Chapter 3

It’s summer break, so I settled in to watch Netflix. I thought of Polly, a girl I dated at the University. Later that evening, I decided to give her a call. She had gone home to be with her parents in Colorado, and I would not see her again until the fall. Polly spent a lot of time telling me how she wanted to set me free for the summer and wanted to spend the summer with her old friends. Bottom line, she dumped me. That’s what I get for dating a woman two years older than me. I was not too upset. At most, Polly had been a friend with benefits.

I had just hung up from talking to Polly when I heard Mom’s car drive in and the garage door close. It was around 9:30, and I was anxious to know how my mom’s date went. I stood up when she came in, and I could see her eyes were puffy, and she had been crying. I quickly went to her, put my arm around her back, led her to the couch, and sat her down.

“What happened, Mom? Did he hurt you?”

Mom waved her hand and shook her head, “No, no, he didn’t physically harm me.”

“What did he do to get you so upset?”

Mom, in her matter-of-fact way, gave me the details. “We had a nice dinner, and then he asked if I wanted to go to his apartment, and of course, I agreed because I was hoping we would have sex. He was very nice at first and gave me a glass of wine and then took me to his bedroom, and we had intercourse. When I asked him when I could see him again, he laughed at me and said, ’Never. I want a woman willing to move her ass a little.’ He sounded quite annoyed with me when he told me to get dressed and go home. I don’t know what I did wrong. I had gotten undressed right away and lay on the bed. I spread my legs and let him touch me, kiss me, and put his penis in my vagina until he was satisfied. I let him do everything he wanted ... except when he tried to put his penis in my mouth.”

I sat back and digested what my mom told me, and then it struck me. Mom did not have a clue when it came to sex. Thinking back, I only remember her having one other date, and that was when I was around twelve years old. Now that I think about it, it was only one night, too.

“Come on, Mom, let’s get you to bed, and we will talk about this in the morning when you’re not so upset.”

“Okay, Honey.”

I walked upstairs with her to her bedroom. She sat on the edge of her bed, looking downcast. She removed her glasses, put them on the nightstand, and unbuttoned her blouse. I got her nightgown from the dresser drawer and laid it on the bed beside her. For some reason, I felt compelled to kiss her on the forehead before I said, “Good night, Mom,” and left the room.