Sheepishly pointing to her sheer cyan satin panty and bra I could barely get out the words
“Only angels wear things so beautiful.”
She seemed taken aback by my response.
“Those are my favorites too. But Tommy, I am your mother. It’s not a good thing for you to think about me in in that way.”
Wanting to argue that point, but feeling her good graces had been pushed to the limit, I kissed her cheek and said ‘sorry’ again. I slithered away to set the table for dinner.
If there were any lingering repercussions, Mom never let on. Her privacy was never again violated, but thereafter, whenever they were washed, her cyan panty and bra were neatly folded and placed prominently on the top of the laundry stack.
Chapter 2.
High school graduation was quickly approaching. Not wanting to leave Mom, I decided to enlist in the local Army National Guard. The first week of June, just after my eighteenth birthday I raised my right hand and was scheduled for ten weeks of basic combat training in July. Mom was relieved that I’d be staying close. She said it would be hard for her not being with me, especially for ten long weeks. A few nights later, we were lying on the couch, not paying much attention to the TV. Mom was in front of me, dressed in jeans and a tank top. Turning to face me, I innocently ran my hand up and down her back. The subject got to my remaining senior class activities.
“Tommy, aren’t you going to go to your senior prom next week? You really should go, you only get one chance. I’ve always wished I could have gone to mine.”
“I don’t think so, Mom. I’ve never had a girlfriend and I don’t want to ask someone who doesn’t care about me or only wants someone to take her to the prom.”
“Tommy, surely there must be someone you’d like to ask.”
“There might be… no.”
“Well…”
“There is maybe one…”
Excited now, Mom said
“Well, who?”
Turning Mom so her back was to me, starting at her shoulder, on her back with my finger I wrote out the letter “M”.
“Mary Higgins? Tommy, she’s trouble.”
“No…”
In the middle of her back I wrote out the letter “O”.
“Monique Anderson? She seems nice enough, but I don’t see her being your type.”
“No…”
On the lower part of her back, I wrote a bold capital letter “M”.
Mom looked at me, and turning so we were face-to-face, she held me in a huge hug. Her legs pressed tightly into mine, and I could feel her petite breasts pressing into my chest.
“That’s such a wonderful thought, but Tommy, I couldn’t.”
“Sure you could.”
She recited a long list of excuses, including “I shouldn’t”, “It wouldn’t look right”, “What would the chaperones think”, “Your friends will think it is weird”, “We can’t afford a limo” and “What would I wear?”
When we arrived at the prom in our beat-up but waxed and detailed car, Mom was wearing a hemmed-up borrowed bridesmaid gown and appeared to be a candidate for prom queen. She looked much younger than her age; her petite-ness and perky ‘up high’ breasts gave her the body of a teenager. With her beautiful complexion, lightest of makeup and shiny straight black hair, she fit right in with the other girls who were made up to the hilt and dressed to the nines. We received plenty of envious looks. Mom had a great time; we danced every dance. The chaperones swooned at the young couple in love.