The day our affair started was like any other — just a 19 year old son going out to supper with his 46 year old mom. A nice restaurant — but reasonably priced because I was paying. Mom loved these private outings together, as we started them about four years before — just the two of us. We sat talked and ate.
This night started the same as all the rest of those nights. A very cold winter, darkness starting prematurely and the restaurant was not yet busy though it was only six o'clock in the evening. The pretty young hostess asked if we were mother and son, I had my arm about mom's waist and nodded negatively, "No - she is my date for tonight." Mom giggling into her hand as the young hostess smiled politely then sat us. It was an old joke between mother and me.
We each dove into the menu, talking to each about what we wanted to eat — then giving our order to the young male waiter with the pimply face.
"I've come to a decision mom." I reach across the table and take her hand, she squeezing mine and giving a warm smile that I know she has only ever given to me.
I shift nervously, though I am much more terrified than I am revealing, "You know that I love you very much, right mom?"
She smiled broadly, "Of course honey. What is it?" She is frowning now, maternal concern.
This night is not to be like all our other nights, I've resolved to lay it on the table as it were.
"I wanted you to know that as far back as I can remember I have always thought you're attractive."
A quick smile broke on her face but she did not let it grow, the moment threatening to become 'sweet' if you get my meaning. Since our relationship became closer, I've made a point to compliment her frequently — recognizing she needed the reassurance.
"No, that's not right. It's more than that mom. I've always ... I've wanted ... well, I have always desired you mom. Sexually I mean."
That froze everything. Time seemed to stop, her smile had melted into something unreadable, her eye lids widening.
The waiter showed up with a tray with our drinks — hot tea for mom and a tall glass of Coke for me. This gave mom the opportunity to yank her hand from mine.
With the pimply faced waiter gone, mom leans right into the table, hissing at me, "Is this some kind of joke?" She doesn't look amused and my heart is beating so fast that I am already regretting ever putting voice to my thoughts.
Just then a server arrived with our starter soups.
We ate in silence and I feared the rest of the evening would continue this way. Mom ate without looking up, her face bright red and looked very pissed.
Before the soup was gone she looks up slowly and asks in a forced calm, "When did this start? Was it something I did?"
I looked at her for a second before responding, taking a deep breath, "It was before puberty actually. I remember seeing you in your skirts and nylons and thinking how nice your legs looked. I remember wanting to touch them but never had the nerve."
The waiter showed up to take my bowl away, mother pushed her unfinished soup to be taken away as well.
She was looking around as she asked, "So now you have this romantic notion about us?"
I told myself going into this that I would have to be totally honest and even blunt if need be. "I'm sorry mom, though I love you more than anything or anyone else in this world my desire for you has never been 'romantic'."
She swallowed loudly, her eyes wide, "What do you mean?"
"Do you really want to know mom?"
She just sat there and looked at me, only turning away when our eyes locked for a uncomfortable period.
"I have many fantasies about you mom — graphic and perhaps you may think them kinky."
She swallowed again.
The server and waiter both arrived with our basket of bread and our main course. Mom moved her plate around, thanked the server then looked back at me, waiting.
It was my turn to take a deep breath and say a little too fast, "I would like to spank that big sexy ass of yours mom, if you must know."
She was frozen for half a minute before a bubble of a laugh escaped from her, only the once.
Again silence — each of us eating our food while stealing peaks of the other.
"It's impossible, you know that don't you honey?"
I simply nod. I knew that but I also decided to risk it all on telling her tonight how I felt. We had promised that of the other, as we became close those years ago, friends even.
"I am married ... to your father!"
Another nod, my eyes looking at her though my chin was tucked nearly to my chest. We both knew that their relationship was only one of convenience now. She had leaned on our friendship to explain the cold marriage she now shared with my father, the loneliness.
"And it's a sin ... illegal as well ... and it would ruin all our lives!"
Was she talking to me or to herself? "I love and desire you mother."
"Stop saying that!" She hissed, her face looking furious, her voice sounded threatening.
