Author's Note: Much like Ch 1, there's very little "action" in this part, so maybe take that into account before deciding whether or not you wish to continue. Thanks for all the feedback so far, which has been much more positive than I ever anticipated.
As always, all sexual situations only involve characters 18 years and older.
I felt like a lot had happened that I needed to make proper sense of before taking the next step. That meant confronting Mom. I could tell Dad and Mom were up to something as they seemed even more conspiratorial these days, which meant I could simply wait for them to launch whatever plan they were concocting, but if I were really going to do this then I wanted to do it my way. Dad would understand; he was very much a man's man and would respect my wishes if I explained it to him in those terms, and Mom... well, she was more of a mystery to me now than ever. I knew she respected strength and conviction; at least she seemed to in her relationship with Dad, and so I decided to go into this with that mentality.
Dad would be spending the better part of today at the hospital, having some routine checkups and tests done. By now we had a nurse that would come over to the house once a week or more if needed, a lady in her sixties named Nancy, and she'd always accompany Dad on these trips. I had volunteered to come too on many occasions, but Dad refused, saying I already had too much on my plate as it was between handling his business and personal affairs. And Mom? I'm sure she would have gone, but Dad insisted on Nancy instead, as she would be better suited to take of his needs on what was typically a long, arduous day.
Mom was out watering her plants, wearing a yellow floral dress with a matching linen hat. Practical and simple, yet still managing to be elegant and charming. It was hard not to notice how well the outfit looked on her graceful form, following the gentle curves of a woman who despite being in her early forties looked more ravishing than ever. Of course, I'd always known these things about her, but clearly I had changed too over this past while. Dad had told me to "consider the possibilities," and between that and the startling images I'd seen in Mom's sketchbook I found myself lost in thought doing just that these days.
"James, what are you doing out here?" Mom asked in surprise. She was justified in her response, in that I'm about the most anti-nature guy you'll ever meet, to the point where even going out to Mom's home garden, lush and pretty as it was, was tantamount to being in a wild jungle for me. She was noticeably amused by my discomfort, beaming back at me with those bright, angelic eyes and that wide, captivating smile. Those were easily Mom's best features, enough to get readily lost in if you allowed yourself, but I did my best to stay on track and not allow my resolve to weaken.
"Mom, we need to talk. Can we go inside or something?"
"Sure dear, I'm almost done," she replied. She handed me a green, empty watering can and said, "Could you fill this up while I continue here?" Mom kept watering with the can in her hand while I went to a nearby outdoor faucet to fill the other." We didn't speak for the next few minutes as Mom finished watering, once again displaying that poker face that I'd known for years but only recently had discovered could hold much darker secrets than anything I could imagine.
We went back into the house and Mom brewed up some herbal tea. That was her comfort food, even on a sweltering hot day like today, it was always her go-to. It said a lot about Mom - she rarely drank or had any other vices I was aware of. Sure, I'd gotten a few hints over the years that she was probably a little freaky in bed, but other than feeling a bit awkward about having knowledge like that about my own mother I didn't care. Sexuality is simply a part of being human, and as long as a person stays within certain boundaries that we've all learned to acknowledge, then I could care less about what that person is into. Mom hadn't done that, however, she'd clearly crossed a line that we all know is wrong. A lot of emotions had been churning inside me since I got the news, and more than a few of them hostile. I was angry and distressed and, as illogical as it may sound, I felt betrayed.
"So, what is it that you want to talk about, James?" Mom asked, innocently enough. Once again, I had to give it to Mom and her poker face that only gave away to the slightest amount of unease. This woman's ability to deceive was something else.
"I just wanted to know..." I began, slightly stuttering in a way that was barely audible before continuing, "How and when the sweet, caring Mother I've had all these years turned into an incest-loving slut?"
My words made her wince noticeably, and not without intention on my part. In fact, this was one of the few sentences I'd prepared beforehand to say to her. I didn't know who this woman was, and a side of me just wanted the one I'd admired over all these years to come back. I know the logical, mature thing to do would be to forget ideas like that and move on, but I couldn't resist. Part of me was badly hurt by what she'd done and wanted to hurt her back. This was my way of doing so.
I expected my words to provoke an emotional response, but I wasn't sure what would be. In any event, I prepared for the worst, which would have been a burst of anger. It never came, however, as instead Mom slumped forward in her chair, looking wistful and defeated.
"I'm sorry, James, for everything," Mom finally said. Her voice was cracking up, practically sobbing now. "If there was one thing I wanted to get right in this world, it was to be a good mother to you. I've been a failure at everything I've ever tried, but I could accept even that if I could have at least lived up to my responsibilities to you. But now I know that I'm a fuck-up at that too."
One of the things that's never ceased to amaze me is how often I see my parents in myself, or vice versa if that makes more sense. It's as if you could draw a straight line between every personal trait of mine and find the same one in either my mother and father. In Dad's case, it meant inheriting his business acumen and intelligence in general, but in Mom's it meant sharing her anxieties, such as a lack of confidence or being awkward and shy socially. That's not to say everything I got from Mom was negative; for instance I'd always managed to stay in good shape with relative ease and knew enough to say that I had above average looks, both qualities that I'm certain I inherited from her, but most of the time I felt like I gotten the short end of the stick when it came to Mom's attributes.
And now? One of the revelations I'd had about recent events was how quickly and easily I'd succumbed to the most taboo temptations. For all my moralizing against Mom, all it had taken was being shown a few dirty drawings of us committing incest before I found myself helplessly jacking off to them. Would a stronger son, a stronger man, have behaved so woefully? I had a hard time believing otherwise, and so I kept wondering if there was some sort of "incest gene," that Mom had passed on to me that had made me more susceptible to giving in to those thoughts and desires.
"You're not a failure, Mom," I said, trying to console her. Not that I still wasn't upset with her, but I hated it when she'd her beat herself up like this. "It's just... Dad's been trying to convince me that you and I should continue on without him, and besides all of the complications that come with something like that... I don't think I can enter into any relationship that isn't built on complete honesty and trust." Not that I felt like Mom had been putting on an act with me all these years, but there was undoubtedly a wide gap between understanding the woman who had raised me and the one who'd felt compelled to create those drawings.
"You're still hurting over Melissa, aren't you?" Mom asked.
I silently nodded back 'yes,' feeling pain even with the mention of her name. I'd only been in one serious relationship, and that with a girl named Melissa that I'd met I college. As much as I'd loved her, the relationship had been mostly a tumultuous one, ending angrily when I found out she'd been cheating on me. I'd never gotten over the ache of that breakup, and in particular over my feelings of betrayal. As much as my family and friends tried to pin all the blame on Melissa for cheating on me, I'd still mostly criticize myself for what happened. Sure, I'd blame her for the affair, but I couldn't shake the notion that I was responsible for driving her to such extremes. And that was fine by me, as I was determined not to make the same mistakes that in my mind had led to her infidelity in the first place.
"I'm still not clear on what you're looking for dear," Mom said.
"I mean I need to know anything, and everything, starting from beginning."
