Only about three weeks late, but here is a promised Valentine's Day story. I'm not totally happy with it, but hope you all enjoy! Please let me know what you think!
As always, this is a work of fiction and all characters within exist only within the confines of my imagination. Again, enjoy!
"Dad, you are a fucking idiot," I said for about the hundredth time since this morning.
"Watch your mouth, John and watch the goddamn road," replied my father as he grabbed onto the dashboard. I just laughed as I negotiated the heavy traffic of the Interstate, crossing several lanes of traffic to hit the exit that said "Airport."
I glanced at my watch and said, "Well, you said to get you to the airport on time and I do believe you're going to make it." I glanced over at my father and repeated for about the one hundredth and one time today, "You are a fucking idiot. Dad, it's February 10th. You are leaving Mom to go hunting for two damn weeks rather than spending Valentine's Day with her. You're going to fucking break her heart."
I exited onto Airport road and began working my way towards the drop-off terminal. Dad was still hanging onto the dashboard as he said, "Your mother is a big girl and will get over it. Besides, this is big game hunting in Canada - moose and elk. How often do I get a chance to hunt something like that?"
"Hello, talking about Mom here. You know how much she was looking forward to going out, dinner and dancing – romantic evening and all that?" I shook my head in disgust. "Mom's gonna cry her eyes out."
Dad just rolled his eyes at me. Clearly I just didn't understand. Personally, I was glad. If I understood why Dad acts the way he does, I'd likely be just as big an asshole. Dad is a big time lawyer for some big time firms and thinks that he walks on water. The last few years, I've watched as he's gone through his so called mid-life crisis and become more and more distant from Mom and me. Nowadays, Dad's attention is mostly on traveling with his business buddies and trying out fancy golf courses, attending football games in the skybox section and these elaborate hunting and or fishing trips.
I also knew about the rumors that his new interests also ran to some twenty-somethings that hung out at the upscale bars he and his business buddies frequented. The walls in our home aren't so thick that I could ignore some of the huge fights he had had with Mom the last couple of years.
There had been a couple of marriage counselors and for the past six months, I had thought Mom and Dad were going to patch things up. Then someone called him this morning and offered him a slot on this big game expedition and Dad jumped at it – although who the fuck in their right mind would want to go hunting in sub-zero weather when they could be warm and at home with a beautiful woman.
"Dad, you've got to quit treating Mom like shit. It just isn't right. Mom deserves better. Don't go. Stay here and do right by her," I said as I pulled up to the baggage check-in.
Dad climbed out of the car while I popped the car's trunk. He unloaded his bag and came around by the driver's side door and peered in my open window. "Frankly, John, it isn't any of your goddamn business. Here, take this." Dad tossed me his cell phone. "I don't want to hear your Mom bitching at me every five minutes. Wish me luck – maybe I'll bring home a moose head."
Dad started to walk away. I stuck my head out the window and said, "What about Mom? What do I tell her about Valentine's Day? You know how she's been talking about it for weeks."
Dad turned and gave me that look of his – that "what the fuck do I care – it's all about me" look that Mom and I have seen more and more often the last few years. He rolled his eyes again and dug into his pants pocket. Without looking at it, he threw something at me. I caught it. It was a money clip. "You care so damn much, John, take your mother out to dinner. I got bigger fish to fry." He stopped and grinned. "Or moose to shoot"
Dad turned and walked into the check-in section while an airport cop motioned for me to move out. I pulled away, making my way back onto the airport road. I shook my head and wondered once again how my old man could be such an asshole. Mom was a romantic and she had been planning on their big romantic night out on the town for weeks. Now it was my job to break the bad news to her. Somehow, I didn't think that me taking her out to dinner was going to soften the blow.
Once I was off the airport grounds and speeding back home on the Interstate, I glanced down at Dad's money clip. Then I began to grin and then to laugh. I picked it up from the passenger seat and ran my thumb over it. Dad was going to be so pissed.
See, my father walks around with two money clips. One is more or less functional. He keeps five, ten and twenty dollar bills in it – usually around two hundred bucks for everyday stuff. His other money clip is his show off clip. When he's trying to impress someone, he pulls it out and thumbs off a Ben Franklin, making sure to let everyone around him see that there are many of them. Usually he keeps about two thousand in that clip and clipped in the middle, a credit card with a nice five figure limit on it.
I was holding his big money clip. The idiot had thrown me the wrong one. I kept on laughing as I glanced at my watch. By now, he was past security and there was no way to return it to him. No big deal, he had other credit cards in his wallet and his debit card. Still...I stopped laughing and it began to sink in that my deepest, most secret fantasies suddenly were in the offing.
I confess to this proudly. I love my Mom. I am in love with my Mom. I've had feelings for her since I hit puberty. And I would like to see anyone healthy red-blooded American young man who if he had my Mom for his mother not feel the same way.
Coralyn Hanson is, in my opinion, the most beautiful and most wonderful woman in the world and she is my mother! Mom is forty years old ("thirty-nine and holding, young man," I can hear her saying to me with that lovely smile of hers). Mom stands five foot, seven inches tall in her stocking feet and is a throwback to those voluptuous women you see in the movies in the Nineteen Forties and Fifties – miles and miles of curves and all woman. I know her cup size is a 40DD because I've looked as I fondled her bras in my younger years.
Mom has blue eyes you could spend a lifetime staring into and a big mane of black hair that is tinted with streaks of grey that I think make her look even sexier. Her long legs are shapely and toned and when she comes down stairs in her power suits, hem of her dress just above the knees and her blouse opened just enough to hint at her voluptuous cleavage, I pop a boner faster than I can say, "Mom, you look beautiful!"
Yes, I've fantasized and mooned over Mom since I was about thirteen and even though I have been resigned to just fantasizing about her while masturbating or while making out with some teenage girlfriend, as I headed home from the airport, I realized that maybe, just maybe I could make this more than just a horny eighteen year old's hottest wet dream.
I know damn well that Mom and I are closer than most young men and their mothers. We've always been close and my horn-dog ways during my teenage years haven't affected that. I know that Mom knows that I used to peek at her, trying and succeeding in seeing her naked or partly naked. When I was fifteen, I watched through a slightly open door as she took her time drying off from a shower, almost giving me a bawdy show as she turned this way and that, giving me an eyeful of her magnificent tits and ass, her rounded stomach and that marvelous, almost unruly bush of hers.
Afterwards, as I was about to jerk off in my bedroom, Mom had come in, wrapped up in a fluffy bathrobe and gave me a look that both froze my blood and made my cock swell. "John, you finally got a good, long look. Now, what say you quit trying to catch me naked in the bathroom?"
I was slack-jawed at what my Mom had said, unable to make any kind of verbal response and Mom's stern look and changed to a grin and she gave me a naughty wink and said, "We understand each other? Good, now enjoy yourself," and she turned around and walked out of my room, leaving me to beat my meat with abandon.
Since that day, our relationship had changed somewhat. I never saw Mom naked again, but she seemed to enjoy my frequent hugs and kisses and I often made her blush when I would give her an appreciative leer and compliment her on her sexy appearance. Still, till this moment I was resigned to consider anything else between Mom and me as just wishful thinking. Now, as I sped towards home, I made the decision to go for broke. If Dad didn't want Mom, I sure as hell did!
