Chapter 1

My name is Celia, and I am 36 years old. I live alone with my son, Patrick, in a small city in the Midwest. This story started an evening a few months ago, and I still cannot believe how things have changed since then.

“You look beautiful, Mom,” my son Patrick spoke up from his perch on the edge of my bed. I turned to face him, putting the finishing touches on my makeup at my dressing table. With a smile, I asked, “What brought that on?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “I just suddenly realized how stunning you are. I’m going to feel so proud when we go out tonight.” His cheeks flushed with a blush as he spoke and my heart swelled with love for him.

Setting down my hairbrush, I stood and moved to sit beside him, wrapping my arm around his shoulders in a hug. “And I’ll be proud to be with you too. It’s a shame your dad couldn’t be here to celebrate with us.”

It was Patrick’s 17th birthday two nights prior, and we were finally able to go out and celebrate now that the school holidays had begun. My husband Alfred had died three years ago when a drunk driver invaded his lane at high speed. Since that day, I had dedicated myself to raise my son Patrick, leaving out any thoughts of dating again.

“Now, I’ll just slip on my blouse and grab a jacket, and then we can head out.” I explained, dressed from the waist down but still wearing only my bra on top to avoid messing up my outfit.

“Um ... before you do that ... no, never mind.” Patrick hesitated before speaking further, looking embarrassed once again.

“What is it?” I prompted gently.

“It’s nothing,” he shook his head.

“No, go ahead. You can ask me anything. Don’t be embarrassed,” I reassured him.

“Well ... since you’re only wearing a bra ... could I see your breasts?” Patrick blurted out, his cheeks turning bright red as he quickly looked away, expecting rejection from me.

A feeling of shock and confusion washed over me as I tried to comprehend why Patrick, my son, was suddenly making such an unusual request. Our relationship was not typical, born from our loneliness caused by Alfred’s absence. I worked part-time as an editor for a publishing house, supplementing Alfred’s generous life insurance payment. This was enough to allow us to live comfortably in a spacious two-bedroom apartment with king-size beds and en-suite bathrooms, a beautifully modern kitchen and spacious living and dining areas.

But without Alfred around, Patrick and I had grown accustomed to sleeping together for comfort and company since he was young. It was never sexual or illicit; just a simple act of seeking solace in each other’s presence. And although we were both aware that it may seem unusual to others, we were used to it. Usually, I slept in a t-shirt and loose shorts, while Patrick had only seen me in my underwear a few times but had never seemed interested in my body. At least, that’s what I had thought until now.

“Patrick! Why this sudden interest? You’ve seen me in my underclothes before and never seemed bothered by it,” I replied, trying not to sound angry or embarrassed.

“I’m sorry, Mom. I don’t know what came over me. It’s just ... seeing you in your bra made me realize how great you look. I wanted to see more of you. Please forgive me and let’s just forget I ever asked,” Patrick said, looking really embarrassed.

Feeling sympathy for him, I responded calmly, “It’s okay, Patrick. I guess I didn’t notice you are already a man. It may not be right, but I love you so much and would hate to refuse you anything. If I do show you, it has to be our little secret, okay?”

Patrick’s face lit up with relief and he promised, “I won’t tell anyone, I promise!”