-God wanted all people to be nudists, thus another day that celebrates God is Nude Day.
I took a deep breath, I dropped my robe and walked to Paul’s room. His door was open and I realized he was already up. I paused, suddenly wondering if not being in his room was a sign I wasn’t supposed to do this. I was still contemplating my next move when I jumped from Paul’s words.
“Mom!” Paul gasped from behind me.
I turned around, completely naked, allowing my son to see my firm breasts and trimmed pussy, “Good morning, Paul. Happy Nude Day.”
He stammered, clearly shocked by seeing me naked, “Y-y-you too.”
I smiled, “I hope this doesn’t make you uncomfortable, but now that you’re eighteen I believe you are old enough to celebrate Nude Day the way it was originally meant to be celebrated.”
He stared at me. Clearly unsure what to say, what to do.
Being the aggressor, I walked the few feet to him, and asked, “Are you going to join your Mother in celebrating Nude Day?”
“S-s-sure,” he stammered, unable to make eye contact with me.
“Great,” I smiled cheerfully, “get undressed and come join me for breakfast.”
“O-o-okay,” he stuttered, as I walked past him and towards the kitchen.
I put an apron on to protect my front as I began making bacon and eggs, put kept my ass completely visible. I was half done making breakfast when Paul joined me, naked, except in a towel. I didn’t question it, deciding to wait until I was done making breakfast. I asked, “How was your sleep?”
“All right,” he answered, sitting down at the table.
“Did you finish reading that book?” I asked, trying to make small talk to make him more comfortable in this clearly surreal situation.
“Yes, it was amazing,” he said, his voice more like himself. He did love talking about literature.
“How so?” I asked, my ass still in complete view for him.
“The author just created two realistic teenagers,” he answered.
“Interesting,” I nodded, “when does the movie come out?”
“Next Friday,” he answered.
“Maybe I should read it and we can go together,” I suggested.
“That would be great,” he said.
“It’s a date,” I quipped, playfully.
I finished making breakfast, made two plates and joined Paul at the table.
I stood back up, took off the apron and tossed it on the counter, before sitting back down, my breasts now in full view for Paul while he ate.
I said, “I hope you are okay with this Paul. I personally feel so liberated being allowed to show this body that God created.”
“It’s a little strange,” he admitted.
“I know, I know,” I agreed, wanting to make him comfortable. “But in truth you have seen me naked many times when you were young.”
He didn’t say anything and we ate in silence as I pondered my next approach.
Once done eating, I stood up and asked, “If you want I will put something on to make you more comfortable.”
His face beet red, he nodded, “That may be a good idea.”
I smiled, and said, “Be right back.”
I quickly went to my room, grabbed a pair of thigh high stockings and put them on. I was going to go back downstairs to finish the seduction, but suddenly realized my bedroom was a much more logical location.
I called out, “Paul would you come to my room please?”
I waited, trepidation no longer there, but instead an insatiable hunger to quench my thirst…in reality my body had been in the desert of sexual denial for so long and Paul was the mirage of satisfaction I planned to make real.
He walked into my room, still in his towel, and froze, seeing that I was still, for all reality’s sake, naked.
I smiled, sat on the edge of my bed, crossed my nylon clad legs and asked, “Is this better?”
He was literally speechless. Actually, if my seduction was a cartoon he would have been Roger Rabbit when he sees Jessica walking in all sultry as his mouth was dropped wide open.
Deciding it was now or never, I continued, “I know you’re a leg man, and I am pretty sure you are a nylons man too, am I right?”
“I-I-I guess,” he stammered, paralysed in shock as, I hoped, I was making his fantasy a reality.
“I see you have a towel on still.” I smiled, swinging my foot, wanting to draw him hypnotically to me.
