The Grand Strategy

I had a lot to think about. Carol and Aunt Ellie had opened my eyes, expanded my horizons, and frankly, rattled my world. What was previously impossible and untouchable was possible and very touchable. Whether my ultimate goal, my burning desire, of making love to my Mother, Tammy, was possible was yet to be determined.

I don't want you to think I was looking at this whole thing as an exercise in ego, or some guy trying to see how many notches he could get on his belt. I had kind of fallen into making love with Carol through a brash and impetuous move, and had gotten with Aunt Ellie in a little more subtle way. I still had a lot to learn if I was going to get what I really wanted. I had to move carefully, though. The risks were high, and I knew if I miscalculated, I could lose a lot.

I did have a relatively fertile ground for further experimentation. I knew the Mothers of our gang all knew what we wanted and what we were doing, in our teen-ager clumsy way, when we would try to feel their butts. I had a close relationship with each of the Mothers. I knew they had talked about us, the boys in the gang, when we tried to come on to them.

So, who was left? There was Mary, Roger's Mom, and Bridget, Lars' Mom. Mary was the most like my Mother, so I thought she should be my last attempt before going for the brass ring. She would be my test ground, after I had learned all I could. I thought Mary was practically impossible so if I could go there, I could go anywhere, if you know what I mean.

That left Bridget. Whew. Bridget was, as I said before, movie star beautiful. She was a natural blond, had a face that could launch an armada, and a body to die for. Trim waist. Beautiful breasts. Bubble butt. You get the picture, I'm sure. There was more, though. When I say she was beautiful, I don't mean just small town beautiful. I mean, she could, literally, have been a movie star or a model, or anything that valued feminine beauty. When she walked into a room, and I'm not exaggerating, all conversation would stop and all eyes, men and women, would be on her. You could feel the lust. She must have been propositioned, in one way or another, by every red-blooded man and half the women she knew, so she would have seen it all and heard it all. I don't know if she had ever strayed, but she literally could have anyone she wanted - all she had to do would be to nod and smile. When I thought of her succumbing to my clumsy advances, I had to laugh.

To make it more daunting, Bridget's husband, Lars' father, was as handsome as she was beautiful. He had played football in college and had been a star. He could have played professional ball, I guess, but chose to go into advertising and sales instead. With his good looks, football fame, and intelligence he rose to the heights and was one of the most successful and wealthy men in the area. Yep. Bridget had it all. Sure, why wouldn't she risk it all for a roll in the hay with me? Ha.

But, as I say, I did have some built-in advantages, so why not give it a try? If I did it gently, what would be the risk? She knew I wanted her when I was a teen-ager. She knew me. She had wiped my snotty nose, picked me up when I fell, and who knows what can happen unless you try?

I hitched my pants up, gathered my courage, and drove to her house. When she opened the door and smiled at me, my courage fled. She was still radiantly beautiful. If anything, a little age had improved her. She had on a pair of jeans and a cashmere sweater, with her hair pulled back in a cute ponytail. "No way this is going anywhere," I thought, but I was there. What could I do?

"Billy! How good to see you. What have you been up to?" She invited me in, and we walked into the kitchen where she had been chopping vegetables at the counter.

I stammered. I was tongue-tied. Where with Carol I had considered myself suave and mature, with Bridget I reverted to the same shy and timid kid I had always been. "Hi, Bridget. I was wondering what was up with Lars and when he's coming home next. I hope I haven't bothered you. I guess I should be going now." Mentally I kicked myself. "...I should be going now?" Where the hell had that come from? Dammit.

"Oh, don't go, Bill. Stay and have a cup of coffee with me. We'll catch up. How's Tammy? I have not seen her for weeks. I sometimes bump into her at the grocery store, but I guess we're on different schedules now."

"You know what, Bridget? A cup of your coffee sounds pretty good. Set 'em up, Bartender!" That got a laugh out of her, so I was back on somewhat more comfortable ground. A wise man once said about women, "If you can make them laugh, you're halfway there."

"Oh, Bill. That's funny. That reminds me of the first time you boys got into Roger's dad's beer? God. A bunch of goofy, sloppy, drunk 19 year olds. Lars puked his guts out. Do you remember that?"

I laughed, too. "Bridget, there are few life lessons I remember better than that one. I thought I was going to die."

