A Japanese Education

*****

Not surprisingly, I didn't sleep very well -- and unfortunately, Wednesday turned out to be a very busy day at work. The UK wanted a follow-up on the project they had handed out to the Tokyo office the previous day, and I was absolutely beat when I got back home late again. And yet, as I opened the door and called out "I'm home", I certainly did feel a little thrill when I heard Mom answer back. I took off my shoes and stepped in as she came to meet me. On some perverted level, I had hoped she would be wearing the apron again. Instead, she had on a red, spaghetti strap tank top that showed an indecent level of cleavage, and matching red panties that had more lacy stuff than material.

"Hey baby, how was your day?" she asked, giving me a kiss on the cheek.

"Exhausting", I replied.

"My poor baby. It's a good thing I'm around to take care of you then. (she smiled) I went to the same place as yesterday, I hope you won't mind?"

"No Mom, that's perfect."

"Thank you. I'm trying to live up to the Japanese standards, you know." She winked at me, with a saucy smile.

"What do you mean?"

"I did some studying today." She giggled and waved in the direction of the bookshelves, where my collection of porn mangas was now in plain sight. "So I hope you like my outfit -- I know, it's tough to beat the apron, and I considered putting it on again for you, but I was afraid you'd be bored... and I wanted to try something new. So, what do you think?"

I blushed. "It's... it's very nice, Mom."

"Thank you, baby. You know it means a lot to me... But you must be tense, after all this work. Let's go for a bath."

To my surprise, Mom didn't undress when we got to the bath area. She had already taken a bath, she said, and besides, she had just gotten dressed. I took off my clothes, finding out that my cock was already very hard from her display. As there was no way for me to hide it, Mom noticed: "Oooh, baby, seems you really like this outfit, hm?"

"Yeah, Mom, it's nice", I stuttered back, though the thought that went through my mind was that I really liked my mother's body, whatever the outfit she was (barely) in. Somewhat hurriedly, I sat down on the little stool and turned on the shower. Mom sat next to me on the bathtub, just as she had done the previous day -- except this time, she was dressed, so looking at her wasn't as embarrassing. I frowned. "But did you really spend the afternoon reading those mangas?"

She giggled. "Well, 'reading' is a strong word. I certainly did look at the pictures, and the stories are not that difficult to figure out, for the most part."

"But -- why?"

"Why? You know, the days can be really long. I've done some sight-seeing, but I usually leave at about ten in the morning, and by four I'm beat. So I get back, and since you usually work until what, six-thirty, that leaves a lot of waiting around. To be honest, I don't get any of their television, except for the baseball, and I don't care for baseball. So that leaves me with the mangas. And it's fun, in its way."

I remained silent for a moment, washing myself (and feeling my hard-on recede), when Mom continued, smiling.

"You know, they made such a fuss about the Fifty Shades books, and I did read them. But they didn't do much for me -- too tame, maybe? I don't know... but this, this is fun and naughty. (she giggled) I might go and buy some for myself."

"You're kidding me..."

Mom chuckled, I frowned, she winked... and we left the subject at that. I finished my shower, put on some clothes, and we went back to the living room to have dinner. Despite her skimpy outfit, our conversations managed to move to other, safer territories -- I needed to vent a little about work, and Mom lent me a sympathetic ear. She was still wearing the red tank top when we went to bed.

*****

The next day proved to be hectic again at work, but under the pretext of an urgent matter I left early, and took Mom to Shibuya, as I had intended on Tuesday. I wanted her to experience the sheer energy of the place -- from the iconic crossing with the three giant screens overhead to the incredible fashion stores of the 109 building. Some Tokyo residents have told me that Shibuya has changed, that it used to be even crazier in the past, now a shadow of what it was. I can only imagine, though it seems hard to believe. We lined up and ate at a sushi place right in the Center-gai, that was famous because it was rather cheap -- and because you only had 30 minutes to eat there before you were asked to free your seat for the next customer in line.

Since we were out of there fairly early, Mom was insistent on us trying karaoke, and eventually I reluctantly agreed. We went in the closest Karaoke-kan (a famous chain), and rented a small room for an hour. Maybe thanks to the complementary drinks, Mom had a great time and didn't want to leave, so we ended up staying another hour. To be honest, it wasn't that bad, though I did my fair share of sighing and eye-rolling, but in reality: I know how to handle myself in these occasions (it's kind of compulsory when working with Japanese people), and it helps that I'm a decent singer. Besides, Mom was really fun to be around, especially compared to the groups of older (and more often than not drunken) businessmen I usually was with, that's for sure.

