There was a young lady from Dumfries
Who said to her boyfriend, “It’s some freeze!
My navel’s all bare,
So stick it in there,
Before both my legs and my bum freeze.”

I tried to close the back door behind me as quiet as I could.

“Jason? Can you come down here please?” It was mom — and she was in the basement.

“I have some things to do first mom!” I shucked my jacket and made my way through the kitchen, heading to the stairs to the upper floor and the privacy of my bedroom.

“I need your help right now young man!” I knew that voice and so understood that it brokered no leniency. With reluctance and slow steps, I reversed my direction and went down the lit wooden stairway to the cement basement.

“Hurry Jason!”

Mom was standing on a old stool and was stretching upward upon her toes so that her calves bunched up, a box that saw better days ten years ago, looked ready to tumble directly down upon her. I wasn’t sure if she was placing it on the shelf or removing it — but her finger tips were the only thing stopping it from falling.

“There you are young man — I could use some help?” She still had not turned around — practically balancing on her bare toes. Mom wore her normal Saturday attire — old gray shorts that used to be mine and a ugly sweat shirt that she had when she went to University... about a million years before.

“That stool doesn’t look safe mom.”

She spoke in that adult voice every eighteen year-old knew, “I know that Jason...!” She turned to look at me and then stopped with her mouth open.

The box started to fall — her hands seemingly forgotting to balance it on the edge of the shelf.

“Mom!”

She looked upward and saw the box start to tip toward her and I jumped forward as she fell back off the stool. The contents of the box fell out of it as it fell — so that knitting materials from one of mother’s craft-kicks a decade before rained down upon the both of us.

Mother’s whole weight was in my arms and she looked at me over her shoulder, and I saw her eyes widen in surprise.

“Jason?” Quickly she rolled out of my grasp back on her feet facing me. “My god honey — what happened to you?” She seemed to have forgotten the box and its contents strewn about the cement floor.

No use trying to hide it now. “I was in a fight.” No shit — my face had to look as bad as it felt.

Her hand came up but stopped just before touching my cheek. “Does it hurt?” She had a pain-filled face — as if it was her that had just been in a fight. Tears came quickly to her eyes, “Oh honey!”

She took another pregnant look at my abused face before grabbing my hand and leading me up to the kitchen. I was placed at the breakfast table as she went upstairs to the bathroom to retrieve the First Aid Kit.

Mother put on a somber face as she applied peroxide to my open wounds and had me hold two different ice packs over one eye and the other cheek. Only after she was busy working on restoring my mediocre teenage looks did she ask as gently as she could, “What was the fight about Jason?”

I didn’t want to tell her, and just shrugged.

She continued to work without a word before she again asked, “Was it something about school?”

I could not contain a mirth-filled laugh. “No.” I wish.

Another pause, “Then what Jason?” I could hear the strain in her voice, see the way she took deep breaths to still her emotions — this was hitting mom harder than I would have thought, almost as hard as the fists upon my face.

“It’s a little embarrassing mom.” It was.

Mom paused for a brief second before continuing to work on my wounds. “I am your mother Jason — nothing you say can embarrass me.”

No, it would embarrass me! “Can we just drop it mom?”

She put down the peroxide-wet cotton ball and stared at me firmly — “I want to know what it was all about young man?”

I knew that voice — and it brokered no option.

With a shrug I suddenly felt my eyes water as the words came out with a stutter, “Some people at school have been calling me a ‘fag’ and ‘homo’.”

Mother actually did a double take — blinking at her surprise. She looked at the open First Aid Kit suddenly embarrassed and finally said, “Are you...?” She could not say ‘homosexual’ — which would be funny if not given the current situation.

“No.” I wasn’t — of that I am sure.

She visibly relaxed, her breath coming out in a long stress-releasing exhale.

My face was as good as it was going to get — as only time will heal the remaining wounds. Mom was tidying up the kit, “How did these boys get the idea that you... well... ?”

“‘Gay’ mom?” She nodded, still not able to look at me. “Some girls at school have been spreading the rumour.”

She finally looked at me, both my hands still holding ice against my face — I must look like a teenage comical Rocky actor. Unfortunately, my getting beat up only proved that I was a loser. ‘A bum’ as Rocky would have said. “Why would they do that Jason?”

I shrugged initially, this being the main source of my embarrassment, “Cathy Summers and I... she started it.”

Mom just glared at me — telling me to continue.

“I tried to kiss her and she started to laugh — telling me I kissed like her ten year-old cousin. Told everyone that I kissed like a ‘pansy’.” My head hung upon my shoulders. It did not help that I was the smallest guy in my class.

“All this over just one kiss?”

I shrugged yet again, “It was a pretty pathetic kiss mom.”

“Well what does this Cathy Summers expect Jason — you have to learn with someone!” Mother was getting angry — as was easily apparent in her voice. “Sounds like she is a grade ‘A’ bitch!”

