Chapter 1

Mom looked on the Delta schedule board in the Atlanta airport madhouse and saw the flashing word "CANCELLED" beside our flight to Huntsville, along with many others on the same list. Oh, God. Bad fucking awful news! I'm starving to death.

I could see her frowning, deep in thought, and then she turned to me and said urgently, "Derrick, go to the agent in the red coat over there and ask him if we will be able to get our bags. Hurry. I'm going to try to get us a hotel."

I ran through hundreds of people going up and down the concourse and found the agent in the midst of unhappy travelers giving out the bad news. "No luggage." Mom was really quick and grabbed a hotel phone off the lengthy and confusing phone bank and punched a hotel. Still frustrated, she kept trying and the third hotel could take us. Maybe we'd beat the crowd. She travels a lot as a human resources consultant and is savvy in emergencies. For me, hunger is an emergency, too!

I gave her the bad luggage news and she replied, "It happens when you travel. The airline does not control the weather. They will give us an overnight kit and we'll have to rough it! We have a hotel with a restaurant and the van will be here in about 20 minutes."

We walked outside in the humid and noisy waiting area to await the van. The rain was loud on the van roof, but we made it to the hotel and checked in without getting soaked. I told her that I urgently needed to eat. She just laughed, "I thought you were through growing!"

We went down to the restaurant and actually had a laugh at our plight of 'roughing it.' By the time we finished eating a surprisingly good meal, the dance combo started playing. After the funeral and the flight, she needed to relax and enjoy something to get her mind away from the previous three days.

How did we end up here? Mom had a rough year and we were returning from the funeral of her most favorite uncle in Charleston. She lived with this uncle for a long time and loved him as a father. Early last year, my father literally dropped dead while he was jogging. He was older than Mom, but kept himself in shape. It was dreadful for me and it devastated her.

We did family therapy and grief therapy and passages therapy-I never want to see another shrink. We went to the twice-weekly support-group sessions for about six months and then she decided she could cope on her own. I am 17 and she is 43, going on 35. She works hard to keep her shape and looks. And, boy, how she succeeds! She tells me her appearance is good for business, but I suspect that there is some vanity in the mix as well.

About a month ago, we were having dinner when I asked, "Will you teach me how to dance better? You're good!"

"Me? They give all kinds of dance classes for your age group."

"They do, but they make you go around in a circle and dance with everyone. Some don't know how. The club dance is next month and I don't want to look like a geek. I need to hit on some girls. Besides that, you're more my size." We belonged to this health and tennis club-nothing fancy, but they had good equipment and sponsored social events each month.

She laughed, "Oh do I know what you mean about dancing with everyone. Even at the club, I avoid certain clumsies. I'm honored that you asked me. Give me a few minutes and I will meet you in the family room. We'll start."

We did start that night and worked hard for a couple of weeks. She showed genuine patience in teaching me the steps, the swing, some nice moves in the freestyle, and finally, the slow romantic stuff. I was catching on. During one slow dance, I held my butt out so she wouldn't feel my boner.

"Derrick, your butt is sticking out. You look funny. Come back next to me."

"But Mom, I, uhhh, have this problem."

"You have an erection. Boys always do. Wear a jock and make it stay close to your belly. If the girl doesn't like it, let her stick her butt out."

"Will they really do that?"

"Some will back away; others will know that it always happens and will be used to it. Later, with more experience, they will like the feeling that they excite you. Go get your jock and tight briefs and come back."

I ran upstairs, admiring her openness although I was slightly embarrassed, and put on the jock and tight bike shorts and came back down. On the next dance, she said, "Now, if she likes you and dances close like this, as the dance starts to end, kiss her softly on the cheek and whisper her name and how much you like to dance with her. On the next dance, if she holds you to her, kiss her cheek and as the dance ends, kiss her softly on the lips. Nothing powerful. Here we go."

So we danced. I held her close. She fit perfectly with my height. During the slow dance, I kissed her softly on the cheek and whispered, "Sabrina, you look stunning tonight and I enjoy dancing with you."

She whispered back with a warm smile, "Why thank you, Derrick. You are so easy to follow."

Next dance, I smelled her soft hair and felt her warm cheek against my face as I whispered to her, "Thank you, Sabrina. Dancing with you is a thrill," then I kissed her gently on the lips. In my state of arousal, I wanted a lot more, but held myself in check. She is my mother, after all.

She drew her head back and kept her hips moving against me as she looked directly at me. "I believe you're getting into it. That kiss was perfect."

She smiled, "Now, my son, for the most difficult lesson of all."

I was almost afraid to ask, "OK, I'm ready. What's that?"

"You absolutely must master the mutter. You have to think up nice things to say to her and speak them softly as you dance. Don't be a motor mouth, but two or three nice compliments or comments will go a long way."

"I can see why that's the hardest part. I'm not very good at small talk."

"Believe me, you can learn it. She is wearing a dress or jeans. She is wearing earrings. She smells good. Her hair is nice. My God, her eyes! How nice it is to hold her and dance slow. She is very good on the fast dances. Observe her. Look at her eyes before you look at her breasts, particularly if they are large. Talk to her eyes as long as you can."