tagIncest/TabooA Better Valentine's Day

A Better Valentine's Day

byAhabscribe©

Only about three weeks late, but here is a promised Valentine's Day story. I'm not totally happy with it, but hope you all enjoy! Please let me know what you think!

As always, this is a work of fiction and all characters within exist only within the confines of my imagination. Again, enjoy!




"Dad, you are a fucking idiot," I said for about the hundredth time since this morning.

"Watch your mouth, John and watch the goddamn road," replied my father as he grabbed onto the dashboard. I just laughed as I negotiated the heavy traffic of the Interstate, crossing several lanes of traffic to hit the exit that said "Airport."

I glanced at my watch and said, "Well, you said to get you to the airport on time and I do believe you're going to make it." I glanced over at my father and repeated for about the one hundredth and one time today, "You are a fucking idiot. Dad, it's February 10th. You are leaving Mom to go hunting for two damn weeks rather than spending Valentine's Day with her. You're going to fucking break her heart."

I exited onto Airport road and began working my way towards the drop-off terminal. Dad was still hanging onto the dashboard as he said, "Your mother is a big girl and will get over it. Besides, this is big game hunting in Canada - moose and elk. How often do I get a chance to hunt something like that?"

"Hello, talking about Mom here. You know how much she was looking forward to going out, dinner and dancing – romantic evening and all that?" I shook my head in disgust. "Mom's gonna cry her eyes out."

Dad just rolled his eyes at me. Clearly I just didn't understand. Personally, I was glad. If I understood why Dad acts the way he does, I'd likely be just as big an asshole. Dad is a big time lawyer for some big time firms and thinks that he walks on water. The last few years, I've watched as he's gone through his so called mid-life crisis and become more and more distant from Mom and me. Nowadays, Dad's attention is mostly on traveling with his business buddies and trying out fancy golf courses, attending football games in the skybox section and these elaborate hunting and or fishing trips.

I also knew about the rumors that his new interests also ran to some twenty-somethings that hung out at the upscale bars he and his business buddies frequented. The walls in our home aren't so thick that I could ignore some of the huge fights he had had with Mom the last couple of years.

There had been a couple of marriage counselors and for the past six months, I had thought Mom and Dad were going to patch things up. Then someone called him this morning and offered him a slot on this big game expedition and Dad jumped at it – although who the fuck in their right mind would want to go hunting in sub-zero weather when they could be warm and at home with a beautiful woman.

"Dad, you've got to quit treating Mom like shit. It just isn't right. Mom deserves better. Don't go. Stay here and do right by her," I said as I pulled up to the baggage check-in.

Dad climbed out of the car while I popped the car's trunk. He unloaded his bag and came around by the driver's side door and peered in my open window. "Frankly, John, it isn't any of your goddamn business. Here, take this." Dad tossed me his cell phone. "I don't want to hear your Mom bitching at me every five minutes. Wish me luck – maybe I'll bring home a moose head."

Dad started to walk away. I stuck my head out the window and said, "What about Mom? What do I tell her about Valentine's Day? You know how she's been talking about it for weeks."

Dad turned and gave me that look of his – that "what the fuck do I care – it's all about me" look that Mom and I have seen more and more often the last few years. He rolled his eyes again and dug into his pants pocket. Without looking at it, he threw something at me. I caught it. It was a money clip. "You care so damn much, John, take your mother out to dinner. I got bigger fish to fry." He stopped and grinned. "Or moose to shoot"

Dad turned and walked into the check-in section while an airport cop motioned for me to move out. I pulled away, making my way back onto the airport road. I shook my head and wondered once again how my old man could be such an asshole. Mom was a romantic and she had been planning on their big romantic night out on the town for weeks. Now it was my job to break the bad news to her. Somehow, I didn't think that me taking her out to dinner was going to soften the blow.

Once I was off the airport grounds and speeding back home on the Interstate, I glanced down at Dad's money clip. Then I began to grin and then to laugh. I picked it up from the passenger seat and ran my thumb over it. Dad was going to be so pissed.

See, my father walks around with two money clips. One is more or less functional. He keeps five, ten and twenty dollar bills in it – usually around two hundred bucks for everyday stuff. His other money clip is his show off clip. When he's trying to impress someone, he pulls it out and thumbs off a Ben Franklin, making sure to let everyone around him see that there are many of them. Usually he keeps about two thousand in that clip and clipped in the middle, a credit card with a nice five figure limit on it.

