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] 01 –

I knew the perfect place. About seventy miles west of the city there was a farming and ranching community I’d discovered as a Boy Scout. It was a little town called Wessel, pronounced “vessel”, since the name came from a German city near the Rhein River. It really wasn’t much of a town, just the intersection of two Texas farm-to-market roads. Wessel had a convenience store with a few tables where a local could cool off with a Shiner Beer, a sleepy post office, and an ancient church with a cemetery and community center where once a month they held dances.

The area was dotted with fields of sorghum and corn and small ranches that ran a few dozen cattle. It was gently rolling country with frequent outcroppings of sandstone. Oak, pecan, and cedars grew in isolated islands among the green pastures and dark tilled earth. Most of the settlers to the area had been Germans and Czechs, migrating from Middle Europe in the 1870s, sprinkled in with Hispanics and blacks.

When we had a wet spring, the land was filled with wildflowers and would make a great backdrop for my photographs. Well, March had been wetter than usual. I looked on-line at a web site that charted wildflower blooming and saw that, as I hoped, Wessel would be in peak coloration during my spring break.

I got all my gear together the night before. I also had a bag of accessories. My last item was my grandfather’s old .22 pistol. I didn’t expect to run into any snakes, but it’s always possible. Mom selected some outfits. I didn’t know what she chose, feeling that there would be more spontaneity in my photographs this way. She also prepared a picnic basket so we were able to get an early start Saturday morning.

It was a pleasant drive out the interstate. The weather was beautiful, bright sunshine with mild temperatures. Traffic was light. We made good time. By 10:00 we were in Wessel.

“Where to?” mom asked as we sat at the intersection.

“Six of one, half a dozen of the other.”

“My son, the leader.” She turned left.

The road wound through gentle hills. It was a good road, well maintained with wide shoulders for the passage of farm equipment. I would have loved to drive it in a Camaro or Mustang convertible. Or a big motorcycle. Despite the soft springing of the family SUV, mom was even getting a thrill from throwing the vehicle around the curves, surging up the hills, diving into the small valleys.

Once we passed under a railroad overpass on which someone had spray painted a notice: ‘Welcome to Hooterville.’ I laughed at that and pointed it out to mom.

She said, “I didn’t notice that, but did you see the highway sign for the overpass that said ‘Watch out for water under bridge?’

“That’s even better.”

The road continued its sinuous ways. Mom was admiring the view while I was looking for the right photogenic spot.

“Whoa!” mom cried suddenly as we topped an incline. She braked quickly. The terrain had opened up before us, exposing a green swath of land that stretched from north to south. From our height, we could see for miles. Everywhere was the green with splotches of dark bluebonnets and small areas of bright Indian paintbrushes. These were about bloomed out, but ranged from orange to deep crimson. Stands of oak were darker. Black angus, beige longhorns, and red Herefords dotted the pastures.

“There to the right,” I pointed. The flowers in that direction were thickest. A cattle tank, a bulldozed pond of water, glinted blue. Also, among a stand of tall pecan trees, there was an old barn faded by decades of weather and sun. “That looks perfect.”

“I think you’re right.”

Mom followed the road till we got to a track leading across the pasture. It was protected by a cattleguard that rattled as we rode over it. On the fence post at the guard was a metal sign, only mildly perforated by bullet holes, saying that the property owner was a member of the Texas Cattleman’s Association. There was a sign forbidding trespassing that mom ignored. It’s an old Texas custom that if a rancher didn’t want picnickers using his property, he put up a gate: gates are for people, cattleguards are livestock.

Mom took the track, driving slowly. Except for one well hung bull, the cattle we passed barely paid us any attention. They were healthy looking bovines with several calves sticking close to their mamas.

Before we got to the barn, we saw a two wheel path going off to the left. It didn’t go far, but stopped a copse of trees. I asked mom to drive that way. She swung off the track and drove thirty yards or so. That brought us to the trees. Among them was the remains of a house. It was partially overgrown, but still showed a couple of stone walls and a hearth with chimney.

“Let’s start here.”

“All right,” mom agreed. She stopped the vehicle and got out. I went around the back of the SUV and opened the tailgate. I pulled our bundles out and hefted the camera bag over my shoulder.

“I’m going to get some shots while you decide what you want to wear.”

“OK. bursa escort I have just the thing. No peeking while I change.”

