“I have decided that it is probably the best thing for her; as long as things stay under control. There is nothing that I want more than to see my daughter get some joy out of her youth.”
“What about you then? Doesn’t the same thing work for you? Don’t you want to get some joy out of your youth?” My heart skipped a beat as I finished those sentences. I was quite sure I knew what we were talking about, and it made me feel petrified.
“I have thought about it, but I am afraid—no, I am sure—I will not get the same response as her, and I won’t be able to undo the damage as easily as she will, being young and wild.”
I took my mother’s words in and carefully thought of the significance of her confession. It must have been very difficult for her to tell me as much as she did. At the same time, my mind was having trouble grasping the enormity of her words or the implications hidden between the lines.
I thought for a while and then asked: “But, how is this going to be a substitute for the real thing. I mean, the placebo has its benefits, but it can’t replace the real medicine when only the real medicine will do.”
“It is not a replacement for the real thing, son. It is the real thing—while it lasts. That is the difference between your sister and the rest of the world. To her, it will be the same as if it happened the way it happens to other people. As long as it is pure and respectful, and hopefully passionate as well.”
I was buried under her words. It took a long time for me to dig myself out. Finally, I managed to utter my question: “But, what about you mom?”
“I’ll live, son. I’ll live.”
I sat there, contemplating what she’d said. My mind raced this way and that as a new dimension opened up and I walked right into it, curious, afraid, enthralled, and unnerved beyond belief.
I went up to my mom and gave her a hug.
Now there was a woman who really needed a hug. She’d been a pillar of strength for both of us and I don’t remember ever thanking her properly for her devotion, or rather for her sacrifices. If things looked bleak for Cris, imagine how gloomy they were for her; considering her age and the lack of prospects for people of that age. As I held her body in my arms and felt her head on my chest, I couldn’t help but wonder about the potential hidden in that body of hers. It seemed like she was willing for it to be realized; only there was no acceptable way of approaching the subject. It would be quite thrilling, if one could, but she had made it clear that there was no way to start. I couldn’t help but picture her lying on a bed, legs up and spread, and a lot of pure and respectful passion making its way through her belly.
I was aware of my erection pressing into her thigh but I didn’t think I needed to worry about it. She stood pressed into me and pressed into my erection, apparently she didn’t worry about it either. I was hard as a result of the images I had playing in my head. My mother was in need of something that hard to play in her body. My mother had breasts that were much bigger than Cris’s and they were covering a lot more area on my chest. I was swimming in a sea of softness and warmth and this one had motherly touch to it.