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Plates went into the dishwasher and empties to the recycling. I was bent over dumping the empties when she came back in. It took a couple of seconds to realize that the flowing white dress with the big yellow flowers had been replaced by pink shorts and a tee. On her feet were two inch heeled plastic sandals. Relaxed by the beer I saw the shorts were a little tight and showed off her ass in a way I'd never noticed before. Perfectly shaped and peach-like, outlined by the tiny panties that were obvious, with the zipper at the back highlighting and accentuating the hint of a valley between her two cheeks. The white tee was stretched tight across her smallish breasts, again highlighting femininity. She was obviously bra less and I'd never looked at my Mom or noticed her in this way in the past. Sure, on some mornings I'd seen her in a petticoat over her bra, panties and stockings before she slipped on a skirt, blouse and jacket as she got ready for work. That had never made a real impact but today she did. What I'd seen on those previous mornings left me oblivious because the self-centered arrogance of youth precluded acknowledgment of any physical or sexual attributes of a parent. She was my Mom and that was that. But in the kitchen on that hot summer Saturday there was a difference. In front of me was an attractive woman, dressed to show herself to perfection with more than just a little erotic hint. "Ian," she said looking up from the sink directly at me, "would you do me a favor?" "Sure. What?" "When your friends are over, ask them to use the bathroom." "What do you mean?" "You know exactly what I mean. If they want to go to the bathroom then that's where they can go and not on the edge of the lemon tree." "Oh," I said. "You saw?" "I glanced out the kitchen window a couple of time and," she stopped and paused a few seconds. "What else could I see but them." "You glanced?" I said feigning surprise, "you were watching" "No," she replied quickly, "I was not watching. I just glanced out a couple of times." Seeing attack was the best defense, I quickly same back: "You were watching." The emphasis on the 'were'. "Did you have a good look?" I added with a bit of sarcasm, which she ignored. Closing off the conversation from her point of view she quipped: "Just get them to use the bathroom." I laughed and repeated: "You were watching." She gave up a turned back to the sink giving me a perfect view of the tight shorts covering her ass. The distinct panty line showed that beneath the shorts was something skimpy. I took in the view, enjoying the tight pink shorts and imagining what was underneath them. I'd never looked at her like that before and it was a strange feeling. "Anyhow," I said not wanting to dismiss the idea that she'd been watching all of us as we went around the lemon tree, "Jimmy says it's good for the tree, adds acid to the soil." "Jimmy," she said turning around, her hands on her hips and the tee shirt hugging her tits, showing that while they might be small they were firm and looked good. "Well, you'd expect Jimmy to say that. He's always got an angle." By now we were both laughing and I relaxed knowing that she was not about to throw drama about where we had pissed. She seemed more playful than usual, perhaps even a little coquettish, something I'd not seen before. "But I think," she added, unable to give away making her point, "you'd better get the hose out." There was a smile more like a smirk when she finished her point with: "You can dilute some of that acid. Too much and you might kill the tree." With nothing left to banter, I nodded. But before I did go outside, I slipped into my bedroom and, on some inexplicable impulse, I took off both my shorts and boxers and only put my shorts back on. That my cock was almost free of restraint was both sensual and erotic. I didn't know why I did it but I just did. It may have been the effects of the beer or the sun or maybe I just wanted to feel the unrestrained freedom. After that I went outside to grab the hose and do what she'd asked. I was liberally hosing around the edge of the lemon tree when she came out of the house and, in another surprise, she grabbed one of the remaining bottles of beer out of the ice box. Twisting off the top she settled into one of the chairs and sipped the beer as she watched me. "You know," she said, resting the cold bottle on her thigh, "when I was a kid we used to play under the hose on hot days. It was the only way to keep cool." "You used to hose me when I was younger," I replied. "I remember that. Also, running under the sprinkler." "Better than a swimming pool," she said, "although we were never able to afford a pool." Holding the hose where the water was coming out in a soft spray I looked at her and smiled. "What?" she asked. "Stand up," I suggested. "Why?" "Because I want to relive a bit of my younger days and yours." She looked at me a little quizzically and then she did stand up and towards where I was standing, the beer in her hand by her side. Without waiting I turned the hose on her, spraying, at first, from her waist down. She squealed, jumped up and down and turned around. The spray raked across the back of her shorts. Her shorts were wet and clinging as she turned around. "You monster," she said, smiling.