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SATURDAY:

I won’t bore you with the details of how my lovely mother came to be visiting me just mere days after I had moved into my new apartment. Suffice to say that she arrived prepared for an extended stay with ideas on how my living accommodations were to be decorated. I suppose anything would be better than the Spartan decor (AKA early bachelor) that greeted her when she arrived early that Saturday afternoon.

I will however, tell you a little about this incredible woman. To start with, at forty-eight, she had a figure that women half her age would die (but not put any effort into achieving) for. Her Lady Clarol, Strawberry Blond hair barely reached her shoulders. Filled with boundless energy and a smile that would melt a judge’s heart, her 5’5″ frame seemed small and demure next to most men, and she never hesitated to use these attributes to her benefit. Quick to speak her mind and couch her observations in no uncertain terms, she nonetheless could comport herself with the grace and decorum of royalty while swearing like a sailor on a tennis court when she felt the call was in error.

We had spent most of the afternoon unpacking boxes and arranging furniture and had only just settled down for a much deserved respite. We had been hitting the bottle since three that afternoon and between the alcohol and spent energy we were both ready to call it quits for the day.

“You seem to know a lot about the Internet, I bet you can tell me about webcams,” Mom said as she lifted her glass to her lips and drained the last of her highball.

“Uh, what do ya wanna know?” I managed to sputter without choking.

“Well, I heard there is a way to hook a camera up to your computer so that you were transmitting over the Internet,” Mom smiled as she stood up and walked over to the bar.

“Yeah, it’s done quite frequently, nowadays. Cameras are cheap and bandwidth is readily available.”

Mom walked over to my workstation and sat down in the chair.

“Come here and show me,” she said over her shoulder as she reached out and hit the power button.

I grabbed a chair from the dining room and carried it over to the workstation.

“What brought on this curiosity. Webcams are slow. It’s not like watching television,” I said as I placed my hand on the mouse.

“Oh, I overheard a snippet of conversation in the ladie’s room last week and have been intrigued ever since. I tried doing a search for “webcam” on my computer at work but since our Internet access is filtered, all I ever got was “access denied”. Since I don’t have a computer of my own I thought I might ask you about it.”

I swallowed hard, wondering if she was referring to the same type of webcams that I so enjoy. I wondered I would play it straight, and typed in nasa.org and we were soon looking at a view of the earth taken from the space shuttle. Then I showed her some of the National Park cameras.

“Yeah, that’s pretty cool,” Mom said, “but I was thinking in terms of something a little more racy, if you know what I mean.”

I looked at her thoughtfully. She had a slight flush in her cheeks and her eyes seemed to twinkle in the half-light reflection from the monitor. I wondered I had a pretty good idea of what she meant, but I still wasn’t positive.

“Racy, you mean like NASCAR?” I asked.

“No, I don’t mean NASCAR. You know damn well what I mean and I would give you twenty-to-one odds you have such a site already bookmarked!”

“Huh?” I slurred.

Between the two of us, we had consumed about half a quart of Jim Beam, thus we were both rather inebriated.

Drunk or not, her hand was quick and sure as she snatched the mouse from beneath my fingers and clicked on the favorites tab. There, top of the page, in all its glory, was “Webcams”.

“Uh, huh,” Mom grunted as she clicked the mouse button. “I didn’t think this towel was here on the chair to keep the dust off of it.”

I grinned sheepishly as she fingered the stiff, discolored stains. “I bet this towel sees more action than your bed sheets do,” she snickered.

My login and password were already saved in the browser so she went right into the members area. I sat in mute stupification as she started clicking on the numerous names.

“Yeah, this is what I meant,” she purred softly as she leaned closer to the monitor.

“What the fuck is with all the headless people?” she grunted as she clicked open, then closed, over twenty different vids in rapid succession.

“I know, kinda frustrating, isn’t it?” I muttered.

“Yeah, if I wanted an damn anatomy lesson I would have taken up medicine,” she grumbled.

“Ahhh, now that’s more like it!” She exclaimed as she came upon one broadcast of a young guy leaning back in his chair. His entire body, from knees to scalp was fully exposed to her leering eyes. His right hand was stroking an impressive cock while his left was resting on a pc. mouse.

She had exhausted the list of single males and had moved down to the single females list.

“More headless people,” she murmured. “Does staring at a woman’s crotch turn you on, Andrew?” she asked without taking her eyes off the screen.

“Nah, I find it to be rather disassociative. I mean, unless I can see her face while she plays, I generally close the vid and move on. Frankly, given the choice of either watching her facial expressions or seeing what her hands are doing, I would take the former anyday.”

The alcohol was definitely loosening my tongue. After the words were out of my mouth I just sat there quietly, amazed that I would be so bold with my mother. Perhaps it was her own honesty and simply-stated desires that provoked such a response from me.

NSFW: yes

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