She was in a happy daze when she got home, coming in through the front door, not hearing Tom’s shouted greeting as she leapt up the stairs. Really, she it was almost *too* happy a daze; she realized, coming in through her bedroom door. There must be something going on with the pantyhose.
Amanda kicked off her flats, and stood in front of the mirror again. She turned her leg back and forth, watching the subtle gleam. The 43-year old mom lifted up the hem of her skirt, raising it up until it was dancing around her thighs, and watching herself in the glass. Her legs shimmered and there- was that it? Was that the pattern, crawling behind her knee? She turned, as the gleam twisted around her thigh, heading upwards. Her hem followed.
“Hey mom, I wanted to-” Tom walked in through the door. Amanda scowled at herself in the mirror. Not at her legs, though. They looked even better now than they had this morning, all wrapped up in their clingy nylon, dark fabric shadowing every hollow and curve of her stems. Tom’s mom perched up on her tiptoes, watching the muscles bunch. Maybe heels tomorrow?
“I didn’t thank you for getting me these this morning,” she said, turning this way and that. “They’re not what I asked for, but they’re great. *Really* nice. So, thank you. You’re a good boy, Tom.”
“I know,” he said, distantly. “That’s what the lady sa-”
Another gleam around the tops of her thighs.
“Do you really not see that?” No answer from Tom. “I mean, *I* can see it, but nobody else-” Amanda glanced over at her son, who was staring at the mirror, eyes slightly glazed. “Tom! Wake up.” She let the hem of her skirt drop. Tom blinked once, slowly, shaking his head.
“Sorry mom, just tired I guess.” He said, coming back to life.
“Did you clean up the kitchen like I asked?” Her voice was stern but soft.
“Hm?” His eyes focused on hers. “Oh yeah, yup. All done.”
“Good,” she said, pleased surprise breaking through her stern facade. “Did you have something you wanted to ask in return?”
“No, I don’t think so,” he shook his head. “Just…just happy to do it for you.” He blinked.
“You’re sure?” Amanda asked, confused.
“Yeah, I’m sure.” He smiled.
“Uh okay,” she said. “Well, keep up the good work, and maybe you can use my car again. Now, you head on down, and I’ll come start dinner, okay?”
“Sure thing, mom!” Tom enthused, clomping on back down the stairs.
Amanda turned back to the mirror. Had he been staring at her legs? Her thighs rubbed together, sending a little frisson of pleasure up her spine. No, it couldn’t be. He was just, tired or something, pent up after she’d cut him off from getting the car. That had probably put a pretty serious kink in his sex life. That must be it.
She looked down at her feet, wiggling her toes in their cobwebby wrap. Maybe it was time to paint them again.
—
When Tom woke up the next morning, it was from a fitful night’s sleep of half-forgotten dreams. The harder he tried to remember the details, the faster he forgot them, though he definitely remembered something silky and gauzy and warm against his face. There had been a woman there too, right? A woman’s voice, anyway, whispering something, telling him he was a good- a good- it was gone in the morning light.
What wasn’t gone was the enormous erection he’d woken up with. Lying in his bed, Tom looked down at the massive tentpole in his sheets. At 20 years old, he was not unfamiliar with the experience of waking up with morning wood, but he’d never seen it quite like this before. Keeping a weather eye on the door, he let his fist wrap around the throbbing meat, and began to gently stroke it. It must have been a hell of a dream, he decided, fist sliding up the sensitive shaft, trying to remember what it had been about. There had been a woman, he knew, a woman who had- a woman who-
Down the hall, there was a crash. Tom squeezed his shaft and tried to ignore it.
“Fuck! Damn, fuck!” His mom shouted. “Tom!”
Gritting his teeth, the young athlete sprang out of bed, yanked on the nearest pair of shorts, and padded down the hall to his mother’s bedroom.
