Chapter 1

“Mom, you’ve gotta be joking with me!” I laughed as I heard my mother, all of thirty-seven years of age, speak to me of going along with me on my dates.

“Nope, dead serious! I have my reasons,” Mom assured me, “You’re just nineteen, okay? I know that you’re an adult, but I have to look out for my son. I have to know what kind of girl you’re dating and what is she really about? I have to be able to look into her eyes and find out what she wants out of you. Sorry, but it’s a ‘Mama Bear’ thing. I have to look out for my cubs.”

“Mom, you have two ‘cubs, ‘ as you put it. Tricia and me. Do you plan to attend dates with her, too?” I asked, thinking that I already knew the answer to that query.

I was so fucking wrong!

“Yes, I do. My kids deserve a third party present to protect their best interests. That’s me. I don’t have a husband. I have only the occasional boyfriend and none of them matter enough to care if they like or dislike the idea. They’re placeholders, really, nothing more than that. Granted, they’re a step up from fuckbuddies, but only that. Don’t give me that look, Harry! We’re both adults! You’ve heard and used profanity before!” Mom turned on me.

“If we’re both adults, treat me like one!” I stormed off, not intending to continue this conversation ... it was outrageous to even consider this ... this was one step from arranged marriages to have my own mother try to veto girls that she didn’t like.

“Harry, don’t take the huff!” Mom tried to chase me down, and the only reason that I let her was that she would be waiting for me at home, anyway, “Look, son, I know that this sounds crazy, and in the end, if you like a girl that I dislike, I promise to give her a chance. I won’t like it, but I will give her a shot. I’m not trying to run your life. I’m not trying to keep you from getting laid, either. I know that’s what guys and girls your age, or any age, want half the time, and that’s perfectly natural and healthy. I just want to look out for your interests.”

“As you see them, Mom, and the answer is still no! I love you, Mom, I understand why you’re doing this, but I will not be sitting there like some pathetic wimp, still tied to the apron strings and leaving my dates all but convinced that I’ll never be a man. This is just ridiculous!” I stubbornly asserted.

Mom fought back tears, gulped, and then shrugged, “Okay, but don’t say that I didn’t try to help out. If you change your mind, let me know.”

“Mom, please, don’t play the martyr! I mean, hell, I’ve dated for years, including while I was a minor, and this last year in the Army before I got shot up and discharged! I mean, seriously, Mom! Some fucking Taliban tried to kill me and you’re worried that some queen bee bitch is going to break my heart? A little heartache is nowhere close to losing your spleen because of a bullet, trust me! Mom, I love you, but this is one time that you’re just plain wrong!” I hugged Mom and gave her a loving kiss before I walked away this time.

I should have known that this wasn’t the end of it, of course. I mean, Jesus, one lesson that the military and everyone in history always taught one was: know your adversary. Well, Mom was no enemy in the conventional sense. I loved her to pieces and thought that she was still the most charming and beautiful creature on Earth. She wasn’t even normally this pushy or overbearing, which was what made this recent turn of events extremely disturbing and alarming to me. Was she suffering empty nest syndrome, what with Tricia and me both out of the house? Speaking of Tricia, what role did she have in things? I was about to find out, as it happened.

My next attempt to date, emphasis on attempt, given how things turned out, was the following Friday night, after I got off work from the bookstore and picked up Callie Wade from her father’s house. Her father, of course, didn’t like me anymore than it turned out that Mom liked Callie, but I’m getting ahead of myself here. I met Callie outside her house, after only a thirty minute wait (trust me, I’ve waited longer with previous girls, and Mom was stunned that it took her so little time), though I was still left wondering yet again why we mere mortals bothered with such outmoded rituals as trying to buy another person supper while she sat there and lied to you the whole time. If I wanted to hear lies, I could listen to my Uncle Garth for that (though he wasn’t nearly as pretty as Callie Wade) free of charge. What use was dating, anyway?

I had read memes on social media lately, bemoaning the end of dating, or “real dating,” as some called it. When did this end, because in my neck of the woods, it hadn’t ended at all, and it was usually bullshit. I only tolerated it because, short of packing up and leaving everyone and everything behind, there were few other options in terms of meeting potential partners. I simply made good use of the time by trying to catch the dates in potential lies, traps, ambushes, or whatever, which was another reason that I didn’t need Mom tagging along.

