Starting Over Ch. 01

Author's Note: This story moves fairly slowly, so I know it's not going to be everyone's cup of tea. In fact, there is no action at all in this first part. I don't want to waste anyone's time on the kind of story that doesn't appeal to them, so I'm adding in that as a disclaimer here. As always, all sexual situations only involve characters who are eighteen years or older, even when not expressly stated.

"No, Mom, really, it's no problem. Of course, you can come right over," I said. I was talking to her on the phone, barely able to understand what she was saying through her crying and the distressed sound of her voice.

"Thank you, Mathew. My cab should be here soon, I'll be there in about an hour," Mom replied.

I took the time I had to try and straighten up my place a bit, all the while trying to piece together what I could from the conversation I'd just had with Mom. All I could gather was that something had happened between her and Dad and that she was furious at him. It must have been something terrible, because even though arguing wasn't anything new for them, this was the first time that Mom had literally walked out the door. An hour later she arrived as promised, and I buzzed her up to my apartment. When I opened the door, I got a new shock, as I saw her come in with a suitcase in hand.

"Mom, what's going on?" I asked in disbelief.

"It's... I... " she began before her voice trailed off into something even more indiscernible. Of course, I'd seen Mom upset plenty of times before, but nothing like this. Whatever had happened must have been huge to affect her this badly.

"Here, why don't you sit down, let me take your coat," I offered, hoping I could settle her down enough to talk about it. "Would you like a drink? I have some whiskey in the cupboard."

"I'll have one," Mom immediately replied.

Neither of us are really drinkers, so her accepting my offer so readily made me even more concerned, but I was relieved to find something that might help settle her down, so I went to make us both a whiskey on the rocks while she took a seat on my living room sofa. We then sat and took a few sips as we tried to resume our conversation.

"I just can't believe it, Mathew," Mom said, her tone only slightly less flabbergasted than before. "After all these years, that fucking rat."

"What happened, Mom? You need to be a little more specific," I replied. I didn't mean to come across as sarcastic, despite my tone sounding more flippant than it should have. "Start from the beginning." The truth was, she and Dad had fought plenty over the years, enough that I'd been glad to move out two years ago just so I'd be freed from having to witness it. This argument was clearly on a different level though.

"I... I don't know how to tell you this, Mathew, but it started a few months ago. Little odd things from your Dad here and there... I didn't want to believe it at first, but I began suspecting that he was having an affair."

"Wow," I said, my eyes getting wide in disbelief. For all of their problems, infidelity, or even the hint of it, had never been one of them. It was the one thing I appreciated about their marriage, especially from Dad, who I usually felt had been the guilty party whenever he and Mom fought. Now, apparently, that trust was gone too.

"I had gone out for the day, at least that was my plan," Mom continued, but there was a mistake at the spa I'd gone to and my appointment had been canceled. And so I went back home early, and when I opened the front door and came in, I... I..."

"I could hear them upstairs," Mom finally said, finishing her sentence. The disgust in her voice was heavy and certainly understandable. I'd had a relationship of my own end recently after finding out my girlfriend was cheating on me, but at least I'd been spared the humiliation of catching her in the act. And, of course, we hadn't been married for over twenty years as Mom and Dad were. That thought reminded me; their 25th wedding anniversary was coming up later this year and I'd been meaning to ask them how we should celebrate. I guess those plans were over now.

"I... I slowly climbed up the stairs, the noises from... from our bedroom getting louder as I went.." Mom said, her voice breaking.

"I'm so sorry, Mom, it breaks my heart to see you like this," I said, cutting her off as I hoped to spare Mom the indignity of having to say out loud that she witnessed Dad and another woman having sex in their bed, the same marital bed they'd shared for the last twenty-five years.

"Thanks son, that's really sweet of you," she replied, her voice choking with emotion.

I took Mom's hand lovingly into mine, hoping to show her my affection and support, and we sat in silence for a while, trying to regain some sense of calmness, before I finally decided to speak up again:

"Did you know who she was?"

"His... his receptionist from the office, the one he hired a few months ago," Mom nodded back. "I thought there was something fishy going on from the first time I saw her. She looked like a bimbo to me, short skirt, low-cut dress. Turns out she was a gold digger too. She was barely there a couple of weeks before they started cheating. Still, I never thought Gary would stoop so low, especially with someone like that. Mathew, she's only twenty years old..."

"Holy shit," I replied in disbelief. Dad was fifty; hell, I was twenty-three. This girl was even younger than my ex.

"What..." I didn't know how to ask the question, but I knew I had to. "What did you do next?"

"I can barely remember myself. That sight... it's hard to remember much after seeing something like that. I just know I completely lost it, yelling and throwing things. She got the hell out of there so fast it was a blur, and then Gary and I fought."

"You mean Dad actually tried to defend himself after all that?" I asked in disbelief.

"Not really, he was mostly apologizing, but who cares," Mom answered. "They can both rot in hell as far as I'm concerned. I told Gary I was leaving, and packed a suitcase as fast as I could, and then called a cab before I got on the phone with you."

