Disclaimers: Do I really need to give you my standard stuff? Yes, I do. Each and every person involved in sexy stuff is eighteen, or older. THIS STORY IS FICTION! If you have issues with sons and mothers doing the nasty, click out of this and find something else to read. My wife and I actually got the idea for this story from watching a Hobby Lobby commercial on TV. Since about ninety-five percent of commercials today are pure shit, this one caught our eye On to my story.
I'm sitting in our sparse living room, doing my homework. I'm a student at the local community college, working on an associates degree in accounting.
I guess I forgot some fairly important information. I'm Victor Bailey, just turning nineteen years of age, an only child living with my mother Wendy, a forty-three year old divorced woman, who works as a nurse in a local hospital.
I'm always wondering how she put up with the asshole who was my father for nearly fifteen years. In truth, by the strict definition, he's still my father, but I haven't had the displeasure of being around him for over four years, now.
Are you getting the gist of our relationship?
Ever since the divorce was final, after several months of bitter fighting, he just up and disappeared. Not one word. Not one nickel of support.
With this lack of support, things were always tight around the Bailey household.
Mom made decent enough money, but even with my partial scholarship, mom didn't want me working, so I could devote most of my time to my schoolwork.
In the years since asshole disappeared, I don't think my mom has been on more than two or three dates. With how early they all ended, I was fairly certain none of them was even close to mister right.
Let me describe myself, before I get too far into my little tale.
I was never a jock in middle or high school. Oh, I liked playing baseball and basketball, but by the time I graduated high school, I stood just about six feet even, or there abouts. I tipped the scales at a robust one fifty. You can easily see why the list of my favorite sports didn't include football.
I wasn't too bad at football, but with my very slender form, mom didn't want me broken in half the first time I got tackled. I got roughed up enough playing basketball, that my body couldn't take many hits from defensive linemen, some of whom topped two hundred and fifty pounds.
No matter how much I ate, I just couldn't gain weight. I know that sounds a bit far-fetched, but it happens to be true.
In high school, I wasn't exactly in high demand on the social scene. Yes, I had a few dates, but very few second dates. I just was the skinny, very smart kid, who happened to be a bit socially awkward.
The few girls I did go out with seldom let me get any further than second base. Yes, I did cop a feel, or two, but never inside her blouse, and for sure, never on a naked breast.
I just settled on the fact that my classroom education came first, and I'd learn the physical aspects of sex, some day. I was well aware of what books told about sex, but had a very limited practical application of what I'd read.
Each day, I watched as mom trudged off to work her normal 2 PM to 10 PM shift. Yes, she enjoyed her job, even with her less than desirable work hours, but she was slowly being worn down.
Should I have been worried about mom's well being? Certainly. It's a son's job to be concerned about the one parent who cared for him.
Now, I had to figure out how to change our situation. Just so you all know, I've never had any sexual thoughts about my mother. Never!
I quickly put any thoughts along those lines out of my mind. I needed something else to help her with her serious case of the blahs.
Right after Thanksgiving, as usual, we went Christmas tree shopping. We picked one out that we both agreed would just have to do.
Getting home, we put it on the stand, and went searching for our box of decorations.
When we found it, we remembered that most of our decorations were either falling apart, or broken by some of our friend's kids, the previous holiday.
It just made me sad, seeing our tree, that already looked pathetic, now with just three or four ornaments.
Mom put on a happy face, and told me it was a beautiful tree, no matter.
I silently cursed my deadbeat dad, for leaving us in this financial mess. If I could find his worthless ass, I'd kick it from where I found him, to the next county.
For several weeks after Thanksgiving, I had heard that the game store in town was looking for certain vintage gaming consoles, which I just happened to be the owner of one.
On Saturday, which mom was to have off, she got a call to fill in for a sick colleague. It wouldn't be a full shift, and we really could use the overtime, so off she went.
I thought of surprising mom by cleaning up the kitchen, and doing the laundry.
I then called the game store, telling the owner the model I had, and asked how much I could get for it.
Riding my bike to this store, I showed this guy my gaming console, and was shocked out of my wits, at how much he was giving me.
I just couldn't believe my good fortune, and set out to finish decorating our tree. I also knew I wanted to get my mom a nice gift, or two.
Stopping at two different stores on my way home, I made my purchases, and sped home.
Waiting for mom to return from work, I got myself cleaned up, and dressed, proud of what I'd accomplished.
I had my phone out to capture the look on mom's face when she opened the door, seeing our fully decorated tree, the folded basket of clean laundry, plus the two small wrapped gift boxes under the tree.
"Vic, what did you do, and where did this money come from?"
"Mom, I sold that gaming console I don't need, because I wanted a nicer Christmas, plus you deserve some nicer things, too."
Standing in our living room, hugging each other, while I noticed a few tears in her eyes.
I just wanted to show the woman who had devoted her life to making mine just a little bit nicer, something just for her. What my asshole father lacked, she more than made up for.
We stayed in our embrace a few more minutes, until I noticed mom blushing. As she never wore makeup, I'd never seen her cheeks this red, exept when it was snowing, or just very cold.
I watched as she disappeared into her bedroom, then returned to the couch to finish one more chapter in the textbook I was studying.
Just as I was finishing the chapter, mom returned in her usual nighttime attire. Sweat pants, a bulky sweatshirt, and her hair done up in a ponytail.
Sitting at the other end of the sofa, with her legs tucked under her behind, she looked at me, still with a tear in her eye, and thanked me, yet again.
"Vic, you just don't know how much I appreciate what you've done tonight."
"I'm just trying to help make this holiday season a bit brighter."
She then got up, and I expected her just to return to her room, for a good night's sleep.
Instead, she walked up to me, put her arms around my neck, pulled my face down to hers, and very lightly kissed me on my lips.
My eyes flew open, as she backed up, saying how sorry she was, but I stopped her, telling her that I wasn't sorry. I said that with a mile wide grin.
"Son, that was inappropriate of me, so let's just forget what I did. OK?"
"If you insist, but its going to be difficult for me to forget my best friend in the world kissing me like that."
As she headed off to her bedroom, I couldn't help but notice a little spring in her step.
As I came to the end of my chapter, and closed out my workbook, I thought about kissing my mother.
I truly didn't have all that much experience kissing girls of my own age, let alone someone old enough to be my mom.
Shit, she was my mom. I started thinking thoughts a son shouldn't have about the woman who gave birth to him. Never in my nineteen years had I ever had anything other that pure thoughts about her.
I started thinking. She was always on the thin side, and stood only five feet two or three. If I had to guess her weight, it might be one ten, tops.