I knew what I wanted to stop and prevent, but did she? Why would need her present to protect my interests, when I was already more aware of things than my idiot buddies, who often fell for the women’s bullshit, hook, line, and sinker? What if she sabotaged my program and sided with a girl that I had caught in a lie? She was a wild card and I didn’t need that when I already had my ace in the hole.

On a more positive note, living in this part of Virginia, which was an independent city and a college town, it still wasn’t as expensive as living in Richmond or some shit like that. You could take the girl out for a reasonably priced buffet if you knew where to go, and the good thing about buffets, you already knew the cost ahead of time and if you could afford to pay for two meals. It was also a test, of course, as to whether or not the girl appreciated frugality or would whine about my “cheapskate” ways. A sensible girl would know a bargain, while a prima donna would gripe, bitch, and nag about wanting to go to a “nicer place.” I mean, seriously, this is the 21st century and you’re supposed to be equal to us now, so you’re lucky that I’m paying for your damn supper in the first place!

“So, this place, it’s a buffet? Why not have someone bring you the supper? It costs more, but you get service,” Callie started to wave red flags at me right away, of course.

“That ‘service’ costs me an arm and a leg, at least in many of your finer restaurants. No thanks. I have two feet. I can still carry my own damn plates to my table. When you’re actually paying for the fucking meal, you notice shit like that,” I popped off, deliberately using profanity to goad her if she could be goaded.

“That’s a bit harsh, and do you have to use such language? My father’s a minister, you know,” Callie protested as we arrived at the place, and yes, I still opened the truck cab door for her (damn those ingrained habits ... chivalry can kiss my ass!).

“Didn’t stop you from sucking Walter Smith’s cock last month, and before you deny it, he’s got fucking proof on his Instagram, or he did before they banned his ass! It’s not a still, either. I know that those can be photoshopped. Oh, no, that sucker took revenge porn and put it on steroids by recording you just in case and you could clearly see the mole above your upper lip as you’re gulping down his jizz! How is it that you worry about profanity when you’re no maiden?” I smirked as we entered the restaurant, my amusement growing as Callie acted very shocked and offended by my claim.

“Look, I have to give head in order to save my purity. Guys need action, but I can’t put out, so this is a compromise, that’s all,” Callie asserted, blushing distinctly on her milky white face, “I’ll give you the same thing, but only on the third date.”

“Right now, honey, I’m not too sure that there will be a second date, let alone a third date. Just letting you know that upfront. I’m a very astute and observant man, and so far, you’ve underwhelmed me a bit. Besides, I know for a fact that Chad Cummings got a handjob on the first date, got a blowjob on the second, and Walter Smith went all the way on his third. The blowjob was just the first date, and you had little else to do by the way, to string it out, because you were so starstruck by having a local bigwig that you had to whore yourself out entirely to keep his interest. I’m not judging you, though. Just calling a spade a spade. You went after him for his money. That’s prostitution, any way you slice it, including with a mouthful of wedding cake.

“You’re no damn virgin! Not that I care, except that I really don’t like liars, and so far, that’s what you are to me. The only reason that you’re on this date with me is that Walter stood you up last week and you’re trying to make him jealous. Besides, Walter is eight years your senior and divorced, so how does that fit in with your Christianity, anyway? You did know that he was married before, right? Has two rugrats, except that they’re now kindergartners, twin sons named Junior and Jerry Smith by his ex-wife, Allison?

“I’m not judging, but I’m no preacher’s kid. At least not now that my father is a disgraced radio evangelist who has spent the past twelve years in the slammer. He kinda got defrocked for that business, as it happens. If I have learned anything about religion, missy, it’s that George Carlin was right. It’s bullshit, the biggest con game ever played on the human race. Small wonder that Mom divorced his ass and never looked back.

“He was a pig, anyway. What else do you call a man who wouldn’t hire the best producer available because he was a, well, I’m not a racist, so I won’t repeat the word that dear old Dad used, but it starts with an ‘n’ and rhymes with ‘digger, ‘ Miss Priss,” I chuckled as I paid the tab for both of our suppers, though I was all ready to cut my losses, not buying into the “sunk cost” fallacy.