"My god, this all just happened right now," I said to myself. It all seemed so surreal to me; less than two hours ago Mom had caught Dad and his mistress fucking in their bed and now she was sitting with me on the couch, slowly nursing the drink I'd made her. Despite the extremely distressed look and sound of her, I was surprised Mom wasn't doing worse. Still, it explained her disheveled appearance; Mom always took the time to look her best, and after what she'd just been through she looked more like a trauma victim than my usually well composed mother.

"I can't thank you enough for taking me in on such short notice Mathew," Mom continued on, trying to force a small smile. "You're sure it's alright?"

"Of course it is, you're my mother," I replied resolutely. "You can stay here as long as you want."

"But..." I added, "It's not much of a home here. I mean, I don't have a lot of space. I'm lucky to even have a separate wall for the bedroom, most of the other single room apartments here don't. And only one bathroom too. I know you don't want to hear this Mom, but wouldn't it make more sense for you to go back home? Tell Dad to go to a motel or something until you figure out what you want to do."

"Mathew, I... I don't think I can ever go back there, not after what I've seen. Maybe in a few days, I'll try and get more of my belongings, or better yet, maybe you can get them for me, but I can't live there anymore, much less sleep there, not even if it's in a different room."

"I understand, I understand completely Mom," I said, squeezing her hand warmly to add emphasis to my words. I knew my empathy was exactly what she needed to hear right now, especially considering that one of Dad's most common complaints about her was that she became overly dramatic and irrational whenever anything stressful happened.

"You could still do a lot better than this place though," I admitted. "Did you take your credit cards with you?" She'd been a stay-at-home mom ever since I was born, but there were cards in both their names, and Dad had never stopped Mom from buying whatever she wanted, although he often complained to her about it. Cheap bastard, considering how much money he made, and that Mom's spending was never anything so outlandish that he should take issue with it. I couldn't imagine him cutting her off now, especially after what he'd done.

"You could stay at a five star hotel if you wanted to. You deserve it, and besides, it would serve Dad right," I added.

"Mathew... I don't want to be alone. There are a couple of friends I could stay with, but I'm too embarrassed to tell them what's happened. I was barely able to talk about it with you. Besides, this place isn't so bad, it just needs a woman's touch."

"If you say so, I just don't want you to feel uncomfortable, or be forced to rough it at a time like this."

"I'll be fine," Mom replied, forcing another awkward smile.

"Are you hungry? I don't have much to cook with right now, but I could order takeout. There's a place close by with some great Kung Pao chicken that I know you would love."

"Sounds wonderful," she smiled back warmly. "But my nerves are feeling so frazzled right now. If there's time, I'd like to take a nice, hot bath first."

"There's always time, but Mom, you know I don't have a bath here, right? I told you when I first moved here, just a shower, and it's a pretty tiny one at that."

"I'll be fine," she replied. "Why don't you order for us while I get washed up?"

I did as Mom asked, and then sat with my drink as I waited for the food to arrive. I could hear the shower from the next room, feeling relieved that that I'd recently cleaned it, and then went to the door to pay for our food. Shortly after that, I could hear the water shut off and Mom calling out to me from the bathroom.

"Matt, don't you have any bathrobes here?" she asked.

"Um, no, I haven't bothered with those for a long time."

"Well, what am I supposed to do?" she said from the other room.

"I do have some big towels in the cabinet."

"Ugh... I guess that'll have to do," she said back, sounding the tiniest bit irritated.

She came out a few minutes later with one of my white towels wrapped around her. I may have advertised them as "big," but that wasn't really the case, which became even more apparent now that Mom was wearing one. She went from the bathroom back to the bedroom, quickly walking past where I sat, making only the briefest of eye contact. Her pace wasn't overly hurried, but it was fast enough that I could tell she was uncomfortable with me seeing her this way.

I guess this as good a time as any to talk a bit about Mom's appearance. She's forty-six, and more or less looks her age, but she's a great-looking forty-six. I did my best not to stare at her, but even in those fleeting moments where I couldn't help but be lost by her supple neck and shoulders, which were on full display with the towel being wrapped tightly underneath her arms. Even more pretty was her face, which despite the few creases that had appeared in recent years was still as captivating as ever, looking so sweet and natural without makeup. My eyes darted lower, trying to break the spell she'd put me under, but that only made me focus on her legs. The towel barely made it to the top of her firm thighs, leaving them completely exposed, reminding me that below the slacks or jeans Mom usually wore she had gorgeous legs, even at her age.

A few seconds later and Mom was back in the bedroom getting changed, and I did my best to try and forget what I had just seen. I could feel my heart beating faster, my body acting beyond my control, and soon my mind joined in too, as the tantalizing thought that only moments ago she'd been almost naked just a few feet away from where I now stood. It was the most revealing attire I'd seen on her in years, maybe ever, since Mom always dressed so conservatively. She wasn't even the type to show that much at the beach, which I could barely remember anyway as we hadn't been there since I'd been a kid. All I could think of was that towel's edge being so short that she'd only been a couple inches away from exposing herself, and that it had been so small that she'd been forced to wrap it tightly around her torso, accentuating all of her womanly attributes, especially her curvy hips and ass.

