Making Art with Mom Ch. 01

I was back living with my mom in the countryside. Some computer malfunction had erased my course applications and I had no choice but to take a break from my film studies until the next semester. Now I was forced to live in the middle of nowhere again. It was an old wooden house with a porch surrounded by fields. Next to it was a barn that was filled with old rusted machinery and junk.

My mom being shorter than me reached up and hugged me from behind as I was looking through the top kitchen drawers. "So good to have you home again John!" she chirped. It was a quick hug and when I turned my head in surprise she was already moving away. I looked at her as she was standing next to me absently wiping the kitchen sink.

She had her hair loose and it fell over her shoulders, she was wearing a loose shirt partly unbuttoned at the top. Her skirt was knee-length and I could see the the curves of her ass. It was a warm summer day and I noticed the top of her breasts through the opening in her shirt. I let my eyes linger for just a second but then I walked over and sat down at the kitchen table.

"You know what mom, I have this idea for an art project," I said casually.

"Oh?" She kept pottering about in the kitchen but I knew she was listening.

"I'm going to clean out the barn and use it as a studio. That way we both get something good out of it, right?" I answered innocently.

"Sure, you do that. It can't go worse than when your father said he would make it into a" She stopped talking and looked at me with a vacant expression. Here we go, I thought. She'll talk about the day he left and get all moody.

"You look nice today," I blurted out. She blinked her eyes and smiled at my effort to improve her mood. We managed to change the topic to the latest news about the neighbours.

I had been out in the barn, looking at the rubble but what was in front of me now was quite a different vista. My mom was lying on her back naked. Her 5,5 feet frame was shiny with sweat, her hair flowing all over the pillow. She had her eyes closed and she was working a vibrator in and out of her wet pussy, slowly and methodically. I was not suppose to see her like this, my mom pleasuring herself. But it seemed so natural to her.

The erotic scene hit me, I felt my dick growing. I looked at her breasts moving as she was breathing, her left hand was travelling across her body towards her breast, her fingers reaching for her nipple. My heart was beating faster as I unbuttoned my jeans. I heard her moan a word, and I recognised it as the name of a certain man from her past.

I took my eyes of my mothers body and looked down at my feet. I was standing in the middle of the stairs leading up to the second floor. I had been watching my mother through the open bedroom door on the second floor.

It struck me as odd that she hadn't heard the noises from our creaky stair. She must be in her own world, I thought. Unsure what to do I sneaked down the stairs again and went out to the barn. Pretty daring for her to pleasure herself while I'm on the farm, I thought. But then again she might have to get used to it, I don't have any cash to go anywhere.

The man she was moaning about was someone I had read about during the times I used to sneak into her bedroom and read her diaries. You could call him the protagonist of her journals. She had written them when she was no older then 18 or 19.

The creep had seduced her by making her act out theatre scenes with him. My mother always had this fascination with people calling themselves artists, especially painters and people working in theatre. Seeing them more like magical beings than people.

As I played around with my camera pod I couldn't get my mind of my mothers beautiful naked body, the expression on her face as the vibrator slid in and out of her. I forced my self to focus on the work at hand and went back to the task of changing the old barn into some kind of studio.

As I was working I started thinking about an amateur art project I had seen. It was basically a series of photos of a group of people showing different facial expressions with different captions next to the photos.

Next day I heard moms car stop outside the house, it was early in the afternoon. She must have had got off work early. She entered the kitchen carrying groceries, which I hurriedly took from her hands to help put away.

I took out some cold lemonade from the fridge and poured her a glass. She gave me a tired smile, she seemed to be in a good mood.

"My little man," She looked up at me from her chair and smiled as I was putting away the groceries.

"OK, my big man," she stated. I hadn't bothered putting on a t-shirt after doing some chores on the farm and my mom was looking at my chest and arms.

"You've turned into such a handsome man," she said with a half joking tone.

"Why thank you mam, you don't look to shabby yourself," I shot back smiling.

"Oh, you think I look pretty?" she said jokingly.

"I do, in fact I was going to ask you if you could help me with my art project," I responded in a submissive tone.

"Oh, like the time you filmed me driving the car around?" she replied calmly.

"I totally forgot about that, yes like that. That was when I tried out my camera," I replied eagerly.

"OK, let me take a shower first" she said, finishing the last of the lemonade.

We were in the makeshift studio now. On one end of the studio was a camera on a camera pod. A few yards in front of it was a chair. I was sitting on the chair and my mom was standing behind the camera, looking at the little display on the camera.

"So what do you see mom?" I asked her patiently.

"I just see your face John, I'm not sure I understand," she responded with a puzzled expression.

"My project is about facial expressions, that camera will be zoomed in like that, but you will be sitting in this chair instead, OK?" I was hoping I could talk her into this.

"Oh, I'm not sure about this, I thought maybe I would be in a car again, filmed at a distance or something," she mumbled anxiously.

"I need your help mom, how am I suppose to make art if I don't have your support?" I said, trying to pressure her.

"You know I would love to help you, but this doesn't feel right," she replied hesitantly.

"What if we try it out once, and if it is terrible then I won't ask you again, OK?" I asked, giving her a puppy eye look.

"OK, I suppose that is fair," she said with a weak tone.

I didn't mention to her the second camera that was hidden. It was positioned to film the chair from the side. I told myself that it was a camera to help me record what I was doing so I wouldn't forget anything important. And my model would of course act more natural if she didn't know about it.