Beautiful Memory Ch 01

Life changing events are sometimes marked by simple markers that, in retrospect, get etched indelibly. The flash of fire in the pendant caught my eye, held me mesmerized for what might have been a moment, or a lifetime. Time seemed to stand still. Nothing existed for the longest time except the pendant. It captured my complete and undivided attention quite unexpectedly. A seemingly innocuous pendant that was layered with subtlety. At first glance it was a crucifix. Unusual in that it was made of crystal on platinum bordered by tiny diamonds. Yet it wasn't quite Christ. It was almost the same posture but that of a woman lying on a bed. Her back arched slightly. Her breasts thrusting upwards. Her long flowing hair spread out under her. Her one knee bent slightly in coy modesty. Sunlight flashed brilliantly of it, like flames racing through her body, giving the illusion of flowing motion. Realizing that time seemed to have stood still and I had stopped breathing some time ago, I tried to de-focus from the captivating image.

The problem with being a hormone-ridden teen was that every image held the potential for infinite eroticism. Breathing out slowly, trying to relax my body, my focus widened beyond the pendant only to find the vision of my mother's enormous milky white bust completely surrounding the pendant. My hormone saturated mind promptly saw the crucifix as a certain part of the male body thrusting down into her cleavage. I almost groaned out loud in frustration. I needed to get laid, either before I exploded or my mind was perverted beyond redemption.

Summoning every once of will power I tore my eyes from the most inviting, yet distinctly disturbing, sight in the world only to look up and find myself caught in the infinite depths of blue eyes. Slightly shy, yet understanding, yet mildly admonishing, eyes. How she managed to communicate so much in a simple glance I will never understand. Nor frankly, have I wanted to understand. I only want to get lost in those eyes every chance I get.

She could play me any way she wanted. She knew it. She felt both happy and sorry that it was this way. She often told me I needed a girl friend. This kind of relationship between a mother and son was, well, unhealthy.

My happy exploration of the uncharted mysterious depths of inviting blue was broken by the shifting of the focal point to somewhere to my left. Mildly irritated but curious I followed the focal point to find a pair of browns pointed right at me. I swallowed hard. How long had I been staring at my mother's cleavage. I mean it was the pendant but ... well, it was an understandable misunderstanding. More importantly how long had the browns noticed the focal point of my attention.

Now, mind you, most people don't raise an eyebrow when a male's gaze settles on female curves. It's quite natural. I have to admit it's kind of awkward when those curves belong to one's mother. What makes it even more awkward is when one is caught staring at one's mother's own perfectly formed curves. Of course, the only thing worse is to have her husband catch you, especially when he's your own father, and the browns clearly had hit the mark. You could have given a chain saw a good work out trying to cut through the thick silence in the room.

We could have been carved in stone. No one moved. Not a whisper. The happy warmth I had been feeling in my nether regions had made its way up to my face. I was certain my cheeks were doing an admirable job of proudly displaying crimson sans blush.

You'll understand that this is not a social situation that one usually anticipates and has a graceful exit prepared for. Come to think of it, how does one handle this? The silence had now entered an interval of time that required more than the casual dismissal of an event best left unacknowledged. Pickle.

"Beautiful isn't it?" asked the urban voice owned by the brown eyes.

"Captivating," I responded with a sigh of relief. We were talking about the pendant weren't we?

"Caught my attention the first time I saw it. Fills me with admiration ever since."

"It is marvelous. Never seen anything like it."

"Makes you want to look at it all the time doesn't it?" continued brown eyes.

"Does set the spirit free to look upon it."

We'd found the graceful exit could we move on now?

"In 25 years they've only got more perfect."

Oh great, mom's only had that pendant for a day, tops. I think my ears were burning at this point. Well, they were. Maybe they looked red too.

Brown eyes chuckled, "It's OK son. Your mother is a beautiful woman. You wouldn't be a man if you didn't look. Especially at those."

How does one respond to a father's comments about his wife's bust to his own son, in front of her.

"Uh, sorry, I didn't mean to look. It was really the pendant that caught my eye."

"Sure, that's what drew your eyes but it's not the first time you looked there and it's not what kept your attention there for the first innings."

