Author's note: All characters are purely fictional and above 18. Constructive feedback is welcome and please don't forget to vote! These forms of feed-back from readers are appreciated and give me the impetus to improve. This is fictional and please treat it as such: just fantasy. Thank you!
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"Work, order, and discipline." This was the motto of my parents. Imagine what it was like to grow up in a household under such a slogan especially since I was an only son. I was envious of my friends who had normal parents because at home it was like being in the army. My father was the director of one of the largest companies in the city during the former state. He was a workaholic and very strict, but he was like that in business and his private life, as well. He conducted the rare conversations he had with me as if he were having them with an adult. While other fathers took their sons to football games and amusement parks, we visited museums. Indeed, I didn't lack anything that money could buy, while most families had financial difficulties--but I still wanted my family to be like the others. Yes, my father was very strict. Everything was done by a schedule, at exactly the time it was supposed to happen: what time to go to the bathroom, when and what to watch on television, even at home there was a dress code, and early bedtime, and we had to rise early even on weekends...
I was allowed to go out with friends but with strict respect to be paid to parents and to arrive home as agreed, not a second later. He always seemed calm and never showed any emotion. He would never raise his voice at me, let alone raise his hand. I was in the eighth grade (around 14 years old) when a student on duty came into my English class and told me that the principal needed me. I entered his office, and he patted me on the shoulder and told me to call my mother at home. I didn't ask anything but dialed the number. My mom answered and told me in a calm voice that my dad had died and that I should go home. At home, it was not like in other houses when someone died. There were no mourners hysterically crying--everything seemed normal except that a full house of guests were there drinking: friends, neighbors, relatives, work colleagues...
I found out that he was under a lot of stress during those days. Every morning when he went to his office, he would drink coffee and flip through the newspaper, and no one was allowed to disturb him. After an hour, the secretary found him with his head on the table. Classic heart attack. It wasn't until many years later that I realized what condition he was in. In those years, the war was already on the horizon, there was talk of declaring independence, converting to a market economy, and inflation began--the company was sinking more and more, and surely what hit him the most was that all his beliefs, which he had lived for his whole life, began to collapse like a tower of cards. His heart just couldn't take it.
My mom was no different from him either. She was the head of accounting at that same company and was very strict. At home, she also supported the military regime. At first, I thought that it was just Dad's doing and that she was just supporting him--later I realized that she was even worse than he was. I thought that after Dad's death, we would start to live a little more liberally, but that didn't happen. She continued with almost military-style regulations. She never showed emotion, never laughed. She never watched anything entertaining on television and only listened to classical music.
In addition to all that, the war also started, so the rules set at home were getting worse and worse. Mom successfully transformed herself from a former communist-party secretary and accountant into a great patriot and believer, so that church rules began to apply at home instead of Marxist ones. Because of her intolerance and close-mindedness, we had fewer and fewer friends. Almost no one visited us anymore except our closest relatives, and she didn't even hang out with anyone except a few women from church circles. The only good thing was that with the advent of capitalism and privatization, she no longer came home at 2 p.m. but had to be at work until the evening, and sometimes she would work on Saturdays as well. That gave me more space. Apart from those rules at home, I still can't say that she bothered me too much, as she didn't have a reason to. I was excellent at school. I behaved politely everywhere, so there were no objections. The only thing is that she always tried to influence which circles of the society I made contact with and moved around in. She always had to know who I was with and where. What annoyed me the most was her sniffing to see if I smelled of cigarettes or alcohol when I returned home and questioning where I was, when, how, and with whom...? My friends in high school were great. My first dates, first drinks, first joints, and first girls started with them, and I successfully hid all of that from such a conservative mother as mine. I often wondered if she would ever find someone or if she would stay alone for the rest of her life and start enjoying life. I knew that she would bother me less if she were to find someone, but I also knew that with her character, there was no way that she would give anyone a chance. Maybe someone would like her physically if she didn't dress so old-fashioned, and if she finally stopped tying her hair in a ponytail, put on some make-up, went out and had a drink, socialized... and first and foremost stopped taking those medications that made her an unfeeling zombie.