I was holding his big money clip. The idiot had thrown me the wrong one. I kept on laughing as I glanced at my watch. By now, he was past security and there was no way to return it to him. No big deal, he had other credit cards in his wallet and his debit card. Still...I stopped laughing and it began to sink in that my deepest, most secret fantasies suddenly were in the offing.

I confess to this proudly. I love my Mom. I am in love with my Mom. I've had feelings for her since I hit puberty. And I would like to see anyone healthy red-blooded American young man who if he had my Mom for his mother not feel the same way.

Coralyn Hanson is, in my opinion, the most beautiful and most wonderful woman in the world and she is my mother! Mom is forty years old ("thirty-nine and holding, young man," I can hear her saying to me with that lovely smile of hers). Mom stands five foot, seven inches tall in her stocking feet and is a throwback to those voluptuous women you see in the movies in the Nineteen Forties and Fifties – miles and miles of curves and all woman. I know her cup size is a 40DD because I've looked as I fondled her bras in my younger years.

Mom has blue eyes you could spend a lifetime staring into and a big mane of black hair that is tinted with streaks of grey that I think make her look even sexier. Her long legs are shapely and toned and when she comes down stairs in her power suits, hem of her dress just above the knees and her blouse opened just enough to hint at her voluptuous cleavage, I pop a boner faster than I can say, "Mom, you look beautiful!"

Yes, I've fantasized and mooned over Mom since I was about thirteen and even though I have been resigned to just fantasizing about her while masturbating or while making out with some teenage girlfriend, as I headed home from the airport, I realized that maybe, just maybe I could make this more than just a horny eighteen year old's hottest wet dream.

I know damn well that Mom and I are closer than most young men and their mothers. We've always been close and my horn-dog ways during my teenage years haven't affected that. I know that Mom knows that I used to peek at her, trying and succeeding in seeing her naked or partly naked. When I was fifteen, I watched through a slightly open door as she took her time drying off from a shower, almost giving me a bawdy show as she turned this way and that, giving me an eyeful of her magnificent tits and ass, her rounded stomach and that marvelous, almost unruly bush of hers.

Afterwards, as I was about to jerk off in my bedroom, Mom had come in, wrapped up in a fluffy bathrobe and gave me a look that both froze my blood and made my cock swell. "John, you finally got a good, long look. Now, what say you quit trying to catch me naked in the bathroom?"

I was slack-jawed at what my Mom had said, unable to make any kind of verbal response and Mom's stern look and changed to a grin and she gave me a naughty wink and said, "We understand each other? Good, now enjoy yourself," and she turned around and walked out of my room, leaving me to beat my meat with abandon.

Since that day, our relationship had changed somewhat. I never saw Mom naked again, but she seemed to enjoy my frequent hugs and kisses and I often made her blush when I would give her an appreciative leer and compliment her on her sexy appearance. Still, till this moment I was resigned to consider anything else between Mom and me as just wishful thinking. Now, as I sped towards home, I made the decision to go for broke. If Dad didn't want Mom, I sure as hell did!

That night was rough. Mom took Dad's bailing on her as hard as I knew she would. "THAT BASTARD!" Mom screamed as she raged through the house. "THAT NO GOOD, SORRY BASTARD!" Mom sobbed as she went into Dad's study and began to throw his prized golf trophies around the room. I hung out by the door and admired Mom's fury – her anger making her even more beautiful as she raged, trashing most of Dad's treasures.

When she settled down, I held her while she had a good cry. I have to admit she felt good in my arms and I was sporting serious wood by the time she pulled herself together and went to bed. I walked her to her bedroom, saying, "I'm sorry, Mom. I wish I knew how to make you feel better."

Mom wiped her eyes and tried to smile as she said, "You're sweet, John. I'll be alright. I'm just so damned disappointed with your f-father...SHIT!" Mom began to sob again and I moved her into my arms and let her cry against my chest, almost feeling guilty for enjoying the feel of her luscious body pressed against mine.

"We stood there in the doorway of my parents' bedroom for several minutes before Mom again regained control and eased back from my embrace. "Sorry about that, honey," Mom murmured.

I leaned in and gave her a quick hug. "No problem, Mom. Dad's an asshole. If you were my girl, I'd treat you like you deserve."

