That night I lay in bed reliving the poignant events of the day. There was no denying what had transpired, nor was there any point in denying that the feelings of intense love and desire for my own mother had always been there, just below the surface of conscious acknowledgement. The truth was I didn't have a steady girlfriend because I had always been in love. I wanted my first time to be with someone special. Someone with whom I was so in love, that the experience would stretch the boundaries of sensory perception beyond imagination. One can only lose one's virginity once. I could either lose it in an explosion of teenage hormonal lust with the first girl I found cute enough to bed or I could lose it in a way that was a life-long cherished memory. I had chosen the latter much to the chagrin of a couple of young ladies who felt we had reached a stage in our relationship where we ought to have consummated it and transitioned past the platonic. Call me old fashioned but I wanted more than just sex, only to discover the sad truth was that I wanted more than just sex with the one woman who I couldn't possible have; the woman I had always loved, my own mother. It isn't much of a stretch to say that having one's own mother sexually is certainly a social taboo. I vaguely recall in my younger days learning that there might even be legally unpleasant consequences but that might have been age related. To boot, it was pretty much explicitly forbidden by just about any religion. Bit of a pickle. Boy falls in love. With the one woman he can't have, Boy too naïve or idealistic to just jump nice girl but insists on first time being with love-of-life. Boy makes love-of-life his own mother. Boy is moron.
With that undeniable conclusion, I took a book from my bedside table and immersed myself into it so that I would eventually fall asleep. Thank God for Dean Koontz.
The next morning I awoke despondent. Took a while for my groggy mind to figure out why I was despondent. Ah yes, boy was a moron, or is a moron. Looking at the moron in the mirror as I brushed my teeth, optimism began to seep in. Must have been the sight of my lips wrapped around the handle of my tooth brush, that brought back the memory of my mother's lips on them. The mind blowing sensations that had followed. Maybe, just maybe, mom would consider ... hmmm, consider what? Did I expect her to start dating me? Oh sure, that made a whole lot of sense. I would just walk up to mom and ask her if she would date me because I was madly in love with her. She would of course be delighted to throw away her marriage and date her own son instead. Boy was really a moron.
Sighing I finished up and walked down for breakfast. Still lost in gloom but not thinking, I made my way to the breakfast nook with the bay windows. Early spring sun was streaming through the windows framing an angel. Her hair shone like gold silk threads. The sun weaved into her blonde hair, the glow of a halo with electric sparks dissolving into rainbows. Her body clearly visible under her translucent robe. The sunlight making a mockery of her robe, exhibiting her body, like nature's cherished treasure for all to behold. Well, we were at home, and there was just me, but you get the idea. Her breasts thrusting out, B cups that were modest yet feminine. Her lithe figure perfectly sculpted. Her head tilted up just ever so slightly as she read the paper, emphasizing her graceful neckline. Her legs crossed gracefully, yet tantalizingly, emphasizing the sheer length and slimness.
Her voice interrupted my revere, my ears first celebrating the soft modulation of sound before my mind caught up to comprehend the words, "Would you like to come and join me for breakfast or do you plan on standing there and watching me eat?" Her tone was filled with amusement. I was watching her in profile and had forgotten how aware she always was.
"Uh, good morning mom. I ... I," I what? I had been busted ogling my own mother. I decided the best defense was silence as I slipped into a chair opposite her whilst wishing I could rewind the clock, keep the memory of the sight of her and skip past the embarrassment.
She slowly put down the paper and blue eyes looked at me frankly with a twinkle in her eyes. "So, are you going to tell me what's on your mind or will you make me guess?"
I swallowed hard. She was always very good at reading me, "Uh, I'm just a little distracted."
She gave her patented soft gentle laugh, "Well, we feeling like stating the obvious this morning then," as she poured me orange juice without asking. She always seemed to know what I wanted too.
I sighed, "Well, I ... I think I'm in love." There, out in the open.
"I had noticed the signs honey. You may find this hard to believe but it seems to happen a lot around me. Although I claim to do nothing to encourage the state. So many people are superficial and only look at me and think they are in love."
