Chapter 3

Mom liked to get together with her girlfriends and go out to the clubs. She used to go out more often than she did these days, sometimes two or three times a month, always on Fridays. Those were always the best days for her “honey hunting”. Thankfully, she’d brought her hunting down a bit and now it was a lot more sedate.

Still, Mom was a lightweight when it came to drinking and it didn’t take much, especially these days, for her to get more than a little tipsy. And Mom wasn’t the best judge of character sober, much less alcohol-infused. Couple her poor partner choosing skills with her sky-high sex drive and you can see the problem.

She would latch onto whatever form of male humanoid that paid her any kind of attention and they would end up at his place or a hotel room or sometimes even his car so she could “thank him for his company”. Then she would come home smelling of smoke and liquor and whatever cologne that Romeo chose to wear that night.

Don’t get me wrong here, Mom wasn’t a slut, she was just terribly lonely. So lonely, in fact, that any form of male companionship was better than nothing. Her only criteria was that it was male, horny, and available ... at least for the night.

I didn’t like her going out like this. I knew the perils of the dating world ... coming home with more than a headache is a very real possibility. That’s if you came home at all–there are a lot of very dangerous and crazy motherfuckers out there that would think nothing of hurting a woman, especially a woman who was unable to fight back. I heard it on the news all the time “So and so has gone missing...”

I went into the kitchen and pulled out a frozen pizza, my dinner for tonight. I like pizza, fortunately, and we keep the freezer well-supplied. I popped it in the oven and then went to see what I could find on TV to watch. I ate my pizza and watched the tube until that got boring and went to go online and see what interesting things I could find there.

I went to the site where I’d read a story about one son who was supposedly in a similar situation, a mother who looked for love in all the wrong places. He, too, got tired of her catting around and tired of worrying about her. He finally confronted his mother, putting his foot down and taking control of the situation ... and her.

I don’t know if the story was true or not, the Internet is not exactly the most reliable and truthful source of information. But the more I read, the more plausible my plan seemed. This guy had covered all the bases it seemed, thinking of things I hadn’t even come up with. It made me much more confident and sure that this was the answer to my problem.

Could I actually do this? Could I take on the role of my mother’s lover? I already loved her as her son, but could I satisfy the physical love she craved so much? And would she allow me to? I had to try ... I didn’t see any other options on the table in front of me.

I was asleep still on the sofa when Mom dragged in that night (or early that morning I wasn’t sure which). Because of the way our house is set up, she came in and went right to bed and I didn’t even hear her. I woke up and saw her purse on the floor. She had a large hook on the wall by the door where she usually hung it and she had missed the hook. I also noticed the front door was not fully shut and she was always a stickler for making sure the door was shut and locked. She must have really been wasted last night when she finally came home!

I went in to check on her and found her still in her dress, one heel on and face down on her bed in more or less a diagonal direction. It was probably all she could do to get in the house and get to the bedroom before passing out!

I took off her one shoe and heaved her around onto the bed straighter and covered her with a blanket, letting her sleep it off in her dress. She gave a groan as I moved her, but in her stupor, she didn’t have the sense to talk. Then I went into the medicine cabinet because I knew she would wake up sick to her stomach and with a killer headache.

A couple hours later I heard her stumbling down the hallway and bouncing off the walls on her way to the bathroom. I listened and heard her talking to the toilet (puking) and then she came out in a daze holding her head. I met her with aspirin and Alka-Seltzer and helped her get them both down. Then I sat her at the kitchen table and while she tried to hold her head together, I made her some toast and orange juice to try to soak up some of that liquor she was so fond of last night.

It took several more hours before Mom was able to function normally again. We were sitting in the front room, Mom was half reclining on the sofa and I was sitting in our easy chair.

“Well I guess I’d better start thinking about dinner,” she said looking at the clock on the wall. I glanced up at the clock when she said that. It was just past four o’clock. We walked into the kitchen and Mom started getting the pans out that she would need to make dinner. She was planning on making spaghetti, one of our favorites.

“Mom, we need to talk,” I said as I helped get the things out she needed.

“Oh? What about, son?”

“About last night, Mom. I know that you were out for a couple of drinks with the girls as you said. But I also know that when you drink, you get plastered and latch onto the nearest man who can hold you up. It isn’t safe and it isn’t good for you. This morning I came into your room and you had passed out half on your bed and half off, Your clothes were a shamble and you couldn’t even put your purse down on the table, it was on the floor this morning! And then it takes half the day on Saturday before you are even among the living again.”

“Oh son, I don’t feel like arguing with you about this right now. We’ll talk about this later, okay? I have to get dinner going.” she moaned.

“No, Mom! I want to talk about it now. I worry about you and I don’t like that you go off with all these strange men. It’s dangerous! You are barely able to stand on your own and you can’t fight back if they tried anything. And even if you don’t find Mr. Right Now, you still have to drive home drunk. I don’t know which is worse – having some guy take advantage of you or having you get in a car accident!”

“Well, maybe if I could find one good man I wouldn’t have to go out to the bars looking for someone to give me what I need!” she said.

“You have a good man standing right here in front of you. Me, Mom, you have me. And I love you. I’m not going to use you then run off after I’ve gotten what I wanted, like those other men you are drawn to. I can’t leave you because unlike them, I am your son and I am always going to be your son. I can’t escape that. So I’m always going to be here for you.”

“I know son and you are a decent man. I don’t know how you did it, but you turned out to be a wonderful man. But you can’t help me in the way I need help with. You are great around the house and with chores, but I need something more...”

“Intimate, Mom? Is that what you mean? Well, I can do that too. I don’t have a girlfriend and you don’t have anyone either so we aren’t cheating on anyone. And we both could use a little more action.”

“Yeah, but we can’t, honey ... it’s just wrong.”

“Says who Mom? Who has the right to tell us what we can and can’t do when we love each other?”

“It’s just wrong, son. Morally and socially it’s wrong.”

I had to push her buttons. I had to take command of the situation and show her I was going to be in charge now. Discussing this was not going to be enough. “Tell me, Mom, where is the morality or the social acceptance of a drunken slut sleeping around with any man still sober enough to get a hard-on? Where is the morality in being a beer-swilling whore?”

I knew that using such language would piss her off and I was absolutely right. “Robert Allen Barnette, you watch your mouth! You aren’t too old for me you tan your hide!”

“It’s the truth, Mom. You aren’t any better than the girls that work at the Kit Kat Club outside of town. They shake their tits and asses to entice men too, and they even have sex with them in the back rooms. The only difference is that they get paid for it. You give it away for a couple drinks and a quick roll in the sack!”

I hated to be so hard on Mom, and I didn’t really mean any of it. But something needed to be done and maybe if she saw her behavior for what it was, it just might help her to change.

Hearing me talk to her like that and compare her to a stripper and a whore made her really mad now. She crossed the kitchen in three steps ready to slap me into the middle of next week! Just what I wanted her to do. As she got closer, she drew her hand back ready to slap the insolence out of me, but she never got the chance.

She swung her hand and I dodged her, catching her arm as she slipped past me. Her momentum carried her to the breakfast bar that separates the kitchen from the dining room. As she hit the bar, she was forced to bend over it. I moved quickly behind her bringing her arm up behind her and pinning her to the counter with it.