I nodded in agreement — I could certainly pick ‘em. If I had not tried to score with the schools primo chick — this beating would never have happened.

She picked up the kit, “Go watch the television honey — I will bring you supper. Keep the ice on your bruises — it will help the swelling go down.”

I did as requested — using the remote to surf through the channels for the next couple of hours. Mom sat with me, both of us eating the pizza that she had ordered.

During this sitting — mother could not take her eyes from me. When I looked at her, she would smile gently and then turn toward the television. I wondered what she may be thinking? I prayed it wasn’t something crazy like calling Cathy Summers’ parents or the school! Parents do stupid things like that sometimes.

It was dark outside when I turned off the television, disgusted at the loss of hours to moronic programming. The ice was long melted and mom had been silent for hours — as I had not seen her. So I headed upstairs to my room, dressed into my pyjama bottoms, brushed my teeth and grabbed a book to read before climbing into bed.

It was only at that point that mom knocked on my door and struck her head in the door, “Honey? Can I come in?”

She had opened the door to look in, so what else could I say, “Sure mom.” With a sigh, I dreaded my belief that she wanted to talk more about my battered face and what had caused it. I set my book down at my bed side and sat up with my back against my head board.

Mom stepped in, closed the door behind her and walked silently to my bedside upon her bare feet. She was wearing her normal bedtime attire — a long, over-sized, tee shirt that hung to her knees. Mom sat down by my hip, facing me.

“How are you feeling honey?”

I shrugged, “Better I guess.”

She nodded, looking down at her exposed knees for almost a moment — until the silence was getting a little awkward when she asked, “I have an offer for you honey.”

It was late, I just wanted her to leave so I could read then sleep.

“But even the offer must be just between you and me — you cannot tell anyone. Not even Gerald.” Gerald was my best friend. Mom had peaked my interest and had no idea what she had to ‘offer’.

Mom still did not look at me but she did not pause, “I want to help you with your self-confidence with girls honey.”

What did she mean?

“And if you are up to it — we can start right now?”

I blinked but otherwise did not move — I was not sure what we were talking about? Do I have a self-confidence problem?

Mother finally looked up into my eyes and saw my confusion and smiled softly, “Oh Jason, you do not understand do you?”

I shrugged. With her smile, she was making me feel like a child again — a child with adult conversations that make little to no sense.

She reached out to hold one of my hands in both of hers, “Mommy is offering to teach you about girls honey?”

I blinked again, but this time rather than confusion it was with surprise. The only way I could think of that mom could teach me about girls was for her to... well, it’s not like she had a boy-girl manual in her back pocket is it?

Not for the first time in my life — but with more a selfish eye than ever before — I appraised my mother. She was short and slim — petite as she liked to call it — with small breasts and round hips, shapely legs and a surprisingly attractive round ass. Her hair was short blond, from a bottle, and a still-cute pixie face.

Gerald had often spoke about how he thought my mother was attractive — a ‘hot little piece’ as he called her. I thought he always did it to get me angry — so over the years, had learned to just laugh off his comments — but perhaps he was serious after all.

Why would mother offer such a thing? It was not like she needed a guy in her life — she had dated 3 different guys in the last six months. Each of whom would spend a few nights each week sleeping over. And if mother wanted another, she had the means — I’ve seen her dressed in a short tight skirt, stockings and no brassier as she went out with two of her girlfriends. ‘Trolling for guys’ as they jokingly called it.

Is it any wonder that the female of our species scare me?

Mother must have seen my introspection within my eyes and followed up, “I mean, if you want it too? If it’s not too weird?”

Now I knew, with a certainty, what she was offering. At least, in general.

Did I want to? I had no idea — it scared me more than the bullies, from earlier in the day, chasing me down three blocks with violence in their eyes. Yet I was a guy and no guy would ever admit to not ‘wanting to’ — if you get my meaning. So I mumbled, “I do”.

Mom nodded — looking pleased and perhaps a little pity.

It’s not cool to be given pity by one’s parent!

“Why don’t you sit up here next to me and we can start with kissing?” She released my hand and patted the bed next to her hip.

Suddenly my heart was thumping as it had been when I was with Cathy Summers and had my first kiss. Cathy had toyed with me then — playing me for her amusement. What was the reason that mom was offering this help? Was it as simple as love or was I about to be humiliated, even inadvertently, by my own parent?

I sat up, my hands sweating.

Our faces were a breath away from the other, our eyes searching into the soul of the other. “Now lean forward and kiss me Jason.”

I moved forward and mom’s head jerked back, away from me, “Whoa honey! Take it slow!” She brought both her hands up to cradle my face between them, being careful of my bruises, and then gently brought us together.

Our lips touched very softly and it was reminiscent of any of mother’s and my kisses prior to this moment. Everyone knows that kissing a girl is not like kissing your mom!