Stephen and his parents sat down to eat dinner. His dad, Frank, grey haired and tired-looking, asked his wife, “Get the ketchup, eh?”
Stephen’s mom, Gail, a petite brunette with a trim figure and a usually-ready smile, said peevishly, “I just sat down Frank. Why didn’t you ask before I sat down?”
This was a game that Stephen had watched his parents play for a few years now. He didn’t think it was a fun game, though, and he’d had enough.
Stephen didn’t like the way his dad treated his mom. It bothered him that she took it. It bothered him a lot. The more he thought of the disregard and disrespect she took, the madder he got. Like this stupid game; why didn’t she…, “Just get the damn ketchup, Mom.”
Gail hopped up immediately and went for the ketchup.
Stephen was mortified at the angry tone he had used. He followed her to the kitchen and took the ketchup bottle out of her hand. He leaned over and kissed her forehead. Then he rested his forehead on hers and said, “I’m sorry, Mom. I shouldn’t have talked to you that way.”
Gail put her hands up to her son’s face, cradling it. The action squeezed her breasts together slightly, which drew Stephen’s attention. At that angle, he had the perfect view down her shirt. Her lush cleavage, the creamy tops of her breasts, the black lace of her bra…black lace bra? Stephen felt his balls tingle at the sight.
Stephen enjoyed the view as long as he could. He thought, for the millionth time, how lucky he would be if he could find someone like his mom. She was so loving, giving and forgiving, warm, full of life, beautiful and sexy.
But every time he caught himself appreciating his mother’s assets, he was overcome with shame. “Shit!,” he thought to himself, “I shouldn’t be thinking of my mom like that!”
Feeling unsettled, he quickly took the ketchup bottle to the table. He ignored the gloating look on his father’s face. It was either that or punch the prick in his face.
After dinner, Frank buried his nose in Sports Illustrated, the tv remote in his lap.
Stephen cleared the table while his mother loaded the dishwasher. From the other room, the pair heard Frank loudly whine, “Gail, I want a beer!”
Stephen watched with amusement as his mom pretended not to hear his dad. After a few minutes, Frank whined again for a beer. Gail continued to ignore him. As she was wiping down the counters, Stephen found himself once again studying his mom’s trim figure, her graceful movements, the sweetness of her apple bottom.
Frank came in with a petulant look on his face and retrieved his own beer, bitching as he returned to the den.
Stephen’s thoughts remained unsettled. He couldn’t seem to keep from thinking of his mother as a woman, like she was a potential girlfriend. He wondered if he was crazy because he knew that wasn’t an appropriate way to look at her.
He thought of her with his Dickless Dad and shook his head. His dad’s whiny, needy disrespect, and her ambivalent behavior in return—it just didn’t seem to make any sense that they were husband and wife. “I would treat her so much better!” And then a rush of shame again.
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