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I want to see mom naked

Mature Flo gets out of the shower 13 min.

pretty mom Paisleigh

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My age 34
What is my ethnicity: Canadian
Figure features: My body features is thin
I like to drink: Beer
Hobbies: Travelling

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I have a fulsome body. I have my complement of obligatory flabs and sags par for my age. My husband told me that I have an appealing English rose coquettish demeanour that nature has calibrated just about on song, short of provocative buxomness. My son and I have a trusting and open relationship. We have a lovely secluded garden which I like to potter around.

One day, when I had some alone tranquil time with my son sipping tea at the bottom of our garden, I intimated that I have observed that he has been checking me out. I asked him what he thought of me honestly because I couldn't quite fathom what a strapping teen would see in a woman in her 50's.

He reflected philosophically, and mused that he saw me in two dimensions. One, as a mum he respected, trusted and loved. Two, as an appealing mature woman who gave him twitches, and shudders on occasions. Reactions which were natural, which he could not deny. He told me that he had tried to reconcile the mum-woman views, and have concluded that the views just were what they were, beyond sensible reconciliation. Any reconciliation would simply be suppressing one view, self-evidently, the 'woman' view, in deference to hardwired social conditioning. It was questionable if this was reconciliation at all.

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Being at peace with the mum-woman view was the philosophical equivalent of the Nietzschean peace of the Apollonian and the Dionysian. My son the philosopher. Son: I just appreciate mature bodies where mother nature has averaged out the perfections and lesser perfections, to a mellowed contoured whole.

I find the impossibly perfect bodies that assail my senses over public media inauthentic and plasticky. Me: You know when there is no one home, I go native, and do a spot of gardening, to soak in the rays, enjoying the outdoors, in our garden. I don't consider myself a nudist though.

For : seeing my mom naked

There has been some heavy heaving grunt work that I have been postponing. I could do with some help there. Me: My, my, we have an eager beaver here.

This Saturday will be fine. Your Dad is away on business travel. I chose an outdoors setting so that there was a natural aura to it all. There would have been a degree of contrived nudity awkwardness if it had been indoors. After the gardening, we had tea at the bottom of our garden.

It would have been a curious sight for anyone who chanced upon this mum-son ensemble. A mature woman in native glory, seated with legs crossed, conserving her secret feminine cache, but only just so, sipping tea nonchalantly, juxtaposed against a bare chested teen in bermuda shorts. Cool as the cucumber sandwiches we were pecking.

Fast forward. I was with my husband in our bedroom. Bedtime banter.

Just as I do with my son, I have an open and trusting relationship with my husband. Husband: I'm not surprised. Par for his raging hormonal course. I've observed him surreptitiously stealing oblique glances at you too. Me: I was curious what he saw in his mature mum.

So I asked him. He intimated that he appreciated the mature feminine form. Husband: Par for the Oedipus course. As Dr Freud had prescribed. I've been there.

And how did you feel about it? Me: The mum part of me was conflicted. The woman part of me was flattered that a teen would have interest in a mature woman with flabs and sags. Me: I decided to help our son, one-off, to get over his fantasy. As far as fantasies range, this one was not really that over the top.

Lend flesh to his imagination. Demystify his imagination. So that he can move on. Me: That Saturday when you were on business travel, I did gardening in the buff, while our son, dressed, helped me with the grunt work. Afterwards, we had tea in the garden. That was all.

Me: Yes. It was somewhat of a titillating peek-a-boo display on the front and the sides. Of course, my back was fully exposed, ornamentally bound up in two bits of strings. Me: Tortuous by my estimation.

But, it wasn't by any measure of devious sensual de. It's my usual garden variety apron. Me: My, my, you're lapping this up. It's getting late. Maybe we should continue this tomorrow Me: It was all a flurry of activity. Our son was preoccupied with his heavy heaving grunt work to focus on anything else.

For : son sees mom naked

He could've stolen sidelong glances at me when I was beetling around, doing this and that, crouching, bending over, climbing the ladder. But, I can't tell. It was only when we chilled for tea that I observed him. Me: I was done with the gardening first. As our son was finishing up his tasks, I went into our kitchen to fetch tea and sandwiches. By the time tea was served on our garden table, our son was done. I called him over. I took off my apron exposing my front for the first time. I sat down. I crossed my legs to lend a modicum of modesty.

I felt then that any other sitting posture would appear lewd as I didn't have the benefit of a table top cover to obscure my nether charms.

I suddenly felt particularly vulnerable given my scrupulously pristine mons pubis rendition. I paused.

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I have a cruel sadistic subterranean streak. I wanted to mercilessly fluster my husband into anticipatory pulp. Me: Our son crashed onto his chair across me. He wore a bermuda, and was otherwise bare chested, deluged in perspiration.

Our boy had earned his due.