“He said worse things than that,” I heard a voice behind us say, and I turned around to find Mom standing there with a very wicked gleam in her eye.

“Mom? I thought that we discussed this! I’m a grown man, a combat veteran, and you still think that you need to chaperone my dates? Are you afraid that I’ll get laid, because I’m fairly sure that wasn’t going to happen already, and it certainly won’t happen now. I only agreed to this date because I thought it amusing to see what bullshit Callie would try and also find out if I could somehow get at least some booty from the whole deal! That’s off for sure!” I exclaimed, making Callie blush a bit, but to my shock, she took my hand and tried to drag me to our seat.

Mom laughed, and then paid for her own meal before rushing to sit next to me in the booth. When I got up to grab my plate and fill it, she followed me, while Callie stayed behind and started texting on her cell phone. No doubt, she was broadcasting my shame as being a “Mama’s Boy,” of course. I was flustered, but I tried to be civil to Mom, even gracious, as I selected my rather seafood-oriented platter. I had plenty of crab cakes, fried pollock, and shrimp scampi to satiate me at least, and Fridays were the Seafood Special nights, anyway. It was one of my favorite times to eat at Morgan’s Buffet, as it happened. I didn’t honestly if I was hungrier or angrier right then.

“There’s clam chowder over there, honey, if you’re really in a seafood mood,” Mom observed, which was actually helpful, because the soups weren’t always consistent.

“Thanks, Mom. Look, I suppose that this night isn’t going to be a complete disaster because of you, because it already wasn’t going well to begin with, trust me. It’s just that I thought that we had an understanding. Look, I can meet you halfway, if you wish. I can put up a date report, if you want to see that, and then analyze what you like. There’s no need to attend every single date with me and meet the girl right there, is there? I mean, I wouldn’t go attending your dates with your boyfriends, after all, and given some of your guys, I’ve wanted to at times, just to keep their grubby hands off you. I don’t know what you see in those men, but it doesn’t speak well to judgment, does it?” I observed, even as I took Mom’s advice, to her amusement.

“Honey, my judgment is only bad when it comes to me. I’ll concede that it often sucks when dealing with my own situation. Trust me, I’ve kicked myself plenty of times, though to be blunt, it was never as bad with any of them as with your father. It was God awful with him! I lost any faith that I still had while married to that man! I hate to put down your father, but let’s be candid here with each other. We’re both adults, as we’ve agreed.

“The man was a rat and he deserved everything that has come to him lately. You know what sort of man your father was and what kind he wasn’t. He was a regular dick, plain and simple! Those years with him were the worst seven years of my life!” Mom said openly at last what I had known for years: Dad was a class A jerk.

“Is that why you haven’t remarried? You don’t trust yourself not to get stuck with another Dad? Or was it something else?” I asked Mom directly, and her answer staggered me.

“No, I didn’t remarry because I waited for the right man. Not to come along. To grow up. And now he has. You want to know the honest truth about why I’m tagging along? Well, I’ll tell you now, while that bitch that you call your date is STILL, mind you, on her damn cell phone, probably sexting to every Tom, Dick, and Harry while she’s going out with you. Oh, yes, sweetheart, I know all about what sexting is. I teach high school English, or did you forget?” Mom leaned into whisper, “I’m here for the same reason that I haven’t remarried. I’m going to seduce you.”

I nearly dropped my plate when I heard that, especially since Mom had “accidentally” brushed her nice booty against my groin for a second or two to prove that she wasn’t kidding. Mom wasn’t there to just size up the other women. She was there to defeat them and she wasn’t taking any prisoners! No wonder she had been so insistent on going along on my dates! She was out to steal me or whatever away from these girls closer to my own age. Now, that, my friends, was a motive for sure! As I stood there in shock, wondering what the fuck was going on with my life now, Mom gathered her food and headed to the booth. I bit the bullet and sat next to her, facing Callie and waiting for the bitch to stop texting.

