I wondered if my mother knew that. Was this an accident or something else? We had always had a funny relationship. We talked about actresses from old movies and famous romances. Basically, we would just flirt away with each other. But in truth, she got nervous, too. I realized she was getting tongue-tied from the awkwardness every time a topic came up that usually wasn't discussed by a mother and her son. Just dumb stuff like their views on current events and culture. She relished the idea that her own son was attracted to her and not only that but how he was openly flirting with her at every opportunity. It didn't turn her on exactly but it stroked her ego to be worshiped in this way.
She was in town again later on. I had received a beautiful print from her of a nude. It was an impressionist painting and she hung it on the wall. She seemed possessed to finish the project of hanging the picture.
We spent the evening sitting on the rug together near my bookcase. I read to her from my favorite books and she seemed to enjoy it very much. Though she smiled at me and even read to me like she had when I was little, her voice sounded strange and wavering. I was embarrassed, too, by this point. I had never read to her before.
A few years later, she was in town again. We went out to a nice restaurant and had a few drinks. She kept stealing glances at my crotch area. I purposefully wore only a short tee that night and I remember I kept pulling it down from embarrassment but it was still exciting.
They are both healthy but had really missed each other the last few years. His mother who had been estranged from him for a while flew up to see him. They made up as much as possible. She had always been a distant mother thus the odd period of mystery on her part. But this turn of her character is the very thing that made her view her favorite son in a sexual way.
She knew she would always be too cowardly to act upon these feelings but she went as far as she could manage. She remembered teasing him when he was little by running around the house half dressed or asking him to help her with necklaces and earrings while still in undergarments. She had ample hips and large breasts.
He didn't remember this exactly but he was attracted to any images and erotic stories about old women who were into young people. So, when she came to see him and they cried a little together, he did the hardest thing he ever forced himself to do in his life: He whispered into her ear his dark desire. The idea repulsed him, too, as the as time. While his girlfriends were sometimes up to twice his age, the idea of his actual mother was very different.