That broke the ice, and we started recounting our favorite memories. She'd tell one, then I'd tell one, and we'd laugh and laugh. When she laughed, I'm surprised the entire universe didn't stop. Her perfect teeth. Her throaty laugh. How could anything compete with that?

My mind was working furiously. I knew Bridget had heard every clever come-on line ever uttered, and would have a defense for each one because she had countered each one before. She was like that insurance commercial: "We know a lot because we've seen a lot." She was unattainable. Well, let's amend that. She was unattainable as long as I played on her home field. Give her the home team advantage of hitting on her with something she's heard before, and as I say I'm sure she had heard them all, and she'd shoot me down. For this to work, I would have to shake her confidence. Like football, I'd have to show her a play she'd never seen before, and for which she had no practiced defense.

But how to shake the confidence of a woman like that? She was supremely self-confident because she had an entire life of wrapping everyone she met, man and woman, around her finger. She was used to getting what she wanted, and giving up only what she wanted. She was used to being in charge.

I came up with something, and thought I'd put it out there and see how it developed. After laughing at one of our antics, I looked at Bridget and said, "Bridget, I want to thank you for never telling anyone about that time I walked into your bedroom and you were standing there with no blouse on."

OK. Call me a cad. That had never happened. I made it up on the fly, but I had to get something out there that would put her off-balance, and that's all I could think of.

"What?!," she practically screamed. "Bill, what are you talking about? You came in my bedroom and saw me undressed? When did that happen?"

"Oh, good Lord," I replied, and kind of hung my head. "You mean you never knew? I thought you saw me for sure. I shouldn't have said anything."

"Now you have to tell me, Bill. What?"

I was making it up on the fly, as I said, but my mind had always been ripe with fantasies about Bridget, so describing one was not that difficult. "Well, we were playing games downstairs and I had to use the bathroom. Roger was in the one downstairs, so I went upstairs. I just ran into your bedroom, not knowing you were in there. You were in the bathroom at the sink, and you didn't have a blouse or bra on. You were looking at yourself in the mirror. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. I was frozen for a minute, then I thought you saw me and I ran out. I expected you to come downstairs to chew me out, but you never did. I appreciated that, Bridget, but now you say you didn't see me after all?"

She laughed. "Oh, no, Bill. I didn't see you. I'm surprised you didn't turn into stone on the spot."

"Well. Part of me did, Bridget." She gave a little laugh at that, and shook her head.

"Did you ever tell anyone, Bill? Tell me the truth, now."

Now where do I go? I had her a little off-balance, but she was still in charge here. What would shake her? "I only told Lars, Bridget. With the way he felt about you, I figured he deserved that."

"You told Lars? Why would you tell Lars?" Her voice cracked a little bit, her hands were shaking, and she seemed hesitant. It might have been working, so I pushed on.

"Bridget, Lars wanted to make love to you in the worst way. When I told him, he ran Roger out of the bathroom and rushed in so he could masturbate over you. At least I waited until I got home that night." Now it was out there. I had over-stepped the bounds of joking and normal Friend's Mother banter.

"Lars? Oh, my God. That's creepy. That's wrong. That's perverted." She seemed on the verge of tears, and I couldn't tell if she was mad or creeped out, or what. But I pushed on. Now was no time to be timid.

"Bridget, get real. Everyone of us wanted you, but Lars more than anyone. He was obsessed with you. Hell, he's still obsessed with you."

She stood up, went to get another cup of coffee for both of us, and her hands were visibly shaking as she poured it. "I don't know what to say. He still does?" She sat down again at the kitchen table, looked down, and said nothing. Maybe I had pushed it too far, too soon. I was on the precipice, and if she got really mad, called me a pervert, and called my Mom, everything was over. I couldn't let that happen.

I stood up and moved to stand beside her as she was sitting. I put my arm around her shoulders and in a firm voice said, "Bridget! What did you think? What do you think? Lars is a man, just like every other man, but he has to live with you and see you and want you, without any hope of ever having you."

She started crying. "I'm a terrible Mother. How could this be? What am I going to do?"

Oh, no. Crying. The ultimate weapon a woman has. Now, what? I had several options. I could run out the door and drive to Saskatchewan, or someplace like that. I could comfort her and try to talk her off the ledge. Or, I could take a firm hand. I suspected Bridget was used to men approaching her as supplicants. I doubt many men had ever taken a firm hand with her. I was uncomfortable in that role - it just wasn't me - but those were the cards I had dealt myself.

