Misty felt a tingle grow across her flesh. "Oh, that girl. Am I, really?"

He nodded, still not looking at her. She saw his young body tremble.

"What's wrong, Billy?"

"Mom, why did you do that?"

"Do what, honey?"

"You know," he said, a hoarse whisper. "Your dress."

Misty had not moved from the doorway. "My dress? Oh, I didn't spill the drink on purpose, honey."

"I mean… at the drive-in, and… in the garage."

"I don't know," she finally whispered. "I just… did it."

Billy looked at her, a very quick look, then at the television again.

"Do it again," she heard him say, his voice thick.

"Do it again?" she whispered, feeling the heat flow through her. "Do it again… for you?"

He nodded.

"But… you're not looking at me, darling," she replied, her voice very low and throaty.

"Would you if I looked, Mom?"

"I… I'm not sure," she said, then quickly, "Yes, I will."

Billy turned to look at her. Misty stared boldly into his eyes, seeing his desire, his hunger to see her lift her skirt. The idea of raising her skirt for her son, exposing herself to his young eyes, sent a wild tremor of liquid excitement through her.

"You really want me to?" she asked, a shake in her voice. He nodded, his eyes bright.

Misty's fingers fumbled with her skirt at her thighs. That she was about to lift her skirt for her son excited her very much. That her son had asked her to lift it excited her very much. She began to itch the pleated white skirt up her legs. She watched his face, seeing it glow with delight, his lips parted as he began to breathe faster. She paused when the hem of her skirt was at the tops of her nylons.

"More?" she asked in a whispery voice, her cunt pulsating wetly.

He nodded.

"My panties."