My name is Marilyn. I'm a mom. That's it, just a mom. I'm a wife to my husband Hugh, and have been devoted to him for twenty five years now. Sometimes I look at myself and wonder where the time went.
We met in school and dated only briefly before the war. Hugh's unit served bravely in the Pacific theater, Hugh was decorated for his valor in Iwo Jima. We wrote one another religiously while he was away and, like many high school sweethearts of the time, were married as soon as he was discharged from the service. Our only son, David, was born three years later, and we soon settled into a comfortable life. Hugh worked in insurance, I took care of the house and my boys, David and Hugh.
Hugh is a strong man, and doesn't talk much about his experiences in the war. All he's said is they were too horrible to talk about. I think that's all I want to hear. Hugh was always fit, and cut a fine figure in his suit and hat. I used to watch him walk to the car each morning, admiring him from the kitchen window.
Then there is David. He is my joy. As an only child, I have devoted myself to him his entire life. He gets hugs and kisses each morning when he wakes, and every evening before he goes to bed. When he was younger, David would sit on my lap and we would hug for what would seem like hours. It was my only solace during the frequent evenings that Hugh spent out with the boys. Sometimes I would get lonely and crawl into bed with David. Curling up with him would help me sleep.
Then, a few years ago, Hugh's drinking got to be a bit too heavy. He would get intoxicated and fall asleep on the sofa in the den, sometimes days at a time. He would go away for days and, when he returned, he would smell of liquor and cheap perfume. All he'd tell me is he was with his friends from the unit, because only they understood him. This hurt my feelings because, like a good wife, I wanted him to come to me with those things.
Finally, it became too much, and I left Hugh. Daddy had set up a nice trust fund for me, so David and I were well taken care of. We had a nice apartment downtown, in a building with a doorman and a concierge. A car would come and drive David to school and, when he graduated, we took a week long trip to the shore to celebrate.
That's when things got a little . . . different.
David still enjoyed his morning and evening hugs and kisses. I must admit, I enjoyed them too. He is now a tall young man, with a figure cut like his father, but like I remember his father before the war. I have managed to keep myself fit. My hair is still blonde, I still fit into a size 6, and have managed to stay slim. I have always dressed conservatively, wearing slips with my dresses, an apron in the morning, and a cocktail dress at night, even if staying at home. I'd wear gloves when I went anywhere, and always wore the appropriate amount of jewelry.
At the shore, though, we dressed more casually. This one day, David wore a pair of shorts and a thin cotton shirt. I wore a thin cotton dress and, because it was hot, didn't wear a slip all day. The dress was pink, cut just above my knees, with white buttons up the front. The material was thin enough that, in the sun, one might see through it if they were looking closely enough. Feeling the dress against my legs made me feel good, and I think I walked a little differently, enjoying the feeling of my legs rubbing against one another, and the soft material of the dress on my skin.
David noticed too, I think. That morning as I walked into the kitchen, I caught David looking at me . . . more intently than he has in the past. I could swear that he was looking at my legs. Was he trying to see through my dress? The thought made my cheeks flush, I don't know why.
I walked up to him for his morning hug and kiss. He stood up, my he's gotten tall, I walked up to him, he wrapped his arms around me. His arms felt good on top of mine for some reason, so I gave him an extra tight hug. He pulled me into his chest and smelled under my ear.
"Mmmm, Chanel?" He asked of my perfume. I giggled and told him yes.
He smelled again, his nose digging into my ear. The heat of his breath went down my neck, and somehow a chill went up my spine. I got goosebumps. How could this be happening with my son?
We stood there a few moments more, when I felt his . . . front, pressed against my . . . front. I could tell he was getting some special enjoyment out of our hug. I must admit this made me dizzy.
I broke away and, flushed, made his breakfast. While I cooked, David just sat there, watching me, with a funny look on his face. I have to say I felt a little uncomfortable with that encounter. If I was honest with myself tough, I'd realize it wasn't discomfort with David's getting excited, it would be discomfort with the fact that I got excited too. What kind of mother am I?
That day, we read some, we walked the beach, and after the discomfort from the morning's encounter faded, we chatted. It was a little odd, but that day we talked more like two adults than like a mother and her son.
He talked about going off to college, I talked about how much I would miss him. At one point, as we were shopping and I said something silly, he kissed me on the lips. It was quite impromptu, and seemed very natural at the time, but it brought back those uncomfortable feelings. The feeling of his lips on mine, his mouth so strong, mine so soft, left me flushed again. From the way David thrust his hands in his pockets after, I think it had a similar effect on him.
No matter, we walked back from the shop arm in arm, without a care in the world.
That evening we had a wonderful dinner. I cooked roast pork and we both had a glass of wine with dinner. He was of age, so why not? After, he cleared the dishes, something Hugh never did. I thanked him with a peck on the cheek. After the kiss on the cheek, David looked at me as if to say he wanted another kiss on the lips. Oh, I couldn't have that!
