Nearly a year had gone by since my Mother passed away. Her passing had occurred suddenly and I was not at all prepared. In those 12 months, I'd buried the most important woman in my life, cleaned out everything I'd wanted to keep from my childhood home, oversaw the estate sale and eventually closed on the sale of that house. It was an extremely traumatizing time. I was a complete emotional wreck. And I had no one to console me when I'd needed it the most.
Even after all that time, I still found myself desperately missing her company. One night while I lay in bed, I picked up my phone and with tears in my eyes, texted the words, "I love you Mother" to what had once been her cell number. I wept into my pillow while my heart ached. But I was brought out of my misery by the arrival of a new text message. I dried my eyes and picked up my phone. What I saw shocked me beyond anything I could explain. It was a response from my Mother!
Opening the text, I read the words I'd longed to hear since her passing, "I love you too, Sweetheart". I re-read the words over and over. It was like all my prayers had been answered. I'd found a way to communicate with the woman I loved more than anyone else. But as I sat there in my bed, in the dark, the reality of the situation set in. I knew it wasn't my Mother texting me, she was gone and not coming back. But the question remained, who had sent me the message? More importantly than that, why would this person answer my text like that? They were pretending to by my Mother. And at that moment, I really didn't care who it was, I wanted to keep pretending.
I replied to the last text, "I've missed you so much"
The text came almost immediately, "I've missed you too Baby. But where have I gone?"
Tears welled up in my eyes as I typed, "You died"
Several seconds passed while I sat there holding my phone and crying. Very suddenly, my phone began to vibrate announcing an incoming call from 'Mother'. I let it ring three times before I answered it. The person on the other end of the call was female, but definitely not my Mother. The voice was that of a mature woman with a maternal, caring tone to it.
I was still sobbing when she began speaking. She apologized for pretending to be my Mother and hoped she hadn't hurt my feelings. She asked my name and I told it was Kiley. She then told me her name was Bernice. She explained that she understood how badly it hurt to lose someone you loved. I eventually calmed down and told her how and when my Mother had died. Bernice expressed her sorrow for my loss and consoled me over the phone.
We wound up talking until the early hours of the next morning. She learned I had always been a 'Mother's Boy' and she thought that was very special. I'd never met my father, he'd left shortly after I was born. I told her that I'd only had a few girlfriends throughout my life but none of them were very serious. And none of them were important enough for me to give my virginity too. I told her how I'd dropped out of college when my Mother passed away and still wasn't ready to go back.
She shared with me that her husband had left her for a woman half her age. She told me her two sons were grown and lived on the opposite side of the country. She hadn't seen them since the previous Thanksgiving and wouldn't see them again until the holiday season after next. She was just as alone as I was.
During a lull in our conversation, Bernice gave me permission to text or call her anytime. And as the call drew to an end, I bit my lip and said, "Goodnight Mother." I took a chance referring to her as 'mother' but I really enjoyed using that word again. She replied with, "Goodnight Sweetheart. Have pleasant dreams." I drifted off to sleep that night happier then I'd been in an awfully long time.
We sent texts to each other throughout the next day. And that night, she called me again, we talked into the early hours of the next morning. This continued for a few weeks and I began to feel like my old self again, how I used to feel before I lost my Mother.
During one of our late-night talks, Bernice asked me to send her a pic of myself. I didn't hesitate at all. With her holding on the line, I sat up in my bed, snapped several quick selfies and texted her the best one. I then held on while she looked at my picture.
The words she spoke made me blush. "My goodness, you are a very cute young man." She went on to say that girls my age should be lining up to date me. She sounded just like my real Mother. I giggled into the phone and explained that girls my age were more interested in taller, stronger guys. This led her to ask how tall I was. I told her I was 5'3" and weighed about 110lbs., the same size as my father had been, or so I had been told. Before she could ask, I told her my Mother was a little taller, 5'7".
She told me she was even taller than my mother had been and liked the fact that I was so small. She imaged that smaller, gentle boys needed a Mother longer into adulthood that tall, strong boys. Her sons had both stood in excess of 6 foot. And both of them were completely independent and she rarely heard from them. I heard her voice crack while telling me that, so I quickly told her I was lucky that I'd met her. I told her I was sure we'd continue talking/texting into the distant future.
When I asked her to take a selfie and send it to me, she quickly denied my request. She explained that she was in bed and wearing a nightgown that wouldn't be appropriate to show to such an innocent young boy. I immediately imagined her in a lace-trimmed nightgown which would reveal a cavernous cleavage. And that image in my head caused my penis to swell. She promised to send me a picture when she dressed more suitably.
It took a few days, but the next Saturday she did finally send me a picture she'd taken of herself in a mirror. It showed her from the knees up. She was wearing a tasteful gray skirt and white blouse. She wore a pearl bracelet, necklace, and earrings. Her appearance exceeded any of my expectations. She was beautiful. Her make-up was applied tastefully by a hand with decades of experience. In some ways, she resembled my Mother. She wasn't a petite woman at all. She was very busty with wide hips and thick thighs. Her once black hair was gracefully graying and hung loosely to her shoulders. She was what I thought a Mother should look like.
As I stood there with my phone in my hand, looking at the image she'd sent, my penis swelled once again. I didn't respond right away. I recalled all of our conversations and thought about some of the private things I'd shared with her. Some of which were so private I would have never told my real Mother about them. But she wasn't my real Mother. And I had the desire to tell her even more about my private thoughts and the things I did with myself when I was alone.
She sent a text containing one word, "Well?"
I replied with the words, "You are beautiful." Followed by a blushy-face emoji. That was the first emoji either of us had ever sent. She told me she didn't think she was beautiful and asked what was with the blushy face.
