Mom - the Love of My Life

This is a slow-burn love story between an adult son and his mom, with a long build-up to sex. I didn't want to do an injustice to the characters by rushing things. Still, I've tried to make it as close-knit as possible and tie up all ends of the story. Self-edited, so there are bound to be grammatical mistakes, and I apologize for them.

The story is of course fictional, and any connections to real people are coincidental. I have mixed fact and fiction in many parts of the story. Any depictions of medical or legal procedures should be considered nonsense.

The story includes scenes or descriptions of violence. All characters participating in any sexual relations are over 18.

Enjoy.

***

I wasn't surprised when the call came. I had been waiting for it, but I understood why it took so long for my mother to make the final decision. She wasn't the kind who gave up easily, especially when matters of family, love, and marriage were concerned.

Something serious was going on because I could hear stress mixing with determination in her voice. It was obvious that this time her husband, Harold, had crossed the uncrossable line.

"Hi Jeremy, can you come and get us? We need a place to stay if your offer still stands." She reminded me that I had told her, on several occasions, that they could come and stay with us if they ever needed a place.

"Of course. You're welcome here." I said and heard my sisters sobbing in the background, emphasizing the importance of Mom's request.

"Are the girls okay? Is Harold still there?"

"They are okay, but please come as quickly as you can. He isn't here anymore. He left a few minutes ago."

"Okay, good. I'll leave right away." I didn't waste any time asking more questions.

I was partly relieved Harold had left, but part of me wished he hadn't. I wanted to say a few carefully chosen words to him. Given everything that had happened over the past couple of years and the pain he had caused, I might have been tempted to teach him a lesson, but my priority was to ensure that Mom and the girls were safe from him. I would have the chance to deal with Harold later.

"I'm going to get Mom and the girls... something serious has happened," I told my girlfriend, Mila, before closing the door.

I heard her shouting something after me, but I didn't need or want to hear what. We had been going through a rough patch during the last few months, and I knew her thoughts about Mom coming to stay with us. Mila was well aware of her problems with Harold, and I had told her that if the need ever arose, Mom and the girls could come to live with us until things could be sorted out.

When I got into my car, I sighed. It was clear the next few days or weeks would be rough. I knew Harold wouldn't let things be. Mila, on the other hand, would need to accept the circumstances. She was 26, one year younger than me, and still, she hadn't matured to understand life outside her own needs.

I backed my car off our driveway and pressed the accelerator pedal as close to the engine as possible. The tires complained loudly when I headed for the highway.

I stopped in front of the house and noticed that Harold's car was gone. The front door was open, and Mom had brought a few bags outside. As I walked inside, I saw the girls in the kitchen. Emma comforted her sister Olivia, who had a red mark on her face, like someone had slapped her. They ran to me and started crying.

"Hush... I'm here now. Everything is going to be okay," I said, hugging both girls.

"Jeremy? Is that you?" I heard Mom's worried voice as she came running downstairs. When she saw me with the girls, relief showed on her face.

"Did he?" I asked, looking at Olivia.

She nodded, acknowledging she had waited too long for Harold to change. There was no need to remind her of the discussions we had on the issue. I went to her, and we all hugged.

"Everything is going to be okay," I repeated. "I take the girls to my car, and then the bags. I'll come back later and pick up the rest of your stuff." Mom agreed. The girls took my hands, and we walked to the car. I picked up the few bags before we left.

"I promise I will start looking for a temporary place today," Mom assured me as soon as we were on our way. "I know Mila won't be happy about this."

Over the past couple of years, Mom's and Mila's relationship had deteriorated. That, too, was mostly Harold's fault since Mom and the girls needed my help more often after things with him started to go down the drain. We argued over it with Mila, but I was adamant; I wasn't about to leave Mom and the girls, whom I considered my siblings, in trouble. I hoped that Mom and the woman I wanted to marry would find a way to get along.

"You let me worry about her. Just take your time and we'll find you a good place to live. I have something in my mind already." I looked at her and smiled.

She squeezed my hand. "Thank you, Jeremy."

