My son, Tim, is eighteen years old. He has never, as far as I can tell, had a girlfriend. He also doesn't seem interested in boys either. He just seems utterly uninterested in the sexual side of his life. Now, I find that very strange. I am a very sexual person, although I have had few opportunities to follow that side since my husband, Geoff, decided to leave.

Geoff was also very sexual, and we used to have sex daily, more often on weekends; however, our sex life dwindled, and he left me when he decided that a woman at work was more appealing than I was. I have since heard that he has split up from her, so it sounds as if his sex life is probably as barren as mine. Leaving me was two years ago, just as Tim hit sixteen. I have been shagless for two years; it feels like double that.

Those two years, when Tim was sixteen through eighteen, are the years I would have expected Tim to be sowing his wild oats. Nothing. There were no signs of anything, not even crusty bedding. I was beginning to worry a little, and I was wondering what to do. I was not sure I want to raise it in conversation; I know sex can be a very embarrassing subject for teenage boys.

I decided that I had to try, somehow, to stimulate his sexuality, but how to do it without coming on to him? That was the dilemma facing me. I decided that I would start by wearing shorter skirts and dresses. I set to work in my sewing room, which is a small third bedroom found in many houses; however, for me, it contains my sewing machine, overlocker, and the vast collection of threads and haberdashery I have accumulated over the years of sewing.

I put one of my dresses, a pale blue dress with darker blue birds printed onto the fabric, onto my mannequin. I decided that I would shorten the length by two inches; that should be enough. The neckline was a low V, and it usually meant I wore pasties and not a bra. The dress was low on the back, too, and it was almost impossible to wear a bra without it being visible. I am fortunate; my bust is a C cup, and my boobs haven't dropped too much. I think I can get away, even at my age, without a bra.

I used my wooden rule to mark a length two inches higher using my sewing chalk. I then took the dress off the mannequin and sat at my sewing desk. I carefully marked another line an inch below my new length to give me extra fabric for the hem. Taking a deep breath, I cut the excess material away; there was no going back now. I put my iron on to warm up; I would need to iron the new hem into place before I sewed.

After about another hour in my sewing room, I was finished. I stripped down to my knickers and put my new shortened dress on, and I looked in the mirror. Goodness, that was short. As I twirled in front of the mirror, the dress flared up, and you could see my knickers, and it was definitely a no-bra dress. Could I get away without a bra, or would I need pasties? My nipples were obvious, but then, I am a woman, and women have nipples.

I took my discarded clothes into my bedroom and went downstairs. Tim was in the lounge playing on his Nintendo.

"Tea?" I asked him. I just got a nod in reply.

I went into the kitchen and put the kettle on. As the kettle was heating, I talked myself through my plan. I was not trying to seduce my son, God, no. No, I was merely trying to awaken him sexually. The plan was to make him think of girls and then go and find some. I wanted him to realise that I was a woman, not simply his chauffeur, cook and laundry mistress.

As I leaned forward to pass him his cup of tea, I realised that the top of my dress gaped a little. Giving him glances of my nipples hadn't been on the agenda; oh well, too late now. As I sat opposite Tim on the sofa, I made sure to occasionally cross and uncross my legs. I didn't sit there with my crotch on view, but I did make it occasionally visible, should anyone be looking.

As I sat there looking at Tim, I realised just what a handsome lad he was. Should his body clock get switched on, I doubted that he would have any difficulty in finding a girl. I was also becoming very aware of what I had been missing out on over the past two years. Over two years, in fact. God, just looking at Tim, his hidden crotch, I was getting bloody wet. Jesus, girl, get a grip.

I altered a skirt the following day and coupled it with a blouse that I left unbuttoned a bit more than would be usual. My cleavage, thanks to a Wonderbra, would be evident to anyone who cared to look. I went and took Tim a mug of tea, and again, I sat opposite him. I had been extra brave today; my knickers were almost sheer. Not a lot left to any imagination. I just hoped that my behaviour was beginning to have the right effect. I knew that once I got Tim going, I would need to find myself a man. I was dripping.

As I sat looking at my son, I absentmindedly twiddled with one of the undone buttons on my blouse, my eyes darting from his eyes to his crotch. I was sure I detected a twitch behind his fly. Was my plan working? Was my son getting a stiffie? God, I hoped so. I needed to get out and find a dick to fill me, and I couldn't do that until Tim was on the right path.

