I was only 12 years old when mom and dad split up. Dad had found a new group of friends with the success of his business. New, younger, more vibrant. And a group that, in Dad's opinion, Mom just did not fit in to.
Mom was not an unattractive woman. She was 5'6" tall, and weighed a well-distributed 140 pounds. Her face was still very pretty, though with the lines of 53 years of life. I thought dad was nuts to leave her for his younger, more attractive friends.
Mom was an old-fashioned kind of wife. Having been raised in the country, she took the traditional role stayed at home, cooked, kept house, and raised the family. I was the youngest child of 5, and was somewhat of an accident. My older siblings referred to me as "Boo-Boo", and it was years before I caught on that they were not making reference to Yogi Bear's little friend. Anyway, Mom was 40 when I was born.
13 years later, Dad was gone, and it was just she and I.
For years after the divorce was final, Mom basically just moped around the house. She found a job as a cashier at a cafeteria (she wasn't qualified for much else), and I picked up the slack as best I could. I would clean up, and do laundry, and do some cooking, and Mom would get home from work, have a small bite, then retire to her bedroom to cry herself to sleep. Often I would stand outside her room and listen, and as she cried, my contempt for what my father had done to her grew into an almost venomous hatred.
I had no social life. I felt it my duty to be around the house, to be there when and if mom needed me.
I was in my senior year in high school, I had been a chubby child, but as I matured, my girth exchanged itself for height. On my 18th birthday, I was 6'1" tall and weighed a trim 175 pounds and I worked a part time job to help ends meet. Mom had finally come out of her shell, and she had been promoted at work, to assistant manager. With her renewed self esteem, she had begun to take some pride in her personal appearance again dressing in a way that showed off her physical assets, and at 58 was still very attractive, even though she was about 20 pounds heavier. Between school and work, I still had little time for a social life. I dated occasionally, nothing serious. At 18 I was still a virgin, but I was the most sought after virgin at school by the ladies. They though I was just aloof. Truth was, I didn't have time for them.
One afternoon, after viewing some pretty extreme hardcore porn over at a buddy of mine's house, I arrived home and immediately went to my room. I shed my clothes quickly, lay back on my bed, and began stroking my semi-erect cock. Puberty had also been kind to my sexual development. It quickly swelled to its full 9 1/2 inches in length, and the tip was wet with precum. As I caressed my large dick, stroking it with a feathery soft touch, I became oblivious to my surroundings. All I was aware of was the pleasure, the slow build of the tension in my balls, as they built up to critical mass, when they would explode.
I don't know how long I had been laying there pleasuring myself when I heard a knock, and felt the air displace as my door opened. My eyes flashed open, and standing there staring at me was Mom. Still in her smock from work, she stood there, her lips slightly parted, a look of shocked embarrassment on her face. Instantly, I grabbed my blanket and covered my nakedness, my embarrassment as apparent.
"Mom!" I cried out, half in anger, half in shock. She had never had a great deal of respect for my privacy, and I usually kept my door locked when I was masturbating. Quickly she withdrew, apologizing all the way.
"Oh, honey, I'm, oh, so sorry," she said with a quivering voice. She pulled the door closed, and I heard her walk quickly away.
I got up and dressed, and made my way out to the living room. Mom was sitting there, a look of absolute mortification on her face. She looked up at me, quickly looked away. "Oh, sweetheart, I didn't mean to walk in on you like that. I thought you might be taking a nap, and wanted to let you know I had brought home dinner." Her eyes were damp with tears, I could see how upset she was. My anger faded quickly at her shocked embarrassment, and I spoke to comfort her.
"It's OK, Ma, I should have locked my door." She glanced up at me hopefully, glad to see I wasn't really angry at her. She got up, removed her smock, and headed to the kitchen to get plates for the pizza she had picked up. Neither of us said another word said about the incident that evening.
Two months passed, and it was another dateless Friday night. I had to work. Stocking the shelves at the supermarket wasn't a glamorous job, but it was honest, and Mr. Davis was a very good boss. He paid me well, and allowed me weekends off so I would have some semblance of a personal life, for all the good it did. I still tended to spend most of my free time at home.
Around 10, Mr. Davis got on the intercom and announced, "Kenny, why don't you go ahead and knock off for the night, maybe you can go have a little Friday night fun for a change." It had been a long night, and he didn't have to offer twice.
As I headed home, I thought about heading to the local hangout. It had been some time since I had been out with the guys on a Friday night. As I drove however, I realized that they would all be busy with their Friday night action with their girlfriends, and I just wasn't in the mood to play "Third Wheel". I headed my car home.
As I pulled in the driveway, I noticed all the lights were out. That was odd. Mom rarely went to bed before I got home, it was our only chance to talk during the day. I walked in the front door, and heard the old familiar strains of my mom's sobs. Strange, I thought, she hasn't done this in almost a year. As I went by her room, I saw the door was open. She was sitting on the foot of her bed, he face a mass of grief and tears, a newspaper crumpled in her hands.
"Mom?", I announced, concerned about her sadness. That's all it took for a new wave of sobs to wrack her body. She held out the paper for me to take.
As I took it, I noticed it was folded to the society section. Looking quickly at the date, I noticed it was from the previous Sunday.
There, in living color, was a photo of my father and some nubile young thing...announcing their marriage.
Ahhh...that was it.