All About Mom

If you haven't read the previous Chapters, the author suggests you take a moment to go back and read them to understand how Joey and his Mom got to this point. All participants in this story are over 21 years of age.

*****

I lay awake in bed Monday morning, going over a few things in my mind that I needed to accomplish that day. There were three things we needed to get settled before Mom and I could really move on together as a couple.

First, how would our finances work? Mom was very well off and I was just starting out in life. In order to prevent conflict in the future, we needed to both be very clear about how our personal finances would fit together. Second, I needed to make some major decisions about work and completing my Master's Degree in Business. I was convinced by this point that I wasn't going back to Houston other than to pack up my stuff and come back to Mom in Denver. We needed to talk about what was next for me, and determine if that would fit with her needs, which was the third thing. What were her dreams and plans for the future? How could our plans and dreams dovetail together?

Mom's breathing was steady as she slept beside me. As the practical items for my day became more set in my mind I began thinking about the "impractical" things. In other words, my mind turned towards sex. The night before Mom and I had been fooling around in bed, and she had gone down on me. When she first did, I think we both were thinking it would just be a little foreplay before a good fuck. But I started really getting into it, and the more I got into it, the more it seemed that Mom got into it.

Before either of us had the will to stop, I started pumping big gobs of cum in her mouth. If that wasn't bad manners enough, to get mine before she got hers, I pulled her up to me afterward, holding her naked body close, and told her to give me twenty minutes or so and I'd be good to go. Then I fell sound asleep.

I knew exactly how to remedy my guilt over my thoughtlessness the night before: a little "Good Morning" cunnilingus for Mom. With that in mind, I disappeared under the covers, gently spread her legs apart, and began licking around her cunt.

I felt her stir and give a slight moan of approval at realizing she was getting a little morning delight. Her labia immediately started getting slick from the attention I was giving her shaved lips and mons. Her hips started moving in time with my licking and sucking and I suddenly felt the bedcovers go back over my head. I looked up past Mom's pale, shapely breasts into her smiling face, never stopping my licking and sucking.

"Good morning, sweetheart," she cooed.

"Good morning, Mom," I answered and gently inserted my forefinger in her now-dripping cunt.

"What a lovely way to start the day," she said, still smiling.

Again I answered without taking my mouth off her cunt. "Well, I meant to give you a good rogering last night, but I fell asleep. This is a little payback." I said.

"Wow, that's a term I haven't heard in a long time," she answered, laughing. "Speaking of rogering, why don't you slide up here and roger me right now?"

"10-4," I answered and slid my body up hers, pushing my cock into her in one motion. She gave that now-familiar deep groan when I slid into her. I started fucking her slowly, with long strokes, enjoying every sensation of our nasties rubbing up against each other. Every once in a while I would pause with my cock buried as deep in her as it would go, just holding myself there, both of us enjoying the sensation of our union. I felt so connected to Mom. This was the embodiment of the connection I felt.

"Oh, Roger!" Mom said in a theatrical voice as I held myself deep within her. "Fuck me now and make me cum."

I picked up my speed, and within moments Mom went over the edge, squirming beneath me as she rode her orgasm. I followed moments later with a gush of cum, then blasted three or four more times deep up inside her.

I got up on my elbows and slowly slid my dripping dick out of her. When it fell out onto the bedsheet below her cunt, I looked at her, smiled, and said, "Roger, Over and Out."

"I read you loud and clear," she said dreamily.

I scooted up on the bed next to her and sat Indian style. "Okay," I said. "Let's clean up, then I'll let you make me breakfast, then I need to talk to you about a few things."

A sudden cloud crossed over her face. "Talk about what?" she asked. "Nothing bad, I hope."

"No, Mom, nothing bad. There are just some things we need to talk about so we can move forward. We can't stay cooped up in your condo for the rest of our lives."

She smiled and said, "I don't know, after this morning, it sounds pretty good to me."

"Well, get your pretty little ass out of bed and into the shower," I said leaning over to kiss her. "I'm slimy and hungry. I need a shower and a meal, woman!"

