Forbidden Valentine

It was just before eleven by the time I got home that night.

Alone!

Hardly the ideal scenario to find oneself in on Valentine's Day; particularly when you were a twenty-year-old woman, who just a few years prior had been queen of the Homecoming court as well as queen of both the junior and senior prom. I'd also been voted the "Hottest" and "Most Popular" girl in my class four years running and captain of the varsity volleyball team sophomore through senior year.

But that was high school.

Fast forward to then my third year of college at Duke University and there I was: Lonely, single and desperately available! Hell, I hadn't even had sex in eight months. So, what better way to spend a lonely Valentine's night than by working as a server at a four-star restaurant with an enchanting and romantic atmosphere?

Fucking idiot!

Not only did I get my ass kicked up one wall and down the other all evening; I ended up making far less money than I had anticipated, all the while having lovey-dovey couples shoved up my ass the entire night. And the worst of it was, I really didn't need to work. After all, I was on a full athletic scholarship and my mother was quite financially sound. Yet she had always instilled in me the principles of self-sufficiency, to serve rather than be served, humility, integrity, self-reliance and an honest hard day's work.

But, by the time I climbed behind the wheel of my Dodge Challenger that night after my shift, I was seriously beginning to question that principle. My feet were killing me, my back was aching, and I stank from head to toe of grime, grease, sweat, ammonia, sour wine, musty bourbon and stale cigarette smoke from the bar. And I'd never been more worn out in my life. For an NCAA athlete to say that, you really had to have your ass whipped.

*

I'd been up since four-thirty that morning, which wasn't unusual for me. As an NCAA women's volleyball player, I was required to maintain a strict daily physical regimen year-round. Plus, I never slept well at the sorority house. So, while all my Alpha Delta Pi sisters slept off their hangovers or tried to sneak the previous night's "hard dick" out the window, I did my two-hour off-season morning workout.

During the volleyball season, it's four hours.

I was showered, dressed and on my way to Starbucks for my first dose of caffeine by seven-thirty. As per usual, I met up with a few of my teammates and we clucked like a bunch of hens as we downed our triple shot Americanos and Bran muffins. By eight-thirty, all but two of my friends had left as their first classes started at nine. As my first wasn't until Ten, I found myself alone with Catlin and Sierra; two of my teammates who were also a lesbian couple. As it was Valentine's Day, they were considerably more affectionate than usual and were murmuring dreamily to each other about their plans for that evening.

Thank you so much!

Shoving the buds into my ears, I flipped open my laptop and tried desperately to ignore them. But I just couldn't keep my eyes off them. They were both so beautiful and were so deeply in love. They were tenderly stroking each other's hair, caressing each other's face, periodically nuzzling nose to nose as they then kissed softly; all the while continuously gazing passionately into each other's eyes.

It wasn't long before I had a lump in my throat, boulders in my stomach and a stabbing ache in my heart. At one point, I caught a tear sliding down my cheek. Thankfully, I was able to swipe it away without them noticing. Finally, they left; hand in fucking hand. I watched them until they were out the door and then quietly burst into tears. I quickly came completely apart and had to hurry into the ladies' room to pull myself together.

The rest of the day passed uneventfully. I had just two classes that day; the first from ten to eleven-thirty and the second from twelve-thirty to two. My plan was then to drive home to my Mom's house in Raleigh, North Carolina; which is about twenty miles from Duke's campus in Durham, so I could help her get ready for her big Valentine date. But my volleyball coach called an emergency team meeting at the last minute.

So, by the time it was over, I had just barely enough time to get back to the sorority house, change my clothes and get to work. The first seating at the restaurant was at five that evening, and we were wall to wall packed by five-fifteen. Then at seven, I received quite a surprise! You know, kind of like how getting hit by a speeding city bus would be quite a surprise?

Mom and her boyfriend at the time had just been seated in my section.

Oh! Joy!

On the one hand, I was thrilled that I got to see my then forty-three-year-old mother in her Valentine best. OMG! My mother is one of those women who looks utterly resplendent from the instant she slips out of bed in the morning. Even with no make-up, her hair disheveled, her pajamas wrinkled, her dried lips cracked, and her eyes caked with sleep; she's still utterly gorgeous. Ordinarily we call women like that a bitch!

But not my Mommy! Don't you dare!

Elegant and regal, sophisticated and lustrous; luminous, opulent and overflowing with poise and purpose, my mother stands an imperial 5'11" on a pair of long, shapely legs that are magnificently sculpted with divine feminine muscle definition and immaculate gloss. Her body is long, lean, athletically toned and alluringly slender with flawless bone structure and posture. She redefines the terms curvaceous and statuesque, as a firmer and more pristine hour-glass figure you will not find.

Her hips are splendidly round, succulently savory and blissfully fertile while her thighs are incredibly lean and as solid as steel. Her heart-shaped ass is equally robust with such thick and firm fleshy spheres that raise up and come together forming her narrow, sexy waist. Her tummy is flat and tone but with just a touch of that wondrous motherly softness. Her breasts are small; solid 33A cups, but they are perfectly proportionate to her overall athletic physique. She has long, willowy arms and broad yet splendidly sexy feminine shoulders that rise up into her long, sleek neck, her perfect chin, her pouty lips, her spellbinding smile, her high cheeks, her captivatingly dark brown doe eyes and that unreservedly dazzling maim of dark walnut brown hair. Full, flowing and polished locks of pure silk that drape mystically down over those alluringly toned shoulders and framing her beautiful face.

Only that night, her hair was done up in a mesmerizing French braid. And then, there is her skin. Alabaster at its most savory; porcelain at its most translucent. Now, imagine all of that wrapped up in a cherry-red, strapless tube dress that falls nearly three inches above her knees with a sexy slit up the right seam and a matching pair of three-inch spiked heels on her feet.

