I slowly spread my legs apart to allow him a better access.Feigning to be deeply engrossed into my magazine, I looked at him through the corner of my eyes. His eyes were bulging in his sockets. He changed his position on the sofa so that he was sitting directly opposite to my open legs. He pulled the newspaper in front of his face. However, I was sure that every now and then, his eyeballs would roll in my direction, between my open thighs. I remained in that position, giving him a view of his lifetime.I let him enjoy my nakedness for some time and then straightened my legs, keeping them back on floor. He immediately turned his gaze away from me. He sat there awkwardly, reading the newspaper. Suddenly, he rose from the sofa and left the room. I calmly watched him go. I was sure; my son had got a good view of my plump thighs and hairy pussy.I came out of the room. Rahul’s room appeared locked from inside. I could easily guess what he was doing inside. I didn’t disturb him. I went back. True,he'd had a passion for lingerie since grade school (afurtive vice which both shamed and exhilarated him atdifferent times) but he'd never worn women'sunderwear in his life. Not that he could recall,anyway. There had been the dreams, of course - he'dhad them as far back as he could remember - butdreams don't mean a thing.(don't they?)No, they don't. Face burning like a storm lantern,Danny picked up the bra and removed the clear plasticwrapper. He paused, stretching the black Lycragarment between his hands, and inspected theelaborate arrangement of hooks, clips and straps. Itwas unbelievably pretty, a delicate collection flimsylace remnants. Like the panties, it was embellishedwith an ornate red frill, the cups edged with sweetfloral patterns. So sheer, so skimpy; he doubted itwould adequately cover his ample bustline. Hisstomach began to clench with unreleased tension, arich, sultry colour suffused his face and neck andshoulders.What am I doing? Danny asked himself in.
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