If it sounds weird that I'd be having such impure thoughts about my own mother, the truth is I'd had them for a long time, that I'd struggled with these desires for years. I'd always thought she was an attractive woman, just as I'd always been annoyed with Dad for taking that, and everything else about her for granted, but at some point my feelings for her had crossed a line and become clearly inappropriate.

As much as I fought against it at first, it didn't take long before any morality I had left in the way were defeated, with my thoughts being overrun with constant sexual fantasies about her. Of course, I still knew what I was doing was wrong, and I'd always feel horribly guilty about it afterwards, but it would never be enough to stop me from doing it again.

I'd thought I was finally able to put those improper thoughts away though, as I started dating and having relationships of my own, hoping that my past was nothing more than a phase I'd gone through as a single, horny eighteen year old. It wasn't something I'd ever be proud of, but at least it all seemed to be over with. So why was this happening to me again? Was it merely because I hadn't dated anyone since my own breakup and was feeling lonely, horny, or both?

**

Not much happened for the next couple of days as Mom got settled in, which included her making a quick shopping trip to replace her toiletry supplies and, to my chagrin, a new, fluffy, full length bathrobe for her as well. My desires were well past the point of her new robe being an obstacle for me though, as even the sight of her wearing it would excite me to no end, from the sexy way her wet hair looked combed back to the illicit thoughts I'd have over her stunning naked body being so close at hand.

In fact, I even decided for a bit of retaliation in this regard, as it had always been my habit to come out of the shower with only a short towel around my waist. It barely covered me, and of course living alone I'd never given much thought about that, but now whenever I did I could feel Mom's eyes on me. I had no idea what she was thinking, but frankly, I was in the best shape of my life and quite proud of how I looked. It was one of the few things that still made me feel good about myself in the aftermath of the terrible breakup with my girlfriend, and knowing that Mom was watching me was definitely exciting.

I didn't know what kind of effect I was having on Mom, but she certainly took notice, as one day she cheerfully presented me with a "gift," a bathrobe similar to the one she'd bought for herself.

"Here, Mathew, I thought you could use this," Mom said, before dryly adding, "I wouldn't want you to catch a cold or anything."

I loved that Mom was kidding around rather than taking the typical approach she'd used in the past, like scolding me. It did feel like our relationship was developing, with her treating me more like an adult friend rather than her son, and I welcomed the change. And despite her insistence for me to cover up, her apparent amusement mixed in with the slight discomfort in her voice made me wonder if she might be getting a little distracted too by seeing me so scantily clad. Perhaps it was only my mind playing tricks on me, but something kept telling me that this was the case. It was enough that I'd usually "forget" to take the robe with me whenever I went to shower. Mom would usually make some flippant remark afterwards about why she should buy me something only to have me not use it, but once again she sounded more amused than upset.

I would always look away during those times, because just knowing her eyes were on me, hoping that just maybe she took a little pleasure in what she saw was such a turn on. I was afraid she'd be able to read it on my face, and it wouldn't be long before I'd have to get out there, because even such small illicit thoughts would be enough to have the blood flowing into my groin. The embarrassment of having a wardrobe malfunction in front of her, with my full erection bobbing in front of her excited me as much as it terrified me, enough that I regularly fantasized about it, wishing that it would spark off a sexual encounter between us.

I wanted to believe these types of thoughts were something I'd left in the past, and for a few years they had, but now they were coming back to me stronger than ever. But in a way this all felt so completely different to me now; I wasn't simply a horny virgin who had developed a sexual attraction towards my mother and had fantasized about her. I was an adult now, living with this person who'd recently left her husband after years of being in a toxic relationship. She was, for all intents and purposes, a single woman, with both of us having recently felt the pain of infidelity. The more I thought about it now, the more the idea of finding a safe harbor in each other's arms felt like a real relationship to me, something I wanted to pursue regardless of what society might think. I wasn't going to be satisfied until I knew for certain whether or not there was any chance of making this new dream of mine a reality, but that meant trying to find out if Mom could ever feel the same way about me, which was going to be difficult to say the least.

**

The next few weeks were some of the happiest I'd had in years, as Mom and I spent so much time together that we were practically inseparable. More and more, I felt like we really were developing an adult friendship, one based on a foundation of respect and trust. This became most apparent in our most private conversations, which typically took place in the evening before we turned in for bed. It felt good for me to talk about my latest girlfriend, Melanie, who coincidentally had been cheating on me as well. The subject was still painful enough that I rarely spoke about it with anyone, but Mom was so open and understanding that I soon found myself unburdening my soul to her.

But what really made me feel close to her now was to hear Mom talk about her past relationships, especially her marriage to Dad. For the most part, the filter she'd always had on whenever talking about him to me had been removed, as we now spoke more freely to one another as adults. Despite all that, even I was a bit taken by surprise, when during one of our more candid conversations, Mom admitted to me that she had never loved Dad.