“Yep.” I headed off to the ruins. The walls, what remained of them, were slabs of sandstone. The floor was of the same material. The fireplace was brick. Any roof had long ago rotted away. The building was maybe twenty feet square. If it had been subdivided into rooms, the interior walls had gone the way of the roof. It was surrounded by low scrub and cacti.

On the ground I found a long sturdy oak tree branch. I set down my camera bag, took out my pistol, and checked the bore after locking back the slide. Seeing that there were no obstructions, I dropped the slide on the loaded magazine, chambering the top cartridge, and pressed up the safety. Pistol in one hand, branch in the other, I thrashed about the scrub to drive away any snakes. After circling the building, I holstered the Colt pistol and set aside the stick.

I had two camera bodies, one a digital SLR and an older Pentax 35 mm single lens reflex, along with 5 lenses ranging from a 28×85 zoom to a fixed length 300 mm telephoto lens. The 35 mm camera was definitely old school, but I still like using it. Print film, for me, was simply fun to work with. I started with it and a moderately wide angle lens to get some perspective shots of the old ruins. Then I used the small zoom to get some shots of a few of the cacti that were in bloom,

By that time, my mother had changed out of her blouse and jeans into her first outfit. It was a simple plain yellow sundress with matching sandals. The dress had ruffled sleeves. a scoop neckline, and a full skirt. She carried a yellow bonnet and a white parasol that I’d brought along.

“Nice,” I said, complimenting her. “Just watch where you step. This is prickly darn country.”

“Oh, I don’t mind a little prick now and then.”

I saw my mom blush as she suddenly realized the double entendre. I was a little surprised by her comment. My mother’s not one to make even unthinking jokes about pricks. I guess I should tell you about her. She’s a little over medium height, maybe 5-7. She probably weighs around 140 pounds. Maybe that’s a bit much by magazine model standards, but, after all, she’s nearly 45. She’s got frosted hair that she wears short. Her eyes are dark brown. She’s got laugh lines at their edges and she laughs a lot. She photographs well.

That’s why we were there that morning. I was having a one man show at school and she was my last project for the show.

I got an old blanket out of the SUV and placed it on a section of wall that was waist high. This section was in sunlight. I had my mother sit on the blanket to protect her dress from dirt. I posed her with the parasol over one shoulder. I started shooting her from several angles, using both cameras and lenses of various focal lengths.

Thirty minutes later I was done.

“Ready for a break?”

“For sure.”

We walked back to the SUV and I cracked open some soft drinks. We sat on the tailgate, listening to the songbirds and making small talk.

“OK, what’s next?”

I looked at the sky. The sun was gone, hidden by clouds. I mentioned that fact to my mother, adding that the conditions were just right for some pictures of her and the flowers. Filtered sunlight meant I wouldn’t need to use any reflectors or fill in flash.

“OK. I want to wear this dress to start.”

“Fine.” I looked around. To get a better view, I stood on the tallest of the remaining stone walls. “There’s a nice patch about fifty yards that way. I want to set up over there and have you walk towards me. Then we can do some tight shots of you and the flowers.”

“That sounds good. Wave when you’re ready.”

] 02 –

The spot I’d chosen was about midway between the ruins of the house and the barn. I positioned myself on the far edge of the flowers and waved that I was set.

Mom started her approach. Maybe she didn’t have any formal modeling experience, but she had a natural talent. As she walked towards me, mom varied her pace, would stop sometimes to twirl on her toes, or bend down to pick a flower. She opened and closed the parasol, carried over this shoulder or that, even ran across my field of view. I took lots of pictures of her, having her stop once while I put the longest lens on the 35 mm. That long a lens give a great depth of field at small apertures while also foreshortening the subject. I wanted just those effects before she got too close to take advantage of them.

Finally, she reached me. I took pictures of her kneeling, sitting, and even lying in the flowers. I used my shortest lens on its macro setting to take some extreme close-ups.

I gave mom a break while I reloaded the film pack on the 35 mm body. I also put a fresh flash card in the digital camera. I discovered years ago that it was better to remove a partially filled card rather than run the risk of filling it up just when you had a chance to take a perfect picture.

“Break over.”

“OK.” bursa escort bayan Mom got to her feet. She grabbed the hem of her dress and pulled it up. As she tossed aside the yellow dress, I saw that underneath it, she had worn a white polo shirt and shorts. “Will this work?”

