It was like a country western song, the last month of my life. In short order I'd lost my job, my girlfriend dumped me, and my dog died. Oh yeah, my truck also broke down, on a remote stretch of highway too, outside San Antonio. I figured life couldn't get any worse, until the bank suddenly kicked up the mortgage rates, which my unemployed self couldn't afford, and I was forced to dump off my house at a fire sale price.
Being newly homeless, now living on a buddy's couch, and with my employment prospects looking bleak, I called the only person who I thought might be able to help me out, my mom.
Mom had always been there for me. As an only child, she and I were very close, especially since my dad was often away on business. She's quite a smart lady, too, with an answer or solution for everything. Any problem I had, she'd be the one I'd go to. Her advice was gold, which is probably why she'd worked her way up from mortgage broker to highly paid real estate consultant in only a few years.
Calling her up, I guess I felt like I was sort of eating crow. She'd advised me against moving up to San Antonio, from our hometown of Corpus Christi, because she didn't like the company that'd offered me a job. Didn't think they'd last, especially in the current economic climate. Turns out she was right.
But it wasn't all about the job for me, in terms of leaving home. I'd wanted to make a new start after college. Since I'd stayed home and went to the local university, I wanted to leave the nest and experience life on my own terms, and I did pretty well for the first two years, that is of course until last month's events.
Still, there was something that gnawed away at my pride when I called mom to tell her about my predicament. I figured I'd get a Texas size helping of "I told you so" from her, so I took a shot of tequila before I dialed to loosen me up and lessen the anticipated pain.
"Howdy shug, how're things? Haven't talked to you in a while. How come you never call anymore?" Mom asked, sounding a bit peeved I hadn't phoned recently. And, in case you're wondering, she really does call me and nearly everyone "shug" and her voice really does sound like Nancy Gribble from the show "King of the Hill." I think they must have based at least some of that character on my mom.
"Sorry, mom. Thing's haven't been too good." I proceeded to tell her about the past month's inglorious events and waited with baited breath for my scolding. Surprisingly, though, that's not what I received.
"I'm sorry to hear what's happened to you." She said. "But listen, when one door closes, another one opens..." Her tone was compassionate and understanding, far from the tongue lashing I'd expected. "What are you fixing to do now?"
"Don't know. Probably better be out of my buddy's place in a couple days. Thinking about hitting the road for a while. Doing some rambling. Maybe moving up to North Dakota or Montana. Hear there's a lot of work up there."
"You wanna know what I think?"
"Of course, mom, that's why I called."
"I think you should come down here for a while. Take some time off, get your head together. There's no need to make any rash decisions, especially with what you've just been through. I can put you up in the guest room. I've got plenty of space. It'll be nice to spend some time with you. Plus I could use a man around the house. There's a few things that need tending to."
"You sure, mom? I don't want to impose."
"Yeah, I'm sure. Come down here and we'll figure things out."
"Okay..."
I must admit to being shocked after hanging up the phone. I'd expected a much different outcome. Not exactly sure what, but not that. I felt strange about moving back in with my mom, at the age of 24, but desperate times call for desperate measures.
It actually shouldn't be too bad, though, I thought. Just last year my mom and dad divorced and she moved into a spectacular condo on Padre Island. Full Gulf view, right on the beach, really an awesome place. I didn't even want to leave after last Thanksgiving when she'd hosted my girlfriend and me and a few other relatives and friends of hers.
Plus, my mom is pretty cool, too, and usually pretty laid back. Ever since I turned 18 we've drunk wines together, and since I've become an adult, our relationship has changed. We're more like friends than anything. We talk on the phone a lot, email, even Facebook, and kinda flirt sometimes with each other. Maybe part of it is because we aren't too far apart in age, since she had me at 16. Her being only 40 and me 24 isn't that great of an age difference. We actually like a lot of the same TV shows, books, music, and movies.
Also, I guess it should be said that she's pretty cute. Though she's slightly chubby, she carries it well, appearing more voluptuous than anything, with her 5'4 stature, thick frame, and perky D cup breasts and big, healthy ass. Her hair is bleach blond and curly, still kind of in an 80's big hair-ish style, but, like her extra weight, she pulls it off.
Maybe the best thing about her, though, is her face. Angelic would be the only word to describe it. Her sparkly blue eyes, cute little button nose, high cheekbones, full lips, and I mean full, Angelina Jolie type lips. She probably could have been a model had she been 6 inches taller and anorexic.
I'll admit to thinking of her sexually from time to time, at one point during my teenage years having a crush on her, though I wouldn't say these were regular thoughts after my brief crush passed. Maybe this was because I felt guilty every time I thought about her like that. Like when I had a crush on her and would masturbate to the thought of her, I'd feel terrible afterwards. There'd be this sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. I'd tried my best to wipe away all such thoughts about her, but, despite my best efforts, every so often they relapsed. Part of me worried they might return upon staying with her for an extended period of time.
And a couple days later when I arrived to her condo, my worries were confirmed- and compounded. Driving up into her building's parking lot, I opened the door of my truck into the sweltering 90% humidity/105 heat index and saw my mom waiting for me by the front door of the 4 story beige concrete building. She looked nothing less than gorgeous.
Seems she'd lost a good 20 pounds. Her figure was tighter and more athletic, though still juicy and voluptuous as ever. She also appeared much tanner. I guess living out on the beach does that to you, but still, how bronzed she'd gotten took me aback.
"Howdy, stranger!" Mom yelled, walking towards me with open arms.
"Howdy there..." I replied, stepping down from my truck, with a goofy smile.
She hugged me and my whole body tingled at the touch of her soft skin and the wonderful sensation of her large breasts smooshing into my chest.
"Hmm, you're looking okay, but you could probably stand to lose a couple pounds." Mom said, inspecting me after we broke apart from our hug. She was always the brutally honest type.
"Seems like you've lost a few yourself. You look fantastic, wow." I said, feeling awkward about saying that to my mom and even more awkward about openly scanning her luscious body from head to toe.
"Aw, you sweet thing. I've been running on the beach nearly every day and cutting back on the ice cream. Crazy how easy it is to get into shape when you live in a place like this."
