My Mother’s Young Lover Lived Naked in Our House

I grew up surrounded by women. My mother separated from my father before I was born, so my childhood unfolded between her, my grandmother, and an aunt, in a house where walking around in a bra or a robe in the hallways was the most normal thing in the world. Even before I did, they figured out I was gay, and they never made a fuss about it. Naked bodies were never taboo in my family: my mother had explained naturism to me when I was just a little kid, and I learned to respect it the way you respect any household custom.

When my grandmother died, the two of us moved alone to another city. By then I was already in college and still living with her, so I stopped being a child who needed looking after and became some kind of silent witness to her new life. And what a life she had.

My mother had always been courted by a lot of men. She was friendly, talkative, one of those women who fill a room the moment they walk in. She said she ignored them, but in the new house I started getting to know a parade of “friends” who lasted one or two months and vanished without my asking anything. Sometimes I ran into them in the morning, already dressed, while she moved around half-naked making coffee as if nothing were happening, with her tits out and a thin panty already marked with dark stains of dried secretions.

The big change came when she had surgery. My mother had never been ugly, but over the years she’d put on weight, and then one day she got liposuction, had her breasts lifted, and had her hips touched up a little. Nothing excessive: she ended up with a body that looked natural, the kind that makes people turn their heads in the street. Dark-skinned, straight hair, not very tall. From then on everything about her changed.

She started taking photos all the time, wearing tight dresses, and what had once been occasional became daily: she’d get home from work, strip naked in the middle of the living room, and stay that way until she got into bed. I was never bothered by it. The female body does nothing for me, though I admit any man would have lost his mind over a woman like her.

***

After the operation she went out more, came home very late, dined with one man after another. For a while she was tangled up with men much older than her, gentlemen who picked her up in expensive cars and whom she never introduced to me. I didn’t complain: nothing was ever missing in the house, and whatever I asked for eventually showed up. One night I woke to the rhythmic thumping of the headboard against the wall and the guttural moans of some guy asking her to suck him slower; the next morning she came down to breakfast with a hoarse voice and a calm smile, as if nothing had happened.

That’s why I was surprised when she started seeing Maximiliano. Unlike the previous ones, Maxi was much younger than her: my mother was pushing forty and he was around twenty-eight. Tall, almost six feet, white, with a somewhat worked gym body. He wasn’t especially handsome—he had acne scars—but he had something, a joviality that was contagious.

She introduced him to me a month after they started seeing each other. At first he seemed shy, quiet, and I even found her choice odd, because Maxi didn’t have the money the others did. I never asked her what she saw in him. I only noticed how attentive he was with her, and that was enough for me to like him from day one.

Soon he started showing up at the house almost every day, waiting for her to go out. I remember one afternoon when he was sitting on the sofa and my mother came out of her room topless, with her dress dropped to her waist, and stood in front of him so he could zip it up. I saw him pull it up with his face red, and I caught him muttering something, embarrassed. She answered, amused:

—Relax, he’s seen me naked since he was little.

And they left as if nothing had happened.

***

From that day on, Maxi lost his shame in stages. First he started staying over when they got home late. Then he began walking around without a shirt, just a tank top that outlined his chest and arms. The first time I ran into him like that, he got scared, but my mother, topless beside him, calmed him down:

—Don’t be scared, you’ve got the same thing, and my son already knows I like walking around naked.

I said something similar to break the ice, and he laughed.

What came next was a slow escalation. One morning I found him in the kitchen in boxer briefs, looking hungover, and for the first time I noticed the number of tattoos crossing his chest and belly. The fabric of the boxers outlined a thick bulge, hanging toward his left leg, and it didn’t take much imagination to guess the size. My mother hugged him from behind, ran her hands along his arms, then lowered one to his crotch and squeezed his package over the fabric without looking at me, as if I weren’t there. He let out a growl and let her do it. I understood that besides his personality, those muscles—and above all, that cock—were driving her crazy too. So that was what it was all about, I thought.

Little by little Maxi started acting like the owner of the house. He joked that he was “the man of the place,” and the truth was he fixed everything that broke or was needed. He didn’t do it for free: every time he repaired something, my mother helped him in her panties and he took the chance to pinch a nipple or kiss her neck. At first it bothered me a little to see her come out of the bathroom naked and have him slap her ass as he passed, hear the dry smack of palm on wet cunt, or watch him slip two fingers between her legs from behind while she stretched up to get a cup from the shelf, but I ended up getting used to it. To me it was part of the scenery.

