They say love is love, right? What if it is so immoral it makes you question what love is? Some would say I'm confusing one kind of love for another, but it's not that simple. When you've experienced something, let's call it love, with someone and it is so strong, so real; the best experience of your life... can it really be that wrong?
I had no plans on moving back home after college, but when Mom and Dad split up shortly after my twenty-second birthday, I felt I needed to be there for my mother. It was so surreal. My dad found a younger woman and poof... he was gone. He didn't give a second look back. Mom found out about the affair and Dad left. The hurt and betrayal she must have felt was unthinkable to me. What in the hell did he see in that other woman? Maybe I'm a bit biased, but she didn't even compare to my mother. Why would anyone traded in a Ferrari for a tricycle?
My mom's name is Linda. She's forty-five and looks thirty. She was trim and fit for a woman her age. When I arrived home after the break up, she looked so tired and worn out. My heart broke. She threw herself in my arms and just sobbed. I saw an empty wine bottle on the couch and I could smell alcohol on her breath.
"Oh Michael," she said through tears, "I'm so sorry."
"Don't be," I replied. "You've done nothing wrong. I'm here now. I'll take care of you."
"Don't leave me, please," Mom sobbed.
"I promise; I promise I'll never leave you."
She was very wobbly and it was clear she had drunk way too much. I guided her back to the couch. I put my arm around her and let her cry; all the time consoling her. Finally, the tears stopped and she passed out in my arms. I picked her up gently and carried her upstairs to her bedroom. I put her on the bed and removed her shoes. I touched her long, brown hair and sat with her for over an hour before bringing in my bags and settling into my old room across the hall from her.
The next day she didn't leave my side. A connection was forming between us. We would get through this together. Mom promised me she would not drown her sorrows in alcohol. I would be all she needed. She told me my dad had a thing for brunettes, so she had never dyed her hair. A couple of weeks later, she had it cut and became a blonde. It now came down on her neck, just touching her shoulders.
"Well, Michael," she said when walking in the front door, returning from the beauty salon, "what do you think?"
"Oh wow!" I exclaimed. "You look amazing."
"Thank you honey," she said smiling.
"Is that a new outfit?"
"Yes, it is. Oh my god; a man who actually takes notice of me. Be still my beating heart."
I felt my face turn red. I wasn't complimenting her just to make her feel good. I was completely sincere. I think she knew that. Maybe it was my eyes widening as she walked in the door.
"Well, I'm serious when I tell you I'm digging the new look."
"I know you are," she said, taking my hand and kissing me on the cheek. "Oops, Momma got some lipstick on you."
I could feel my face burning, if possible, turning even more scarlet, so I quickly excused myself to go wipe off her lipstick. As I left the room, I heard her giggle. Since I had come home, I had barely seen her smile. It was nice to hear her laugh again. I then realized I had a huge bulge in my pants. Where did that come from? Mom had kissed me countless times growing up, but now something was different. I saw her growing stronger and coping with the whole situation. I didn't realize it at the time, but looking back now, I started admiring her and yes, even falling in love with her. She was not only my mother, but a resilient, desirable woman. My emotions were confused, but love always wins in the end, right?
The next night I was in my old room getting ready for bed. I heard my phone give the familiar ding, letting me know I had a new text message. It read simply, "Come into my bedroom."
"You could have just called out for me. I'm sure I would have..." My breath caught in my throat as I walked in. I found my mother sitting up in bed; looking at her phone. She was wearing a sexy black nightgown. It was low cut and I immediately felt a strange sensation of desire and shame. In one corner of my mind I knew I shouldn't be staring at my own mother's breasts, but in another corner was my obviously raging hormones and appreciation for the female anatomy; mom or not.
"I wanted to text you. Sometimes it's more fun that way, rather than yelling."
"You had no problems yelling while I was growing up."
She laughed. "Well, you're definitely all grown up now. You've grown into a strong, handsome young man."
"Thanks," I said as I stretched out on the bed next to her; trying desperately not to let her see the huge erection in my shorts.
