My name is Kathy. I am a 42 year old single mom. My husband and I finally got a divorce after years of bad blood and out an out hatred had erupted between us.
One thing my husband did for me that I will always be greatful for is my son. His name is Ken. He is 21 years old.
Kenny looks nothing like his father. If I didn't know better. I would swear that he was fathered by someone else. Kenny is six feet tall, weighs about 180 pounds, all of it muscle. He has a full head of black hair and he has beautiful piercing blue eyes.
I'm only five feet 2 inches tall. My hair is brown but I have a tiny streak of gray in the front. My breasts have always gotten me compliments. My best features, if you ask me, are my butt and my legs. I always keep them tanned and toned. Not that my dipshit husband ever noticed.
One day, about a year ago, I was just about to dye the gray streak in my hair brown so I could hide it when my son stopped me.
"Leave it alone, mom. I like it. It makes you look sexy."
"You actually like this streak of gray? It makes me look old! Wait. Did you just call me sexy?"
"Yes, mom. I always thought that dad never appreciated you the way he should have."
At the time, my son was wearing tight jeans with no shirt. All his muscles were on display! I felt just the slightest heat of arousal somewhere deep within me. I shook my head to clear it out.
Did my own son really think I, his own mother, was sexy? Because of some streak of gray hair?
Or was it because of the raging hormones that tear through the body of every 21 year old boy? Had I done anything to encourage this kind of talk? At the time, I was wearing a pair of hip hugging shorts that just barely covered my butt, a white tank top that was just enough to cover my breasts, and a pair of five inch high heels.
I know that some people might find my choice of footwear a little odd but it seems that flat shoes make my feet hurt. In any case, I felt that maybe the way I was dressed might be turning my son on a little, so maybe I was to blame. And there was no getting around the fact that ever since my son and I had been living alone together, when I looked at him, I definitely liked what I saw!
"Kenny, honey, I really think that I should just dye this little piece of gray -- MMMPPPHHH."
My words were cut off in mid sentence when my son put his hand over my mouth. When he did that, time seemed to slow down to a crawl. I started noticing the smallest details about everything.