A Mother's Gentle Gift Ch. 01

I am 20, a junior in college, and an only child. And my father's been working abroad for a long, long time -- he's hardly ever here. Last year, the firm appointed him as general manager of its European arm. Not long after, he sent us a divorce settlement to be signed by Mom and sent back.

Even before he'd taken off to Europe, if I'm being honest, Dad had been running around with the sales manager for the company, a flashy number who made the men in the office turn their heads and who, I would soon learn, also happened to screw the women in said office. Sleeping out was nothing new to him. When it came to me and Mom, his version of "care" was subtly wired money to our account to keep us afloat. Still, he wasn't entirely cold. The divorce settlement he proposed was fair, leaving Mom with the house and a solid chunk of their savings. But here's the strange thing: when Mom read the newspapers, she did not break down or frown. A little smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

"Mom, you're not upset?" I asked.

She chuckled, glancing at me. "What about you, Ryan? Are you upset?"

"Honestly, no. It's weird, but I feel free."

"That's how I feel exactly," she said. 'I was eighteen when I married him and he never felt like a husband to me. He had a lot of women on the side, always changing them. "This time, he must have met somebody who's got him cornered or he wouldn't do a divorce. Honestly, I could thank that lady. I'm relieved. I have wanted this for years."

Her words put me at ease. I could not bear the idea of her being miserable.

And then, beyond that relief, I was thrilled. I had clung to a dream, really a plan, for years, and now I could finally begin to set it in motion.

This plan was hatched early, all the way back in grade school. Under one minute of Time Stop Insemination Majority of Japanese guys love being Time Stop, and getting the golden opportunity to have sex. That, with some adult magazines and videos from friends by middle school, turned those thoughts into something darker -- even the ridiculous idea of getting a chance to sleep with her. With more experience and knowledge of sex, I began to see that as a "rational" approach to my desire. Sounds crazy, I realize, calling a wish to have my own mom "rational. But I had struggled with the rules of society's morality; I had studied this morality and had concluded that it was not for me.

I had the ideal disposition for the forbidden. With Dad barely a father and out of the picture, my odds seemed sky-high. I wanted Mom and those circumstances kept my need strong. While Dad was still with us, it was something I buried, just a fantasy. But I wanted to make it real someday, so I began observing her closely.

Mom's thirty-six now. She was forced to marry Dad at age eighteen, due to family pressure. She's a plain, makeup-free, dressed-in-mundane-clothes, average housewife type. She almost never goes out, like a trip to the salon or market from time to time. She's so predictable I figured it was a long shot to make her feel the heat. Still, I didn't give up. When she wasn't at home, I'd ransack her stuff looking for evidence that she was a lonely, frustrated woman at heart. I knew that Dad was rarely there, even though I was young. He wasn't, there was no heat between them. And I remember one night he screamed at me, 'You're like a dead body. Get out, sleep in the guest room, don't trouble me.'" After that, they slept apart.

I'm sure Mom hasn't had a real sex life since I was old enough to recognize one. That was a boon for my plan, but also an obstacle. If she really didn't want me, if she was as impassive as a stone, I'd get nowhere. So I needed proof, some hint that she was yearning for intimacy.

At first, I found nothing. Her wardrobe was a monotone army of boring, conservative clothes. Her underwear? High-waisted, retro things, almost all beige, always beige. Her dresser was unadorned: a couple of lip balms (if that could cover lipstick), no eyeshadow, no perfume, no powder. I ransacked her room and found nothing. I'd take peeks when she undressed, but once I saw her in those tight, unflattering pieces of gutbusting girdle, I was as limp as a flower in a frostsnap. The only thing that preserved my fantasy was her superb body. She glowed even sans make-up!

A few months after the divorce something ballsy and daring. Then I got a break.

One day I come home from school while Mom is changing to go take a shower. After adorning the door crack with '{E}@cWabs, I peeked through, as usual. She undressed and removed her drab dress to show the same old girdle. Then I was about to take my eyes away when there was something I had not noticed."A faint outlined under the girdle, a g string. I kept watching. She unfastened the girdle and there were the thong, a small piece of black lace barely hiding her. Then she opened the closet, snatched something, and secreted it in some clothes. I couldn't see what.

A breakthrough. But how had I missed this? I had searched through that closet so many times. Was there a hidden spot? When she left to use the bathroom, I hurried in to take a look. Indeed, the bottom shelf of the closet lifted up, concealed by a mound of clothes. Beneath it, I struck treasure: four or five sexy thongs. Not a lot, but provocative, each of them. To my mind wearing them under her girdle was her scream of obvious hidden desire, her grandest secret, locked away.

That find changed everything. I got confident that I could even possibly get her down, if not sleep with her. The biggest challenge? Breaking through the mother-son taboo.

It began that evening after showering. She was watching television, flicking through boring programs as usual. I sat next to her.

"Mom..." I began.

"Hmm? What's up?" she said, eyes on the screen.

"Have you ever thought about..."

"About what?" She looked at me, and then at the TV.

"Dating again?"

