The Grand Strategy

I left Mary with my brain whirling. There was something in all she had told me, if I could just put it together. When it hit me, when it all came together, I almost drove off the road. I pulled into the nearest strip mall parking lot and just sat there, trembling. I had it. I had the Grand Strategy, and it wasn't anything particularly clever or earth-shaking at all.

I wanted to fuck Mom.

Mom wanted me to love her.

That was it. That was the Grand Strategy. While they might seem incompatible on the surface, the two goals were not at all incompatible. In fact, they were perfectly compatible if you thought about it.

To get what I wanted, I had to give Mom what she wanted. A step at a time and a decision point at a time, and I could slowly but surely move toward my goal - while satisfying her needs.

I sat and thought for awhile. I'm not sure how long. But Mary, beautiful Mary, had told me exactly what she wanted from Roger, and it was surely the same thing my Mother wanted from me. I had been looking at it all wrong. I wanted to fuck Mom. I wanted to get her hand on my dick. I wanted to see her face when I slid into her. That was all, I realized, pretty shallow. That was not showing respect for the woman who loved me unconditionally and would deny me nothing.

What I should do, and what I was going to do, was to give Mom what she wanted. I would give her the son's love for which she hungered and, if it worked out and I did it carefully, she might give me what I wanted. Either way, both of us would come out ahead. Mom would have a son who loved her the way she wanted and I would have a relationship with her that could, at any moment, blossom into passion.

I drove directly to Mom's house, the house where I had grown from a boy to a man. I knew she'd be there, since she had started transitioning into an early retirement and worked only a couple of days a week now. My semester break was over in a few days and I knew when I returned my mouth to the academic firehose of law school, I'd have limited time to pursue my real goal.

When I walked in the door, shouting, "Lucy. I'm hoooome," I heard her answer from the kitchen.

"What are you doing here this early in the morning? I thought you'd sleep until noon while you're on your break."

"Oh, I had to run out to the store, and thought I'd swing by and see my beautiful Mom."

She got a quizzical look on her face. I mean, after all, the house was nowhere near any store I would conveniently go to. In fact, it was on the other side of town from my apartment. That didn't matter, though. She came and hugged me, and I pulled her tight into me. I was as hard as a rock. I don't know if she could feel it, but I knew it was there. Oh, yeah. I definitely knew it was there.

She pulled back, while I kept my arms around her waist.

"Are you trying the anaconda death squeeze on me?," she asked, with a smile on her lips.

I pulled her back in and kissed her on the lips. "Oh, pretty Mama," I purred in an exaggerated seductive voice, "There are all kinds of squeezes I would try on you."

That got a laugh, and she extracted herself from my grip. "You want a cup of coffee? I just made a fresh pot."

"Sure, Mom. If you're pouring, I'm drinking," and I sat down at the kitchen table. She had the newspaper open, and had been working on the daily crossword.

"Hey," I said. "Doing the crossword? You remember how we used to do them together when you were trying to improve my wokabulery?" I used the funny word we had created for "vocabulary."

"Yes, and I see your wokabulery has not improved much at all. Want to do it with me?"

I can't remember the last time we had done the crossword together. She used to love that, and we would play and giggle as we did it every morning. This was it, I thought to myself. Return to earlier days when she and I had an open love, and then build forward.

I moved my chair around so I was beside her, and we dug into the crossword. We whipped through the across clues pretty fast, and then hit a stumbling block.

"What's a nine-letter word for elephant?" she mused. "A nine-letter word."

We bantered back and forth with crazy ideas, and then I got it. "Pachyderm!," I shouted. "Try Pachyderm."

She did, and it fit perfectly. She squealed with delight, and her left hand that had been on the table moved to my thigh and gave a squeeze. I reached down and covered her hand with my right hand, and pressed her hand to my thigh. Nothing sexual, just a confirmation. She left her hand on my thigh, and we continued the crossword. I left my hand on hers, and reached over with my left hand to steady the newspaper while she wrote with her right hand.

I was very aware of her hand on my thigh. It was slightly awkward, for both of us. I mean, what would have been more efficient and natural would have been for her to have both hands on the table, writing with her right hand and steadying the paper with her left. But she kept her hand on my thigh. I liked that.