We showered quickly and I sat at the breakfast nook as Mom prepared sausage, eggs, and fried potatoes. She still had a lot of the farm girl from Nebraska in her.

"So, anyway," I began. "I feel like we need to talk about money." She looked over at me.

"We have plenty, honey, there's no need to worry about that," she answered, expertly flipping the fried eggs.

"Well, I've saved up about $25,000. I don't know how much you have, but I think it's a lot. I don't want to feel like a gigolo, living off your money, so I think I need to go back to work. I'd also like to finish my MBA."

Mom dished up the plates and brought them, steaming, to the table. She put one down in front of me, then sat across from me and put hers in front of her.

"Wow, you've saved up $25,000!" Mom said, obviously impressed. "Your father was very good with money, too."

"Well, you paid off my car when I graduated, and you pay for my school, so I really just have rent, gas, and food to worry about. I've been too busy for a social life." Then, for some reason I felt like I had to add, "I was making pretty good money, too, in Houston. I was doing well there."

"I know you were, honey. I don't see what you're so worried about. It's not my money, it's our money. It's the money our family has, and you and I are the only members of the family."

"I just have this vision," I said, cutting her off. "Of me having to ask you for money, and I just don't want to live that way." I took a bite of the potatoes. "Damn, these potatoes are good, Mom."

"Thanks," Mom said. "Let me explain it in a different way. "When your Dad died, we were already very well off. Like I said, Big Joey was very good with money, and he invested our money wisely." She paused to take a bite.

"The life insurance paid out at a little over a million; there were two policies actually. So at that point I was probably worth a little over 2 million with the house paid off. I made a little off the sale of the house as well. This condo didn't cost near what we got for the house."

I got up and went to the coffee maker and grabbed the carafe. "More coffee?" I asked her as I poured more in my cup. When she nodded yes, I filled her cup as well, setting the carafe down on the table and sitting back in front of my meal.

"But there was one more thing, and it is very significant," she continued. She just sat there looking at me, then said something I didn't quite understand. "I was going to wait until you turned twenty-five to tell you this, but I decided a few days ago that I'd tell you now, what with our new situation. I just didn't know when would be a good time. I guess this is it."

I shifted in my seat a little, unsure of what might be so momentous that she was going to wait until I was twenty-five to tell me. "What is it, Ma?" I asked, curious, but a little anxious about what I might hear as well.

"Well, the man who killed your father, I won't even say his name, was a complete messed up shithead. But he was a wealthy shithead." She just looked at me.

"I didn't know that," I said.

"Neither did I," she answered. "Until I got a call from an attorney after he was convicted. The lawyer explained to me that Shithead was from a wealthy family and he had reason to believe that there was a trust in his name that we could go after. I asked him how, and he told me all we had to do was sue him in civil court for wrongful death, and we could get damages." She was holding a bite on her fork in mid-air and she paused to put it in her mouth, and I waited until she had finished chewing and swallowed.

"I told him I couldn't go through another trial, and he assured me that it was a slam-dunk, since a jury in the criminal courts had already found him guilty. He said I might have to testify, but probably not, and if I did it would only be about the effect that Big Joey's death had on me, and that the other attorney would treat me with kid gloves, not wanting to appear as if he was harassing a grieving widow, whose husband was killed at the hands of his client. He asked that I at least engage him and let him file a vague suit so he could do discovery and find out what was there." She wiped her mouth with her napkin.

"I agreed to that, with no guarantee that I would go forward. What he found convinced me to go forward, but as it turned out, we never went to trial. His parents were so ashamed of his actions that they signed over most of his trust to me in a settlement." She paused again. "Well, to me and you. They knew he wouldn't be out of prison for thirty years and convinced him that his victims would be better served by his wealth than him, rotting in prison."

"Oh my God," was all I could say. "How much was it?"

"Well, this is where it gets complicated. He had a trust that was to be paid out to him in two installments of three point five million each, for a total of seven million." My mouth dropped open, full of food.

