It was the summer before my first year of college. I had reluctantly decided to go with my parents to our summer cottage by the Ohio River in western Kentucky. My girlfriend of two years had just broken up with me. She explained to me that she had wanted more room to explore other relationships while she went off to college. Fine with me. My parents didn't seem to mind that I had drunk myself into a stupor on our first night at the cottage. They seemed to be rather understanding of my predicament.

When I awoke that morning it must have been the middle of the day. I stumbled through the living room and into the kitchen. My mother was standing on stool, putting groceries away on the top shelf of a cupboard. My sight was a little blurred but I didn't miss the way her long, smooth legs brightened the room up with a freshness and vitality that somewhat surprised me. She wore cut-off jeans and a red checkered shirt that was tied off just below her large breasts. I shook my head in order to jar the sinful thoughts and fully awaken.

"I see you're finally awake. You want some breakfast?" she said to me.

"No. Maybe just some coffee," I said, trying vainly to avoid staring at her creamy legs. I walked over to the pot and poured myself a cup. "Where's Dad?"

"Fishing, of course. He left before sun-up. He didn't want to wake you because he didn't think you'd be up to it this morning." He was right. The only thing that was getting up this morning was between my legs.

"Hand me some of those cans," she said. I helped her pack the rest of the shelves and held her hand as she steadied herself off the stool.

"Mom, you look great," I blurted.

She smiled brightly. "Thanks, Alex. I don't seem to get compliments that often anymore."

"Are you kidding? You're a knock out!" I wasn't lying either. My mother was very beautiful for a forty-three year old. She had short blond hair, large green eyes, big breasts, and a trim body to die for. I never really took the time to notice until now. And the tent in my sweat pants pronounced my true feelings.

Her smile disappeared as she noticed the effects she was having on me. "What do you plan on doing today?" she said, trying to change the subject.

What I'd like to do is fuck your brains out, I thought slyly. But what I said was: "Probably just go for a swim. Maybe catch a movie in town tonight. Want to join me?" She seemed to think it over, but she refused, saying that she and Dad were going out to dinner that night.

I tried to get the image of my mother out of my head the rest of the day, but I couldn't. Over and over I kept replaying the sight of her long, white legs and her tight ass straining from her cut-offs. I had wanted so much to touch them while she stood on that stool. I stayed away from the cottage the whole day in hopes of ridding my mind from all these dangerous thoughts.

It was well after midnight when I staggered home drunk from a night of hick town bars, pool halls, and white trash women. None of it relieved my ache for Mom. They were home, probably asleep. I stood on the porch, looking at the moon's reflection on the water.