After awhile, she took her hand from my thigh and did the natural thing, which is what I just described. I guess she thought it had become a bit awkward to keep it on my leg. I put my right hand over her left, and gave a squeeze. She turned her hand over to grip mine, gave her own squeeze in return, and so we sat holding hands. I liked that, too. It seemed natural. It was loving.

I thought about that. If I were dating someone and sat at the table holding her hand, it would be a definite message. It would not be casual. I wouldn't do it with someone I didn't care about and from whom I wanted more. My Mom sure wouldn't do it with anyone, except me or my Dad. Yet, here I was, holding Mom's hand like a lover. Sons do have a definite advantage, I realized. We might have to go much slower with our Mother than with a date, but we sure start at the 30 yard line.

After we finished the crossword, we refilled our coffee cups and carried them into the den. We sat on the couch, both kind of turned toward each other. I was on her left, so I had my right leg bent onto the couch, while her left leg was similarly bent toward me. We were close enough that our knees lightly touched. That it was the same position I had been in with Mary the night before was not lost on me and, for a minute, my mind wandered and my dick hardened.

"Bill? You in there?," Mom asked, to bring me out of my revery.

"Oh. Yeah. I was just thinking."

"It must be hard for you," she said, and then she blushed a little bit. "Thinking, I mean, must be hard for you."

We both laughed, and I didn't acknowledge the slip in what she had just said. "Yeah, all that thinking. I'm not used to it," I replied, and she bent to get her coffee cup from the table. While she was doing that, I used the opportunity to reach down and adjust myself in my pants. I don't know if she noticed, but she gave no indication that she knew what I had done.

We talked. How long was it since Mom and I had just sat and talked? Before, when she tried to get me to talk with her, it was awkward for her, I'm sure. She always tried to engage me in conversation and I always resisted, answering in monosyllables and never initiating anything. This time it was different. I engaged with her, and we had the back-and-forth free flow conversation we used to have.

Before I knew it, it was noon. "You want some lunch, Honey?," she asked, and I readily agreed. She fixed bacon and tomato sandwiches, and my mind immediately went to the last bacon and tomato sandwich I had, at Aunt Ellie's. That raised my dick again, and I furtively adjusted it as I stood beside Mom and the counter.

Mom said nothing, but I knew she had noticed. This was at least twice now that I think she might have seen me adjust my hard dick. Yes, I was young and it was often hard, but she had to wonder if it was hard for her. "That," I thought, "is a good sign."

We ate our lunch, still talking about our stupid President, the weather, global warming, and anything else that came to mind. Talking with Mom, I realized, was just as much fun as chatting with Mary. Mom was equally smart, equally well-informed, and equally engaging.

"Your father will be home in a couple of hours," she said, and I realized it was after three in the afternoon. "Do you want to stay for supper?"

"No, Mom. I'd better get back to my apartment. Classes start again day after tomorrow, and I need to get some reading done." I didn't tell her that I wanted to emphasize that our time together was our time together. I would continue, of course, to have times when I was with both of them, but I wanted her to know that there would be some times that were for her alone.

We walked to the front door and she said, "Well, I have loved this. Thanks for visiting your old Mom, Bill."

I turned to face her as we stopped. She was letting her hair gray naturally, and had it cut in a short bob, I think they called it, with a kind of long bang that hung naturally across her left eye. I can't describe it properly so you can envision it, I guess, but it was quite attractive and sexy as her hair kind of fell over her eye. I reached up with my right hand and tenderly pushed her hair back from over her eye. When I did, I let the palm of my hand rest on the side of her forehead. Normally, that would have caused an immediate scold that I was messing her hair, but she said nothing. She leaned forward slightly to push her forehead into my hand.

"Can I kiss you, Mom?," I asked, softly. I moved my hand around behind her head, and she leaned into me, keeping her eyes on mine.

