see her lounge around the house in her hosiery wasn’t the worst idea ever.