"He got the first part when he turned twenty-five. He was past thirty and had been on a three-day bender with cocaine and alcohol when he killed your father. He had already gone through about a million. He spent another half-million on his defense, so he had about 2 million left. I got that, and paid the attorney's fee for both halves with that. His fee was a little over a million, so I got about a million."

"Holy cow!" I said in disbelief. "So you're worth three million dollars?"

"We're worth three million dollars," she corrected. "It's our money, Joey, not just mine. Maybe if I met a man that I fell in love with like I have with you I would think of it differently with him. It would still be our money, yours and mine, not his and mine." She paused again to take a bite.

"And this is where it gets complicated, but I'm sure you'll understand it even better than I do. He gets the second part when he turns 38, or if he passes away before then. We can't legally get at that money until he turns 38, or dies. His thirty-eighth birthday is about three months before your twenty-fifth birthday." She scraped up the last bits of food from her plate. I had stopped eating when I heard "seven million".

"So we had a trust set up with me as the Trustee, and you as the back-up Trustee in case I die or am incapacitated. I put all our assets in it, including the condo. On Shithead's thirty-eighth birthday, the three point five flows into our Trust Account. That money is for you. I didn't want to tell you until you turned twenty-five so you would continue to pursue your dreams and be somewhere in life when you became so wealthy."

"I don't know what to say," I answered, still not sure I was hearing correctly.

"Well, listen, then. This is important. The plan is that when you turned twenty-five, you would become a Co-Trustee with me, giving you full access to all of our money; your Dad's, what's left of the first payout, and all of the second payout." She looked me intently in the eye. "How does all this make you feel?" she asked.

"I'm flabbergasted," was the only answer I could come up with. "Completely and utterly flabbergasted, and I don't know what to think right now."

"Ultimately, the plan that I set up with the attorneys was that when you turned forty, you became the sole Trustee with complete control over all the funds, and you would give me an annual allowance to live on." She smiled. "I trusted that you would be generous to your old Mom.

"So whether or not we had entered into this new relationship, the money is our money, and will eventually be your money. You said earlier that I paid off your car and pay for your school. That's not how I see it. I pay for it with your money." She chuckled softly. "I think your concerns about seeming like a gigolo might be misplaced." She chuckled again. "Although it sounds like fun to have my own gigolo."

I just sat staring at Mom.

"You're a wealthy man, darling. You can do whatever you want to in life without worrying about money. Go anywhere, do anything, be anything and everything you want to be."

"Well, I guess that takes care of the second part of what I wanted to talk about," I said.

"What's that, honey?" Mom answered.

"About school and my career," I replied. "I think I need to put off making any decisions about that until I get used to the fact that I'm rich."

Mom just gave me a big smile. "I think that's probably a good idea, dear."

"But there was a third thing, too," I went on. "What is it you want out of life? What do you want to do, Mom? I want our lives to be full and happy for both of us."

"Well, the first thing that comes to mind is that I want to do whatever it takes to make you happy." She smiled sweetly at me. "That's my first priority in life and always will be. Beyond that, I can't say right now. I've been so sad and depressed for so long that I haven't had any dreams for the future." She had furrowed her brow when she talked about her depression and sadness, but she brightened at her next thought. "I do feel like I want to embrace life now, with you. I'm excited about the future again. Why don't we figure it out together?"

I leaned across the table and kissed her. "I love you, Mom. I feel like I'm doubly blessed right now. To have you and six and a half million dollars! Wow."

Mom kissed me back and said, "Okay, Mr. Rich Man. You still have to do the dishes and clean up the kitchen."

"Yes, Ma'am," I answered.

While I was working in the kitchen, Mom was at her desk. I finished and walked into the small alcove that served as an office. I could see that Mom had a pile of paperwork in front of her and that she was adding to it from a file folder in the drawer of the desk.

"Here, honey," she said. "I've got all the income statements and reports from Michael Cabazon here so you can go over them while I'm gone. "

"Okay, thanks Mom," I answered. I'll do that. Where are you going?"

"Well, Judy Swensen called and demanded that we resume our "second Monday" luncheons. So we're going to have lunch at the club and then hit some balls together if it's warm enough."

