Chapter 2: The Hook

Home for the Christmas holidays. I was eager to show off the new skills I had learned but Mom never joined me at the piano except to stand behind me while I played. My hopes for a replay of summer’s end, especially another ‘broken’ heel incident, dwindled with each passing day. Christmas day passed uneventfully and we were approaching the last day of the year when Mom asked me if I would play a piece or two at the New Year’s Eve party my parents were hosting that night.

“Sure, what would you like to hear?”

“Play a few pieces and I’ll pick,” Mom said, more cheery than she’d been all holiday.

I sat down and began to play. On the second song, Mom laid her hand on my shoulder. At the end of the song, she slipped down onto the bench beside me, eagerly awaiting my next number. I played my heart out for the third piece and my chest tightened when Mom exclaimed her pleasure when I finished.

“That was, how do you say it nowadays? Awesome,” Mom enthused, turning slightly toward me.

“Thanks, Mom. I’m learning a lot at college,” I said, proudly.

“That wasn’t just learning, that was raw talent,” Mom beamed.

I blushed and looked down.

“You must do a recital at Church.”

I looked up quickly. This wasn’t what I was hoping to achieve. “Mom,...”

“Oh, but you must. Please, Jon.”

I shook my head. “Mom, you know I...”

“It would mean so much to me,” Mom interrupted, her voice softening.

The change in her voice triggered an immediate feeling within me. I lowered my head to avoid her eyes, fearing my sudden carnal thoughts could be easily read, and was surprised to see the fingers of Mom’s right hand scratching her skirt, slowly tugging it up from her knees. I went rigid, eyes fixed on Mom’s thighs.

“It would be so wonderful to see you up there in front of everyone,” Mom purred.

Mom’s hand, now filled with her bunched up skirt, withdrew up her leg, dragging her skirt toward her hip. Her left knee moved but was blocked by the bench. Then, just as her hand stopped, Mom’s right knee moved away, spreading her legs and drawing her skirt even higher. Suddenly, light reflected off a narrow expanse of white material, starkly outlined against the dark material of Mom’s skirt.

“You will, won’t you?” Mom asked, her voice still soft but not as smooth as before.

“I’m going back to school in a few days.”

“Oh, but it won’t be until summer. You can do it then, can’t you?”

My voice caught in my throat but I nodded and managed to croak, “Yes, of course. If that’s what you want, Mom.”

“It is,” Mom whispered, though we were the only ones home.

And with that, her hips pushed forward and her pubes strained against the cotton material that, though they didn’t reveal as much as the lacy, black ones months before, still disclosed much, and my mind filled in the rest.

“You make me so happy, Jon,” Mom’s voice returned closer to normal but in a throatier version.

“But at the end of the summer, right?” I said.

Mom’s brow furrowed. “The end?”

“Yes, we’ll need to practice,” I said.

“Practice? We?”

“Yes,” I said, my confidence rising. “I want to do a duet, with you.”

“Oh, Jon. I couldn’t play with you, not the way you’re playing now.”

“Sure you can. You just need to practice.”

“No. I’d look like a fool.”

“Bull,” I said, the closest thing to a swear word I could use in front of my mom. Mom’s eyes widened, realizing that I must feel strongly if I used a word like that in her presence.

“But Jon...”

“I want to play, with you, Mom.” I held my finger to her lips to silence further protest. “I need you to be up there with me,” I pleaded, “the two of us, together.”