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my mother's generation, how hott those women were with their natural tits and bushy pussies. the hem of their skirt falling just below the knee. my mom sitting bare breasted in front of her makeup mirror with a whiskey sour next to her and chainsmoking pall malls. she let me watch her and taught me how to make myself pretty and then she let me help her dress, her legs in nylons attached to a girdle contraption the smell of her pussy reaching my young boy nostrils and she applied just a hint of perfume to her inner thighs. a modest bra to hold her small saggy tits that i hooked up for her and a plain simple dress that i zipped up for her. she had dad's cocktail ready when he pulled in the driveway and dinner on the way. sometimes he would be stinking drunk and i knew better than to misbehave. even when we behaved one or both of us might have to pay for some imagined transgression. on those nights it was better if he just left us alone and sought comfort elsewhere.
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