Moms Massage
I am Beth, divorced mother of a 19-year-old daughter, Sara, who still lives at home with me. I work a secretarial job and she goes to the local community college. When she was young, I was too busy working and taking care of her to think about getting involved and meeting men. Since then, somehow it has never come up. I just never seemed to want to spend the energy to pursue finding a boyfriend, and no one pursued me. I satisfy my ever dwindling sexual needs with some toys I keep in my bed stand.
Sara has always been a pretty responsible girl, and we have stayed close even as she went through her teenage years (though technically she still is one, now that she has finished high school and is in college, I sort of think of her as “grown up”). She is about five-foot-seven and has a lean athletic look, and does play a variety of sports. Her breasts are still small enough that she goes bra-less most of the time. Since it is just the two of us, she does not pay much attention to how she is dressed at home. She often goes around the house in just panties and a tank top. Her nipples will often stick prominently through the fabric. Being mom, I am a little more conservative that way. I pretty much stay dressed around the house, or at least in pj’s or a terry cloth robe. It is not as if she has not seen me undressed, or me her, or each other sitting on the toilet on occasion. Nevertheless, neither do we go around naked either. I am a decent looking woman, no model certainly. At five-foot-five, my weight is good at about 125 pounds. While no athlete, I have not let myself go completely soft. I have dark wavy hair, cut generally to just below the shoulders. My breasts are fairly full so they do sag some—I am in my early 40s after all. But I think if I dress well, I can still turn an eye or two.
On this particular Friday evening, it had been a long day, with the boss running me all over the place. I was ready to collapse by the time I left the office for the day and took the bus home. As usual, I have on my secretarial outfit, looking professional, mid thigh tan skirt, tights, matching tan vest, a white silk blouse fairly tight in the bodice, and heels. When I get home I just plop myself down on the sofa, and kick off my heels, leaving my purse dropped just inside the door. We live in a small two bedroom apartment, with our rooms just off the living/dinging room and share the one bathroom. I guess Sara heard me sigh. She came out of her room just as I sat down, in just panties and a tank top, as I mentioned is often the case, asking me how I was. I told her, truthfully, that I was pretty beat. She comes behind the sofa, and starts to rub my neck, something she will do for me on occasion. I just close my eyes, letting out deep breaths. Sara had just recently started taking a class on massage through the local parks and rec, and more often now would offer these neck rubs.
After massaging my shoulders for a few minutes she generally gets back to doing whatever it is she does in her room—her homework, chatting with her friends or whatever it is a girl of her age does. But today she says to me “Would you like me to do your back? I could practice some of what I’m learning in class.” I tell her sure. She recommends we go to my room so I can lie down on the bed. I figure, great, I would love a massage. She tells me she will be there in a moment, and I go to my room and collapse on my stomach on the bed.
When she gets in the room, she is holding a bottle of massage oil, a couple of candles, and an extra sheet. She informs me I need to get undressed to do this properly, as she wants to give me a real massage with oil and the full treatment. I am a little hesitant. As I said, it is not like she has not seen me undressed, but we do not hang out naked either. In the end, I figure this is a massage after all, so I get up and start taking my clothes off. Meanwhile she puts the sheet over the bed, turns off the lamps, lights the candles, and puts on some soft relaxing classical music that I have by my CD player.
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