***

My mother, Pamela, who celebrated her 52nd birthday a few months ago, got together with Harold after my dad died seventeen years ago. Their relationship started mostly out of necessity on my mother's part, but Harold was already in love with Mom when he offered to help us.

The situation my father's death left us in had been hard. He had huge debts, Mom knew nothing about, and we had been practically broke. For years, he managed to keep up the appearance that we were doing alright. I often thought all the lies and secrets finally made his heart give out.

Mom managed to cover some of the debts by selling our house, but we were left with nothing. At the time, she wasn't working, but wanted the stability in my life to continue. May it be that the stability we had was just a sham. Harold offered to take us in, help Mom get things in order, and continue life without the need to start everything over.

Back then, Harold was an upstanding man. They fell in love and eventually got married. Life was happy again. When I left for college, Mom and Harold were living a stable life. Mom started a business and handled clients' accounting from her home office. Dad's troubles with money inspired her to study accounting, and she loved what she did.

However, today's Harold was a different person. Five years ago, another tragedy befell our family. My aunt, my mother's younger sister, and her husband died in a car accident, leaving behind four-year-old twin girls. My mother, as one of their godparents, took them in and later adopted them. I think it was the dividing point in their marriage, leading them to choose different paths. Harold didn't want the girls, but my mother held her ground. It was she from whom I inherited my determination.

As time passed, Harold accepted the girls on some level, but when he got laid off from work two years ago, everything took a turn for the worse. He had never been a man who would turn down a drink, but his work kept him in line, and when that barrier was gone, so was reason not to drink.

When I saw what was happening to Harold, I tried talking to Mom, but at the time, she refused to give up. She felt she owed him for taking us in and supporting us in times of need, and that it was her duty to offer him the same understanding he had offered us. I knew it was of no use to try to change her mind, so I did everything to help her and the girls. Long hours in the docks, evenings in the gym, and helping them took a toll on my relationship with Mila.

"Here we are. Let's go and see your room," I said to Olivia and Emma when I parked my car in front of the house." The ride over had been a quiet one. Everyone was on edge.

Mila was in the living room when we came in and didn't even bother to come to say hello. When Mom greeted her, she barely shifted her gaze from the TV. Her behavior was irritating, but I knew arguing wouldn't make things better. She needed time to adapt.

"Go upstairs with the girls, I'll talk with her," Mom said.

We had two extra rooms, and the girls would take the room next to ours. When they spotted the spacious bed meant for two, I saw the first hint of a smile on their faces. The day had been tough, and I hoped they would never have to endure anything like that again. Mom came soon after, and I offered her the other room.

"No thanks. We can all sleep here, there will be less to clean."

"What did Mila say?" I asked while the girls were arguing who gets to sleep on which side of the bed.

"Not much. I tried to tell her this is just a short-term solution, but you know how things are between us."

"Don't worry about her. She'll come around, I'm sure of it." We hugged for a long time before I left them to unpack.

***

The next day, I drove back to Harold's house after work. I wasn't sure what to expect.

After my father's death, Harold was like a father to me. He had worked as a stevedore for most of his life, and got me a job at the docks when I graduated from college. I was 22, and even when I dreamed of working as a full-time personal trainer in the local gym, the job at the docks was an opportunity I couldn't afford to pass up. Working with him was great until the layoffs. I kept my job by accepting a smaller wage, but Harold refused.

I found him sitting on the porch and saw he had thrown some of Mom's and the girls' things out to the lawn and into the garbage. I had to sit in the car and cool down before I got out and approached him. He was drunk. As I walked up the steps, his gaze followed me, and I saw the resentment in his eyes.

With the amount of liquor he consumed, he had drained everything meaningful from his life down the toilet, and judging by the smell, also all over the yard. Some parts of me felt sorry for him.

"Well, look who it is," he muttered. "Didn't the bitch dare to come herself and face me, see what she made me do?" He swept his hand towards the items scattered on the lawn, as if they were to blame.

I didn't react, just stood there trying to keep my rage in check. "I came to get the rest of the things," I said when I was able to form the words in a calm manner. It was of no use to escalate things any further.

