"Where did I come from, father?"
For eighteen years, the questions unanswered. The blank stare when I asked about her. The small hidden cache of her pictures. Her face blurred, indistinct. Plus...
...she never called. A mother who never, ever, contacted her daughter.
My father would never talk about her. But, a girl wants...no, NEEDS, to know about her mother.
I had become pretty good at guy things. And, I had a natural affinity for design and engineering, so naturally, I applied to some of the nation's best architectural colleges, and was accepted at all, and even offered full scholarships at two. I had the brightest future.
But that's when my father, a world-renowned architect, suffered a massive heart attack, and died, collapsing while overseeing construction of an office building in Dubai. He was the only parent I'd known. He'd never talked about my mother - I thought it strange, and people with more experience than I had would call it cruel.
About two weeks after the memorial service following his cremation, I heard the doorbell ring of our - I mean
my
- townhouse in Denver. Opening the door, I found a striking woman of about forty there. As I looked into her eyes, blue like mine, I knew instantly who it was.
"Yes?" I asked, already feeling a turmoil in my stomach.
"Kim, it's me, Dana....your mother," she said, an uncertain expression on her attractive face. I don't suppose she expected the reception she got.
"Oh my god!" I exclaimed, and immediately threw up. She artfully dodged my, er upset, hesitated, then immediately took me in hand, closing the door behind me. "C'mon, young lady, let's take care of you," she said briskly, steering me towards the bathroom right off the hallway to the bedrooms. There, she cleaned me up and began fielding my thousand or so questions.
The first question -
Why?
It seems that my father had divorced her for sleeping around on him.
"I won't lie to you, Kim, I was a VERY bad wife - your father certainly didn't deserve that. Our marriage WAS a mistake - with one exception - you. He had me legally cut off from ever seeing you, but I sent you letters every day. Did you ever see ANY of them?"
"No," I said. "Dad wouldn't talk about you - ever. What did you do that was so awful that he'd cut you off from me like that?"
"Well..."she began, a reluctant look on her face. She brushed away a lock of blonde hair from over her eyes. I almost felt as though I were looking at a copy of myself, only twenty years older. She took a deep breath.
"I discovered shortly after we were married that I, um, preferred women..."
"You're a lesbian?" I said, surprised.
"Yes," she said. I didn't know what to say. I certainly hadn't expected that I'd ever be hearing from my mother at all, much less that she preferred having sex with women over men.
"Oh," was really all I could say. My upbringing had been very conservative. My father had sent me to private schools where such things were not talked about.
Our conversation went on from there. After all, regardless of the problems between her and my late father, I had to develop my own relationship with her as my mother. A relationship that had been so long delayed.
I begged her to stay the night. She agreed, reluctantly - "I hate to impose on you, baby, but I understand your questions and your curiosity." We talked until about two in the morning, sharing a bottle of wine and a delivery pizza, then I showed her to dad's room.
"I could just get a room at a hotel, or sleep on the couch..." she demurred.
"No, it's fine. I've changed the sheets, it's at least as good as a hotel."
"Thank you, baby, I do appreciate it," she said, giving in.
"Well, goodnight," I said, and turned and walked down the hall to my room. I felt badly about not calling her 'Mom', or 'Momma', or really anything. And not at least hugging her. But there was nothing I could feel emotionally tying us together.
I slept restlessly through the night, and awoke about 9:30 the next morning, a Saturday. Wearing a pair of gym shorts and a bra, my usual sleep attire, I went to Dana's room, and softly knocked on the door. Hearing no reply, I slowly opened the door, and saw that the bed, though obviously slept in, was empty, with the master bathroom door closed. I guessed that Dana was showering or using the toilet or whatever.
For some reason, I walked over to the side of the bed, attracted by what, I didn't know at first.
As though an onlooker in a dream, I watched as I pulled back the coverlet of her bed, then the pastel floral top sheet, revealing the slightly wrinkled bottom sheet. I stared at it for a few minutes, not sure why I was there, but intensely curious nonetheless. I ran my hand over the sheet, feeling it to be damp. I bent down, my face coming within inches of the soft, cotton fabric.
The aroma of her feminine perfume wafted to my nose, the scent from her body wash had obviously carried over to the sheet. But there was something more. A warmer, intensely feminine, and damp fragrance underlaid the perfume. My nose touched the sheet, and I was surprised to find the sheet itself noticeably moist there, as a small tingle was birthed between my legs.
I pressed my face closer, the smell wondrous to me, one so used to masculine scents in my life. I knew my own scents, feminine to be sure, but this was somehow...different. The scent of another female, and I found it...exciting. I pressed my hands against the sheet, and then my cheek lay on the damp, finding it surprisingly warm to touch, as though she'd just left it. Left something of her body's warmth behind. For me...
As though I had no control over my body, the tingle in my center growing more intense, and radiating, I pressed my body into the bed, sprawled over it on my stomach, sideways across the bed. My body craved more of the smell, and the warmth of her bed, pleasant emotions stirring inside me.
It was then that I felt two soft and gentle hands on my hips, at the hem of my shorts. I jerked with surprise, then felt Dana's warm breath at my ear.
"I can't tell you how often I've dreamed of seeing you again," Dana's voice whispered. "And now, touching you." She paused. "I masturbated all night, thinking of you," she whispered. Her hands stroked my back and shoulders, my body aching for a loving touch. It was a revelation to me how wonderful a woman's hands could feel there. I moaned involuntarily, and writhed under her touch.