"I should never have told you, Bridget, but that's on me." I spoke firmly with a bit of a harsh tone. I didn't know how to do it, so I envisioned a stern father giving her an ultimatum. "Here is what we are going to do, Bridget. You are not going to tell anyone about this. It is our secret, and you can count on me to keep it. I'm going to give you a couple of days to think about this, and what you've done to tease Lars and me, and I'll be back on Wednesday to talk about how to fix it. Don't worry. I'll help you fix it."

Damned if it didn't work. She quit crying, and kind of snuffling, she looked up at me. "I'll do anything to fix it, Bill. Just tell me what to do."

I bent down and kissed the top of her head. The smell of her hair was overwhelming, and I wanted to go for it right then, but I didn't. Patience. "It's not the end of the world, Bridget. It's normal, and you know it. Now don't say anything to anyone, and I'll see you on Wednesday. I'll come at noon, and I'll bring lunch for us. Now, what would you like?"

"I don't know. Just anything. Maybe a cob salad from the deli at the grocers?"

Cha Ching! She had bought into it. I was in charge, at least for now. I left as gracefully as I could and drove away, with her standing in the doorway watching me go.

The next two days were torture. I expected an angry call from my Mom. I expected an angry call from Bridget. I expected an angry call from the FBI. I thought about where I was, though, with Bridget. As I said, she was accustomed to every man and woman who wanted her to be a beggar. "Oh, please, Bridget. Give it to me, please." She was probably not accustomed to someone taking charge, being dominant over her. I'm not into the whole BDSM thing, wouldn't know a dom from a sub from a cat, so I was on strange ground, too. I didn't know if Bridget was into that, either. I hoped not. That just wasn't my thing and I didn't think it ever would be.

Thinking about Bridget made me...well...think about Bridget. She was different from the other Moms. Kind of one-dimensional, if you know what I mean.

Think about Carol, and you thought, "Bright. Bubbly. Clever and fun."

Think about Aunt Ellie, and you thought, "Warm. Loving. Nurturing."

Think about Mary, and you thought, "Ultimate soccer Mom who can juggle ten balls while kicking two more through the goalposts, and still look great and always make it look easy."

Think about my Mom, Tammy, and you thought, "Get it done. No nonsense. Ultimate achiever at everything she does."

Think about Bridget, and you thought, "Pretty." That was it. Her beauty was her strength, but I think it was also her weakness. She had never developed past being the prettiest girl in the school. I think she was plenty smart, but she never had to be smart, if you know what I mean. She was pretty. I don't want to sound sexist, because that's not how I mean it, but we all tend to play to our strengths and Bridget's strength, her beauty, was so overwhelming that she never had to develop other strengths.

I knew I had messed it up with Bridget. I went in nervous, tried to develop something before the time was right, and screwed everything up. What had worked exceedingly well with Carol had bombed with Bridget. Lesson learned. I resigned myself to never getting anywhere with Bridget, but then I guess I never expected to. Now I was just going to try and fix it. Remember the old physicians' mantra, "First, do no harm?" I feared I had done harm. Bridget would never look at me the same again. I could accept that, but I didn't want to leave her relationship with Lars screwed up. Lars was my buddy.

On Wednesday at noon I showed up to Bridget's house with our salads. I really didn't know what to expect when I walked to the door. I didn't know if it would be answered by an irate husband or if it would be answered at all. To my surprise the door opened before I even rang the doorbell; Bridget had been waiting for me. She looked, again, radiant. She had put makeup on, her shoulder length hair was brushed out, and she wore a pretty flowered dress. She had obviously prepared herself for me. Was it to regain the high ground by emphasizing her strength - her beauty - or was it for me? Hmmm.

She was a little subdued, and I didn't have to wonder why. I had laid a heavy load on her shoulders.

We went into the kitchen, and sat at the table to eat our salads. She got right to the subject at hand. "Bill, I know I got upset with you the other day, and I'm sorry. That just came from nowhere, what you told me, and I didn't know how to handle it. I hope you're not mad."

"I hope you're not mad?," I thought. Me, mad? She's the one who should be mad. But maybe I did have some upper hand left. She was hoping I wasn't mad.