I was happy to see that Mom seemed to be completely back to her old self. In fact, maybe even better than she's been in a long time. I was glad that she was resuming some of her usual activities and while she readied herself for her luncheon date, I started going through the paperwork.

It appeared that Michael Cabazon was her accountant and that a Jeffrey Holtman was her investment guy. Cabazon had no access to the money, and oversaw Holtman's management of the investments. Holtman had access, but was strictly overseen by Cabazon.

Very smart, I thought to myself. Mom is nobody's dummy. She paid Cabazon well, and he was the insurance that Holtman didn't get greedy.

As I went over the reports, I saw that she had about 10% in liquid investments like money markets. Even though they didn't earn much, it gave her access to money if she needed it or if Holtman saw a good investment opportunity. The rest she had in equities, spread between stocks, bonds, and some real estate investments. Well I'll be darned, I thought at one point. We're partners in an apartment building in Boulder! I'd just bet that was one of Big Joey's investments, and I made a mental note to ask Mom about it.

The income statements showed an income of about a hundred fifty thousand a year and it looked like Mom was living on less than a hundred. Really closer to eighty, even with my school expenses. That might go up a little bit with the two of us, but we had plenty of cushion, especially with another three point five million coming in.

Mom came in to give me a kiss goodbye, and she looked terrific.

"I wish you were going with me," she said.

"That's okay, Mom," I answered. "I'll be a lot happier at the gym than having lunch with Judy Swensen."

She laughed and asked if the paperwork was making any sense to me. When I told her that I had pretty much gotten a grasp on her income and investments she corrected me again by saying, "You mean OUR income and investments!"

"Yeah, Mom, our income and investments," I answered back.

"I'll talk to you when I get home," she said, putting on a light jacket. "But I was thinking that tomorrow we should go and add you as a signer on all the accounts, and move you up to Co-Trustee now. I'll call the attorney when I get home and get that set up."

I told her it sounded great, and around a big, wet kiss she told me she should be back at about 2:30.

After she left, I realized we only had the one car there in Denver and that I didn't have a way to get to the gym. I had left my Yukon in Houston when I hurriedly flew to Denver to help Mom. I really began feeling pressed to get to Houston and close out my affairs there.

I dressed in my running clothes and thought maybe I'd jog one-way to the Gym, then call Mom and have her pick me up when she finished lunch and range balls with Judy. It was too far to run both ways, but one-way would be a piece of cake.

With that in mind, I took my phone and wallet with me, and started a slow-paced jog east down our street, towards the gym. Many times when I ran my mind went completely blank. It was almost like a high, to just completely clear one's mind and just feel the body doing its work. But today I had too much racing around in my mind after the news I had received that morning.

I began to think about what I really wanted to do, now that I had the knowledge that I was free to do whatever I wanted in life. When I thought about school, I felt a very strong, instinctual yes, that I should finish my Master's Degree.

When I thought about work, however, my feeling was a no. Why struggle in a corporate world when I didn't need the money. Perhaps I could find something more useful to society to engage in. My mind wandered to Lisa Goodman, who I had gone to High School with. She was the Executive Director of a Non-Profit. Maybe I should get my MBA, then pursue a career in managing charitable organizations, like Lisa.

Before I knew it, I had arrived at the gym. I pulled my key-card out of my wallet and swiped it, hearing the door unlock. As soon as I got inside, I took out my phone and texted Mom to pick me up on her way home.

I had a great workout, really pushing myself. I felt good. I was in love, I was having fantastic sex three or four times a day, and I was rich! What more could anyone ask for? I felt that I was truly blessed.

I heard my cellphone chirp and thought it might be Mom texting me back. It was, and she said she was out front waiting in the car and not to hurry. I went to my locker, gathered my stuff, and headed for the front door.

When I climbed in the car, Mom immediately said, "Oh my God, you stink!!" All I could do was laugh. I usually showered at the Gym after working out, and this was the first time Mom had gotten a whiff of me after I had sweated through a strenuous workout.

"God, I remember when you were about twelve. You smelled that way all the time," Mom said, pulling into traffic. "Why do little boys smell so bad? All your friends stunk, too."