Chapter 1
The sound of the clacking wheels of the train droned on and on with only the squealing brakes interrupting the ceaseless noise as we slowed for every whistle stop and tiny town. It was a long and arduous trip from State University to my home in upstate New York … five hundred and fifty one miles to be exact. Fortunately, I only had to endure the trip several times during the school year. Of course, driving would have been more convenient, but State University doesn't allow freshman to have cars on campus. It seemed a silly rule, but there was nothing I could do about it; all freshmen suffer the same inconvenience. Besides, I'm not entirely sure my old Ford would have made the trip anyway.
I tried to sleep, but when I dozed off, thoughts of my mother invaded my dreams. That wasn't unusual because, like many young men with a gorgeous mother, she was in my dreams rather frequently, especially since I had graduated high school and moved on to college. I missed her as my wonderful mother, but in truth my dreams were not always pure, to say the least. However, I am no longer embarrassed by those thoughts. I am a psych major and my research convinced me that sexual fantasies are a healthy outlet in most cases—thanks to Sigmund Freud's contention that fantasies often replace the need to act on some of our darkest desires. I am not sure it would have made much difference had the research shown that I was a sick kid. It wasn't something I could help. Mom is thirty-six and, as I said earlier, gorgeous. She is still trim and keeps herself in great shape. My buddies from high school loved to hang out at my house and I know why; they love to see Mom rushing around the house fixing snacks and bringing them sodas with her rather large breasts wiggling freely under her revealing tank top. I had to admit I liked it too … I was proud of her, if not a bit jealous of my friends watching the unconscious display she put on. I could see their eyes as they snuck glances at her. And of course they loved to watch her leave in her tight denim pants or safari shorts. Not only that, but Mom had a special way about her that made her seem like one of the guys, even if every guy there wanted to get into her pants.
My mom is still young for having a son in college. I was born when she was just eighteen. It was a shotgun wedding since she became pregnant in high school. Dad was only a year older and wasn't exactly ecstatic about having to get married. It surely put a crimp on his college plans … he had to go to work for his dad in the family auto business instead. Although the pregnancy was a mutual mistake, I think dad blamed her for getting pregnant. I sensed that he felt that she somehow tricked him. I am not sure he wanted to have children, ever. After I was born, Mom went on the pill and could never convince my father to change his mind about children. Although I didn't know it until recently, she wanted a large family—she was an only child and felt that she had missed something by not having brothers and sisters. She told me later that she wanted four or five children; but that was not to be.
Being an only child didn't bother me at all and I enjoyed the attention. I believe that being an only child had something to do with my fascination with my mom. She wasn't exactly a doting mother, but I was born prematurely and that made me special. Dad was always complaining that she was going to make me a sissy. Of course that never happened.
When I graduated high school I was six foot one and almost one hundred ninety pounds in spite of being premature and just three pounds at birth. I consider myself good looking, but I have always been shy … something to do with being a "preemie" I think. Unfortunately, I was never comfortable around girls with the exception of Mom. She encouraged me to date and in fact tried to set me up with several of her friend's daughters. I am not totally naïve when it comes to girls and I am not a virgin, but the few girls I have been with always seemed immature, especially when compared to my mother.
And now my mother is alone (except for me). Dad left her three weeks ago. It would have been bad enough if he had left her for another woman, but instead, it was a man. After eighteen years of marriage my father confessed that he was gay and had been having an affair with another man. As hard as that was for my mother to deal with, it was just hard for me, I think. I was never close to my dad, but he was my father and I respected him ... at least I did. The lost of respect was not because he was gay but rather because he was living a lie for so many years and my mother and I ended up on the short end. It is easy for me to hate him now, after what he has done to my mother.
When Mom called to tell me at school, I was incredibly shocked to say the least and I wanted to come home right away. However, she insisted that I stay and finish my final exams. I had three weeks left until the end of the term, but my mind never really returned to school. I just couldn't get my head around what had happened. How could my father have hidden it from us all these years? How could he do this to my mother? How could he do this to me? It was almost more than I could take. At one point I started to question my own sexuality. Although I knew that I had no interest in men, I went out, got drunk, and got into a fight, receiving a black eye and a fat lip for my stupidity. It was my silly adolescent way of proving that I was a man, I suppose.
With all this conflict running through my head, I was on my way home to my mom and summer vacation. Unfortunately, I didn't figure it was going to be much of a vacation.
Chapter 2
When the train pulled into the station I hopped off and looked up and down the walkway for my mother. I saw her waving her arm from across the terminal. I smiled and waved back. She hurried over and we hugged. Then we kissed lightly on the lips as we have always done. The hug and kiss lasted longer than normal, which was totally understandable in this situation.
I pulled away and said, "Let me get my luggage and I'll be right back."
"Okay. I'll bring the car around."
As we parted, I turned and looked at her. My eyes were drawn to her rear. She had on a pair of tight denim jeans, a western style top, and boots. As I stared, she turned and looked at me. It was obvious that she didn't really mind me staring and she smiled knowingly. I waved again before turning away with my face red with embarrassment.
Once I loaded my luggage in the back of the SUV and settled in I finally started to relax. It was good to be home, even considering the circumstances. As I looked at Mom, I realized how much I missed her. I stared at her profile as she navigated the traffic. Her black hair was a little shorter then when I had left, but it framed her soft features perfectly. Her eyes were a twinkling blue and she had a cute dimple that only appeared when she smiled. Even a tiny smile would light up her entire face.
"You cut your hair. I like it." I said.
"I did. And thanks; it is sweet of you to notice. How was your trip?"
"Long and uncomfortable," I answered.
"Well, you have the entire summer to recover," she said and showed me that smile. It seemed forced, though.
We were silent for a long time, neither knowing where to start.
Finally, Mom broke the silence. "David, I don't know what to say. Everything happened so quickly. Even now I'm still in shock. I never knew about your father."
She paused and I could see tears in her eyes. I could feel the anger building in me again. I swallowed down the bile in my throat and said, "I know. Neither did I."
"We … your father and I have been having problems for the last several years, but I thought it was normal after so many years of marriage. Then I began to think it was because we had been married so young and never got to know each other," she said. Then added wryly, "I guess I was right about that."
"Son-of-a-bitch," I whispered under my breath.
My mother reached over and grabbed my hand. "I know it's hard on you," she said quietly.
"It's harder on you. I hate him."
"Don't hate him, David."
"Why not?" I said with anger. When I saw my mother wince, I softened my tone and squeezed her hand. "Sorry, Mom, I know I have to deal with this and so do you. But we will get through this together." She looked at me and smiled weakly.
Mom looked tired. I could see that the stress had taken a toll on her. In fact, it appeared that she had gained a little weight. Not that she looked bad, but her breasts were fuller and I had noticed that her jeans seemed tighter then normal. I guess stress will do that to you … maybe too much comfort food.
It was about a thirty-minute trip from the train station to our house. We didn't talk much until we arrived home. As we walked into the house my mother said, "I'll fix you lunch if you want. Are you hungry?"
"Starved. Let me go take my suitcase to my room and wash up."
