“Your dad was handsome when he was younger.” She turned her attention back to the shirt she was pressing. “Just like you,” she said. “I met your father when he was about your age.”
I watched a smile grow on Mom’s face. The years seemed to melt away. Her smile turned sneaky, sly, like she just swallowed a secret. When she looked back up at me, she was different, kind of mysterious. She stared at me. I couldn’t keep from staring back.
I could see her, what she looked like, when she was younger. She was pretty. She smiled and it sent a shiver through my body. Her eyes darted to my crotch, where I now felt the discomfort of a bent-over erection trapped in the wet, clingy cotton.
“He was so eager,” she said, and looked up at my eyes with the happiest, biggest smile I’d ever seen on her. “Just like you.”
I blushed bright red, turned, and ran upstairs to my room. I closed the door and pulled off the wet briefs. I was breathing hard and it wasn’t just from running up the stairs. I was scared. I looked at myself in the mirror hanging on the back of my door. There it stood, hard as wood.
I was embarrassed that the erection had happened, that my mom had seen it. I was scared, too, not because she seemed to enjoy seeing my reaction, but because I realized it was looking at my mom that had given me the erection, her smile, the way she seemed almost playful.
The next day I went straight to my room after school. I shut the door and read about all sorts of new technological wonders. What an age I lived in! New inventions every day! By the time Mom called me for dinner, I had forgotten about yesterday.
“Weren’t you hot, today?” Mom asked.
“Yeah,” I said, then lit up as I remembered a story about how we would control our planet’s weather in the future. “Someday, we’ll be able to set the temperature on a dial,” I said, excited at the prospect.
“Yes, I expect you will…”
I started to eat, then realized my mom was watching me. I stopped eating and looked up.
“You like your dinner?” she asked.
“It’s swell, Mom,” I said.
“It’s your favorite,” she said. “I made it just for you.”
She was twirling her fork in her fingers, flipping it over and over, not really using it to eat, just turning it. I looked up towards her face, but was distracted by her other hand, which was delicately holding the neck of her dress, just above the buttons that climbed the front. She was fanning it open and closed. I watched as the motion caused her dress to billow, a wave of cloth, which washed over her chest. I stared as her movement became more pronounced, and she lifted the material further away with each flick of her wrist. I saw her bosom, the top of her breast, then more. Afraid she would catch me, I looked up at her face, expecting to be chastised, but she was daydreaming, staring out the window. My heart was beginning to pound in my ears, and time seemed to slow to a crawl as I looked down at that flapping cloth, looked underneath at the milky white skin. The top button came undone and I was sure my mother would notice, but her eyes were closed, now. She seemed to be enjoying the coolness on her skin. With the next couple flaps, I saw she wasn’t wearing any bra. I got a glimpse at her dark center, and her nipple. I swallowed hard and leaned just a bit to the side, hoping to see further inside.
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