This was a test, I figured. If I dove in with mouth open and tongue wagging, that would be it. She would recoil and reprimand me. So, I didn't do that. I met her lips with mine, and gave her the most tender, loving kiss I could bring, without any tongue at all. She responded in kind, and I have to tell you something. I've had passionate kisses before. I always, since I learned how to do it, considered myself a pretty good kisser. But I don't know if I had any kiss before that had as much love, and as much promise, as that kiss.

"Whew," she said when we finished and were just looking in each other's eyes, our faces still close enough that I could feel the breath of her words on my lips. "Where did that come from?"

"It came from the heart, Mom. I've realized lately that I have not been loving you the way you deserve, and I want to change that."

She kind of giggled, somewhere between a giggle and a soft laugh. "Count me in, then. That was a good start, William."

I kissed her again, just as before, and then turned to go. "I'd better get moving or we'll still be here kissing when Dad walks in the door," I said.

"Ha. We wouldn't want that, would we?," she replied, again giggling.

"Uh, uh," I said. "We've got to have our little secrets." And I left, with her standing in the door to watch me as I backed out the driveway. I waved as I drove away, and she waved back. Two good ideas, planted, I thought. First, that I loved kissing her. Second, that it was something Dad shouldn't see.

My dick was a damned iron rod. You would think, after the workout Mary had given it the night before, the old boy would need a rest. All I could think about was how much fun I had with Mom, and how hot those kisses had been.

I had a pretty busy schedule for the next couple of days. I visited Mary a couple of times, and talked with Carol and Aunt Ellie on the phone. Our little Billy was a busy boy. That Saturday, I called Mary and she asked if I could come over that afternoon, since Roger's Dad was away on a weekend golf trip.

"I'd love to, Mary, you know that, but I think I should go have dinner with Mom and Dad. Is that okay?"

Mary was a gem. "Of course it's okay, Bill. It's better than okay. I know what you want, and it seems like you are starting on the right path to get it. If you want to come by after you leave them, though, it will be okay with me. If your mind is too full of other things, that will be okay, too. We'll always have our times together."

I had been texting Mom a couple of times a day, in addition to calling her sometimes during the day. Usually there was no reason to text or call, and I told her I was checking in to see how she was. She seemed to love it, and started texting me during the day, too. Before you knew it, we were texting like teen-aged lovers. Not the words teen-aged lovers use, understand, but in its frequency. We quickly reached the point that there was always a text pending an answer, either from her to me, or from me to her.

I texted her, then, and asked if I could come for supper.

"Of course," she responded. "Any special requests?"

Sitting there with my phone in my hand, I wondered if I should keep it innocent, or push a little bit. We had restored our previous pattern of joking and banter, so I thought, "Let's see."

I answered, "Maybe a string bikini?"

She didn't respond immediately, and I thought I had blown it. "Oh, boy. How do I fix this?"

Then her response came. "Boiled, or fried?"

Whew. Crisis averted. She took it as a joke, and that was good. What was even better is that she knew I wanted to see her in a string bikini, which she had never and would never own, but that was tantamount to telling her I saw her in a sexual way.

I knew not to push it. I had made my point. "Oh, okay. Neither sounds appetizing. How about spaghetti?"

"Done," she replied. "Come over when you want."

When I got there, a little after noon, and went in the back door, Mom was standing there waiting for me. She wore a pair of jeans and a soft pastel green cashmere sweater. Her hair was perfect, and she had done her makeup. She looked delicious. She came into my arms and we hugged - our new, full body hug, with me not trying to hide anything. Again, I was hard for her and, again, I didn't know if she could feel it or not. I didn't push it into her, but I didn't pull it away from her, either.

"Your Dad's in the den, with his nose buried in the game."

"Ummm. Could I have a kiss, then?"

I asked for a couple of reasons. I wanted to abide by Mary's guidance, and allow Mom to call the shots, every time. I also wanted her to know that our kisses were between the two of us, and hidden from Dad.

She leaned her head back and gave a half smile, then closed her eyes and pursed her lips. Her mouth was slightly open. I took the back of her head with my right hand, pulled her face to me, and put everything into that kiss that I could. I still didn't go for it with tongue and gaping mouth, but like her, I had my lips slightly parted. We kissed for a moment - a gentle, loving kiss - and then parted. She looked in my eyes, and I went for another.