Harold gave a short, bitter laugh. "The rest of the things! Take it all! I don't need them. Take the trash!" He stared at me with narrowed eyes, before continuing, "Your mother... those girls... Do they think they can just leave like that?" There was a malicious tone in his voice.

"Yes, Harold... they already left, and they are never coming back," I said against my better judgment.

"What did you say?" he snapped and rose. I didn't budge. I think he expected me to flinch, and when he saw his act had no effect, he sat back down.

"Why? Because I said a couple of words? They're too fucking sensitive, always have been! Just like your screw-up old man. Should learn to handle things." His words stung deep, and I almost lost my cool.

"Handle things? What the fuck Harold? You hit Olivia! You have treated Mom like shit for years. Is that how a real man handles things?" I made air quotes when talking about a real man, but I don't think he got the message.

"Fuck you, Jeremy..." he started and while listening his insults I understood talking was useless. He needed his distorted thoughts to stay sane. He was behind a wall of drunkenness and self-pity. No words would get through.

I turned away, walked onto the lawn, and started gathering the items he'd thrown out. Clothes, shoes, Emma's My Little Pony collection... Each item felt like a wound in my heart.

When I got back home, Mom and the girls were in the yard playing. I think Mom saw from my demeanor that things hadn't gone well. Emma was happy to get her collection back, but Harold had thrown Olivia's books into the trash after ripping the pages off.

"We'll go buy you new ones, I promise," I tried to comfort her.

When the girls went inside, Mom asked, "How was he?"

"He's drunk, angry, and full of self-pity. I don't think he's able to let go." Mom looked worried and didn't say anything.

"I think you must start the divorce process, Mom. He needs to understand you won't be going back."

"I know. I've already contacted a lawyer. I just hoped --" She stopped in the middle of the sentence, but I corrected her thinking.

"I think there is no hope with Harold. He had time to change. No one needs to live with a person like him, especially not the girls. They deserve better after everything they have already lost. They can't lose you, too."

Mom took my hand as we walked inside.

***

The next two weeks were busy. I agreed with my boss that I would come to work later than usual so I could take Emma and Olivia to school. That meant I had to work late. Since Mom didn't have a car, she borrowed Mila's to pick up the girls. We thought it would be too much if they had to change school after everything, and since there was no knowledge of where they would move, it wouldn't have been a good solution.

Mila was in a bad mood all the time. She felt the girls were disturbing us, and I guess in some way they were, since every morning they came to wake us up when it was time to go to school. Mila used to sleep late, so she wasn't happy.

I tried my best to give my girlfriend the attention she required. I was positive despite her behavior, offered to take her shopping or to dinner, but most of the time, she wasn't in the mood. I even stopped going to the gym, so I could spend more time with her.

We usually had sex almost every night, but now she refused, since Mom and the girls were sleeping in the next room. From that perspective, I was back being single and took care of my needs during the visits in the shower every morning. I knew things would get back to normal after Mom found a place to live.

But after the first week, Mila started spending a lot of time with her friends, but I believed everything was okay between us.

Mom searched for a suitable apartment every day. The only requirement was that it must be located near the school, and she'd have a room to work. It turned out to be a difficult task to find a permanent place. I suggested she move into a house my friend was selling, but before the divorce with Harold would be clear and income stabilized, she didn't want to take out another loan. I think the traumas caused by my father still haunted her in everything related to big money. One evening, we were talking in the kitchen.

"I've been thinking about looking for a place in another city," she started. "It would be good for the girls to get a new start, and I think I need one also."

I didn't like the sound of that since, over the years, the girls had become important to me. I considered them my sisters, and I worried about Mom. I wanted to be near her. Now more than ever.

I think she saw what I was thinking. "You don't approve?"

"It's not for me to decide, I just hope you will stay here, close to us. I want to help you take care of the girls. Besides, I would miss you."

She smiled, taking my hand. "Nothing's ever going to separate us, you know that. We wouldn't be going far, I was thinking Lexington. You could come and visit us and vice versa."

