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Mom wore a sleeveless white top and a cornflower blue pleated skirt that stopped a few inches above her knee.
Her legs were bare and tanned, and she wore blue pumps that matched her skirt.
I also wore well-shined black loafers that had spent the entire summer in the closet.
She stared hard at me and then turned her head in every direction to see if anyone might be looking at her. Her gaze darted quickly back and forth, her head jerking this way and that like a bird's, so she could confirm that no one was looking at her. I saw her legs part through the gaps in the iron table top. You have a very pretty pussy." "I'll bet you tell that to all the girls," she said. "Yours is the prettiest I've seen." "Not too loud, Randy," she said. Mom was looking at me, and she looked nervous and embarrassed.
She was in her public mode, dressed elegantly (even if she was without her underwear), and to do what I was asking her to do she would have to break out of her comfortable role. Slowly, uncertainly, with lines of worry stitched across her face -- but she did it. "I think somebody was looking up my skirt and saw me," she said.
It was a surprise when, unprompted, mom asked me a question with no trace of a connection to anything we had talked about to that point during our lunch. " The question popped out of mom's mouth with no warning. My mouth was full of squash soup, which I had to work hard to stop from spitting up.
I swallowed it, with some effort, and I looked up at my mom. Mom took a moment to marshal her thoughts before answering me.