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Mum then explained that when dad got home she would need a hand to move him around and up and down the stairs. Initially she asked whether I would be able to drop in and help her after work, but I would not hear of that. I told her that I would move back home for a short period and that I could stay in the small bedroom at the end of the dance studio. It was convenient and had its own ensuite. So about a week later I moved back home. Dad was not a good patient. He was demanding of mum and he became aggressive. We both understood that he was feeling frustrated, because he had always been very active, so we tried to compensate for the moods. However, because of the difficulty moving around, dad spent most of his time upstairs in his office or the bedroom. Mum and I found this a good arrangement because in the evening we would have a break from him and stay downstairs and watch television after dinner. This was our relaxing time. One evening mum said to me, “I heard from your Aunt Jane today. Things are not going too well for her and the baby is not settling down very well.” I pricked my ears up “Oh?” I said. “Yes, she reckons it’s going to be a long time before she is going to be able to get back into the dancing. She said to tell you that she is sorry.” I felt like a truck had hit me. I had not seen AJ since the hospital and the time had been going ever so slowly. Now this. Immediately my mind went into overdrive as I considered whether Aunt Jane could be having second thoughts. Three nights later I was extremely restless, tossing and turning in bed when, at about midnight, I thought I heard music coming from the dance studio. Although the volume was down low I was still able to hear it, then it suddenly stopped. I usually sleep naked so I threw on a pair of track pants and slowly opened the adjoining door — just a crack. I was immediately blinded, just for the seconds it took my eyes to adjust to the light, then noticed mum standing by the CD player dressed in her night attire. She had her back to me so I thought I would sneak up and give her a gruff “So, what’s going on here then!” when suddenly the music started again and she took off dancing a solo Viennese Waltz. I stepped back into the room, just leaving the slightest gap in the door. As I watched I couldn’t help feeling sadness for mum. It had never occurred to me how much the impact of dad’s injury would flow onto her life as well. Not only did she have to cope with the day-to-day work, anger and frustration from my father, but she also had to forgo the one thing they both loved doing together. What had consumed their lives for so long. As mum swirled and turned I could see she was lost to the music, lost to the dance, lost to the moment. It was then that I became acutely aware of just how sexy my mother really was. I guess that witnessing the beauty of her dance was the catalyst that transformed her from my mother to a sexually attractive and desirable woman. Of course it may also have had something to do with the small amount of clothing she was wearing as well. For whatever reason, it was then that I started to look at my mother through different eyes. Mum had just turned 45 years old but I could see that all the years of dancing had kept her body fit and toned. Although gravity is the curse of most women, it had been kind to mum. She stands about 5 foot 7 inches with jet-black hair, which falls just past her shoulders, and eyes that almost match its colour. Some wouldn’t like the thickness of her legs but I do, it gave her legs shape and added to the feeling of power that they so obviously possessed. Like most men I am not a fan of the ‘stick’ figure that models seem to aspire toward. I prefer my woman to have that hourglass full figure, although mum is quite slim in her body she still has a great shape. Tonight she was wearing a ruby red tiger stripe kimono type robe that was loosely belted and would flare out every time she rotated or turned. This movement exposed the beige and cream satin and black lace camisole underneath with, what appeared to be, matching French knickers. The camisole string straps did little to support mums 34B b—–s, which happened to bounce invitingly with every step that she took, the material clinging to the conical shape of each b—-t and clearly defining the nub of both n—–s. I was so caught in the moment that I did not realised the effect mum had on me. My c–k had hardened and was straining to be released from my track pants. And then that it happened.


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