I had done it again. After I quietly closed my car door then snuck up the walk to the house, I had a sickness in my stomach, and a pain in my head that refused to stop. I was such a screw up, and I didn't know what to do about it.
Still fuming, I unlocked the front door, and entered cautiously. Thank goodness the house was silent. She must have already gone to bed. The last thing I needed right now was to wake mom up and have her see my condition. I only had a few of beers at the party, but I am underaged. If she caught me, she'd lower the boom for sure!
Creeping as stealthy down the hall as possible, I was almost to my room when fate intervened. My mom stepped out of the bathroom. I almost ran her over before I could stop.
She yelped with surprise at my unexpected presence. "Damn, Luke! You scared the hell outta me!" Pulling her white, silky robe closed at the front, she studied me intently.
I apologized, "Sorry, mom. Didn't know you were still up." As we stood facing each other, it took me a moment before it dawned on me that I was blocking the hallway, so she couldn't get past. When I stepped to the side, she didn't move at all, making me suddenly feel very self-conscious.
"How much have you had to drink? I can smell it on you." She didn't sound upset, just matter of fact. Leaning closer, her face just inches from mine, she sniffed to double check her suspicions.
Like a little boy, I hung my head and confessed, "Two beers. Don't get mad, please!"
I'd never been able to get anything past her. She had some kind of psychic ability to instantly know when something was amiss. "There's more going on, isn't there." It wasn't a question.
"Mom, please? I-- " She didn't give me the chance to cut and run.
"Let's talk. Living room-- five minutes." She never takes no for an answer. Slipping past me, I watched her go to her room before I went to mine to hang up my coat. The way she had reacted, I didn't believe I was in big trouble, probably just a serious talk.
I heard her tramping past my room a minute later, but gave her a good head start before I followed. When I entered, she was standing by the lit fireplace with a wineglass in her hand.
Raising the glass slightly, she asked, "Want some?" That caught me off guard, since she had never done this before. She was known to have a glass or two, but had never tolerated my sister or I drinking it in front of her. Lucie was 21, and living with her girlfriend across town. I was just a couple of months past 18.
"I had some beers, remember?" I sheepishly confessed again.
"Oh... right! I just hate to drink alone." I was beginning to realize that my mom might actually be a little tipsy. I'd never seen her in this condition before. "Sit down, Luke. We have a couple of things we need to discuss." She finished the last bit of wine in her glass, then refilled it from the half empty bottle on the coffee table.
As I crossed the room to the sofa, I examined my mom. I have towered over her since I was 13. She's always been very petite, at 5' 4" and just over 100 lbs. She has a slim frame with a girlish figure, and small-- maybe B-cup-- breasts. Her best features are her pretty, jade-green eyes, long auburn hair and cute behind, which was hidden under her dressing robe that was closed with a loosely-tied belt.
She bent forward to set the wine bottle back down, letting her robe flop open at the top. She had no bra on, so I had a peek of her boob with its long, oversized nipple. As she rose back up, I quickly looked away. I still felt my face flush with embarrassment, because I had looked at her naked body. I'd seen her naked before, but that was when I was very young. That memory had long passed away.
I sat on the couch as she walked around the coffee table to sit beside me, keeping my vision raised in case she got careless again. She stared into my eyes then reached out with her fingers to brush my brown, curly bangs back off my face, like she'd done as far back as I could remember.
"What is going on with you, Luke?" She seemed concerned, her hand resting against my cheek. "Something's been bugging your for the last few months. You know you can talk to me, baby. What's up?"
We have always been close, but there are just certain things a guy can't talk about with his mom... at least, I couldn't. This must be what she was sensing. "Mom!" I said with a complaint in my voice, hoping she would drop it.
No such luck. "I know it has something to do with girls. You can't hide that from me, honey." When I didn't respond, she pressed me further. "I understand it may be tough for you to talk about, but I want to help you. And, you can ask me anything! I hope you know that." She fingered my hair while she looked deeply into my eyes. The top of her robe opened up again, providing me a prolonged view of her tit.
I looked away quickly, but she must have seen where I was looking. "Sorry, baby-- didn't mean to embarrass you by flashing my tits." She actually giggled, before tightening her wrap up. "But, you've seen tits before, so no big deal. Right?" She was definitely a little tipsy. The silly giggle, her casual attitude and the healthy sip of more wine were the proof. Mom was no prude, though. She'd always given me very serious, detailed sexual information to help me understand the 'birds and the bees' when I was growing up.
Yes, I'd seen tits-- in magazines, in pornos on the computer, and movies. I'd also seen pussies in exactly the same places. But, in real life? That was part of the problem. How do you discuss something like that with your mom? How do you tell her that, before you even get to first base, you freeze up? You get so petrified that it feels like you're gonna explode if you go any further. How do you talk with your mom about a severe case of performance anxiety?
She topped off her glass once more. As I stared at the bottle on the table, I had an idea of how I might be able to talk about my problem. On impulse, I grabbed the wine and took a big chug, hoping it would give me some courage to speak. She watched me drink with an amused expression and another giggle.
