T-3

"Mom, it won't fit! It's too much!"

"Just open it wider. Come on, Doug, just a little more."

"No, Mom! Any more and it will tear! I can feel it!"

"It still has some give, baby. Just use more ****. You stretch, I'll push, come on. On my count! One, two, three... NOW!"

Straining, you manage to open the bag just a tiny bit wider. She squeezes a pair of jeans in, and you quickly pull the cord tight, closing the bag. The two of you had sorted through the wardrobe after breakfast, weeding out the no-longer-fitting clothes. Next to you stand three more such bags, similarly full to the brim, ready to be stowed away in the basement.

"There we go," she smiles. "That was the last of it. Now, let's get them downstairs, shall we?"

Each of you grabs two bags, and you carry them downstairs. The cellar has a small workshop, a well-stocked pantry, and a storage area with various boxes and equipment, where you head now. The room itself is very basic, with cement floors and walls, white painted over a concrete base. In various boxes and shelves, there are things that the family doesn't need that often, like old games, spare lightbulbs, decorations, and other such things. You push the fondue set you and your sisters got your mom some years ago to the side, making space for the bags. You heave the bags on the shelf with a grunt, carefully pushing them onto their sides so they won't tumble down.

"Aah, being down here brings back memories," she remarks. "I think your and your sisters' stuffed animals are in that box over there."

You walk over to the aforementioned box and take it off the shelf, opening it. Inside is all your stuff from when you were little, including your favorite toys.

"That's Mr. Gibbens! I loved that guy." You laugh as you pick up a little green stuffed giraffe with big floppy ears.

"He's cute," she agrees, but her voice sounds strangely distant. You turn to her with a frown, only to see that she's looking at a box on the very top of the far back shelf with an odd look on her face. You glance at the box, wondering what could have caught her attention, and read the label on the side.

HIGH SCHOOL DOCUMENTS, LISA

"What's with that stuff, Mom? High school nostalgia?"

You see her bite her lips. "Well, no. There's something different in that box. I just labeled it that way so my nosy children wouldn't rummage through it."

"Ooookay," you drawl, putting Mr. Gibbens aside again. "So, what's in it?"

"Wanna see? Come on." She steps past you, and then climbs up on one of the step stools, reaching up towards the box. You follow suit and wrap her arms around her, steadying her. Grunting, she lifts the box from its place and holds it out to you. "Grab it."

You accept the heavy cardboard box from her and carefully set it on the ground. It's suspiciously nondescript, made of plain cardboard, and closed shut with lots of duct tape. Lisa steps down from the stool, grabs a pocket knife from a nearby toolbox, and sits down on the floor next to you and the box. She opens the blade, cuts the tape, and lifts the lids.

Inside, you see lingerie magazines, old and unlabeled video cassettes, several large envelopes filled with papers, and what looks like a hardcover book. Curious, you grab a magazine and open it, flipping through the pages. Most of it is photos of young men, with some women in between, modeling what used to be underwear fashion in her youth. The quality of the pictures and the hairstyles of the models are so vintage that you're primarily fascinated, as if looking at a relic from the past.

"Yeah, that magazine kept my company for many a night in college," she laughs. "I had a thing for men in thongs back then. These too." She reaches over, picking up another similar magazine, depicting early versions of what the internet came to name 'femboy'. "I remember when this came out, it was an uproar. God, it is actually older than you. It was what we had available back then, you know. With fierce trading under the table between the girls at college. Those were different times."

"I can imagine. We just go to the internet and get literally anything we want to see - and then some stuff that we really shouldn't. Say, uh, about that underwear fetish of yours. It's still there, yes?"

"These things never go away entirely," she purrs, her voice low. "But they do fade over time."

"Mom, that's not true. I've seen you bite your lip when you looked at that pink thong I wore, dozens of times, in 4k definition, and from three different angles. You're still into it. It was a genuine look of arousal - which I quite like on you, by the way. If you want me to wear them again, I will do it in a heartbeat."

Her eyes dart to you, staring right into yours. They are glazed over with profound emotion, a mixture of awe, admiration, desire, and love. She looks almost speechless for a moment, but then finds her voice again.

"You would?" She asks softly, barely above a whisper.

You lean closer and kiss her softly on the lips, cupping her cheeks with both hands. You smile at her and nod.

"That, and more," you add. "Anything, really. I love you, Mom."

She swallows heavily, trying to keep herself together. But then her composure crumbles, and her whole body trembles. A tear runs down her cheek, and then another, until she's crying, openly and without shame. You pull her close and hug her tightly. She clings to you, burying her face in your shoulder, holding you as if her life depends on it. She sniffles, and whimpers, and she kisses your neck and ear over and over again. After a few minutes, she finally pulls back enough to look at you. She smiles, tears still in her eyes.

"Oh Doug," she breathes between sobs "What am I going to do with you?"

"Whatever you wish, Mom. I'm all yours."

"You, my sweet little boy, are an angel," she states. "I must have saved the world in my past life or something, because I cannot believe how lucky I got this time around. I love you, if I hadn't mentioned it already."

"Once or twice," you purr, caressing her cheek with your thumb. "There, now you have me blushing. This is not the place for such things, and you must be freezing your balls off on the floor. Let's get you out of here. I happen to know a nice and cozy place upstairs, how about we cuddle up in there and do some heating up together?"

She laughs and nods, wiping her cheek. You stand up, helping her to her feet, and walk upstairs hand in hand.

"It's a shame, though," you muse.

"What is?"

"We just bought clothes. And I didn't get any thongs. Now we need to go out again."

"Baby, if it means that I get to see your juicy ass in a thong again, I'll go shopping a million times."

Neither of you gets any more work done this day.