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My mom didn't mind our drinking, if it was in the back yard and no one was going to drive. As we all lived a short distance from each other, that was never an option. Her and I lived alone, dad was a distant memory for both of us and there was never any longing from me to see his shadow move across our doorway.
She was Philippa and I was Ian. She worked in middle level downtown corporate, was in her early 40's, just a little shorter than my 5'11", light auburn hair cropped to mid neck, with bright green eyes that dominated her soft and attractive face. About a size 12, she dressed well and smart during the week, relaxed on weekends. She never showed great interest in dating, although there were a few work-oriented outings and receptions where she enjoyed male company. Nothing serious ever developed to my knowledge and most weekend she was around the house or at her gym, which kept her toned. She always happy to see my buddies.
After a few hours, the guys headed for their respective homes and I chilled out on a comfortable outdoor chair with a beer in my hand. As they left they yelled goodbyes to mom in the direction of the kitchen window and disappeared around the side of the house. It was quiet and getting hotter and I had no real inclination to move.
"I'm just getting changed," I head mom call out from the kitchen, "and while I'm doing that you can bring in your empty bottles and plates."
It was the last thing I felt like doing but mom being mom I knew I'd better. I waited a bit but then I pushed up from the chair, gather some empties and plates and wandered towards the kitchen.
Plates went into the dishwasher and empties to the recycling. I was bent over dumping the empties when she came back in.
It took a couple of seconds to realize that the flowing white dress with the big yellow flowers had been replaced by pink shorts and a tee. On her feet were two inch heeled plastic sandals.
Relaxed by the beer I saw the shorts were a little tight and showed off her ass in a way I'd never noticed before. Perfectly shaped and peach-like, outlined by the tiny panties that were obvious, with the zipper at the back highlighting and accentuating the hint of a valley between her two cheeks. The white tee was stretched tight across her smallish breasts, again highlighting femininity. She was obviously bra less and I'd never looked at my Mom or noticed her in this way in the past. Sure, on some mornings I'd seen her in a petticoat over her bra, panties and stockings before she slipped on a skirt, blouse and jacket as she got ready for work. That had never made a real impact but today she did.
What I'd seen on those previous mornings left me oblivious because the self-centered arrogance of youth precluded acknowledgment of any physical or sexual attributes of a parent. She was my Mom and that was that.
But in the kitchen on that hot summer Saturday there was a difference. In front of me was an attractive woman, dressed to show herself to perfection with more than just a little erotic hint.
"Ian," she said looking up from the sink directly at me, "would you do me a favor?"
"Sure. What?"
"When your friends are over, ask them to use the bathroom."
"What do you mean?"
"You know exactly what I mean. If they want to go to the bathroom then that's where they can go and not on the edge of the lemon tree."
"Oh," I said. "You saw?"
"I glanced out the kitchen window a couple of time and," she stopped and paused a few seconds. "What else could I see but them."
"You glanced?" I said feigning surprise, "you were watching"
"No," she replied quickly, "I was not watching. I just glanced out a couple of times."
Seeing attack was the best defense, I quickly same back: "You were watching." The emphasis on the 'were'.
"Did you have a good look?" I added with a bit of sarcasm, which she ignored.
Closing off the conversation from her point of view she quipped: "Just get them to use the bathroom."
I laughed and repeated: "You were watching."
She gave up a turned back to the sink giving me a perfect view of the tight shorts covering her ass. The distinct panty line showed that beneath the shorts was something skimpy. I took in the view, enjoying the tight pink shorts and imagining what was underneath them. I'd never looked at her like that before and it was a strange feeling.
"Anyhow," I said not wanting to dismiss the idea that she'd been watching all of us as we went around the lemon tree, "Jimmy says it's good for the tree, adds acid to the soil."
"Jimmy," she said turning around, her hands on her hips and the tee shirt hugging her tits, showing that while they might be small they were firm and looked good. "Well, you'd expect Jimmy to say that. He's always got an angle."
By now we were both laughing and I relaxed knowing that she was not about to throw drama about where we had pissed. She seemed more playful than usual, perhaps even a little coquettish, something I'd not seen before.
"But I think," she added, unable to give away making her point, "you'd better get the hose out." There was a smile more like a smirk when she finished her point with: "You can dilute some of that acid. Too much and you might kill the tree."
With nothing left to banter, I nodded. But before I did go outside, I slipped into my bedroom and, on some inexplicable impulse, I took off both my shorts and boxers and only put my shorts back on. That my cock was almost free of restraint was both sensual and erotic. I didn't know why I did it but I just did. It may have been the effects of the beer or the sun or maybe I just wanted to feel the unrestrained freedom. After that I went outside to grab the hose and do what she'd asked.
I was liberally hosing around the edge of the lemon tree when she came out of the house and, in another surprise, she grabbed one of the remaining bottles of beer out of the ice box. Twisting off the top she settled into one of the chairs and sipped the beer as she watched me.
"You know," she said, resting the cold bottle on her thigh, "when I was a kid we used to play under the hose on hot days. It was the only way to keep cool."
"You used to hose me when I was younger," I replied. "I remember that. Also, running under the sprinkler."
"Better than a swimming pool," she said, "although we were never able to afford a pool."