I’m an exhibitionist. I guess I always have been, and I expect I always will be. That point in childhood when most kids (or at least most girls) learn modesty, I didn’t. I do remember my folks trying to shame me into covering up when I would dance out of my bedroom in next to nothing while guests were at our house, but my blushing just became part of my repertoire.

As a teenager, I was completely open around Mom. If I knew only the two of us were home, I would walk up to Mom stark naked and, while absentmindedly fiddling with a nipple or my budding pubic hair, ask her some totally innocent questions like what time some TV show came on or how one makes hamburger gravy. I know she wanted to chew me out for being so immodest, but my questions threw her off the track. In answering my questions, she would forget that she was going to get after me. Other times, I would pick a mundane time like during breakfast to ask her when her breasts developed or when she got her period. She was just liberated enough to try to answer but would get all flustered.

There was a certain method to my madness. Even at the tender age of fourteen, I sensed that being so open with others would excite and arouse them, and I think I even hoped that they would reciprocate. Perhaps I got that idea when I was three or four, playing “doctor” with the neighbor. With Mom, it worked. When I intentionally “walked in” on her just as she got out of the shower, she couldn’t very well try to hide her nakedness from me by saying, “How would you like me to walk in on you?” After all, I had shown her everything I had. I would talk about anything but what I really wanted to talk about— sex— but Mom would still get aroused. I could tell from her nipples. And it was fun to watch her still try to be coy and modest.

Mom still had a beautiful figure, and she kept her weight down well. Her breasts were a 36, capped with rosy nipples that stuck out a good half inch when she was excited. Her bush was thick and black. One day I really shocked her by asking if I could examine her “down there”. Before she had a chance to say no, I suggested that we both undress in front of my folks’ full-length mirror so that I could get an idea of what a mature woman looks like. Then, while she was still shaking her head in disbelief as much as disapproval, I pulled her by the hand into her bedroom.

First, I took off my sweater and training bra. The bra was certainly unnecessary as my breasts at that time were little more than swollen nipples. When Mom unslung her breasts, I gasped in visual appreciation, which was not a put-on. To my teenage mind, Mom was a knockout. I asked if I could touch them, and she quickly said no. I didn’t push it. Instead, I pulled down my shorts and then slid my panties over my hips and let them fall to the floor. I fluffed up the small patch of hair adorning my pussy and sort of opened up my labia with a couple of fingers. The action was not lost on Mom. She caught her breath, and her nipples stiffened noticeably.

“Not much to look at, am I, Mom?” I queried.

“Well, dear, I think you have a beautiful body for a fourteen-year-old. I didn’t get any boobs until I was fifteen.”

“What about your pussy hair, Mom? Isn’t this pitiful?” While saying this, I again fluffed up my hair.

“When I was your age, girls didn’t touch themselves ‘down there,’ so I don’t remember much about what or when I developed anything. Even now, I don’t really know anything about what I look like ‘down there.’”

“Oh, Mom, you’re kidding me! The human body is beautiful, and judging from what I’ve seen, yours is especially so! Here, let’s look and see.” With that, I pulled down on Mom’s slacks, catching her panties at the same time. As her clothes came over her hips, my forearm brushed against her bush, and it felt like electricity shooting up my arm. Mom covered her face with her hands as I knelt down to help her step out of her clothes. With my eyes at the same level as her crotch, I noticed a string dangling from Mom’s pussy. She had a tampon in.

“Mom, why do you have a string down here?” I reached for the string with no intention of pulling it out, but the effect was the same for Mom.

“Don’t!” she yelped. “This is all too confusing to me. You need to let me collect my thoughts.”

I decided that I really should slow down a little. But the opportunity was too precious to completely abandon my idea. I suggested that we sit down and talk a little--- “woman to woman”. Mom went for that and didn’t even seem to notice as we walked back into the family room that we were both still naked. Fortunately, it was a warm day and we probably would have both been sitting around in shorts and halters anyway.

Well, we talked about the weather and our upcoming vacation and other non-threatening topics. Then I decided it was time to get back to the subject at hand. “Mom,” I started, “I’m getting to the age when I expect I’ll start my period. Is there anything I should know so that I won’t feel embarrassed or mess things up?” Mom hesitated like she still didn’t know where to begin, so I continued, “I mean, like I really would like to know about tampons and pads and which is better. Do you use both?”

“Well ... yes, dear, I do use both types. Right now I have a tampon in which is attached to the little string you saw earlier. I use tampons early in my period when the flow is heaviest and then switch to pads and panty liners on the second or third day.”

“Would you show me, Mom? Would you? Please?”

“Dear, a used tampon is not a pretty thing, believe me.”

“Oh, but please show me how you put one in. Maybe I could even try. Do you think?”

“Uh ... I don’t know about your trying it, but I do probably need to change mine. Let’s see.”

We went back into the bedroom and into the master bath. Mom sat on the toilet and pulled her “plug” out and dropped it into the toilet before I could do anything about it. She was right, though; from what little I did see, it wasn’t a pretty sight to look at. She then unwrapped a new tampon and slipped the tube inside her faster than I had imagined possible. She dropped the applicator in the wastebasket and stood up. I was afraid I had missed my chance. But Mom thought she would teach me a lesson.

She instructed me to sit down on the toilet and spread my legs wide apart. She then unwrapped another tampon and showed me how to hold it in my hand. Then, standing directly in front of me, she opened her labia to show me where she had inserted her tampon. I tried to push the stiff cardboard inside me, but all I got for my effort was a sharp pain. I tried again and again but couldn’t find the proper location. I began to panic. Mom’s pussy was inches from my face, and the heat and ripe smell from it was beginning to choke me. Maybe I wasn’t so smart after all. Just then I felt another sharp pain and then a feeling like nothing I had felt before. The tube was inside me. I pushed on the applicator and removed the cardboard. I had done it! I dropped the applicator in the wastebasket like Mom had done and stood up abruptly. Hugging Mom, partly to keep her from falling over from my abrupt action and partly to feel her skin against my own, I gushed, “I love you, Mom.”

We had no secrets after that day. The next time I asked to see her pussy, she laid down on the bed and spread her legs wide. She invited me to push one then two fingers inside her and showed me what type of touch her clitoris was most sensitive to. She showed me how to douche and how she inserted foam contraceptive. She also had me lie down and spread open so she could look. She didn’t try to push her finger inside me, but she did play with my clitoris until I thought I would pee by mistake.