Chapter 1

The sound of the clacking wheels of the train droned on and on with only the squealing brakes interrupting the ceaseless noise as we slowed for every whistle stop and tiny town. It was a long and arduous trip from State University to my home in upstate New York ... five hundred and fifty one miles to be exact. Fortunately, I only had to endure the trip several times during the school year. Of course, driving would have been more convenient, but State University doesn't allow freshman to have cars on campus. It seemed a silly rule, but there was nothing I could do about it; all freshmen suffer the same inconvenience. Besides, I'm not entirely sure my old Ford would have made the trip anyway.

I tried to sleep, but when I dozed off, thoughts of my mother invaded my dreams. That wasn't unusual because, like many young men with a gorgeous mother, she was in my dreams rather frequently, especially since I had graduated high school and moved on to college. I missed her as my wonderful mother, but in truth my dreams were not always pure, to say the least. However, I am no longer embarrassed by those thoughts. I am a psych major and my research convinced me that sexual fantasies are a healthy outlet in most cases—thanks to Sigmund Freud's contention that fantasies often replace the need to act on some of our darkest desires. I am not sure it would have made much difference had the research shown that I was a sick kid. It wasn't something I could help. Mom is thirty-six and, as I said earlier, gorgeous. She is still trim and keeps herself in great shape. My buddies from high school loved to hang out at my house and I know why; they love to see Mom rushing around the house fixing snacks and bringing them sodas with her rather large breasts wiggling freely under her revealing tank top. I had to admit I liked it too ... I was proud of her, if not a bit jealous of my friends watching the unconscious display she put on. I could see their eyes as they snuck glances at her. And of course they loved to watch her leave in her tight denim pants or safari shorts. Not only that, but Mom had a special way about her that made her seem like one of the guys, even if every guy there wanted to get into her pants.

My mom is still young for having a son in college. I was born when she was just eighteen. It was a shotgun wedding since she became pregnant in high school. Dad was only a year older and wasn't exactly ecstatic about having to get married. It surely put a crimp on his college plans ... he had to go to work for his dad in the family auto business instead. Although the pregnancy was a mutual mistake, I think dad blamed her for getting pregnant. I sensed that he felt that she somehow tricked him. I am not sure he wanted to have children, ever. After I was born, Mom went on the pill and could never convince my father to change his mind about children. Although I didn't know it until recently, she wanted a large family—she was an only child and felt that she had missed something by not having brothers and sisters. She told me later that she wanted four or five children; but that was not to be.