The Beginning of the Relationship 4
When he lifted his head to look at her face, he guessed that the flushed, heightened expression was born of some feeling she was having.
He gazed at her in silence, and a strange quiet settled between them, carrying a brief awkwardness in its wake.
A moment later Mi-ho broke the silence.
“Um… well, Mom’s going to go change clothes in her room now… What should we have for dinner? Is there anything special you’d like?”
Han Pan answered with an awkward smile.
“Whatever Mom makes is fine…”
“Then how about something simple—pasta?”
Han Pan was quite fond of the spaghetti she made for him.
He nodded with a broad smile.
“We’re almost out of the penne you like at home… and we need sauce too… Shall we go grocery shopping? So-jo said she’ll be late… Let’s make something delicious just the two of us.”
“Yeah, sounds good—!”
“Alright then. Mom will go change and come right back. Wait for me.”
“Okay.”
Mi-ho gathered the high heels that had fallen to the floor and the bag resting on the table, then walked upstairs to her room.
Han Pan’s gaze lingered on the line of her back as she went.
While she changed, he fiddled with his phone. A short while later Mi-ho came down from the second floor into the living room.
“Son, shall we go?”
Han Pan looked up at his mother.
And for an instant he nearly dropped the phone in his hand.
Mi-ho was wearing what people called a new-town missy look—a bright brown, thin wool-like dress that fell to mid-calf. It clung to every curve of her body, showing off her S-line figure without the slightest filter, a white cardigan held in one hand.
Moreover, with every step the fabric stretched and molded tighter, more blatantly emphasizing her glamorous full breasts, her narrow waist, and the lush swell of her hips.
Han Pan wondered who could possibly look at this woman and see someone who had entered her mid-forties.
As if she had anticipated exactly that stunned reaction, Mi-ho smiled and came toward him.
It was the response she had wanted.
But she turned quickly and headed down to the underground garage.
Han Pan sprang up at once so as not to be left behind and followed her.
Mi-ho, already in the car, started the engine the moment Han Pan climbed in. As they pulled out onto the road she took a pair of Boeing-style sunglasses from the glove box and slipped them on.
They looked quite stylish, and Han Pan found himself thinking she looked cool.
Feeling his steady gaze on her, she smiled. At that smile something rose in his chest—an unnameable tension that wrapped around his whole body.
A little later the car arrived at a market a short distance from their house that stocked imported ingredients.
Mi-ho stepped out and, walking ahead, slipped on the thin cardigan she had brought. The size was a little small, so it only made her waist and hip lines stand out more richly.
Han Pan could feel several men who passed by looking at Mi-ho, and from that he understood that he was not the only one who felt what he felt.
At the entrance Mi-ho pulled out a cart; Han Pan quickly snatched it from her.
Together they entered the market and began shopping for this and that.
Whenever she bent at the waist to examine something or drop an item into the cart, her hips naturally filled his vision. Every nerve in him locked onto the hip line wrapped in that thin silhouette.
And through the fabric he could just make out the soft ridge of the very thin T-back panties she wore, the curve of them pressing outward.
In answer, blood rushed straight to Han Pan’s cock; his shorts tented loosely, and he had to struggle to hide it.
Mi-ho could feel her son’s gaze fixed on the line of her ass, and that knowledge gave her a thrill she could not name.
She could tell, quite naturally, that her son was interested in her—and that interest only sharpened the thrill.
Her movements grew more exaggerated. It was clearly wrong, yet she could feel how these addictive little acts were pushing aside the boredom and the gloom, remaking her into something new.
After they had shopped for a while, she found herself wanting to tease her son.
And she was curious how he would react.
Looking around, Mi-ho pointed a finger at something on the very bottom shelf of a display and said,
“Son, what’s that?”
Han Pan stopped the cart he had been pushing behind her, squatted down to look at what she indicated, picked it up, and held it out to her.
“Uh… this is…”
He spoke as he turned his head—and flinched hard.