I lay in bed that night, my fingers in my fanny, remembering Geoff, how he used to love to finger my fanny and my bum at the same time as he sucked my clit. I was getting lost in memories, my pressures were growing, and I knew one was on the way. I couldn't quite finger my bum as well as my fanny, but my memory could fill in the blanks. Images of Geoff looking up at me as he worked my fanny swam in my brain.

My pleasures were flowing, and I knew I was gasping. I didn't care; I needed a release. I moved my fingers faster and faster, pressing in deep. Two fingers inside me, not as good as a dick, but better than nothing. Oh God, it was coming, and as my bum lifted off the bed, my back tightened, and my orgasm exploded. I shrieked, I gasped, I pressed hard, and the electricity coursed through me.

As my moment arrived, Geoff's face swam, and it became Tim staring at me. I gasped Tim's name and slumped back onto the bed, my chest heaving, my mind agog with the vision that I shouldn't have had. As my sensibilities returned and my body calmed down, I heard the unmistakable creak of the landing floorboard. God, had Tim been outside my room? Had he heard me call out his name? Would he realise I was jilling?

When I awoke in the morning, I decided to go one step further, one more action no mother should do, but I was still determined—all I was doing was waking him up. I didn't wear knickers. Oh my Lord, I was becoming a hussy. I made a fuss of leaning over a little too much as I retrieved the milk from the fridge. I twirled a little faster when I turned, causing the hem of my skirt to flare up.

When Tim was leaving to catch the bus to work, I gave him a little hug and a peck on the cheek.

"Have a nice day, baby. Sausages and mash for tea."

"Thanks, Mum," and he was gone.

I replayed my moves, my phone propped up on record from where Tim had sat. When I played it back, I was a little shocked. He would have seen a hell of a lot more than I thought he would. My God. I also determined that I needed to shave. I used to be bare, but when Tim left. I let that side go and simply kept the haircut short. Now I realised I needed to shave it completely; it didn't look like anything other than a shadow. Not a good look.

I went up and dressed more appropriately, in an ordinary bra and knickers and a standard-length dress. I was going shopping, and not for a man. In the chemist's I went to the ladies' section and looked at the ladies' hair trimmers. I then had a thought and went and checked the men's beard trimmers. What an eye-opener. There were more of them, and they were cheaper.

As well as a beard trimmer, I got a wax kit and some moisturiser. I had heard, somewhere, that aftersun is a good moisturiser, and so, I got a big bottle of that. I did have some standard moisturiser at home, but I guessed that I would be using quite a lot, and so, the cheaper option was the way forward. I would soon find out if it worked or not.

Back at home, I stripped off and sat on the loo. The beard trimmer wasn't fully charged, but there was enough for what I needed. I widened my legs and set to removing as much hair as I could, letting the trimmings fall into the loo to be flushed away. Once finished, I was quite pleased; the stubble was really short, and the trimmer had done an excellent job. Now for waxing.

I knew that waxing would be a little painful, but I preferred not to use a bladed razor in that area because I couldn't see all of it, and using mirrors was impossible for me. The wax applicator had warmed the wax, and so I started to apply it to my skin and stubble. To be honest, waxing is a horrible job, but it is the best solution.

After much waxing, I took a cool shower, washed and cleansed my skin as thoroughly as possible, and then applied a generous amount of aftersun. Goodness, that took a lot of the heat away. Good. Back on with the skirt and the semi-sheer blouse. No bra, no knickers. I mostly looked as I had when Tim went to work, but now I had a naked fanny.

I set the phone up on record again and did twirling and bending, also leaning forward to the phone as if it were Tim. Jesus, when I watched the video back, I was gobsmacked. My nipples were visible when I leaned forward, but only for a moment. However, it was the twirling that made the difference. Before I removed my hair, the fanny area was more noticeable for a longer time, but now that I was naked, it appears very different. I couldn't notice my fanny as much, but when I did, it was very much more sexual. It was more pronounced. My crease was a dark line and was very obvious, but for a shorter time. Shit, what had I done?

No going back now, unless I stopped completely. I couldn't do that. I had to get Tim to be a normal teenager driven by hormones, and I need to kickstart the hormones into play. I critiqued myself in the mirror. I scrubbed up well; I would do okay when I put myself back on the dating circuit. I was obviously too old to appeal to someone as young as Tim, but that wasn't my plan; I wanted a more mature guy.