“Great! You missed your true calling, mom.”

“I hardly think that.”

I started posing mom for another set of pictures. Mostly I duplicated the poses I’d shot earlier. The different costume presented a different aspect from the sundress.

While busily taking my photographs, I didn’t notice that the sky darkened. What had been tall fluffy towers of white became dark and threatening. They came from the west, building. When I finally noticed them, they were overhead. Lightning was spitting from cloud to cloud and occasionally darting to the ground. Thunder rumbled.

Of course, my mother noticed them too. “I think we’d better head for the vehicle.”

“I agree.” I helped her to her feet. That’s when I noticed a solid wall of rain coming across the pasture towards us. Lightning grew in strength. The sound of its passage deepened. I could smell the ozone in the air.

The rain hit us before we had even left our places.

Trying to cover up my camera as best I could, I shouted at mom, “The barn’s closer.”

She turned towards it and began her sprint. My pace, with my arms wrapped around my chest to try to keep the cameras dry, was slower. Mom outdistanced me easily. In fact, she had a great running form. Her arms worked up and down in time to her legs. She put a lot of distance between me and her in short order. I saw her disappear into the barn.

I joined her some seconds later. Needless to say, I was soaked to the skin. Mom was in no better shape.

The barn was a low structure, twice as long as wide, with large doors at both ends. The floor was hard packed dirt. In the middle of the barn was a fairly new John Deere tractor and a hay wagon. Against one wall was a large gasoline tank and a hand pump. Bales of hay were stacked to one side and reached most of the way to the ceiling. Otherwise it was empty.

“Is your stuff OK?” The heavy rain pounded on the sheet metal roof, almost drowning out my mother’s question.

I unslung the cameras and bag and set them on the low bed of the trailer. I had a scrap of cotton cloth in the bag. I wiped down the camera bodies. They seemed OK.

“I think so.”

“Did you close up the Chevy before we left it?”

“I couldn’t remember whether or not I’d put up the tailgate and told her so.

She went to stand at the wide door. “If you didn’t, everything will be soaked. It’s really coming down.”

I went to stand beside her. The clouds were less dark, but the amount of water and lightning they were unleashing hadn’t diminished.

“Well, we can’t do anything about it,” Mom said in her practical way. “You wanted to get some pictures in here, I’m sure, so we might as well go ahead.”

That’s when I noticed her. Mom was as soaked as I was. Instead of a shirt and jeans like me, however, she was wearing that white shorts outfit. It was plastered to her body. The soaking had made the garments transparent. Through her shirt, her white lace bra was visible and underneath them both her small dark nipples showed. Her shorts were also see through. Her panties matched her brassiere. I could see the dark smudge of her pubic patch.

“Where do you want to start?”

It was obvious my mother didn’t realize how she looked. And there was no way I could tell her. Instead, I asked her to stand at the far door where there was a bit more light. I could start with some silhouettes.

As she walked away from me, I received another shock. During her dash to the cover of the barn, her shorts had snuggled up to her bum. Her ass cheeks were exposed. My eyes drank in their roundness.

The pictures I took were good enough, I suppose. I didn’t spend much time thinking about art as I focused and tripped the shutter. I was thinking about how sexy mom looked.

I remembered the time I discovered that my mother had a sexual side to her personality. She and dad had gone out to the country club for a party. When they returned, I could tell they’d been drinking. As mom turned away from me, I saw that her dress had been unzipped. Her backside was bare, exposed almost to the crack of her ass. As she went upstairs, her hips twitched. Dad grinned at me, licked his lips, and followed.

Mom had dropped her wrap and purse on the carpet. I went to get them, thinking that I should put them away. Thinking about her smooth white skin, I dropped her purse also. Cosmetics spilled out. I picked them up and started to stuff them back. That’s when I discovered her red bra and panties. I looked at them. Her panties were damp. I sniffed them. For the first time, the scent of a woman struck me. I laid on the couch, pressed the crotch of her panties tightly to my face. I thought about the look that had been on my father’s face. I took out my cock and stroked escort bursa myself as I pictured them in bed.

After that, I became incensed with her panties. When I could, I stole them from the dirty clothes hamper in the master bathroom. I went through her drawers to catalog her wardrobe. She had dozens of pairs of matching bras and panties. Garter belts. Camisoles and teddies. In the closet hung sheer negligees.