"I'm so sorry, Matt," she quickly added, noting my reaction and immediately trying to soften the impact. I appreciated that she had instantly fallen back into trying to be a caring mother, but if anything I was much more grateful that she was being so honest with me. This was the relationship I coveted with Mom, one where we were could be open with each other about everything. Of course, I still carried my one huge secret, that of my longing desire for her, but more and more I felt comfortable with how I felt, and hoped that one day I might get to the point where I was brave enough to unburden myself to her. But this latest admission from Mom had made her turn suddenly skittish, as she tried to backpedal her words.

"It's okay, Mom, it really is," I said, trying to calm her down.

"I'm still sorry. I mean, no child wants... deserves... to hear their Mom talk that way about their father."

"I'm not a child anymore, Mom," I replied self-assuredly. "And besides, it's not like I didn't suspect it all these years."

"Still... it's not fair..." Mom began.

"What is fair?" I asked. I knew it was a cliche thing to say, but I didn't really have anything else to offer. Luckily, it managed to calm Mom down, as she was clearly on verge of being truly upset.

"Why did you ever marry Dad anyway?" I tried my best to assume a mature demeanor, and luckily it settled Mom down enough that she once again started speaking freely with me. She talked about her strict upbringing and overbearing parents, and how she'd rebelled against that suffocating environment as a youth. When she'd met Dad he was already financially secure, and the chance to move out and get away from her parents had been an opportunity too good to refuse. So even though they'd only dated for a short time, when Dad asked her to marry him she accepted without hesitation. I did my best not to look too surprised or judgemental at these confessions, for fears that I might scare her off again, which made our conversation feel that much smoother.

"I guess this explains why we never saw Grandpa and Grandma that much," I finally added when it was my turn to speak. Both of them were deceased now, and I knew Mom had a strained relationship with them, but I never realized just how bad it was for her.

"I'm so sorry for that too, Matt. Whatever happened between me and them... it shouldn't have been carried over to you."

"You don't need to apologize... for anything, Mom. I'm on your side, I always have been and always will be," I said reassuringly. "You say you never loved Dad, but you have the most loving heart I've ever seen. It's Dad that didn't know what he had and squandered it. He could have had the best wife in the world."

"That's... that's really sweet of you son," Mom said, her voice becoming choked with emotion.

"And even with all the problems you had, you were always faithful to Dad, as for the longest time, he was with you. Some basic respect for each other at least, and now Dad went and screwed that up too."

"I've had time to settle down and think about it, Matt, and honestly, I've not even that hurt by it. It's more... humiliating than anything. I'm too embarrassed to even talk about it with anyone else right now."

I couldn't help but feel good about myself for the vote of confidence Mom had just given me, and it emboldened me to dig a little deeper and become even more personal with my questions.

"So you never thought about, you know, cheating on Dad yourself?" I asked. Mom's eyes perked up in alarm, and I immediately spoke again to try to make my meaning clearer.

"I only meant that you're such a beautiful woman that I don't doubt you could have if you wanted to. That a lot of men, ring on your finger or not, would have been more than interested, especially with the way things were between you and Dad. It wasn't exactly a secret that you weren't in a happy marriage."

"I..." Mom hesitated, before flatly replying, "No, I never cheated on Gary."

"That's not exactly what I asked," I said with a disarming chuckle. "Nobody even tried?"

"There... there were a few times," Mom finally admitted. The words sounded so painful coming from her lips, as I knew Mom was ashamed to even talk about the subject.

"It's okay, Mom, I understand. You're such an attractive woman that I would have had a hard time believing otherwise. You can't blame yourself for that, just like you shouldn't blame yourself for Dad being such a lousy husband."

Mom's eyes once again looked surprised at my characterization of Dad, but nevertheless she kept her silence rather than try and rebut it. My curiosity still hadn't been satiated, however, and so I continued.

"So... were you ever, you know... tempted?"

For a moment she tensed up again, prompting me to once again reassure her that we were both adults and shouldn't be afraid to talk about these things. Luckily, my words managed to soothe her enough to respond.

"Do you... do you remember Brandon Ellis?" she asked tepidly. It took some further description from her before I remembered him, as these events had happened about ten years ago, but I was finally able to put a face to the name. He had been an intern at the office Dad worked at, and also been also Dad's assistant for a while. He was a tall, very fit, good looking guy, always smiling and pleasant the few times I'd spoken to him. He was also quite... well... young, barely in college if I remembered correctly. Mom would have been about thirty-five at the time, and Brandon was...

"Nineteen, he was nineteen," Mom replied uneasily when I asked her his age. I tried not to look surprised and if I did it was only because I couldn't help but get turned on by the thought of Mom's principles being so tested by someone that much younger.

"I know, I know, it sounds crazy," she said, trying to respond to what she'd interpreted as my disapproval. "He was a baby, but so sweet and gentle too..." Mom's voice became suddenly soothing now, calm even, and the look in her eye made me feel like she was enjoying the thoughts in her mind as she reminisced about Brandon.