It was only 10pm when we left, and since the evening was cool, we decided to walk back to my place. I usually did that when I went out to one of the clubs in Shibuya, since the trains stopped running between 1am and 5am and I didn't feel like taking a cab. It didn't take us more than half an hour -- walking though the quiet streets, most of the stores already closed, the bright windows of convenience stores and 24-hour restaurants punctuating the night.

We were climbing the stairs leading to the floor my flat was on when my phone rang. It was my boss -- he had just finished a call with the UK, and they were satisfied with the progress that had been made. Unfortunately, they were to present the whole thing to their partners by the end of their work day, and they had a few figures that I had to go over before they did so. I guess it was around 2:30p.m. in London, plenty of time to get back to work, even if it was about 10:30p.m. in Tokyo...

While on the phone, I had opened the door to my place, and let Mom in. I silently mouthed "work" to explain what it was about and shrugged apologetically. She smiled and gestured that it was okay and that she'd be out of the way. I nodded and turned on my computer, which rested on a tiny desk in the corner of the living room. I fished out of my bag the hands-free kit, reassuring my boss I was going to handle the situation. I called up the webmail client, downloaded the presentation and dived in.

What the UK needed wasn't that difficult -- you just had to know the way it had to be done. It took me a little over half an hour (during which I heard Mom take her bath, before settling in the bedroom) to get everything checked and rechecked. I sent the presentation back to my boss, waited until I got his confirmation he had received it and it looked fine, and finally disconnected. I let out a big sigh.

"Is it done?", Mom asked from behind me. She was lying on her side in the bedroom area, wearing a white tank top and lacy boxer shorts, and she was paging through some book.

"Yeah, there'll probably be some follow-up tomorrow, but it should be okay for today."

"Does that kind of thing happen a lot?"

I shrugged. "Not really. But I couldn't say no to my boss today, especially after this afternoon."

"What happened?"

"Oh, nothing. I just didn't want to miss out on our plans again, so I said I had something I couldn't reschedule, and I left early."

Mom gasped: "You didn't!"

I smiled. "Of course I did. But see how masterfully I managed the whole thing: instead of me bailing out on him, he'll only remember I delivered when he needed it the most, and beyond the call of duty to boot."

Mom giggle. "Oh, how clever you are, Doctor Evil..."

"I know, I know. But sorry for that, anyway."

"That's okay, baby, I know you need to work. And we had a great evening together before, so I didn't feel neglected in any way, you know?"

I smiled, and headed to the bathroom to get ready for bed.

When I came back, Mom was still reading on the tatami. I checked out what it was she was looking at, and -- it was one of my mangas, and one of the incest anthologies at that.

"Mom, what are you reading?"

She giggled. "Hey, I need my bedtime stories too. (I rolled my eyes) Oh come on, we already discussed that. And by the way, I have a few questions for you."

I sighed and sat next to her. "Okay... so what is it?"

She pouted. "Hey, if you're in a foul mood, I won't ask you anything."

I shook my head: "No, sorry I reacted like that. Come on, what do you want to know? Tell me."

She smiled. "Well, first, there's this outfit there -- what's the deal with that, honestly?"

She was pointing at a picture where the mother was wearing a white t-shirt and some very tight, dark shorts.

"Let me see. Hm, okay. This is the typical bloomers outfit -- or, as they call it here, 'buruma'. (I smiled) It's what schoolgirls wear for sports."

"For sports?"

"Yes, they have uniforms for sports too. And just like the plaid skirt and sailor outfit, the bloomers have also ended up being part of the... costume fetish thing they have here, I guess."

"Costume fetish?"

"Yes, they call it 'cosplay', for 'costume play'. You were talking about maid outfits the other day, it's the same thing. You have to be Japanese to fully get it, I suppose."

"Oh, so that explains it. I see... (she giggled) Okay. And (paging through the book), what about this? Is there something specific with the Japanese again? Because I've seen that two or three times in your books..."

This time, she was pointing at a tit-fuck scene where the girl had kept her tank top on, so that the cock head was the only thing actually showing. I hesitated.

"Hm, I'm not sure. I mean, if I remember correctly, I've seen it in two stories by the same author, and I'm not sure I've seen it elsewhere... so maybe it has to do with his personal quirk, and not something that'd be... you know..."