Mom finally pulled out of my arms. "I've got to get the sauce started. I can't stand here all day making out with you," she said, lightly punching my chest. "Go in and tell your Dad hello."

Ah. So we were making out, were we?

When I went into the den, Dad was glad to see me.

"Where have you been?," he asked, laughing. "The roads blocked between your apartment and here? It must have been a month since you were in this house."

I loved hearing that. It told me that Mom might not have mentioned to him that I had been visiting her sometimes during the day when he was at work, and that we had just spent practically a whole day together. Why not? Why would she not tell him? Was it because she thought what we were doing together might need to stay a secret?

After talking with Dad and discussing our chances of making the play-offs, I returned to the kitchen to be with Mom. She poured us wine and we sat and talked. I noted that she was particularly animated, but she seemed a little nervous, too. I didn't know if I was pushing too much, doing it at just the right pace, or what. Funny, she seemed to be keeping her arms crossed over her chest, and I remembered why Mary did that. "Jeez," I thought, "What if Mom has those same killer nipples as Mary?" My dick sprang up at the thought of Mom's tits.

This was our new pattern: talking, laughing, communicating, kissing, and all the while, me with a diamond cutter hard dick.

When she stood to call Dad to come eat, I quickly took her in my arms and bent down to kiss her neck, right where it joined her shoulder.

"You bad boy," she whispered, pushing me away gently. "Behave yourself." When Dad came in, we were at opposite sides of the kitchen, as if nothing had happened.

Dinner was great. We all sat at the table, and I told them what classes I was taking in the new semester. They were both very interested, and several times I noted Mom was looking at me with a wistful smile on her lips.

After dinner, Dad returned to the den and another game, while Mom and I cleaned up. I was the designated dishwasher, and several times our hips bumped as we worked. After one of them, I wound back and gave her an exaggerated and purposeful bump on her hip. She responded with her own exaggerated bump, saying, "Watch it, Buster. This is a one-butt kitchen."

We both laughed. I said, "And what a butt it is, Buster," and we laughed again. I was flirting like crazy, and she was not telling me to cool it. Since I knew her mental process involved discrete decision points, I figured she had decided that our kisses were okay and that my flirting with her was okay.

When we were done, we went into the den to watch television with Dad. He was in his chair, and Mom and I sat together on the couch. We sat fairly close to each other, so we could both see the TV, but not touching. Mom had her legs bent at the knees under her, and her hands in her lap. After a bit, I reached down and took her hand in mine, and we held hands. Our hands were down on the couch between us, so it was not so obvious. From time to time I would give her hand a squeeze, or she would give me a squeeze, and the other would respond with a squeeze. In my mind, it was two lovers holding hands and giving secret messages through the squeezes. In her mind, as I now knew, it was a Son innocently loving his Mother.

She took her hand away after awhile so she could reach forward and take her wine glass from the table. Since she had her legs bent at the knee so her feet were pointing toward me, I put my hand on her ankle and squeezed. I kept my hand there, softly rubbing occasionally and squeezing with a massage-like motion. I didn't move it up her leg - just kept it on her ankle. I wanted it to not be threatening, but I wanted it to convey a signal, an emotion.

After a couple of hours, I said I should go. Mom and Dad walked me to the door. Dammit. I wanted her to walk me alone so I could get another kiss, but that didn't happen. I hugged Dad goodbye, and then turned to hug Mom. She came to me, but kept her body back so we didn't have a close hug, and she kissed me on the cheek.

"Don't be a stranger, Billy," she said. "I'm always here, you know," and I left.

Driving away, I thought about what had just happened. She had hugged me more in the way we had hugged before, and not with the obvious love with which we hugged now when we were alone. Her kiss was more perfunctory, and not at all like the last kisses we shared.

"She didn't want Dad to see," I said aloud. "She knows we're doing things that he shouldn't know about."

Dick. Hard.

I called Mary with my cellphone, and hurried to her place. She met me at the door, I took her face in my hands, and we kissed deeply. She moved her hand down and put it on my hard dick.

Mary was in my arms, and Mom was in my mind.