Mom
All characters portrayed in this story are fictitious and are over the age of eighteen and if they bear any resemblance to living or deceased persons it is entirely coincidental.
The story is about consensual sexual relations between related persons if this offends do not proceed.
From an early age when I discovered my parents wedding album one thing had puzzled me, who was the incredibly pretty woman in the picture with the man who was obviously my father, she bore more than a passing resemblance to my mother but she was devastatingly beautiful whereas my mother, bless her, was a dowdy creature who never wore make-up, cut her own hair and dressed from thrift shops?
As I aged I began to slowly realise that this woman was in fact the mother who I loved dearly, the woman who tended to my cuts and bruises with care and love but was never allowed to show just how much she loved me by my father who was a cruel, controlling ogre of a man who ruled the family home with an iron fist.
Every decision in life was his to make, Mum was never allowed to wear make-up, have frequent trips to the hairdressers or go out on her own shopping for clothes. My father had to approve everything in her life and, as I was to find out, everything in my life.
By my teenage years I had grown to despise him, there was no love between him and me. If anything came out of this relationship it was that I threw everything into my schooling as a means of spending as little time with him as possible and this fact pleased him, I was gaining an incredible education, so much so I passed exams earlier than my age should allow and left home two years early to attend university at the age of sixteen.
Four years later, with a first-class honour's degree under my belt, I scored a position with a multi-national conglomerate based in London.
During this time, I had stayed connected with Mum by telephone when my father was at work, but I never spoke another word to him from the moment I had left home.
I collaborated hard with the firm and within a couple of years I was working as a trouble-shooter for them travelling world-wide whenever problems occurred within the firm that needed rectifying.
I was about to leave on a two-year secondment to Australia when the phone call came.
"Alan, its Mum......Dad's dead."
I suppose I should have been devasted by the news, but I was not, any sympathy I felt was directed at Mum.
"Mum, I'll be home as soon as I can arrange time off, I'm supposed to be in Australia by the end of the week, but I'll see what I can do about that, ok?" I asked.
Mum replied, "Of course dear, if you can, I'd really like you to be with me if possible."
After telling Mum I would see her soon I walked along the corridor to the CEO's office, a man who I respected and who had been more of a father figure to me over the last three years than my birth father ever had.
Of course, he understood and granted me two weeks compassionate leave telling me that Australia was still on the cards, but they would have to wait a couple of weeks longer.
Next morning a taxi dropped me at the family home, and I knocked at the door.
Mum opened the door, her eyes red with tears,
"Oh Alan," she cried and threw herself into my arms, hugging me tightly in the way she had whenever Dad was not present.
The next two weeks was a blur to me, funeral to arrange, paperwork to go through, meeting with solicitor and sorting out insurances.
My father had covered himself with various life insurance policies that were going to make my Mum quite well off, to the tune of over 750k!
It was difficult trying to explain all this to her, my father had never allowed her to take part in anything financial, having money in her own bank account was foreign to her, taking her to the bank to open an account for her was a traumatic event in her life.
Before long, my two weeks were up but before I left, I bought Mum a computer with Zoom pre-installed, gave her lessons in how to use it and made her promise to contact me day or night if she needed.
Leaving was a tearful event for both of us, I loved Mum and, strangely enough, the last two weeks had been the happiest of our lives.
A few days later I was in Australia, busy sorting out the business and receiving video calls from Mum at 6am before work!
Two years went quickly, Mum seemed brighter as time passed but I could not help thinking that she was still dressing the way Father had wanted, it was difficult to tell because when she zoomed, I only saw head and some shoulder, face still devoid of make-up but at least she was laughing and smiling again.
When I returned to England, I had to spend a week in the London office attending meetings but then I had all my holidays accrued from my time in Australia to take, two months, no work just spending time at home.
The family home was on the coast, an hour's train ride from London and then the taxi dropped me off at the door just before mid-day.
A knock on the door then I heard heels clipping along the wood floor inside.
Heels! My mother always wore flats, I did not think she possessed heels, Father would not have approved!
The door swung open, I stepped back, shocked, who was this woman?
Blonde hair, styled and cut just above the shoulder, a red dress, scoop necked showing a hint of cleavage, finishing just above the knee, black stockings and four-inch heels completed the look.
More surprising was her face, made up beautifully, eye make-up, smoky and alluring coupled with bright red lipstick accentuating her full, glossy lips.
My memory suddenly kicked in, the woman in the wedding pictures, older but her.
"MUM!" I exclaimed, "Is it?"
"Yes darling, it is me," she laughed then continued, "I have a lot to tell you, now come here and hug your Mum."
We hugged then Mum planted a big lipsticky kiss onto my cheek.
"You are not wrong about having a lot to tell me," I said as she playfully wiped the smear of lipstick off my cheek.
Once inside and sitting on the sofa Mum produced a bottle of white wine and two glasses.
This was new, Father did not allow alcohol in the house, I do not even remember seeing wine glasses in the house!
Mum poured two glasses and took a big swig from hers.
"Now, where do I begin," she mused, "I realise this must be a bit of a shock to you."
I could only nod, shock, disbelief, which was only the beginning.
"I want to start with apologising to you."
I could hear emotion in her voice.
"Your father was a bastard, pure and simple, I realise that, but the fact is I loved him, he treated both of us badly and I should have stood up to him, but I didn't, for that I'm sorry, can you forgive me?"
"There is nothing to forgive," I began, "I know you loved me; you showed me that whenever he wasn't around, I can never forgive him though."
Tears began to well up in Mum's eyes, so I threw open my arms and she melted into them. We hugged for ages, I could feel my shoulder getting wet from the tears but in time they subsided and when we parted I gently kissed Mum's cheek.
With a big sigh Mum began to smile again, after all these years it was lovely to see her smiling.
"Ok," I said, "that is the apology over, now what about this?"
Mom smiled, coyly, bit her bottom lip and began her explanation.
"Well, where do I begin, after 20 odd years this must be a bit of a shock to you."
"Not really," I began, "I saw your wedding album when I was a kid, took me a bit of time working out that the beauty in them was actually you, but I'm interested in how you came out from Dad's shadow."