Mom nodded. "Okay, so that's his thing, but not necessarily something that does it for all the guys in Japan, right?"

"Yes. Even more so that, you know, not all the guys go for the big breasts, as I told you."

She chuckled: "Sure, but this selection you have here sure does."

I blushed. "There are some books with girls with little or no breasts at all, but they always seemed to me particularly yucky, you know? With kids and stuff... definitely not my thing. (I shook my head) No, in that case, bigger is better, that's for sure."

Mom giggled again -- she was in a good mood, and it probably didn't have anything to do with the alcohol we had ingested earlier that evening. Considering how she had been a week earlier when I had met her at Narita, it was a nice change.

"That's nice to know. (thumbing through the book again) Okay, and last thing... here it is. (she smiled) Could you tell me what they are saying in that story? It's so frustrating not being able to read."

"Hm, okay..." I took the book, and Mom moved so that her shoulder was against mine. The story she had chosen had a guy and his mother taking a bath together -- and things evolved from there, as could be expected in that kind of book. I hesitated. "Mom, are you sure?"

Mom pouted. "Of course I'm sure. What's the matter, baby?"

I looked at her. "Mom, don't play innocent. This is kinda awkward, you know?"

"You think so?"

"Well, considering you've got this kind of new-found 'passion' for baths, especially with me, I'd say a little."

She giggled: "It is, you're right. But it's fun too, I think."

"Fun?"

"Oh yes. And don't tell me you didn't enjoy my little show with the apron. There's a not-so-little bird that definitely told otherwise. (she giggled) Let's be honest: those are *your* books in the first place. But I'm glad I've found them." I blushed, and Mom carried on: "So now relax a little, and get reading. As I said, I need my bedtime story." She winked.

I took a deep breath, and got down to it. At first, it was kinda weird to be translating the lines of the different characters, with Mom giggling against my shoulder. As I told her, those stories were not exactly works of literature, and while the art was pretty good, the writing was rather formulaic -- with things like "oh, the way my nipples are sticking out, it's embarrassing", or "he came... what a smell... and so warm... and so heavy". But even if we laughed at the most ridiculous parts (including some over-the-top cumshot at the end), the whole thing was definitely erotic to me -- and probably to Mom too. There was no denying her nipples were pointing through her tank top's fabric. When I got to the final page of the story, Mom let out a little sigh, softly thanked me before kissing me good night. I shivered when her lips brushed against my cheek. And sleep escaped me for a while.

*****

I was about to leave for work the following day when Mom woke up. She sat on the futon and waved at me, still a little sleepy. I told her I didn't know how things would go with the UK thing, and we agreed I'd stop by my place to pick her up after work, and that we'd decide from there. She blew me a kiss, and I was gone.

I got in the office before my boss, and had already gone through most of my emails when he stopped by my desk. Obviously, the UK had been rather pleased with what we had done, and I got a thumbs up for my good work. That meant that the morning was going to be a quiet one, and that maybe, only maybe, things would heat up a little in the afternoon, when the UK would wake up and send some new requests or feedback our way. And indeed, around five, we got an email asking for some previous reports and additional figures. We did our best to answer quickly, especially since it was Friday evening and I sure didn't want to work on the week-end. There was still a lot to deal with, but some of it could wait until Monday morning, and I left a little before eight, with my boss's blessing.

When I got home, Mom welcomed me with a big hug. She was wearing the apron again, and nothing else. I blinked.

"Erm, good evening, Mom."

She smiled. "Hey, baby. I was beginning to worry, it's getting late."

"Yeah, sorry I didn't call ahead. How long have you been wearing this, Mom? You're going to catch a cold..."

She giggled. "Just a while ago. I went to get dinner at the bento place around seven, and then I had nothing to do but wait, so I read a little, and..." She winked at me, and continued: "But you must be hungry. Come on, everything's ready."

A little unsure of what to expect, I followed her in the living room. Dinner was on the low table, but Mom had also got us a couple of beers. I sat down, and she quickly busied herself filling our plates and our glasses. She then called for a toast -- "to fun times", and we started eating. Mom was definitely in a playful mood, and she was putting on a show for me, making sure there was always a generous amount of bouncy curves on display. As we were finishing our plates (as well as our second beer), it became so obvious I had to react.

"Mom, come on, this is bordering on indecency!"

She pouted. "Only bordering? Aww, I was aiming for 'totally indecent'... (she giggled) I'm relieved, baby."

"What do you mean?"