***

The day everything really changed was when they showered together and Maxi came out completely naked into the bedroom. Before, he always covered himself with a towel. That time he tried to cover himself with his hands, unsuccessfully—he had a long, thick cock, still only half hard, hanging heavy between his legs and slipping between his fingers—and my mother followed him just as naked, laughing:

—Why are you covering yourself if my son has the same thing?

He didn’t answer. I didn’t say anything either, but I noticed my mother had red marks on her chest, fresh bites on her nipples, and a white streak running down the inside of her thigh. From then on, Maxi joined the house naturism. At first he had a hard time with it: he’d show up hard, his cock pointing upward, thick and veined, and my mother would laugh and tell him to relax, that you couldn’t walk around like that, and give the head a soft slap until it started to go down. After a few days he learned to control himself and started moving around calmly, with his cock swinging with every step, as if nothing were happening.

I watched everything with a strange curiosity. I wasn’t turned on—again, men with my mother naked beside them did nothing like that to me—but I was intrigued by the absolute naturalness with which the two of them lived without clothes: cooking, watching movies, talking to me as if they were dressed. There was something hypnotic about witnessing an intimacy I wasn’t part of and yet was the only spectator to.

One afternoon he put a big mirror in the living room and I watched the two of them without even trying to hide it. He was up on a ladder, the tattoos tightening across his back and his balls hanging at the height of my eyes when I passed underneath; she was immaculate, shaved except for a little triangle of hair above her pubis that I noticed for the first time. When they finished, they went in to shower, and when they came out my mother had shaved completely, her cunt smooth, shiny, with the lips just a little swollen from his hands under the shower. It was the first time I’d seen her like that. I realized how Maxi’s presence had transformed her entirely, down to the smallest details.

***

I had been asking to go to the beach for a while, and Maxi managed to get an uncle of his to lend him a house on the coast for a weekend. The week felt endless. Thursday at midnight finally came and we packed everything. Maxi came straight from work, my mother greeted him with a long hug, hung from his neck, shoved her tongue deep into his mouth in front of me, and asked him to take off his uniform so she could wash it. He stripped right there in the living room, and she looked at him with a desire she no longer bothered hiding. She dropped to her knees without thinking, grabbed his soft cock with one hand, and took it all in her mouth with a single thrust. Maxi threw his head back and moaned. She sucked him calmly, licking from the base to the tip, leaving his cock shiny with saliva, while I went into the kitchen as if I hadn’t seen anything. I managed to hear the wet sounds of the blowjob, the smack when she pulled it out of her mouth to lick his balls, his growl asking her for “deeper, mommy, deeper.”

—You’d better go shower —she finally told him, laughing, her lips swollen and a thread of saliva hanging from her chin. Using the excuse of gathering the clothes, she went in after him. They took just long enough, because the water was freezing, but from the kitchen I heard perfectly the dull thuds of flesh against the shower screen, her broken little whimpers, and Maxi’s hoarse voice ordering her to bend over more.

They came out laughing, each with a towel. She had bite marks on her chest, the skin of her ass red with finger marks, and she didn’t care that I saw them. We ate something quick and I went to bed while they kept talking.

The house on the coast was old and, above all, had no privacy: the rooms had no doors, just thin curtains that made everything visible, and the bathroom closed with an accordion door that didn’t seal. As soon as we arrived, my mother stripped naked in the living room and Maxi copied her. By then it was their natural way of being.

That first night we walked through the town center. I was a little bothered by the way people looked at them: her, older, with a spectacular body she didn’t hesitate to show off; him, shirtless, flaunting muscles and tattoos. But they didn’t mind the looks. On the contrary, they enjoyed them. They walked hand in hand like two lovestruck teenagers, drawing the attention of half the town, and it seemed to energize them.

***

We spent the next day at the sea. At night they went out to dinner at a seafood restaurant, which I don’t like, so I stayed at the house with fast food and movies. They came back late, tipsy, laughing, and went into the back bedroom. I kept watching the movie, but curiosity, that old acquaintance, started pulling at me.

I went to the bathroom and, on my way back, just peeked through the curtain. For the first time I saw them in the middle of the act. Maxi was kneeling on the floor, his head buried between my mother’s spread legs, and she was writhing, clutching the sheets. He was eating her cunt hungrily, with his whole mouth, sucking with a sound that was disgusting and beautiful at the same time. I could see his tongue working her clit in circles, the two fingers going in and out of her hole, wet up to the knuckles, and his free hand sliding up her belly to pinch a nipple. She covered her face with a pillow to muffle her moans, arched her back, squeezed her thighs around his head, and pulled his hair with both hands. It shocked me to see her like that, her cunt open in a man’s face, in a facet I had never imagined. I shouldn’t be watching this, I told myself, and went back to the sofa.

