Not long before my twenty-first birthday, my mother and I decided to take a road trip. This was not unusual with us, we often jumped in the car on weekends and picked a road and just drove, had lunch or dinner somewhere we'd never seen before, and drove back.
But for my birthday, Mom asked where I'd go if we were to go for an overnight drive, maybe even two or three nights. I thought about it for a few minutes and said I'd love to see Chicago.
"That's quite aways away," my mother said skeptically, "I'll bet more than a thousand miles. We wouldn't be able to stay long before we'd have to turn around and come back."
I said that was fine, it was the trip that was the fun part anyway, which had always been true. And so Chicago it was, in two weeks, she'd take off from work and I'd take off from college and we'd hit the road.
The day came and we left early in the morning. We drove all day, first Mom and then me for awhile and then Mom and then she got sleepy so I drove, and as I drove on through the empty countryside the only thing to look at besides the road was the way her breasts bounced gently every time we hit a tiny bump in the road.
Oh --- I may have neglected to mention that I was totally and completely in love with my mother. My father had left when I was eighteen and it was just she and I, but in fact he'd been "gone" for years before that, working or drinking, and when his absence became permanent, when he left her for his secretary, I hardly noticed the change.
Mom did though, she noticed, and it drove her into a profound depression for a long time, but I just determined to be there for her as much as possible because I loved her. I'd have stepped in as a substitute husband if she'd have asked, but she didn't ... at least, not in so many words. There were looks and pauses here and there that made me wonder if she was thinking some of the same thoughts I was always thinking, sometimes we seemed so close, so TOGETHER, that it had to be she had romantic and sexual feelings for me ... but there's obviously no way to broach that ultimate taboo without the risk of setting off a nuclear bomb on your whole relationship, so I never broached it. I just stared at her and dreamed.
And she was a lot to stare at; certainly her chest was. By the time she was in her early twenties, when she met my father, she looked like she might have had two giant cantaloupes stuffed into her shirt.
Now, almost thirty years later, they could have been watermelons. Her grief at losing a husband had translated to overeating, which largely translated to bigger and bigger breasts.
And my mother was beautiful. She was over her "target weight," as idiots say, but to me she was curvy and so unbelievably sexy that I couldn't believe she wasn't proposed to every day. But that's just me. I loved her all out of proportion to reality, I guess, and certainly out of proportion to morality. I'd had girlfriends, even briefly a fiancé, but there was no denying that my mother was my dream woman. There was no denying that all my girlfriends basically looked like her.
Anyway.
She wasn't wearing anything revealing on the road trip---she never did, my mother was very prim about her appearance, rarely showed any of her incredible cleavage in public, which I thought was such a waste I almost wanted to cry---but the incredible round bulge of fabric over her chest was intoxicating anyway, there was simply no hiding those massive jugs of hers and whatever she wore strained mightily to contain them, as though trying to hold back the Jonestown Flood. It was comical, except that I was so full of lust and passion for her that my mouth was dry as a desert whenever I looked at her.
That night we stopped at a motel off the road. We were dead tired and woozy from all the driving but we went across the street anyway for dinner at a decent restaurant. Mom had a glass of wine, which always loosened her up a little bit and let her relax.
I asked for a rum and Coke, hoping the waitress wouldn't card me because I technically wouldn't be twenty-one for another week. I was lucky. We sat and drank our drinks and leaned close to each other because we were so tired.
"You know what I'd really love to do, if I had my way?" she asked at one point, after our meal and her second glass of wine had come.
"What, Mom?"
"I'd really like to take a dip in that pool the hotel has. Wasn't that a nice-looking pool?"
I shrugged. "Why don't you?"
"No, I'm too tired tonight and besides I think it's closed....and tomorrow we have to get back on the road early if we want to get to your sister's by Thursday. Besides, I didn't bring my swimsuit."
"Do you even OWN a swimsuit, Mom?"
She thought a moment. "Well, no. Actually."
"How come?"
"Well..." she blushed. "There are reasons, let's just say that."
"What reasons? Tell me."
She giggled cutely again, looked at me, and blushed again. "Oh, Teddy, can't you guess?"
"No. What's the big deal?"
That made her laugh, and she clapped a tiny hand over her lovely mouth. "Oh goodness, the wine's hit me too hard I think."
She cleared her throat and looked around, and leaned close to me. "The 'BIG DEAL,' darling, is my boobs. The last time I stuffed these things into a swimsuit I got stared at so much I felt like I was naked. I'm not doing that again unless I'm ALONE, and unless there's an armed guard at the entrance to the building to keep people out."
That was the closest thing to a direct sexual reference my mother had ever made to me, and it immediately gave me a gigantic, painful erection. My mother "stuffing" her huge breasts into a swimsuit....oh, GOD, what that image did to me! My instant hardon practically knocked the table over!
Now it was my turn to clear my throat. "Uh, well, jesus, Mom, there won't be anybody in the pool this time of night, why not do it now? Buy a suit at the gift shop or something."
"They wouldn't have my size, honey. I'm a big girl. It's okay, I don't really want to anyway, I was just talking."
"Yes you do, I know you, you'd love to take a swim tonight before bed. Look, if the pool is open and empty why can't you just go in a bra and panties? What's the difference? I'll stand guard outside for you."
She looked at me and leaned over to give me a kiss. "You're the sweetest young man in the world, Teddy, do you know that?"
She wouldn't think I was so sweet if she could read my thoughts right now. "So you'll do it?" I asked, trying to keep the desperate hope out of my voice.
"Not a chance in the world, honey," she said, patting my cheek. "But thank you for the offer of being my brave knight in shining armor and standing guard for me. I'll settle for a bath when we get back to the room. Now let's finish our dinner, I'm sleepy and I don't want to pass out in the tub."
So I dropped it and we ate. The waitress brought another glass of wine for my mother and another rum and Coke for me. The restaurant was dead at that time of night, so she stayed near our table, chewing gum and fiddling with the napkins.
"So," she said, "are you two lovebirds on your honeymoon?"
We looked at each other. I think we were both so stunned that we couldn't think of anything to say. I managed an, "Uh...." That was about all.
"You guys just look so cute, all snuggly there next to each other, and I saw you walk over from the hotel across the street, so, you know, I figured this must be a special trip for you or something," the waitress explained.