I managed to finish high school without any problems: I had no problems either at school or at home, and most importantly, I hadn't become a sociopath, being very sociable instead. I can even say that my social life was extensive, and I was most proud of the fact that during the years of high school, the five of us--who were a bit older than the others and were already 18 by graduation---became best friends. We had maintained our friendship throughout the years and our little group became the most desirable company in the eyes of my peers. It also went well with the girls. I was neither better nor worse off than my other friends. I had one relationship lasting 5 months and several other relationship attempts. It wasn't anything to boast about, but at least I can say that I didn't finish high school as a virgin. Maybe some people think that I had sex with that ex-girlfriend all the time and with some other girls, but the real truth is that I had sex only twice with my ex-girlfriend, and the fact is that the first sex can't even be called sex. But that doesn't matter now.
As I said, there was a war in those years, so the school did not allow prom trips or big prom parties, but somehow we managed to organize some kind of party for ourselves. Our homeroom teacher understood us completely and tried to organize something. One day she came to class and said that she had managed to find a place outside the city where we could gather with our parents for dinner and entertainment. She even found a local band to play. We were satisfied even though it wouldn't be a classic prom party with invitations, partners, presenters... etc. like some other high schools had organized. It was at the Velebit Hotel, 20 km outside the city. None of us had even heard of that hotel. The hotel had a ballroom, and our party was supposed to be there. The problem was that a maximum of 80 people could fit there, and therefore the number of guests was limited. So there are 32 of us plus a classmate, two parents each, and there is still space for possible brothers and sisters and possible girlfriends and boyfriends for those who have them. My friends and I were mostly single. I must admit that I was a little afraid of what would happen. I knew that people would drink, dance, and have fun there, and parents would stop pretending to be cultured people after two drinks and get off our backs; only my mom would be the only stick-in-the-mud who would insist on keeping the rules and wouldn't even communicate with anyone. After all, she only knew the parents of my best friends.
My group of friends always invented some pranks and had some stupid ideas, and this occasion was no different. We agreed that exactly at midnight we would have a secret election for the best MILF at the party. Then there was a suggestion that we would have to find out whose mom has the biggest tits. So much for being "good boys," nice and cultured guys, excellent students--instead, we were a company of free-spirited perverts. That latter idea was a little too kinky for me, but I still supported it, especially since I was sure that my mom would not even be among the candidates.
The day of the graduation party was approaching. I went with my mom to buy my first suit. Of course, she had her old-fashioned vision, so the purchase took a very long time. In the end, we found a compromise that satisfied her, and I was still dressed according to relatively modern fashion. She was also looking for a dress for herself, but even after going to a dozen stores, she didn't find what she wanted. During the next few days, she also visited shops and consulted her colleagues from work, who advised her to buy materials and go to a tailor. I didn't bother with it--I just didn't care. I just know she's been running around town all week because of that dress. At least she wasn't at home.
Finally, the day of the prom, Saturday, came around. I have to admit I was a little nervous. I started getting ready early in the afternoon, showering, shaving... I spent a lot of time in the bathroom. It was already 5 o'clock. I was still looking in the mirror, checking how I shaved, when I heard a knock on the door. I opened the door.
"I hope you're done because I have to get ready too. I also have to do my hair, and that will take some time," my mother advised.
"Yes, I guess I'm done," I replied, taking a last look in the mirror.
She approached me and ran her hand over my face, looked carefully at both sides and said, "You shaved well. You only have to comb your hair before leaving. There is a T-shirt, shirt, and suit in your room, and I will knot your tie."
I went to the room and slowly got dressed, and my mother went into the bathroom. She didn't come out for more than an hour. We were supposed to leave at 7 o'clock. I sat nervously in the room. At 6 o'clock I heard the door from the bathroom opening, then the door of her room, then I heard her again from the bathroom, and this was repeated several times. I was already nervously walking around the room when she knocked on my door. I took a step and I opened the door, and as I was looking down, I first saw women's boots, which completely confused me. I blinked for a moment and straightened up. I looked straight ahead, and an unknown woman was standing in front of me. Confused as I was, I took a measured look at her from head to toe and then back again. I looked into her face and eyes, and then I realized that it was my mother.
"M-Mom!?" I stammered.
"Hmm. I know I look different, but..."
"Yes, you do look different. You look completely different," I commented rather breathlessly.