Mother was never a beauty — there was nothing about her that would attract male admirers if they had not taken the time to get to know her. She was a gentle polite caring woman — small of stature, perhaps once cute of face. And through our time together, talking privately, I knew she wasn't happy with her daughters who she argued all too frequently with and her husband, who I would guess hadn't touched her intimately in years. She was lonely — she confessed it almost guilty to me some months back — yet she stuck it out for her family sake.
It was that inopportune moment, figuring to go for broke, that I reached into my jacket laying next to me in the booth and handed the small bow-wrapped present across the table to my mother. She looked at me angrily as she opened it, strangely not looking surprised at the expensive lingerie set I had purchased for her. She immediately closed the box and tried to hand it back across the table to me.
"It's yours mother, I want you to keep it."
She looked at me angrily and set it on the table between us.
"You will not treat me this way — I do not like it!"
I was getting a little fed up, probably at the stress of the meal, to hiss back at her, "Don't like what mom? That a man who loves you finds you desirable? Have I ever treated you in any way you find remotely disagreeable?"
She hissed back, "Like tonight you mean?"
I calmed my voice and sat back, "I have wanted to be together for as long as I can remember mom. My biggest desire is for you to wear my present for me, because you want to, and we can hold each other and talk and do other stuff."
She was glaring at me, "Like spank my bum? That kind of 'other stuff'?"
My anger was again rising, "Oh yes — exactly like that mom. It would shock you what I would like to do to your ass!"
Her response was frozen as the waiter arrived, could see that we were arguing and wisely took our plates without a word.
Another sigh from me and I tried to calm the conversation, "Look mom I am telling you this because it has been eating me up, even if nothing comes of it, I need you to understand how I feel about you."
Her red angry face seemed to calm at that statement and she sat back, eyeing me wearily.
I knew her so well, I could almost hear her thoughts — if someone else had said these things to her, she would guess that it was some kind of cruel joke, except I had never once abused our relationship, the knowledge I've gained from our new-found friendship.
She chucked suddenly, almost forced, "I think I knew, to tell you the truth."
That surprised me and raising my eyebrows was enough for her to continue.
"I had to be blind not to see how you looked at me honey, but I just laughed it off saying you were just a horny teenage boy and you looked at every woman like that."
She had no idea how horny I could be, especially with her. "Not with everyone mom, only with you."
She frowned again but it did not last. "I suppose it's flattering after all, the looks I mean." Mom played with her tea cup. "I don't get many looks."
I did know, she told me she felt frumpy and unattractive on numerous occasions. All my reassurances, my attractive but politically correct gifts, gained me a weary smile and a hug, as if she never believed any of it or perhaps that she could only be attractive to her son.
"I'm in love with you mother and I desire you."
It was the right thing to say, the instant tears filling her eyes proof enough. She took my hand again, staring at it, her brow furled as she does when thinking.
She had to clear her throat before asking, a frown upon her brow, "What do you ... what is it you find attractive about me?"
I stopped the triumphant smile from appearing on my face, while my heart must have doubled in repetitions. I knew her question was her reaching for that life preserver — grasping at the possibility that she was attractive to me and not agreeing to the reality I was presenting, not yet anyways, for us to become lovers. "The first thing I noticed when I was a kid were your legs mom, bare or in nylons."
She laughed, almost like it was a release of tension, "That would explain why you compliment me more when I wear a skirt."
I laughed with her, feeling a little relieved that even if my designs do not come to bear, our relationship could endure. "I think I complimented you when you wear your jeans too mother?"
"The tight ones?"
I laughed with her, "Yup."
She took her hand away and blushed, "I would have given them to charity years ago if you didn't tell me I looked good in them. So you are a bum guy huh?"
A nod was all it took.
"I thought most guys your age are into boobs?"
She had a rather large set and there was no denying that I admired them frequently. "I think your tits are fantastic mom."
"That's a relief, I thought there was something wrong with you."
She laughed before I got the joke, joining her a few seconds after.
Suddenly her face sobered and the laugh was gone in a blink, "I think you need to find a girl your own age honey — someone with nice legs, a big bum and 'fantastic tits'."
I shrugged, "Perhaps I will someday, but you are the only woman I'm interested in mom."
She sighed and looked around ensuring no one could be listening to this strange conversation, thankfully the restaurant was still half empty. "I don't think I could ever cheat on your father."