"He would come by the house, always to drop off something for Gary, or on some other excuse," Mom chuckled lightly, "but after a while it became so obvious that Brandon was visiting me that he dropped all the pretenses, especially as I was always, conveniently, alone whenever he'd stop by. Gary would be at the office, and you'd be in school, and Brandon would come over and we'd talk."

"That sounds nice," I said, as disarmingly as I could. I still couldn't believe Mom was opening up to me about this, and was dying to hear more.

"It was," she smiled back, fully into her reminiscing mode now. "Brandon was taking a poetry class in school and he'd come over and we'd read them together. It was all so sweet and fun and, after a while, even romantic... I know I sound silly, talking that way about someone was still practically a boy, but sometimes you feel that kind of chemistry with someone you least expect. It didn't take too long before I realized Brandon had a crush on me, and I know I should have put a stop to it right there and then, but I didn't. I guess I just liked his company and was feeling too lonely to do anything about it."

"One day, Brandon wrote a poem, just for me," Mom went on. "And just like him, it was sweet and gentle, and romantic. I'd never had anyone do anything like that for me before."

"But as much as it was those things, it was... well... surprisingly dirty too," Mom added with an embarrassed laugh. "It began with him declaring his feelings for me, and then went on in detail to describe doing... well... making love to one another."

"Sounds like you took it all well," I said, observing Mom's lighthearted tone. Considering Mom and I had never talked much about sex, hearing her even vaguely refer to this guy writing about her having sex with him was practically giving me a hard on.

"I didn't so much at the time," she admitted. "Brandon had always tried to subtly hide his attraction for me until then, but I guess he was done with holding it back anymore. Still, even though it was so graphic, there was something unmistakably romantic in the words he wrote. Naughty for sure, but still in its own way very beautiful. I knew how wrong it was, but I felt a special connection with him as he read it to me, listening to those poetic words about how magical our lovemaking could be if would only give in to those feelings with him."

"Nothing happened though?" I asked.

"No," she flatly replied. There was a sadness, an unmistakable pain in her voice that both stunned and excited me as I visualized her being seduced by this hunky nineteen year old.

"Did you love him, Mom?" I couldn't help but ask.

"No, I don't think so. He was so young, so very young, but so handsome and dashing too. I guess you would call it an infatuation more than anything."

"But you did want him, didn't you? The way you're talking about Brandon now makes me think that you did."

"Yes," she confessed, sounding as if she was on the verge of tears now. "Nothing happened, I swear, but... it took me a long time to get over Brandon. I told him that I was married and that I thought we shouldn't see one another anymore, and that was the end of it, but for years afterwards I'd often wonder what it would have been like if I had given into his advances... imagine us doing all the things he'd written about. I... I'm so sorry, Matt. I shouldn't have ever let it get to that point."

"Do you still regret not sleeping with Brandon?" I knew it was a bold thing for me to ask, but I so wanted to hear her say yes that I couldn't help myself. Unfortunately, I got silence instead, but that, plus the way she needed to looked down rather than face me would have to suffice.

"You don't need to feel embarrassed, Mom. In fact, I wish you'd done it... for real. I know I wouldn't have understood back then, being only a kid, but I certainly would understand it now."

"How can you say that, Matt?" Mom asked, exasperated. "After the way Gary treated me by cheating, how can say that you wished I'd done the same to him?"

"Because you're not like Dad, and you never have been," I answered. "I know he provided the basics for us, but I also know you need more than that to be happy. Dad may have given you food and water, but when it came to love he left you starving. It sounds like Brandon did love you, even if for a short time. I wouldn't have blamed you for loving him back, or even having for having a one-night stand with him if that would have made you happy. Dad didn't deserve your loyalty to him back then anymore than he does now."

"And what should I do now?" Mom asked in dismay, as she actually did begin crying. "Maybe I should go off and sleep with some guy half my age just to get back at him."

"I'm sorry, son, I shouldn't talk that way," she quickly added. "No matter how pissed off I am at Gary, two wrongs don't make a right."

We'd been sitting next to each other on my couch the whole conversation, but things had become emotional to the point where I now took Mom into my arms for a tender embrace as she quietly began sobbing.

"It wouldn't be wrong at all Mom, if anything it would be the most right thing I can think of," I asserted.

She was stunned by my words, her crying suddenly being held in check as she digested what I had said. I'm not sure what I had in mind at this point, I certainly had nothing planned, but I allowed myself to continue on instinct and see where it took me.

"Besides, I know you'd have no trouble at all at finding a suitor. You're the most attractive woman I've ever known, the most beautiful, both on the inside and out." I tried my best to speak with warmth and passion, hoping that she'd understand that yes, I was talking about her choosing me, not some random guy she might go out and look for.