Mi-ho had already bent low to examine it closely, and because of that her breast line and everything inside it were laid bare.
The deep cleavage, and even the bra beneath, showed clearly.
It was a cream-colored style with rather elaborate lace.
Han Pan jerked his eyes away at once.
Mi-ho found his reaction rather cute. Looking at his face, red all the way to the ears, she laughed and said,
“Oh, son—your face is red.”
From her laugh Han Pan realized he had walked straight into Mi-ho’s little scheme.
He sighed, rose, and looked down at her.
“Mom…”
While he stood, she remained bent over, still offering him the view of her breasts, and answered with an innocent face as if she had no idea what he meant.
“Why?”
“You’re teasing me right now, aren’t you?”
“What? I really don’t know what you mean…”
Saying so, she slowly straightened.
“Our son is surprisingly innocent…”
With his flushed face still turned away, Han Pan protested.
“No, it’s not that…”
Mi-ho laughed and began pushing the cart she had set aside.
“Let’s go check out… we’ve got everything.”
She wheeled the cart toward the registers. Han Pan stared after her, blank for a moment, then shook his head hard, sighed, and followed.
They finished paying, loaded the bags into the car, and headed home.
Once they arrived, Han Pan carried the groceries in both arms and climbed the stairs behind his mother, who went up first.
A few steps above him, Mi-ho’s hip line filled his sight. Cursing the instinct that kept dragging his eyes there no matter how he tried to control it, he climbed slowly.
When Mi-ho stepped into the living room she glanced down and saw that Han Pan’s gaze was still locked on her ass.
The moment she turned her head toward him, Han Pan flinched and looked elsewhere.
He felt as if he had been caught doing something wrong and cursed himself.
Still, he pretended nothing had happened, walked calmly into the kitchen, and set the bags down. When Mi-ho came over and regarded him with a thoughtful expression, he began to tense.
“Han. Pan.”
Whenever she attached his full name like that, it meant she was about to say something firm; he braced himself.
“Yes…”
“If you’re going to look, look like a man—confidently.”
“What?”
“Look confidently… Mom doesn’t mind… understand?”
“Yeah… uh… okay…”
Being caught staring in secret left Han Pan thoroughly embarrassed.
“Uh… actually… my eyes just keep going there…”
He set down what he was holding and scratched his head.
Mi-ho was pleased by her son’s honesty.
She let out a hearty laugh.
“Mom feels good when our son looks at her like that… um… how should I put it? A young, handsome man like you taking an interest in an older woman like me… I’m taking it as a compliment.”
Han Pan’s face showed surprise.
“Oh, really?”
“Of course… if a man as fine as our son wants to look, Mom welcomes it anytime… so go ahead and look as much as you want, confidently… Mom likes a man who’s bold like that… and of course I also need continuous feedback from my son on how Mom looks… so sneaking little glances is rude, got it?”
She said it, stepped close, and kissed his cheek.
Then, smiling and humming under her breath, she began putting away the things they had brought, one by one.
A week passed, and little by little Han Pan began to change.
The awkward glances grew more open with time, and in answer to those eyes Mi-ho grew less and less hesitant about showing her body in front of him.
Especially when So-jo was not around, Han Pan would look at her figure outright, as if openly appreciating it, and Mi-ho would answer by thrusting out her breasts and hips, teasing her son like a deliberate little game.
Each time, Han Pan praised her body even as he refused to be outdone, flexing his solid chest and arms for her to see.
Their talk, too, gradually left the mother-and-son register and began to include the mischievous jokes of comfortable friends.
They started using English nicknames—“Hey Sexy,” “Big Boob Mom”—and each time Mi-ho would fire back with “Stud” or “Italian Horse.”
Conversation slid from light sex banter into full sex banter; they began touching each other’s bodies, feeling firm muscle under their hands. Their relationship was leaving the mother-son frame behind and turning into something more like the easy intimacy of long-time friends.