In my eyes, the passing years had made Mom even more beautiful than ever. She had let her dark brown hair grow a bit longer, so it now fell just below her shoulder instead of just above. She was still the same 5’2″ – about a foot shorter than me – but had gained a few pounds. Nothing too extreme, and even though she would often whine and complain to me that she needed to lose some weight, I thought those extra pounds made her look even more desirable and sexy. They seemed to have gone to her chest, and I swear her breasts looked even bigger than they had been.
(For the record, I did not know what her cup size was. Even though I was a huge pervert by pretty much any standards – fantasizing about and masturbating to my Mother – I respected her privacy too much to go around snooping in her underwear drawer.)
Some things didn’t change. My twentieth birthday was a few months away, yet I continued living with Mom. I could have moved out to a place of my own had I wanted. I didn’t. We never discussed my moving out; we were both content with the status quo. I don’t think either of us could bear the thought of us not living together.
I had started helping around the house a lot more: doing small repairs, washing and waxing her car, or anything else that the ‘man’ of the house should do. The money I was earning helped. I would often buy small things for Mom: a pair of earrings I saw in the mall – not very expensive – but I knew they would look nice on her, or a large bouquet of flowers, or some Swiss chocolates, just because.
I was actually quite proud of my role in the house. I began to see myself as the man in my Mother’s life. I knew Mom had never dated since she gave birth to me. I guess being abandoned by the prick that is my father had turned her bitter. I didn’t blame her, and I was determined to fill the void in her life.
Secretly, I was glad she didn’t date. I couldn’t bear the thought of Mom being with anyone else. I wanted her all for myself. Selfish? Very. I have to admit, I did go out with a few girls in high school. I did end up losing my virginity to one of them when I was 18, and even though she told me repeatedly how great the sex had been, I felt hollow and empty afterwards. Strangely enough, I felt like I was cheating on Mom. I thought of how she would be alone in bed, probably reading a book and waiting for me to get home. How could I have abandoned her like that? I swore to myself to always be there for her. Stupid and juvenile maybe, but after that I hardly ever dated in college. Mom was the only girl for me.
Like I said, some things don’t change. Every evening when Mom came home from work, she would find me waiting for her. The huge smile she had for me would make the wait worthwhile. She would give me a hug and a loving kiss. Then, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, she would walk upstairs, and I would faithfully follow her up to her bedroom. And as we talked, I would watch her undress.
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It was Friday. I was beat and looking forward to some R&R over the weekend. I had a couple of classes in the morning, and then from noon till four-thirty I was at work. I got home just around five.