Mom's eyes came back to mine and for a moment I thought my message to her had been received. It felt so much like I was experiencing that same type of "chemistry" with her that she had spoken about before with Brandon. If she had been anyone else, friend or foe, I probably would have taken the chance and kissed her. But this was still my mother, and as much as I was dying to cross that line with her I had to assume that she didn't feel the same way, even if the nonverbal signals I was getting from her made me feel otherwise. And with that, I moved in and gently kissed her... on the cheek.

Mom quickly looked down, as if she were embarrassed, and I couldn't help but wonder if she'd been having the same impure thoughts as I'd had and was now admonishing herself. I could feel my heart starting to pound, as much in fear as excitement. Part of me was dying to retreat to safety, to try and pretend that the sexual tension I was feeling between us was some figment of my imagination, but the awkward look on Mom's face made me want to try and take things further. She looked confused by what was happening, but nothing made me feel like she was repulsed by it either. It was as close to a green light as I could hope for from her, and if I really wanted this to happen then it was going to have to be up to me.

I gave Mom's hand another gentle squeeze, prompting her to look down at it, and then held her hand up to my face and gave it a gentle kiss.

"Mom," I began, trying to summon up the most loving tone I could. "You're a free woman now, free to do whatever you want, with whoever you want."

I moved close to her again, and this time kissed her neck. I tried to be as soft and gentle as I could, but also show her that this was no longer merely acting as a son trying to comfort his mother. Mom straightened up in surprise as my lips gently pressed against her neck, a look of bewilderment taking shape on her face, but it wasn't enough to deter me, as once again I saw no disapproval there, nothing that me think that she wasn't at least partly open to trying this kind of love between us.

And so I kissed her again on the neck, this time with my lips lingering there longer, and even taking a moment to lightly suck on her flesh. I could hear Mom shudder from the feel of my mouth on her neck, as the truth of my intentions became even clearer to her now. I was waiting for the worst to still happen, for her to freak out, yell, or run away. I could sense her discomfort; there was no doubt still a great deal of reluctance on her part, enough that she turned her head away as if she were too embarrassed to look me in the eye. Doing so did give me an even more inviting view of her lovely neck, however, and the next thing I knew I was kissing it again, lingering even longer this time.

I knew we were crossing a significant line here, but it also felt like the nonverbal cues from Mom were giving me the permission to move forward. I couldn't explain it, for all I knew her mind was still occupied with erotic thoughts about Brandon and her excitement was a carryover from those memories, but whatever it was Mom was clearly in an amorous mood. It felt like one of those moments where you know you'll probably never get a chance like this again, and your only options are to either go for it or give up forever. And with that, as my mouth still lingered on Mom's warm neck, I now put my hand on her on the other side, holding her chin carefully in place, and moved in closer, this time my lips pressing gently into hers. For a few seconds we were both lost in the kiss, silently reveling in that joyous sensation of nerve endings sending signals of erotic pleasure to our brains. It didn't matter who we were or what had brought us to this moment, it just felt too good to stop. But then something snapped in Mom, as she recoiled back in shock.

"Oh my god, I can't believe we just did that," she said in horrid disbelief.

I didn't know what to say. I'd just experienced the greatest moment of my life, one that Mom had obviously enjoyed too, even if she was trying to distance herself from it now.

"It's getting late," Mom said as she got up, leaving the room in a hurry, and retreating back to her bedroom.

As disappointed as I was, I did understand her reaction. All these feelings that I'd carried for Mom had been with me for years, even the last couple where I'd done my best to suppress them and have romantic relationships of my own. But for Mom? All she knew was that she'd caught her husband cheating on her a few weeks ago and now she was on her son's couch kissing him and, presumably, enjoying it. As much as I wanted to take a more aggressive approach and confront her with what had happened, the more sensible and, frankly, easier thing to do now was to be patient and see what she would do next.

All I wanted to do the next day was talk about it, but I was too scared to bring up the subject, so I left the proverbial ball in Mom's court. Unfortunately, she tried to act as if it none of it had happened. I got nothing from her at all, not even the slightest look on her face as if the erotic image of our lips pressed together taken taken over her thoughts as it done with me.

More than a few times I found myself putting up my own fingers to my mouth, gliding them over my lips, trying to recall what had happened. Had my imagination embellished what had really happened, was it merely some harmless peck on the lips that we had shared? No, it couldn't have been, I kept telling myself as the memory of it replayed in my mind. Our mouths had been pressed together for several seconds, saliva had been exchanged. It had been long enough and so sensual that there was no denying we'd both experienced sexual pleasure from it too. I kept going back to that startled look on Mom's face afterwards, knowing that's what likely had upset her the most. All I could do now was hope that with enough time she'd process that information the way I wanted, get over that initial shock and realize that there was nothing wrong with what we'd done or wanting to do more. But for now, at least, it appeared as if all she wanted was to try and put the incident behind her. It was extremely frustrating for me, and depressing, but I just kept telling myself to try and give her some time and space for the time being.

**

"Do you really like it dear, I mean it isn't too much, is it?" Mom asked with an impish smile.

