My mother chuckles and pulls a face. “Please, Sean,” she says while smirking at me. “Let’s have less of the drama.”
A hot flare of anger wells when I see the roll of her eyes. In that moment I just want to hurt her, and to get in a dig of my own I ask, “So what happened tonight? What did he do?”
My mother’s face crumples. The grin vanishes and she seems to shrink inside the gown, the words leaving a shitty taste in my mouth when I see their effect.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble, immediately contrite.
“Oh, Sean,” she sighs, “it isn’t your fault. He confessed to sleeping with someone else. He thought by telling me it all, we could move on.”
All I reply with is, “Oh.”
I know she wouldn’t have accepted anything he said after confessing. One chance. You cheat, you’re gone. No exceptions.
Just ask my dad.
“Sex,” she says, spitting out the word. “All he had to do was explain before doing anything sneaky. He might have gotten a surprise.”
My mother pauses, eyes glazing.
She drifts for a while, eyes glazing.
I feel bad when I see her wistful expression. It’s my fault for reminding her and wished I’d kept my mouth shut.
“If he was up front and honest,” she starts up again. “And God knows, I thought I’d explained all that to him.” My mother looks looks at me in earnest. “I told him how I felt about infidelity,” she says, stressing her feelings by clenching both fists. “Itoldhim to be truthful with me. No matter what was going on inside his head, I said he should share it.
“If he was up front and honest,” she continues, eyes wide as she says, “he could have had his fun. The sex I don’t care about, Sean. It’s the fucking deceit I can’t stand.”
My jaw dangles at the revelation. It comes a bit of a shock to discover my mother would let her swain slip the collar for a bout of no-strings rumpy-pumpy as long as he was honest about it. I blink and gawp at her, the idea slowly filtering through layers of disbelief.
She must see something in my expression to indicate some need for further clarification because my mother rattles on without a word from me. “It’s quite simple, Sean. The sex doesn’t matter. I can understand how overwhelming passion can be. I’ve been there myself.”
An image bursts into mind when she says that. I didn’t want to think it, but I immediately picture my mother caught in the throes. I’ve seen it before, inside my head: she’s on all fours and looking back at her lover. She’s got that look on her face. She’s daring him to fuck into her, hard. Her buttocks are raised, breasts all heavy and round and exquisitely presented to his palms as he leans low over her back. I watch them kiss, with my mother eagerly sucking his tongue as she winces and groans, her body taking his length from behind.
Of course, the lover is me.
She’s still talking as I try to supress the lewd image. I’m fully aware the sheet won’t mask my resurgent erection, but what I’ve imagined is so vivid and powerful I’ll be back up and ready in seconds.
“It’s the betrayal that eats me up,” my mother is saying as I ease up the bed and raise my knees to disguise my dilemma. “And this thing with you,” she goes on. “It doesn’t mean anything, Sean. It’s inside your head. Nobody will get hurt. So what,” she shrugs, “you suddenly noticed me as female? It isn’t like you’ve tried to molest me, is it? You know the difference between what’s right and what isn’t.”