"Honey, I wanted to ask you something," she said, setting her phone aside.
"What's up?"
"My work wants me to fly to New York this weekend."
"Really," I said, looking up at her.
"Yes; exciting, right? They've agreed to also pay for a guest to come with me." She was smiling. "And I was wondering, if you weren't too busy, if you would be my date."
"Me and you," I said, trying my hardest not to stare at her cleavage, "in New York. Are you kidding? That sounds awesome."
She was practically beaming at me. "I thought so too. Well then, it's a date."
"It sounds good to me."
"We'll talk more about it tomorrow. Goodnight baby. I love you."
"I love you too, Mom." I tried to turn and slide off the bed, so I could keep my back to her. The last thing I wanted was for my own mother to see my hard on, but as I began to turn, she cleared her throat. It was without a doubt deliberate and meant to get my attention.
"Aren't you forgetting something?" I racked my brain trying to figure out what she was talking about. As I lay there on my stomach looking up at her with a confused look on my face, she finally said, "Don't I get a goodnight kiss?"
Not since I was nine had I given my mother a goodnight kiss. She was acting like it was part of our nightly routine. I was caught somewhere between overly horny and panic. I suddenly found it very difficult to breathe. As I pushed myself up, still trying to keep my raging boner from showing, she turned her whole body towards me, touched my face and kissed me full on the mouth. I expected her to just give me a peck on the lips, but she held it just a little too long. I had to fight to control my breathing and not cum on myself.
"Goodnight sweetheart," she said softly.
"Goodnight," I replied in a hoarse whisper. You might as well have put up a neon sign with an arrow pointing at me that said, 'Your son is aroused'. My face was burning hot as I turned away and walked out, closing her bedroom door behind me. I crawled into bed and tried to calm down. After about five minutes, my phone chirped. It was another text from my mom. It said, "You're cute when you blush. Btw, nice try, but I saw it. Still blushing?" She also put a smiley face blowing a kiss.
The next day everything was pretty much normal. She didn't invite me back into her bedroom that night, but I did seem to make a few excuses to intentionally be close to her. The only thing different about her was she started calling me 'Luv'. She would say, "Luv, how does Chinese takeout sound tonight," or "Would you bring me my phone, Luv?" She had never called me that before. I had never heard her call Dad or anyone else for that matter, 'Luv'. To be honest, I really liked it. Somewhere in my mind it was like another puzzle piece falling into place.
The night before our trip, I knocked on Mom's bedroom door. I had been out looking for a job that day and I intentionally left my jeans on, so if I became aroused it wouldn't be so blatantly obvious.
"Come in Luv," she said. I walked in and sat on the foot of the bed. I saw she was still wearing her day clothes too. She had on her reading glasses and was browsing a magazine.
"Is everything set for our trip," I asked.
"Yes. We'll fly to New York tomorrow morning, check into our hotel suite in the afternoon, maybe grab a bite to eat and chill in our room tomorrow night?"
"That'd be great," I said.
"Saturday," she continued, "I've got meetings to attend, so you'll be on your own. Sunday we can go sightseeing together if you want. I've just got to be back for the gala that night."
"Gala," I said. "What's that?"
"It's this super fancy dinner party I have to attend. It's being held in the ballroom of the hotel, so at least when I've let myself be seen enough, I can come back to the room."
"I'm not going to the dinner party, right?" I asked, secretly hoping to be included.
"I wish," she replied. "I might actually enjoy myself if you were there. Oh, that reminds me; take a look at this." She showed me a picture in the magazine of a woman wearing a red, full sequin evening dress. "This is the dress I bought to wear to the gala. Do you like it?"
"Wow. You'll look so hot in that..." I realized what I was saying and quickly corrected myself. "I mean, you'll look gorgeous in that dress."
"Thank you baby," she said smiling. "If I didn't have it packed already I'd model it for you."
The thought of her modeling that outfit for me sent my heartbeat into overdrive and the butterflies dancing in my stomach. Was this some kind of game she was playing with me? Did she know she was arousing me to the point where I almost couldn't take it?