First innings? We were going to watch baseball, right. And in the process of turning on the TV and moving the couch we had frozen into our current set up. A whole inning? Truth be told I could have gone the whole game and would have been happier for it. Which teams were even playing?

"You know it's OK to compliment your mother. She enjoys it. And you don't have to be shy about being a man. She is your mother but she is also a woman."

I loved my father. We got along great. We had a lot of fun together but this was getting awkward. It's not like we were discussing some bimbo. This was my own mother, his wife, for heaven's sake.

"Uh, right. You look great mom," I mumbled and flopped on the couch.

He laughed, "Didn't I teach you anything? That's not how to compliment a woman."

Was he trying to embarrass me into never looking again? I looked at my mother, begging to be rescued. But she seemed hesitant, shy, yet hopeful. What was going through her mind? She was normally so sure of herself. So confident. I looked back at brown eyes. No help there either. OK, a compliment and we move on. Over and done with. Let's see, for the compliment to be meaningful it had to be specific.

"The true beauty of that pendant could only be realized on you mom," I said, trying to make it sound casual but the depth of my belief in my words betrayed me and it came out sounding like I was proposing to her.

I turned my attention to the TV. There, done, over. But out of the corner of my eye I was looking at her. I could see she was flattered. Happy. I liked making mom happy.

She came over to me. Stood in front of me. Cupped my face in her hands. Did I mention that I melt when she does that? Chocolate on a dashboard in mid summer Phoenix has a better chance than I did in those perfect, tender, caring hands. She looked me deep in my eyes. I wasn't going to return to the solid state any time soon so I may as well let the endorphins make hay.

"Thank you Darling." Now there are a few things you should know. The upper class northeast accent that was as much a part of my mother as those tremendous assets both soothed me and aroused me as nothing else in the world could possibly do. There something so cool, sophisticated, admirable in her bearing, her voice. Yet when she used it on me, there was also a healthy dose of warmth. Truth be told, there was never as much warmth for anyone else in that voice. A second matter of import is that she only called two people in the world 'Darling', brown eyes (always) and me (rare special occasions). On those rare special occasions, little men with icy cold feet were unleashed from where ever they remained hidden and did laps around my spine. I was in heaven. Life couldn't be better. At least that's what I thought. Then the strangest thing happened.

Blue eyes looked over at brown eyes, lingered a moment, then focused back on me. Long dark eyelashes came together, dismayingly blocking the wonderful view of blue. Before my dismay had banished the ice men, fire touched my lips. Liquid, soft, fire. The kind of fire you wish would burn forever.

While my body luxuriated in the sensation of indescribable pleasure, my mind slowly worked through an impossible fog to come to the startling conclusion that my mother was kissing me, on my lips. Not just a brush, a soft, lingering, tender, warm, kiss. As I considered fainting from the sensation (not so much the deliberate intellectual consideration, but rather the blood flowing away from the brain and getting dizzy consideration), the gentle pressure was slowly released. She gave me her patented warm smile that turned me into honey, turned and left. My body was both savoring the wonderful sensations in playback and also sulking at the loss. My mind was struggling to keep up with what had just transpired.

My mother had just kissed my lips. In no uncertain way, this was more than a mother just kissing her son. This was the 'I-like-you-a-lot' and 'we-can-date' kind of kiss. I liked those kisses. A couple of girls had made me the beneficiary of those kisses. This, was my mother. Of course I had a crush on the goddess, but then most boys probably had a crush on their mother. She had done it in front of my father! My mind can sometimes forget to pass along information that others would deem very important. Vital, you could say. I glanced over at him wondering if he was even now headed towards me with a blunt instrument to reclaim his woman. Instead he glanced at me casually as if nothing had happened. Then went back to watching TV.

Maybe I had just imagined the whole thing. Hormone saturated minds are incredibly adept at blurring fantasy and reality. I was just coming to terms with this happy explanation. You could say I had found the exit lane back to reality from Wonderland when I saw a small knowing smile spread across his face.

In a soft voice, "First time I was on the receiving end of that I went from existing to being alive. I still remember the sensation. It still feels as wonderful. A beautiful memory, nourished every day since."