"I was beginning to worry you had completely gone Japanese, and that I had become invisible in your eyes too. Just like with those guys in the street."

I chuckled: "Hm, Mom, if you were to go out in that outfit, I can guarantee you'd be noticed, that's for sure. But I'm not sure my Japanese vocabulary would be up to bailing you out of jail, so just to be on the safe side, don't start getting any ideas that'd get you in trouble."

"I almost doubt it. I mean, based on what you've told me about the way they consider foreigners, they'd probably think it's just another antic by one of those crazy gaijins..."

I smiled. "Well, there's that too."

"See? I told you. So please excuse me while I enjoy getting some attention from the only hot-blooded male who seems to pay attention to my assets. Unless you're fixated on the shy Japanese waifs they have all over the place here?"

I blushed. "Um, no, not really."

"Oh, good. So does that mean I'm having some effect on you?", she teased, looking over the table in the direction of my groin.

I blushed some more. "Maybe a little, yeah."

She smiled. "Ooooh. Just a little? I mean, I know the kind of high standards set by Japanese mothers, and I wouldn't want to let you down, baby..." She giggled, and I shook my head.

I smiled: "Okay, enough of this nonsense..." and I started to rise.

"Oh, baby, you just can't take a joke... Bath time?"

I looked at her, somewhat guarded... and then I sighed and nodded.

There was no denying the whole thing was turning me on. It had been close to a year since I had a girlfriend, and even if I had consumed my fair share of porn, being faced with a beautiful and sexy (and very scantily clad) woman was something else altogether. The fact that she was my mother just added to my arousal and the mix of rather confused feelings I was having, caught between the thrill of what was happening, and the deep conviction that things were not supposed to be like that in real life. Actually acting on any of these feelings was another issue altogether. Yes, there were plenty of signs, but I couldn't be sure Mom wasn't just fooling around with me. What if I made a move, and it all came crashing down? For sure, there had been a strange dynamic growing between us (and even more so over the past few days), but apart from the frequent flirtation and nudity, she had kept her distance for the most part and had avoided any untoward contact, even when washing my back.

Of course, Mom got a head-start getting ready for the bath, and when I got undressed, she was already sitting on the little stool, putting on soap. As I was standing by the door, she gave me a once over, smiling when she saw my hard cock (which there was no way for me to hide), and patted the side of the tub where she had sat the previous day. I shook my head and walked around her to sit on the indicated spot. She grinned at me.

"So baby, seems I'm not so much of a bad mother after all, hm?"

"Ha ha. Mom, you should stop reading that stuff, it goes to your head."

"Aww, I'm just having a little fun. I know that's a side of me you didn't know about, and God knows it's been repressed while I was with James... but I'm turning over a new leaf, and I'm feeling sexy and flirty again, and it's nice. So let me flaunt it a little..."

"Even with your son?"

She pouted. "Hm, I didn't hear you complain much about it. And besides, something tells me you're enjoying it at least a little... (she winked) But I know what you mean, I should be a little more reasonable. I guess the beer sure didn't help."

I shrugged. "No worries, Mom."

She grabbed the shower-head and rinsed the soap away. "Okay, I'm done -- I'll stop bothering you and retire to my quarters." She stood up, curtsied, and left. I took her place on the little stool, and started to shower. From the corner of my eye, I saw Mom dry herself, and then move back to the living room area, pulling the door behind her. I was alone.

I took a deep breath. I knew the door wasn't locked, but I was so painfully hard I couldn't delay it anymore. I had to cum. I grabbed my cock, and started stroking. My mind was full of tantalizing images, Mom's luscious body invading the pages of the manga stories. I soon had to stand, my back against the wall, feeling a long-denied orgasm building in my balls. I felt I was getting close to the point of no return when I heard a noise, and looked up. And there, perfectly framed in the half-open door, stood Mom in a grey spaghetti strap tank top, and matching boxers, staring right at me. I froze for a second, and then my climax came over me, and my cock erupted with a long, thick strand of cum, followed by one after another. I came and came and came, my hand moving as if on its own to finally relieve me of the accumulated tension of the past days. I knew I generally came a lot, but even by my standards, that had been a major load. Of course, it had been more than a week without release, under very provocative circumstances. I stood still, keeping my legs from buckling under me, waiting for lightning to strike. Mom hadn't moved -- but she had bitten her lower lip, and now she just flashed me a smile, showed me the apron she had come back to pick up, and left without a word. I slumped down on the stool, and poured hot water over my head.