It wasn't too much; if anything it was too little, I couldn't help but muse back to myself. Mom and I were at a clothing store, where she wanted to buy a new outfit for the summer. We'd been there for over an hour, in fact I'd been shopping with her for it for a few days. I know most men hate shopping with their girlfriends or wives, but I always loved it. Maybe it helps that I've always had such attractive women as girlfriends, as I simply love watching women like that put so much care into finding the perfect outfit just so their ass or tits can look right. Or maybe it's because I find women so sexy in general, the way their hips sway when they walk, the way so many seem to have this innate exhibitionist streak in them, and so on and so on. I don't get upset or frustrated over these types of differences between men and women, I revel in them.

However, for a lot of men, at some point, maybe even for their entire lives, their Moms stopped being women in their eyes and simply became "Mom," mainly because their Moms took on a parental role and stop acting like regular women in front of them. That's the way was for me, despite the fact that around eighteen I'd become aware that my affections for Mom went far beyond that of a son. And so seeing her now, wearing this sexy outfit, acting like the way most women would behave, was wonderfully exciting for me to see, something I appreciated and took pleasure in. Besides, who doesn't enjoy watching a beautiful woman show off her body for you as you tell them how great they look? It makes them feel good about themselves in a way that means more to most women than it does most men, and that's what relationships have always been about to me. Finding ways to support and build each other up rather than tearing one another down.

"Not at all, Mom," I replied. "Your legs look absolutely killer in them."

"Oh, stop it," she laughed, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

I doubt most people would consider the outfit scandalous, but Mom had never been the type to wear a miniskirt, especially one this tantalizingly short. By her standards, it was extremely daring. She had stunning legs, arguably her best feature, well-toned from all the time she'd spent over the years playing tennis and golf. I loved admiring their firmness and sensual, feminine shape, now exposed to my gaze. I also appreciated how the tight skirt clung to Mom's figure like a second skin, accentuating her curves. More than anything, I was thrilled that I'd convinced her to try it on. It had been a gradual process, taking days of gentle encouragement--subtly coaxing Mom to step out of her comfort zone more often and lavishing her with praise every time she tried on an outfit that even slightly challenged those boundaries.

I particularly enjoyed showering her with compliments, not only because they were genuine, but also because of the way she devoured them. It's one of those classic feminine traits that, as a man, you can either scoff at and ridicule or learn to appreciate, and I was pleased to choose the latter. I watched from behind, sitting in a chair as Mom stood in front of the full-length mirror, turning to and fro to examine herself from different angles, inadvertently putting on quite a sexy show for me as she posed. My eyes were practically glued to her candy apple shaped ass, bobbing side to side deliciously in front of me, almost as if she were doing it on purpose to turn me on, daring me to leer at it. The form-fitting material was stretched so tight against it that it showed off every beautiful curve, appearing taut, fit, and, quite frankly, fantastic, especially for a woman in her mid-forties.

"I don't know," she said, sounding somewhat uncertain yet also a touch playful. "It just seems like something more suited for a younger woman to wear."

"Come on, Mom, don't be like that," I replied. "You look great; that's all that matters. Most women would kill to look so good wearing something like that."

She hesitated for a few moments longer, still trying to assess her appearance as her luscious form moved tantalizingly in front of the mirror. It had been a pleasure to witness Mom's confidence grow over the past few days, and it was especially satisfying to have played the role that I had. No doubt her self-esteem had taken a beating since discovering that Dad was cheating on her, but in truth, his dismissive attitude towards her throughout the years had been just as damaging. And in reality, it probably began for Mom even earlier, back when she was still living with her overbearing parents.

Now that she was away from Dad, I wanted her to view her time with me as a second chance of sorts. She no longer had to trouble herself with the obligations of a mother or wife; she could simply be a woman again, and specifically a single woman. I understood why Dad's infidelity had hurt her so deeply. It wasn't because she loved him, but because she felt a sense of loyalty to her marriage and her vows. The institution of marriage was important to her, even if the man at the other end of it was not. Until now, she had believed that Dad felt the same way. This belief was why she'd refused Brandon's advances, even though she clearly desired him to the extent that many other women in her position would have given in. I wanted her to feel liberated from those burdens, with the hope that the other barriers keeping us apart might fall away as well.

"Here, we're getting it, and that's final," I asserted, pulling Mom out of the trance she seemed to be in as she gazed into the mirror. "I'll even buy it for you."

"You don't need to do that, Matt," she protested.

"I want to," I insisted. "Think of it as an early Mother's Day gift."

"I doubt many sons would buy something like this for their mothers to wear," she said cheekily back. She was talking about the dress as if it were some skimpy outfit, which it certainly was not, but I nevertheless enjoyed the sentiment. If wearing it made her feel sexy, or even a little naughty, then her whimsical remarks were music to my ears.

"Then let's call it a gift for my beautiful lady friend," I said with a smile, giving a playful wink in return.

