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Thepurpose of the visit was to buy a plastic air-fix model, partly as areward for a boy and partly to give me something to do inside caravan. On our return to the caravan, I argued that everyone was looking at me,in fact I had realised that I had not been identified as a freak orpointed out as something different, the walk had actually been totallyuneventful, I had spent most of my time looking for peoples reactions,but there were none. In a feeble protest I took off the clothes andreturned to my pyjamas.I was fortunate that in the seventies long hair was in fashion, my boyscut was a fairly basic cut just below collar length in a disorganisedjumble of hair. On the trips out of the caravan that followed, I wasfurther convinced that I would be less noticeable if my mother could tiemy hair back with hair clips in a female style that looked less ruggedand more cared for, I agreed to wear the clips but I refused thealternative suggestion to have my hair cut professionally or curled intoa. It was the biggest one we had, powered by four D cell batteries in a straight line. This she set head down between her legs, holding it from flopping over. After another minute searching, she finally retrieved the large bottle of 30 suntan lotion, opened it, leaned over and starting applying it to her feet. She was in no hurry as she worked her way up her lower legs, slipping her hands all around, twisting her legs and feet around for better access, taking the time to massage the lotion in well. Her legs glistened in the sun, almost bragging about their fine, muscled shape.I was treated to a better view when Mom finally slid her hands above her knees, leaning back as her fingers worked her thighs. She pulled her t-shirt back to make room for her busy fingers, working the softer flesh here even more. She leaned right back to do the very top of her legs, the spongy part I liked so much. Her t-shirt was pulled right up onto her panties to make room, exposing all of her legs.She moved.
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