"What?" She rocked back, her expression turning sober, flickering with something strange. "Ryan, don't joke about that."

"I'm serious, Mom. You've earned your freedom, after a lifetime of working hard. You owe it to yourself to pursue your own happiness."

She sighed. "I'm getting old. What's the point?"

"Old? You're a twenty-something, you're golden. If you don't do it now, it will only be harder later."

"Ryan, I cannot, I just can't do it. As long as you study hard and bring home a good girl to marry, I am happy. Besides, I'm not pretty, not like that slick manager at your dad's company."

"Come on. Who says you're not pretty? They're women who, for want of a better life, make do with makeup. They'd be nothing without you. I'm serious, if I put a bit of effort into it, people could easily think we were siblings, not like mom and son or whatever."

She laughed. "Little schemer, when did you get so slick?"

"I mean it, Mom. Let me help. I'll get you clothes, makeup."

"What? A guy buying women's things? People will laugh."

"Mom, that's so old-school. Guys buy makeup, they even buy lingerie for women all the time now."

"Alright, alright," she said. "I'll handle it myself. Don't worry."

"Really?"

"Really. You're right, I'm a woman, and I want to look good. But dating? Let's wait until you're married."

"What if I never marry? Would you stay single forever?"

"Little schemer, what's that talk? You'll meet a girl you like, and nothing will be heard," she added, her voice softening with a note of regret.

"Mom, I don't want to marry. I want to be with you forever."

"You're sweet," she teased. "Fine, don't get married, just stay with your old mother. But you'd better mean it."

"Deal, but there's a condition."

"What's that?"

"You can't date anyone either."

She laughed hard. "I wasn't planning to. So, it looks like you're stuck with an old lady for life. Oh!" She paused, catching her slip.

"Who says I'm some naive kid? If it wasn't me, what's the bet it wasn't you."

"Watch it," she said, grinning. "You're getting bold. And you say you're not naive? If you had a girlfriend, I'd hear about it."

"Mom, you're so out of touch. Look, ever hear of a one-night stand? Girls are open these days."

"What? Ryan, you haven't..." She sounded concerned.

"Kidding," I said quickly. "Without feelings, it's meaningless, right?"

"Good," she said, relieved. Stay away from trouble makers, or you'll be sorry."

"Yes, ma'am. I said no girlfriends. If you are concerned, become my girlfriend and keep me in line."

"Little schemer, you're ridiculous. I'm your mom, not your girlfriend.'"

"What's the difference? And once you clean yourself up, you'll resemble my sister." People will think we're an item."

"Fine," she played along. "If that's how it is, I'll become the girlfriend."

I was thrilled. Mom was starting to open up.

That night, I created words to nudge her heart, and brought us closer.

She was preparing breakfast in the kitchen the next morning. Time for the next step. I approached her quietly and kissed her cheek.

She jumped, startled. "Ah!"

"Morning, Mom," I said, as though no incident had taken place.

"Rascal, you almost gave me a heart attack. Get to school, screw around."

"You told me you'd be my girlfriend yesterday. Changing your mind?"

"Enough," she huffed. "Eat your breakfast."

I watched her closely. She laughed it off, but I had watched it, felt it, that instinctive discomfort at being touched. It was working, her buried feelings were stirring.

As I finished, I added, "Mom, when I get home, I want to see my 'sister.' "

"Okay, okay, just go. You'll be late."

I left feeling great.

No afternoon classes, so I went to the mall, spent some cash and picked up special gifts for her, stuff I'd hold onto for just the right time. So I come home that night, and this was around 11:30 p. m. I hear from her room, "Ryan, you back? "One second, I'll be right out."

Smiling, I chuckled at her words which triggered my rather colourful imagination. And soon, she emerged and wow, she was transformed.

"Ryan, how do I look?" she asked.

"Mom, you --" I moved toward her, forced her into the soft radius of my body, and inhaled the scent of light perfume. "Wow."

"Well?" She spun around playfully.

"You are beautiful, stunning, and you smell good," I said, seriously.

"Really?"

"Absolutely. "You have to be my girlfriend now."

"There you go again," she said, her eyes twinkling with a grin.

"Mom, you're a knockout. You should have done this years ago is what was the problem with that or what it is a waste otherwise.

She sighed. "Who was I dressing up for in those days? Right now, to be free, feels right."

"But something's missing."

"Don't you dare tease me," she said with a smile.

"No, it's the inner beauty."

"What's that mean?"

"You shouldn't just be getting your confidence from the outside. What you wear underneath matters. You, with your form, don't need those tight girdles squeezing you like a mummy. Go for something lighter."

"Ryan! You've been spying on me?"

"Mom, you never lock the door when you're changing. Since I was a kid I've seen you."

"Well..."

"Here," I said, giving her a wrapped bundle. "For you, so that you may start anew."

"What is it?"

"Go see your room. I'll start dinner, beautiful."

"Poppet schemer, always has some sort of scheme," she mumbled, wandering off.

I was expected a gasp when she glanced at the sexy lingerie I was going to purchase. But her room remained silent, and I continued to speculate on what she was thinking.