Lexington wasn't that far, but I still didn't like the idea. "I guess so," I said, trying to understand her position. "But there is no hurry, you can stay here as long as you like. Let's not make any rash decisions."

She looked at me questioningly, like asking if I was aware of what was going on under my roof. I knew, and the worst part of it was that the house belonged to Mila's parents, and she had made it clear that this arrangement shouldn't continue for much longer.

"I know, Mom," I said, realizing very well that soon we would need to make a decision or my relationship would fall apart. I didn't want that.

We talked for a long time, going through the things that had happened and what would be ahead of us. I don't think we've ever talked so openly before, and I found it easy to talk with her. She listened, understood, and shared my concerns. The talk we had eased both of us.

That evening, before Mom went to sleep, I asked her if she'd like to go out with me.

"I would like to take you out to relax. I think we both need that. I can get the neighbor to watch the girls, and we could have a good time. What do you say?"

"That sounds wonderful, but do you really want to go out with your old Mom?"

"Come on, it's not like that. A son can take his mother out to relax. There is nothing special about it."

"I know, I was just teasing you," she said, and came to hug me.

"You have a golden heart, Jeremy, and I'm proud you are my son." She gave me a peck.

***

On Sunday, I had an extra shift at work, and as I was leaving, the girls were playing outside, and Mom was reading a book on the sunbed. They all waved goodbye as I drove away. I think Mila was still sleeping upstairs. At least she was there when I went for a shower and my daily masturbation session.

Mila had been out with her friends last night, drinking and she had not come home until early in the morning, smelling alcohol.

I had driven for ten minutes before my phone rang. Mom's name was on the screen, but when I answered, I heard Olivia's scared voice.

"Jeremy... uncle Harold is here," she sobbed. I heard Mom shouting for them to go upstairs. My heart rate shot through the roof, and adrenaline rushed into my body.

"I'm coming. Call the police," I shouted, before the line went dead.

The scumbag must have waited until I left. I turned the car around, almost crashing into another parked car on the street. The minutes it took me to get back to the house were the longest of my life. I saw Harold had driven his car into our lawn, right in front of the door. He was kicking the door and had a hammer in his hand.

I didn't look for a parking space. I was out and running towards Harold before the car came to a stop. I was boiling. If he had done anything to Mom or the girls, I would kill him. Fortunately, he didn't notice me until it was too late.

Without warning, I grabbed him by the hair. I pulled him backward, kicking him in the knee bend. Hard. He fell on his back. I dropped myself violently to his chest with my knees, grabbing him by the throat with one hand and with the other hand his wrist where he held the hammer. Then I squeezed.

His eyes were like saucers as he realized the situation. Saliva dripped from his mouth, and his face turned red as he tried to catch his breath. The hammer fell from his hand, but I didn't let go.

"You piece of shit. Coward. Fucking scumbag... I'm going to kill you," I shouted before I heard Mom's voice.

She had come outside and laid her hand on my shoulder, "Jeremy, let him go. It's over."

When I turned to look, I saw Olivia and Emma at the door, eyes watering, and Mom next to me. Sirens wailed afar. I turned to look at Harold when I eased my grip on his throat. He wasn't in this world. Tears were running down his cheeks, he had turned blue, and even after I had released my grip, he couldn't breathe.

"My pills..." he managed to mumble, holding his chest, pointing to his car. Mom knew what he meant. She went to the car, took his jacket, and searched the pockets. I bent over Harold, not understanding what was happening. Only after Mom came and placed a pill under his tongue did I understand he was having a heart attack.

I was still on top of him, trying to listen to his heartbeat, when the police arrived. They had weapons ready, shouting at me to get to the ground. I complied, and as I lay there, my face against the grass I had just yesterday mowed, I knew I was in trouble. Mom tried to explain the situation to the officers when they placed handcuffs on me, but it didn't help.

I was sitting in the police car when they carried Harold to the ambulance, giving him CPR. The other officer was talking to Mom, and the other was with the girls. Mom explained something in an agitated manner, pointing at Harold. Mila had come downstairs looking pissed. She was inspecting the damage to the door.