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Mummy
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I have a memory of my mother which never fails to make me want to masturbate. I was 7 or 8 years old and I saw her nude. Of course I had seen her fully and semi naked before in her bedroom or in the bathroom and had thought nothing of it. This time, we were in the living room and she had just come in from an expedition to buy new clothes. Mummy excitedly described what she’d found and asked if I’d like to see them. Out came a dress, a skirt and a blouse and some underwear, a lacey white bra and some white cotton knickers. ‘Perhaps I’ll try them on,’ she said. Still chattering she began to undress as if it were the most natural thing in the world. In no time, she was totally nude. If I showed any surprise, she certainly showed no sign of noticing it. Nor did she show in any haste in dressing in the new things. I drank in the sight of her pale, slim body, her little breasts, the bush of hair which hid her vagina and the roundness of her bottom as she held up each item of new clothing to inspect it, apparently not noticing my awed gaze. Mummy must have been naked in front of me for five minutes before at last she started to dress, still talking and laughing as if nothing unusual were happening. I had already, at that age, learned to play with myself but some subconscious urge told me it would be wrong to masturbate while thinking about mummy although the memory of her naked in front of me remained vivid. And I didn’t for years, in fact until after she was dead and I read about Freud’s desire as a child to see his mother naked. I suddenly realised that all those years ago, mummy had wanted me to see her nude and had deliberately shown herself to me. I immediately had a rush of other memories when I had ‘accidentally’ seen her, though nothing else so deliberate as the moment in the living room. It was like a liberation and I have since spent many wonderful hours masturbating in homage to her.
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Posted on : Dec 2, 2010
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