Mom tried to smile and sniffled, "Thank you, Baby." We stood there for a moment, both of us feeling a little awkward and then Mom reached up and touched my face. "Thank you, John. I know I can always rely on you, my strong son – all grown up now." Mom stood on tiptoe and gave me a little kiss on the cheek and suddenly it was my turn to blush.

Mom turned away and went into her bedroom. Long into the night, I heard her crying and I ached to go in and comfort her and be the man she needed – no, deserved, but I knew I needed to bide my time. I got busy with my laptop, researching what I needed to make her Valentine's Day the best she had ever known.

The next couple of days crawled by. I tried to keep Mom cheered up by cooking her dinner both nights and taking her to a movie on the 11th of February. Mom still took to fits of crying and on the evening of the 12th, she actually fell asleep in my arms on the couch. It was so cool to hold her for so long, her body snuggled up to mine. Mom was wearing a caftan that zipped up the front. It was a bit bulky, but I could still feel her underneath, her breasts weighing heavily against my chest and her long hair smelling like flowers as she nuzzled my chest. I even loved Mom's little snoring noises.

When Mom started to stir, I pretended to be asleep as well and through barely opened eyes, I saw her rise with a start and stare at where she was. A look of concern passed over Mom's face, but then she smiled and I was thrilled when she eased back down, snuggling into me again and then we did sleep together on the couch that way the rest of the night.

While Mom was at work, I split my time between morning classes at the University and arranging things for Mom's big surprise. It's amazing what an eighteen year old can do if he's got a couple of thousand bucks in cash and his Dad's credit card. If that didn't work, I would use Dad's name and that opened doors as easy as the money did.

On the morning of the 13th, while Mom and I were eating breakfast and giving each other funny looks, having woken up together on the couch, I launched the first part of my plan. "Mom, how about I take you out to dinner tomorrow night. We can do Valentine's Day together."

A cloud passed over Mom's face and she studied me from across the breakfast table. Mom shook her head and replied, "Oh honey, that's really sweet of you, but all this shit with your father has really ruined Valentine's for me. I think I'm just going to come home and take a hot bath. Besides, I'm sure you have plans with one of your girlfriends."

I gave Mom a crestfallen expression, trying to look really disappointed (which I would be if I couldn't change her mind). "Mom, the only plans I've made is to spend Valentine's Day with you. I figured we could go someplace nice to eat and just enjoy ourselves."

Mom sighed and again shook her head. "Oh, John. Thank you, but I'm not fit company right now. I'd probably just start crying." At that, Mom did look as if she was tearing up.

I reached across the table and took her hand and gave it a little squeeze. "C'mon, Mom. Please. It would mean a lot to me if I could take you out and get you to smile. I'm sure you'd enjoy yourself and besides, you can't let Dad ruin it for you. Go to dinner with me and have some fun just to spite the asshole." I squeezed her hand again.

Mom seemed to melt a little and she seemed to struggle between crying or smiling. The smile won out and finally she nodded and squeezed my hand back and said, "Okay, honey. It's a date."

"Yes!" I crowed. "I'll make all the plans, Mom. Do you think you can get the afternoon off?" Mom worked as the creative director in a downtown Knoxville Ad agency.

Mom nodded and said, "Sure, tomorrow's a Friday and not much gets done on Valentine's Day anyway. Why? I thought we were just going to dinner."

I got up and came around the table and gave Mom a hug from behind, managing to sneak a look down her blouse into her considerable cleavage as I did so. "Well, I can't say right now. Let's just say, it's a surprise."

I wouldn't tell her anything else, not then or that evening. Mom was intrigued and a little curious and seemed to be a little more cheerful. Still, I knew she was hurting and I heard her crying again that night in her bedroom. I went to bed that night hoping and praying to God that this would be the last night she ever had reason to cry in her bedroom.

Mom got an early start to the day the next morning and was heading out of the house while I was still eating breakfast. She came back in just a couple of minutes later, a little teary-eyed and holding the Valentine's Day card I'd left on her steering wheel. It was as near a romantic card as I could find from a son to his mother – very flowery and centered around how much a son loves his mother. I had signed it "From a son who always has and always will love his mother- his first love and his last. Love, John."

I barely managed to stand up before Mom embraced me and exclaimed, "John, I love this card. I'm so lucky to have a son like you!"