I prepared and cooked the potatoes, reserving the potato water to make the gravy. The sausages went in the air fryer, and I sat in the lounge with a cup of tea and scrolled through some reels. For a laugh, I decided to look at a few dating sites. I was staggered at the amount of personal information that they required before you could even sign up. I even had to take a selfie holding up a screen displaying an image that the site sent to me.

I wasn't sure that I was comfortable with giving so much information. I would probably explore the old ways first. Talking to people, smiling at them, responding in a non-threatening way. That might be the way forward, rather than giving so much detailed information about myself to a website that could easily sell it all on to maximise their profits. I wasn't convinced by their claims that it was for my safety and my peace of mind.

The front door rattled, and Tim arrived home. I called to tell him I was in the lounge. His head poked around the door.

"Hi, Mum, I'll just go and get changed."

"Okay, baby," I said, swivelling in my seat to face him as I spoke. He definitely gawped and backed out of the room. I looked down; my skirt had risen up, and I was showing everything. Crikey, that wasn't the plan. A brief glimpse was one thing; nakedness, or near enough, was entirely another.

I tutted at myself; this was not going entirely as I planned. In the kitchen, I mashed the potato and finished the gravy. I gave the sausages another minute in the air fryer just to warm up, and then I scooped the mash onto plates, stuck the sausages into the mash, and poured gravy over the top. I poured us a glass of tap water each.

Tim was quiet as we ate our tea. Usually, Tim was full of stories about what he had done at work. It all went over my head; I knew nothing of mergers and acquisitions, which was the main thrust of the company he worked for. I always nodded and smiled and tried to ask appropriate questions, but I was so far out of my comfort zone, I doubted I got away with it. I suspected that Tim had just humoured me.

After we had cleared away, we went to sit in the lounge. I wanted to talk to him properly.

"So, Tim, any pretty girls in the office? Anyone catching your eye?" I had to start somewhere. I was keeping my knees together; I didn't want to display my goods.

"What? Strange question." He replied from the chair opposite.

"Strange, why?"

"You have never mentioned girls in the office before."

"No, oh, okay, but then you have never mentioned girls at all, I have never known you to go out with a girl, and you are eighteen; that's all."

He was quiet and looked intently at me. "You have never mentioned men since Dad fucked off."

"Tim! Language."

"Well, it's true."

"No, because I took my responsibilities to you seriously. I decided not to even think of dating until you had left school. That was a conscious decision on my part, and one that I think was right."

"And now, you think the time is right?"

"I don't know. I might, but I am not concerned about me; I am more concerned about you. You should be going out with girls at your age, rather than staying at home with your mum.

"It's kind of too late."

"What do you mean, too late?

"Well, I can't ask a girl out; it would be too embarrassing."

"Why on earth would it be embarrassing?"

"Because I know nothing about girls."

"That is why you go out with girls, to find out about them."

"Yes, and you do that when you are fourteen. I have never done that. I have never even kissed anyone. All I will do is make a fool of myself. I left it too late."

"That is silly, Tim. It is not too late at all. Yes, you'll make a few mistakes with girls, just as I will with men, even at my age. It is what it is all about."

"No, Mum, I can't. I haven't even kissed a girl, Mum; don't you get it? I wouldn't have a clue, never mind anything else. I will just be a laughing stock."

"You don't need to worry about 'anything else', as you call it. That stuff just kind of happens, exactly as it has for millions of years.

"But you've done it all, with Dad, and any boyfriends you had before Dad. I haven't, nothing, not at all."

"Perhaps I could help?" I had no idea where that came from, nor any idea of how I could help.

"That would be weird. Help how? Kiss me?"

"Well, yes, I could teach you how to kiss. Only you and I would know. At least then, you could go out with a girl knowing that you wouldn't make a fool of yourself. The 'anything else' you mentioned doesn't usually come into play until later."

"God, I am not sure; it seems all weird, Mum."

"Well, it doesn't have to. Why don't you come and sit next to me? We can try and see how you feel."

I wasn't sure what I had gotten myself into. My actions obviously had him thinking about girls. That was good; my plan had worked, but now he had the usual teenage angst to get over. I shuffled more to the side of the sofa and patted the empty cushion next to me. Tim got up.

He sat next to me very gingerly, and he looked tense.

"Okay," I said as I turned to face him. "This is not going to hurt, okay? I am not going to do anything unusual or odd. I put my hands up and gently held his face. I leaned in and touched his lips with mine and then pulled away. I looked him directly in his eyes, and then I closed my eyes and leaned in again, this time pressing a little more, a little longer. I pulled back.

"So," I said,...