There she was.
Twenty-five years old and I'd never seen my mother's face, but there she finally was. I'd only ever had dreams and ideas of what she might look like. When I was younger, I envisioned her as a beautiful princess that was stolen away from me. In my teenage years, she became an ugly, haggard bitch who I despised. None of these fantasies--hopeful or hateful--could have prepared me for the day I first saw her.
Her green eyes watched me through the screen of my laptop, trapped in the portrait of her profile picture. For a while, I thought that the private investigator I had hired wasn't going to come up with anything. I wouldn't have thought him incompetent; after all, I wasn't even sure if my parents were alive. So, when he gave me a name, Tracy Dunn, with an accompanying address in North Carolina, the first thing I did was look her up on every social media platform I knew of. Eventually, I found her. I was sure it was her the moment I saw her face.
It was a full-body shot of her in a modest but form-fitting black dress. I could see myself in her instantly, or her in me... The shape of her sharp nose, the way her brown hair gently curled at the ends, and those piercing green eyes. Even her cheeks rode high with her smile, just like mine. She didn't look a day over forty; had she really been that young when she brought me into the world?
Her profile was private. The only image of my mother I'd ever had was right in front of me, and I could only think about one thing... The erection growing in my pants.
What the fuck was wrong with me? I should have been curious about her life. Did she have a family or kids? What did she do for a living? What special event urged her to wear such a tight dress that strangled her delicious curves and exposed so much of her silky smooth legs... Fuck!
My hand was down my pants before I could shame myself out of it, jerking my cock viciously as I zoomed in on my mother's picture.
"Oh, fuck." I was panting, moaning to myself in my room illuminated only by the blue light of the computer screen. "Oh... Mom..." The word felt so foreign to me, but uttering it only brought me closer to cumming. "Mom... Mom... Oh, Mom!"
I didn't even bother pulling my horrible erection out of my pants before I blew my load. The desk shook as I knocked against it and filled my boxers with cum, and I stared into the eyes of my long-lost mother. The woman who left me on that doorstep all those years ago; the reason I had been orphaned, abandoned, and lost for most of my life.
Maybe it was only natural? What did Freud call that, an Oedipus complex? Well, I doubt he referring to kids who never even knew their biological parents. I tried to reason the shame away. But even as I sat there with semen drying in my pants, I continued to analyze my mother's beautiful body. My eyes drifted down her long legs--she looked tall, maybe around the same height as me--and lingered on the flowers tattooed on her right ankle that dipped over the top of her slim feet.
My hand hovered over the mouse, an inch away from sending her a friend request. I slammed the laptop shut.
What the fuck was I going to say to her?
Hey, it's me, the son you bailed on. Wanna grab a coffee sometime?
All this time waiting for some information on my parents and I hadn't even considered what on Earth I would do if I found one of them.
Had she ever tried to find me? I thought about her discovering my own Facebook profile, unable to resist running her slender fingers over her mound as she gazed into a mirror of her emerald eyes.
No. I had to shake those thoughts. I didn't search out my parents so I could fuck my mother; I was looking for answers. There were so many questions I wanted to ask, but, most importantly, I just wanted to know
why
...
But I knew nothing about her. I didn't know if I could trust her to give me honest answers over the phone or through a zoom call. It had to be in person--I needed to look into her eyes as she explained to me why she felt that she had no other choice but to leave me in a basket crying and helpless in the night.
I opened my laptop, struggling to close out the tab and stop gawking at her picture. The address the investigator had offered me was a suburb just outside of Raleigh, and before I knew it I had a plane ticket and rental car booked.
It had to be in person; I had to look into the eyes of the woman that birthed me...
Two days later, I was driving out of Raleigh-Durham International Airport in a blue Ford Focus. I'd never been to the South, and the summer heat combined with the humidity was a shock to my California-born-and-bred system. The highway was lined thick with green pines and lush poplars, and the midday sun was periodically obscured by heavy-looking clouds.