When I could, I listened to my parents fuck.

Back then, dad was junior at his job and had to travel a lot. He averaged two weeks out of the month on the road. When he got back home, they always had a long and loud fuck session.

I hacked into mom’s e-mail account. I found countless messages to dad. Most were obscene. She described what she was going to wear to bed that. What she was going to do to her body. What she wanted him to do. What she expected when he got home. I discovered pictures that she sent him on his travels. Clothed. Semi-nude. Naked. Using dildos. Fruit. Wine bottles. In her mouth. Up her cunt. Inside her asshole. Attaching nipple clamps to her boobs. Strapping a butterfly vibrator against her cunt. Wearing them under the clothes she wore to work.

She told dad how she had cum at her job, thinking about his cock fucking her. How she imagined he had come by on his lunch hour and she locked the door to her office while he fucked her on her desk. How he had stuffed her panties in her mouth to keep her quiet as he pounded her.

And I read my father’s responses to her. Saw the pictures he took of himself as he worked his cock and hosed all over himself in some motel room. How badly he wanted to fuck her, to rape her cunt and her ass, make her choke on his cock as he shot massive wads down her throat, filling her belly with cum. Bend her over the dining room table and fuck her raw. Fuck her so hard that she could barely stand and it hurt to walk when her worn cunt lips abraded against each other.

All this from my prim and proper mother who I’d never even heard swear. Never heard her utter a “damn” or “hell.” Writing using the filthiest language in existence.

I took her picture as the rain came down on the roof above us. I drank in the sight of her. The woman I jerked off to as a teen was now in front of me, almost as bare as she’d been in those selfies. Close enough to touch. Close enough almost to smell.

“What’s wrong, Drake?” mom asked, breaking into the fog that filled my mind.

“Huh? Wrong?”

“You don’t seem to be concentrating on what – Oh, my God!” Mom put one hand to her mouth. The other pointed at me. I noticed for the first time that I had a boner like I’d never had before. “What’s wrong with you?”

I turned away from her, embarrassed. I didn’t know what to say.

“Is this what I can expect from you? Just from taking pictures of me? Answer me!”

“Mom, I’m sorry.”

“You should be. I had no idea that you were this sick. Just because I pose for you, that’s no reason -” Her tirade stopped in mid-sentence. She finally noticed how she appeared, the wet clothes sticking to her body. Exposing her. It was her turn to be embarrassed and face away from me.

That didn’t help my erection at all, since her ass looked as sexy as her tits and cunt.

She reached up. I could tell she was pulling the wet fabric from her body.

I set aside my cameras. “Mom?”

“Don’t say a word. Don’t try to apologize. There’s nothing you can say or do that will help.” Her words had lost much of their anger.

“I was just going to say that I can’t help reacting to you. It’s normal for a guy to react to a good looking woman.”

“Not when she’s your mother.”

“Mom…” I wanted to cry. Can you believe it, a twenty year old guy wanting to cry just because he gets a boner. Absurd.

She must have sensed the turmoil in my voice. Mom turned around to look at me. She gave me a sad smile.

“I guess I really can’t blame you. Like you say, it’s biology. I just had no idea I was so, so exposed.”

“Well, kinda.” I was able to smile a little, too.

“Does it excite you to take pictures of me.”

I shook my head. “No, mom. It’s just, wet, well, you look so sexy.”

Again she pulled her wet shirt. Maybe it helped a little, but I didn’t think there was much difference.

“I guess I’m showing some tittie.”

“And camel toe. And you should see your ass.” What had I just said?!?

Mom twisted to look at her bum, but couldn’t see her cheeks hanging out, of course. She reached behind with both hands, ran her thumbs under the legs of her shorts, and pulled the taut fabric down.

“And did you say ‘camel toe’?”

“Uh, yeah. I guess I shouldn’t have done that.”

“I think it’s better to be honest. It looks like I really affected you.”

I glanced down at my groin. “Yeah. You sure do.”

“Am I still affecting you?’

“You know you are, mom.” There was something in her voice that made me look more closely at her. She was still backlit by the dim light from the open barn door., so I couldn’t see many facial details.

I looked at her while the rain drummed around us.

My heart in my throat, I ran my hand across the hard cock that pressed against my jeans. I cupped it.. Rubbed it.

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