I got hugged tight for my troubles and Mom kissed me several times on the cheeks and ended with a peck on the corner of my mouth. I admit, I was a little overwhelmed and barely managed to murmur, "You're welcome, Mom," before she hurried back out the door beaming happily. If I ever find the guy who wrote that card, I'm going to give him a big hug – maybe even a kiss on the mouth.

Then it was time to get down to work – making sure that everything went off as planned. I was as nervous as a bridegroom all morning, hovering near or in Mom's office building. I wanted her to have a great day with lots of surprises.

Her first surprise was the two dozen red roses that arrived in her office around ten a.m. I wish I could have seen her face when she got them and read the accompanying note. Maybe it was corny, but I meant every word.

Roses are Red,

Violets Are Blue.

I'm the Luckiest Son in the World,

To have a Beautiful, Wonderful Mother Like You!

Love, John.

At noon, another two dozen red roses arrived in her office, this time delivered by a uniformed chauffer. He handed her a note that read:

On this special day when we celebrate the ones we love,

I think it's only proper that you be pampered.

Your appointment to be spoiled is at 1:00 o'clock and

Your chariot awaits. Don't be late, Mom.

Love, John.

Now from behind a big potted fern in the lobby of Mom's office building, I watched her stare stunned as her chauffer led her to a white stretch limousine. I really enjoyed watching Mom put her hand over her mouth in shock as he opened the door for her. Inside were three dozen more roses – not red, but a dozen each of purple, coral and orange. According to my very happy and well paid florist, purple roses symbolize "Love at first sight" while coral and orange simply symbolize "desire." I wasn't sure whether Mom knew their meanings, but I really wanted to drop a few hints. Mom also found a bottle of champagne and a box of chocolates along with a note:

These Roses aren't Red,

Nor are they Blue,

But their meaning is plain.

Mom, I love you!

Love, John.

Mom's limousine carried her to the swankiest spa in town. I had arranged for Mom to have an afternoon of lavish pampering including a massage, some kind of mineral/mud bath, a manicure and pedicure. For some reason, I had an image of Mom being waited on hand and foot like Dorothy in the movie, The Wizard of Oz. And that fostered warm, happy thoughts of Mom and I watching the movie together when I was younger.

Following her spa treatment, the limousine carried her over to her favorite beautician. Mom's afternoon of pampering concluded with a trip downtown to one the most expensive woman's stores – one that even Mom rarely goes to due to its ritzy prices.

Here I was going on faith – having tried to figure out Mom's precise measurements and communicating them to the good folks at the clothing store. I decided that some of Dad's money would be spent to good use in getting Mom a new dress – one appropriate for the occasion. When she arrived, I knew that the store clerks would hand her one last note (along with another dozen roses of mixed colors – red, purple, orange and coral). The note read:

Rose are Red,

Violets are Blue,

I'm hoping my Dream Date

Likes what I picked out for You!

Love, John.

I was a bit busy that afternoon too. I got a haircut and picked up my good suit at the dry cleaners – heck I even picked out a new tie. I went home, shined my dress shoes till they almost glowed and then showered and shaved and got dressed. I drove back downtown to the Corwin Hotel, a grand, old fashioned hotel which housed a four star restaurant and an huge ball room and which tonight had the A-list Valentine's Day event for Knoxville – dinner and dancing at the Corwin Ballroom.

I was standing outside the hotel, the chauffer alerting me by cell phone that he was pulling up moments before. The long white vehicle came to a stop and the chauffer hopped out and opened the door and helped Mom step out. I thought my heart was going to literally leap out of my chest.

Mom, always beautiful, looked lovely – almost something out of a old fashioned Hollywood movie. Mom's skin almost glowed from the spa treatment and her hair was elaborately coiffed, piled on top of her head in such a way that she reminded me of some stunning Grecian statue from ancient times and then there was the way her voluptuous figure looked in that dress. It was a dark red gown, strapless, leaving her shoulders bare, and molding itself to her lovely womanly figure and offering up a great deal of cleavage – her breasts seemed poised to escape. Long slits down the sides of her dress would briefly part, offering up enticing glimpses of her long, shapely legs. The three inch heels helped better define her legs, placing an emphasis on her shapely calves. It looked even better on her than I had imagined when I had picked it out.

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