It was a long wait, and that was before Callie even stood up to grab her own food, which left plenty of time for Mom to do devilish little things, such as slip her hands into my pants under the table and play footsie with me. I was soon hard as steel, and it wasn’t mostly due to my date. My own mother used every trick in the book to arouse me and it worked like a charm! I was horny as hell and I wondered how I would get myself out of this weird predicament, especially once Callie returned and Mom stood to shake her hand.

“So, I’m Valerie Walsh. You must be Callie Wade, right? Harry’s my son and, just for the record, this was my idea. He resisted it, I pretended to agree with him, and I trailed him here to interview you. That is to say, I’m just here to record your actions and words, to help determine what kind of woman is interested in my son. He is not on board with this. It wasn’t his plan. This is all my doing, so blame me, not him. You’ve heard of ombudsmen? I’m an ombudswoman for my kids, looking for their interests.

“Look, I’ll be frank here. You’ve got a steep, uphill climb with me. Nearly all mothers think that no woman is good enough for their son as it is, and with me, that’s doubly so. Did you know that my son got a Purple Heart for getting wounded in combat, serving his country while the rest of us stayed home and enjoyed the benefits of the very freedom that he defended? He was only in the Army for a very short time, just out of tech school, in fact, when they shipped him to Afghanistan and the Taliban shot him up. He lost his spleen due to the bullet that the Taliban rebel fired at him.

“I’m saying this to tell you, my son is my prince, he’s my golden boy, and I do think that the sun, moon, and stars rotate around him and shoot out of his ass! I have spent years, not always giving him the right lessons, but always trying to, anyway. I have spent countless hours teaching him how to play chess, catch, how to swim, how to drive, how to tie his shoes, how to tie a necktie ... I’ve helped him with homework, bathed him, taught him how to brush his teeth, given him money when he lost his baby teeth, not a lot on a teacher’s salary, mind you, but you get the point. I’ve combed his hair, given him haircuts when we couldn’t afford the barber, and given him the ‘talk, ‘ awkward as it was.

“I did all that for his sister, too, and yes, she’s my princess, and I love her just as much as I love Harry. But she’s not the one on a date tonight, and Harry is. I’ve already seen enough to alarm me, disturb me, definitely concern me, at least, where your own behavior is concerned. To start with, do you always just salads? What are you going to cook, or is Harry going to do all the cooking, because right now, he knows how and from what I’ve seen, you don’t, missy! Do you know how to operate a microwave, an oven, a dishwasher, a front-loader, or a dryer?

“Before you give me that feminist bullshit about this being the 21st century, so therefore men should know that stuff, Harry does know it! I get the impression that you do not! Do you even work? If so, where? Are you in school? Do you have any plans for your life? I’m not talking wealth here. I’m a teacher, so I certainly don’t have millions stashed away, I can assure you of that. Wealth isn’t my barometer, though I get the impression that you feel differently. How long will you be satisfied with a bookstore manager’s salary when you’re wanting that nice new Gucci bag or those designer dresses?

“Harry wants to compromise by having reports made to me, in the interest of giving me the same information without driving girls away. I understand and it’s awkward for him. He’s a grown man and wants to live his own life, and I’m mostly good with that. Mostly. But I know the female of the species. I know what women are like. I know how much they can crush and destroy a man’s spirit, even a strong, smart, brave, independent man like Harry.

“I know the lengths to which women will go to get what we want, how ruthless we can be, and how little we notice warning signs that the endgame is not what it’s made out to be. I want to look the girls in the eye and read their body language, look for signs of sincerity, deception, and everything else. I don’t see how he could possibly read all that without some help from me, not being a woman, after all.

“My son is a good man. Hell, he’s a wonderful man, once you get to know him. I adore him and I frankly don’t see what you have to offer him. So, what is your sales pitch, not just to him, but to me, who can see through your innocent facade and find the she-devil behind your angelic face? I’m an older woman. I know all of your tricks, schemes, and then some! What works on my son doesn’t necessarily work on me. I made him too much a gentleman at times for his own good, but I can make amends by zealously guarding his interests. So, how about it? Fish or cut bait!” Mom went on at length, while Callie ate her salad nervously, growing more flushed every second as she heard my mother’s words of doom.