The last thing I expected to develop over the past few days since "the kiss" was this mild flirting with Mom. The two possibilities I had anticipated in the aftermath of that event were pretty extreme, polar opposites. One scenario involved her becoming wildly upset and moving out the next day, while the other had us picking up from where we'd left off, back in each other's arms. Instead, I found myself in a odd middle ground where Mom wanted to pretend as if none of it had happened, but was open to and even appeared to enjoy our little flirting sessions. I tried to take it as a positive sign, suggesting that perhaps Mom was still moving in the direction I hoped for, but simply needed more time before she was ready to take that final step.

It was difficult to explain this new relationship between us; I'm not even fully sure I can now. We began engaging in a playful, flirtatious banter with one another, devoid of any actual romance--as if we were "friends without benefits." All I knew was that the mother I had known just a few days ago, and especially a few weeks prior, would never model an outfit like this for me or be flattered by my compliments about her body. So, I accepted what was happening as a victory of sorts, at least for the time being. At some point, I realized I would have to confront her about our kiss and what it all meant; I just wasn't sure how or when to do it.

The next few weeks were more of the same, as I felt I was gradually making progress in my relationship with Mom. It truly felt like a relationship--more of the "friends without benefits" situation, as I had come to call it. She didn't seem to mind the time we spent together; in fact, she appeared to enjoy it as much as I did. Sure, early on she'd ask me why I wasn't dating anyone and encourage me to do so, but I explained that I'd just come out of a painful relationship myself and needed some time away from all that. Maybe the "Mom" side of her felt a duty to offer such advice, but I could sense that the "woman" side of her was much happier that I preferred being with her. This was encouraging enough for me to hope that she might eventually realize what I'd already accepted: that a romantic love for one another could be just as fulfilling, if not more so, than anything I had sought with other girls or what she had futilely attempted with Dad.

"I'm sorry, dear," Mom said apologetically, referring to my most recent ex. "Melanie really meant a lot to you, didn't she?"

We never discussed my past relationships much, especially this one. I was with Melanie for over a year, only for it to end when she cheated on me.

"She was a fool, Matt, an absolute fool," Mom said reassuringly, taking my hand in hers. "Any woman would be lucky to have a man like you."

It was moments like those, when I looked down and saw my fingers lovingly interlaced with Mom's, that I had to believe there were deeper feelings within her that went beyond what she was willing to admit. The way she spoke didn't sound like a mother trying to console her son; it sounded more like a friend--a loving friend. If we had been anything other than mother and son, I know my mind would have interpreted things more deeply, thinking that perhaps she was trying to silently communicate that not all of her feelings towards me were necessarily platonic.

Then there was the flirting. We pretended it was all a game, and for all I know at this point maybe it was to Mom. However, I could also sense that she was at least somewhat excited by it as well. Even though we never talked about again it there was no denying that we had shared a kiss, and a rather passionate one at that, from what I could recall. I could not fathom that we could flirt together now with it only being a joke to Mom.

I remember a time when I was in a coffee shop with Mom, where the waitress mistakenly referred to Mom as my wife. We both laughed about it, while the waitress turned red as Mom immediately corrected her.

"Is she really that blind?" Mom asked in astonishment when we were alone again. She sounded a bit annoyed, but underneath that she was undeniably amused. "Anyone can tell you're young enough to be my son. And we do sorta look related."

I loved it, as it provided yet another example of how we no longer behaved like a typical mother and son. When you factor in the flirting she had also observed, it made the waitress's mistake all the more understandable.

"I take it as a compliment," I cheekily replied. "Besides, with that outfit you're wearing... with all the men in here can staring. At least now they know you're taken."

"Oh, stop it!" Mom laughed, meriily slapping my arm in mock anger. This was how we spoke to one another now, with Mom apparently enjoying the banter as much as I did. I also loved bringing her outfit into the conversation. Once again, I doubted it was anything too risqué by most people's standards, but like the other items I had convinced her to buy, it went well beyond the conservative attire that I'd always seen Mom wear in the past. In this case, the off-the-shoulder top was low enough to highlight Mom's beautiful neck and shoulders while also revealing a generous amount of cleavage. Whether she realized it or not, her firm C-cup breasts had attracted plenty of attention since we had sat down and she'd removed her jacket. She loved my lighthearted teasing, a change in her demeanor that I was pleased to see, and I admired the confidence and joy she exuded while wearing an outfit like this. She had a great body, and it was high time she took some pride in that.

We went out often--dinner, dancing, the movies, you name it. Whether or not either of us was willing to admit it, it did sorta feel like we were dating. I loved simply being around her. Everything, from the more sexy attire I continually encouraged her to wear to the way she would spend hours perfecting her hair and makeup for our nights on the town excited me. I was hopelessly in love with this woman; I was certain of that now. I'd tried in vain to find love elsewhere but had come up empty. And Mom? Did she feel love for me the way I felt it for her? Increasingly, I knew I had to find out; it was just a matter of getting the timing perfectly right.

To be continued...

I am currently working on Ch 2, but it will likely take at least a few weeks before it is posted. In the meantime, I welcome any suggestions, as I often find then to be very helpful, even if they don't make it into the final draft. Thank you again for reading, and take care.