So I didn't revert to the usual role of supplicant, but took charge. "Bridget, of course I'm not mad at you. I love you. You've always been a major force in my life. I just want you to know that there's nothing creepy or wrong that we've talked about. It's absolutely normal. I'm just a little surprised you didn't know." I purposely didn't address "it" directly, but alluded to "it" and let her mind fill in the rest. She knew what I was talking about.

"Of course I knew Lars went through his phase. All you boys went through your phase. I thought it was a passing thing, though. That's what all the self-help people say."

So she had done some reading on it, either when we were teen-agers or in the last couple of days. "The self-help people are wrong, Bridget. Men never get over it. We never get over wanting our Mothers. There's nothing wrong about that. We love you when we're children. When we become men, love for a woman necessarily involves sex, and that's what confuses everything. We want to love our Mothers as we always have, but our Mothers are beautiful women and we are men, and the whole sex thing just confuses everybody. I think what messes us up is not that we want our Mothers in that way, but that we try to deny it."

She sighed. "I know. Don't you think we have the same problems?"

Ah, ha! If I had thought before I was just trying to fix things the best I could and beat a hasty retreat, I put that aside. She had just admitted she had sexual feelings for Lars, too. I didn't know if that translated into sexual feelings for me, but it was worth exploring. "Bridget, I think that's a healthy start. Mother Son love is the strongest love on earth. I don't think adding a physical component could do anything but make it stronger, as long as everyone keeps things in perspective. The key is that no one else can ever know."

I had taken the role of confident counselor, when I felt anything but.

"What should I do? I don't want to mess Lars up psychologically."

"Of course not. I have not talked with him about this in a long time, but I know how much he always wanted you. I know exactly how he wanted to make love to you. We were teen-aged boys, you know, and sex was all we had to talk about."

"He talked about what he wanted to do with me?"

Our eyes were fixed on each other. I could see a rising in the color in her cheeks. Her lips were slightly parted. Her eyes were dilated. This woman was getting hot.

"Oh, yeah, Bridget. Because I had seen you, he and I had a special secret, and we shared everything."

"Oh," she said in a faltering way.

OK. As I said, in for a penny, in for a pound. "He wants (I purposely said "wants" and not "wanted") to suck those beautiful breasts and kiss down your body."

She jerked. It was an involuntary response. "Oh," she said again. She looked down at her hands. She was breathing deeply.

"He wants to see your hand, Bridget, as you hold him in it." I wasn't ready to tell her yet that I wanted, and yes it was about me as I told her about Lars, to see her mouth on my dick. Not yet. I'd get there, but not yet. She did seem to be getting into the dirty talk, though, so I pushed on.

"Bridget, he dreams of getting you undressed, of seeing the passion on your face when you know what's going to happen, that it's inevitable. That it's destined. That there's nothing you can do about it, but let it happen because it's what you want, too."

She said nothing. I didn't know where to go with this. I waited her out. People hate a silence in the conversation and will always say something to fill it, and I knew her next words would be telling.

"What if he's disappointed?"

I laughed. I couldn't help it. "Disappointed?" I figured it was time to go for it, so I did. "Your hand on his dick, and you think he'll be disappointed?"

She looked up at me, and there was fire in her eyes. I thought I had taken that a step too far, but she didn't say anything. Just looked at me.

I stood up and moved to her side. I stroked her hair, and she laid her head against my stomach. I whispered, "Disappointed, Bridget?" I bent down and kissed her head. She said nothing, so I bent farther and kissed her cheek. "Disappointed, Bridget?" I gently kissed her on the lips, and her own lips parted slightly. I gently sucked her lower lip, licked it, and then slightly probed her mouth with my tongue. She was hesitant at first, letting me take the lead, but then, finally, she responded with her own tongue.

I fell to my knees. I hugged her waist, putting my head in her lap. I kissed her dress over her stomach, and pressed my face into her. She took my head, and pushed my face into her belly. We stayed like that for a moment while she stroked my hair. "Oh, Billy. What are you doing to me?"

I didn't tell her I was doing my best to fuck her. I stood up and kissed her lips again, and she responded eagerly. I took her hand and, without saying a word, led her up the stairs. I turned toward her bedroom, and she said, "No. Not there. Come in here," and she led me into Lars' room.