Too Big
by MicaMeesha
Copyright© 2026 by MicaMeesha
Mik’s dad had been gone a fair few years now. To this day I don’t know what I did wrong; he just announced one day that he was leaving, and he was gone. A ghost. No idea where he is, if he stayed local, moved away, went abroad, or anything. They couldn’t find him for maintenance or to serve divorce papers; he just vanished. Since then, I haven’t even seen anyone that even looks like him. I eventually got a divorce by having him declared missing and presumed dead.
I managed to get Mik through his teenage years and to finish school, and now he is over eighteen and a fine-looking lad; he makes me so proud. We don’t have many rules; one is to be fully dressed downstairs. Life is too short upstairs. If I cook a meal, Mik washes up; if he cooks a meal, I wash up. It’s pretty much as easy-going as that. He doesn’t cook a lot, but he is learning. I am trying to get him to be a rounded person, not afraid around women, and able to be self-sufficient and capable in the home.
“If you want to impress a girl, Mik, cook her a nice meal and then wash up, that is going to get you into her knickers much quicker than a bunch of flowers from the supermarket.”
He did blush at that, and I laughed. The clothes rule blurred in the summer; I would often wear a bikini and sit in the sun, and Mik just shorts, sometimes budgies, but always presentable and decent if someone happened to call.
We would sit on sunbeds; Mik, as often as not, would set his up facing mine, and we would just chill in the sun. I listened to audiobooks and Mik music, I think. I would put lotion on his back, and he on mine. Just pretty normal stuff. Sometimes when it was really hot, we would have a BBQ. I let Mik be the BBQ master; we would have burgers, sausages and chicken cooked over the flames. I would prepare some rolls and perhaps a little salad to go with.
TV was rarely watched; we would sometimes sit and watch a Marvel film or a murder mystery, but generally TV was just moving wallpaper that we didn’t need. I would sit on my bed to do my toenails. Always one leg folded underneath me, the other one I was working on in front of me. Upstairs, I rarely wore much more than knickers, and Mik rarely more than boxers. The house was well insulated, and upstairs was never cold or draughty, and just wearing underwear upstairs meant we got more benefit from outerwear when we went out.
Mik would stop by and talk to me; sometimes he commented on the colour of the polish, but he never hung around long if I was doing my toes; for some reason, he always rushed off. I couldn’t quite figure it; I was usually wearing knickers, and yes, they were tight across my crotch, but they covered it. I was sat on the edge of the bath tidying up my garden. When I say ‘my garden’, there isn’t one, nor do I want one. When I say ‘tidying’, I mean using the epilator, trying to kill off follicles that stubbornly refuse to die and grow back prickly hairs. Awful things. So, obviously I was naked and sat there with legs apart trying to find the follicles and zap them when Mik walked past.
“Hey,” I called.
“What, Mum?” came the reply.
“Can you help me? I am struggling to see down there.”
“Really, Mum?”
“Yes, really, son.”
He came into the bathroom and looked at me hunched over on the edge of the bath with an epilator in my hand and the smell of burnt hair in the air.
“You really can’t see down there?”
“No, I really can’t see down there. The follicles are small; I have to line up the thing with the hair, and if I get it wrong, I just burn myself, and the hair still grows. I know, I know, but I have no one else I can ask, and I trust you, okay?”
“Okay.” There was a mental sigh if not an actual one. Good grief, what is up with him? He knelt before me.
“Can you see the follicles?”
“No, I really don’t know what I am looking for.”
I moved my finger across my skin until I found one. “Here, look.”
He looked; admittedly, it was on the edge of my labia, but it was there and it had to go.
“Okay, I can see it.”
“Right, you have to zap that one and then find another, zap it and so on.”
He took the epilator and put it over the follicle and aimed. There was the sound of singeing hair.
“Excellent, Mik, thank you. Can you find some more?”
He managed to find a fair few more, even though finding seemed to involve more running his fingers over my labia than I expected. But I ran my fingers around, and all seemed smooth.
“Good job, excellent. Right, I just need to rub some lotion in, and I am done.”
“I could do that for you if you wanted.” Ever helpful, my son.
“Okay, baby, thank you.”
I passed him the lotion, and he poured some onto his fingers and ran his fingers over my garden area, especially, it seemed, my labia. Anyway. Job done.
Mik bought a girl home. Sandy, with black hair, which seemed odd, given her name, but there you are. She seemed nice enough; they chatted downstairs, ate a corned beef and tomato sandwich that I had made, and then went off to his room. Door shut. Ooh, what shenanigans could be going on in there then?
I turned the radio up and left them to it; I didn’t want to hear anything that would get my mind boggling. They were either going to have sex, or they weren’t. Either way made no difference to me. But it did make me wonder if I should think about getting ‘out there’ and trying the dating game again.
Did I really want to go through all that nonsense? Getting all made up to go out, to chat about inconsequential things, just so I might be able to get my hands inside a guy’s trousers? Did I? Do I really actually want sex anymore? Yes, okay, so it can be fun for a few minutes, but it can be messy, involves a lot of bed laundry, and has risks of the owner of the trousers wanting to move into your life.
And then there was the impact it would have on Mik.
I didn’t need all that hassle, so I decided, on balance, that dating was not going to be in my immediate future.
“Can I borrow the car, Mum?” Mik called to me. We had an agreement; he was allowed to use the car on any one day in the week. That way he got some independence.
“Okay, suppose, this is your use this week, yes?”
“Okay, Mum, just taking Sandy home.”
“Okay.”
And they were gone – no goodbyes or thank-you; no, just gone. Oh well.
I carried on pottering around downstairs; I blind-baked a pastry base and put some cubed steak on to cook. I would make a steak and onion pie for tea,’ I decided. I went upstairs to change my top; I had managed to splash gravy on it, and I needed to treat it before the fat in the gravy made an indelible spot. Walking past Mik’s room, the bed seemed made, pretty unchanged from the morning. I guess they didn’t get down and personal then. Oh well.
I put another T-shirt on, took the spoilt one back down, treated it and put it in the wash. The meat for the pie was cooked. I put it to one side to cool; it couldn’t go into the pie hot, or the pastry would just fail. I made a cup of Lapsang Souchong. I liked the slight smokiness, even though due to the problems in Ukraine, it wasn’t real lapsang anymore, but it tasted close enough.
I sat out in the conservatory and pondered. Nothing specific, I just sat, sipped my tea, and thought about my lot. I decided I was pretty contented with things. Mik at some point over the next years would probably move, live with someone, and end up causing me more grief than he did whilst here at home. No man getting things wrong whilst telling me he was right. Yeah, everything was pretty much okay.
Mik came in and threw himself on the cane sofa opposite me.
“Hello baby,” I said.
I got a grunt back. Oh dear. Trouble in paradise? Had I spoken too soon?
“What’s up, baby?”
“Bloody girls.”
“Oh. And what, may I ask, is the issue?”
“Mum, forget it.” He got up and grumped off to his room.
I wonder what the problem was. I had bought Mik up to be able to talk about anything. There should be nothing we can’t discuss, ever. So odd, I really couldn’t get why he was so grumpy. A breakup would be, should be, a rant, a moan, a cuddle with Mum, and then be over. What on earth could cause such insular behaviour? It was most unlike Mik. I did some new potatoes, carrots and gravy to go with the steak pie and called Mik down.
“Come on, Mik, tea is on the table.” I put us a glass of water each on the table and waited. After a couple of minutes I called again.
“Mik, Tea, now!” I shouted as loud as I could.
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