But my conscience didn’t last long. A while later I crept over again. This time my mother was on top of him, facing away, riding him reverse cowgirl, her hands on his thighs for leverage. I could see Maxi’s cock going in and out of her cunt in a slow rhythm, thick, slick with fluids, forcing apart her shaved lips on every downward stroke. She moved up and down with her hips, swaying her ass, and he grabbed her cheeks with both hands and spread them wider so he could see his cock buried better. At one point he pulled out, pressed it against the crack of her ass, and shoved it back into her cunt with a hard thrust that drew a sharp gasp from my mother. I stayed a few seconds and went back. The curious thing was that they never let out a full scream; only an occasional muffled sound, as if they knew I was nearby and preferred silence, or his low whisper ordering her, “That’s it, mommy, like that,” and her answering, “You’re filling me up, you’re filling me all the way.”

Later, focused on the screen again, I saw Maxi come out toward the kitchen, sweaty, with his cock still half erect and shiny, thinking I was asleep. When he realized I was awake, he jumped and covered himself with his hands, stammering some excuse. My mother appeared at once, just as naked, her tits red and her nipples swollen, a white trail running down the inside of her thigh, and stood in front of him to cover him up.

—Still awake? We’re going to the beach early tomorrow, go to sleep —she ordered me.

I turned everything off and went to my room. As I turned in the hallway I saw them from behind, bent over the suitcases, looking for something, laughing under their breath. He slid a hand underneath her, slipped two fingers into her cunt from behind, and she let out a stifled laugh.

***

The next day I woke up very late, beaten down by the heat. My mother hadn’t woken me, and I understood why when I tried to go into the bathroom: she was kneeling in front of Maxi under the shower. I could only see his back, standing there, letting the water fall over his face as he sighed and held my mother’s head with both hands, setting the rhythm. I heard the bubbling sounds in her throat each time his cock hit the back of it, his heavy breathing, the splashing of water against flesh. Then he lifted her up, turned her against the tiles, spread her legs with a soft tap at the ankle, and fucked her from behind. I saw the blurry reflection in the fogged glass: my mother with her hands against the wall, back arched, ass sticking out, and Maxi taking her in short thrusts, his hands on her hips, biting her shoulder. She bit her forearm so she wouldn’t scream. He finished by jerking back, impaling her herself, and he let out a long gasp before pulling out and coming into the air, thick jets landing on the small of her back and sliding down the crack of her ass to the backs of her knees, while the water carried it away. Then he lifted her and they kissed with tongue, with his load still dripping down her legs. Watching them kiss had already become normal for me; watching the rest, not so much. I backed away before they could catch me.

We went back to the sea until noon. In the afternoon we went to a more distant beach, almost deserted, where Maxi stayed in tight swimwear that shamelessly outlined his bulge, and the people passing by looked at him openly. A couple muttered something and laughed. Again, they loved it. My mother slid her hand inside his swim trunks in front of everyone, pulled his cock out for a second to adjust it better, and tucked it back in as if nothing had happened.

The rest of the trip was a repetition of the same thing: me spying on them out of curiosity, them never once shouting, the entire house turned into a kind of set where intimacy was there for everyone to see. One afternoon I saw them fucking in the porch hammock, her seated facing him on top, moving slowly, her tits bouncing in Maxi’s face while he sucked them one by one; another night, in the kitchen, she bent down to suck him while leaning against the counter, his cock going in and out of her mouth in hard thrusts as he clung to the granite edge. I was never turned on, to be clear. It was the simple voyeuristic thrill of witnessing something that didn’t belong to me, the fascination of watching my mother live her desire without an ounce of shame.

***

On Sunday, before loading the car, my mother took out the trash and I saw several empty condom wrappers in a bag, along with a couple of wipes stained with dried semen. Maxi drove back without a shirt, using the heat as an excuse, until we nearly got back into the city. On the way I watched them in the rearview mirror: how they laughed, how he rested his hand on her leg and left it there, sliding it up under her dress until he brushed her cunt through her bralessness, how they sought each other out all the time. They were, plain and simple, a happy couple.

After that trip, everything got better at home. Maxi moved in with us. They kept walking around naked all the time, fucking in any corner without worrying about me anymore, and I stopped feeling bothered by it completely; more than that, I never felt curious enough to spy on them again. I guess I had already seen everything I needed to see—their cock going into every hole of hers, the load running down her chin, the cunt open and throbbing after hours—and I understood that it wasn’t a scandal, just the way two people loved and fucked each other.

To this day my mother and Maxi are still together. Every time I go back to my country I visit them, and whenever I open the door to their house they greet me the same way: just as they came into the world, with not a single piece of clothing on and not a shred of modesty.