Mom was so fucking hot that night she was thermonuclear; melting everything and everyone in her path. But on the other hand, it was crushing to see her for the simple fact that she had made herself so breathtakingly beautiful for someone other than me.

Okay, perhaps a little background is warranted here.

*

For most little girls, their first hero is their Daddy. But me, it was Mommy! A pioneer for women in the U.S. military, my mother was among some of the earliest miniscule groups of women to be accepted to and graduated from the United States Air Force Academy. She then went on to become one of the first female fighter pilots in the U.S. Air Force; flying the F-16 Fighting Falcon, which she ultimately became an instructor pilot on. Retiring at the rank of Major after eleven years of active duty, Mom went to work as a pilot for a major U.S. airline and by that Valentine's Day, she was a Boeing 757 captain.

My knightess in shining armor!

And where Daddy is most little girls first crush and first true love; for me, that too was my Mommy. Now please don't get me wrong, my Daddy was the most wonderful man who ever walked the Earth. So kind, generous, charming, handsome, nurturing, artistic, learned and gentle. He was my best friend and I loved him with all my heart and soul. He just wasn't exactly hero or crush material.

At least, not in the traditional sense of either word.

My parents met on Halloween night. Rather fitting as you'll soon discover. At the time, twenty-two-year-old 2^nd Lieutenant Kimberly Victoria Brady (Mom) and twenty-four-year-old Kevin Randolph Gentry (Daddy) were both pursuing graduate degrees at the University of Washington in Seattle. Mom was going for her masters in Aeronautical Engineering while Daddy was working toward is doctoral in Fine Arts.

Returning rather late to the apartment complex she lived in near campus that All-Hallows Eve, Mom came upon a group of four masked men who were savagely beating an unmasked fifth man; seemingly to death. Leaping from her car, Mom scattered the assailants with pepper spray and her military combat training. She then turned her attention to their victim who was lying beaten and bloody on the pavement.

As Kim helped him to his feet and back to his apartment, Kevin Gentry thanked her profusely and gratefully introduced himself. It became quickly apparent to Kim as she tended Kevin's wounds that the attack on him was an act of hate as he was a very open and flamboyant homosexual. This touched Kim on a deep level as she herself had been struggling privately to define her own sexual orientation and preferences since she was a teenager.

Kevin and Kim spent the remainder of that night drinking hot tea and getting acquainted till the sun came up. By years end, they had become the very dearest of friends and most trusted of confidants. Then on the following Valentine's Day, Kim and Kevin each found themselves alone, single and desperately available. So, Kevin cooked them dinner while Kim brought the wine.

Two magnums of it.

Had it been less, I might not be here.

Then as the sun rose on February 15^th, Kim and Kevin awoke naked in each other's arms in Kevin's bed. Neither had the slightest recollection of anything that had transpired much beyond dessert the night before. After a good laugh, Kim and Kevin went on about their lives and friendship as if nothing had happened, because the fact of the matter was, they weren't certain anything had. Until the following May; when 2^nd Lieutenant Brady completed her master's degree and reported for her pre-flight training physical examination where she was found to be pregnant.

For his part, Kevin Gentry was ecstatic at the prospect of fatherhood. As a gay man, the possibility of ever having a biological child seemed utterly impossible. But now, it was right in front of him; and it was a dream come true. He wept for joy. Kim Brady on the other hand, wasn't nearly as jubilant. She owed the U.S. Air Force many years of service and having a child was going to seriously complicate that, and potentially compromise her entire career; both in the Air Force and later with a commercial airline that she had long aspired to fly for.

So, Kevin came up with a plan where the first step was asking Kim to become his wife. More than a little skeptical, Kim listened as Kevin laid out "The Plan".

They would marry, Kim would have the baby and he would then stay at home with their child while Kim fulfilled her service obligations to the Air Force and then into a career as an airline pilot. As an artist, musician, writer and teacher, Kevin could work from anywhere and at any time he chose. Also, if they were married, they would all be completely covered by the U.S. Air Force in terms of housing, insurance and medical care.

They would have a completely open marriage, and they would both be free to pursue whatever romantic interest and partners they so desired, provided it never interfered with the upbringing and the safety of their child. They would remain together as husband and wife until their child reached the age of eighteen and left for college; at which point, they would affably divorce and equally split all assets.

After brief deliberation, Kim agreed. They wrote it up and then hired a lawyer to legalize and notarize it. Then on a warm 4^th of July in Fairbanks, Alaska - Kim's hometown, with a little baby bump that was visible through the bride's cute little wedding mini-gown, Dr. Kevin Gentry and 2^nd Lieutenant Kimberly Brady became husband and wife.

Four months later, on Thanksgiving Day no less; yours truly was born and christened:

Erin Yvonne Gentry.

I was raised in a safe and nurturing home full of love, laughter, art, music, fun, family and friends. We moved around a lot, as most military families tend to do, and Mom was away so much of the time. But whenever she was home, I was all over her. Daddy wrote, sculpted, painted, taught piano lessons and would occasionally give guest lectures at universities around the country. I became an accomplished piano player as well as a highly skilled volleyball player.

I was ten years old when Mom left the Air Force and joined the airline. We moved then to Alpharetta, Georgia; which is an affluent suburban community north of Atlanta. And it was there that we finally settled into a home that was truly ours. So, my father's plan worked perfectly.

Well, almost. It didn't end the way it was supposed to.

As most girls celebrate their sweet sixteen birthday as if it were a dream come true, my own was a horrible nightmare. It was the day before Thanksgiving. Mom was away on a trip while Daddy was giving a guest lecture at the University of Georgia and would be home that afternoon to begin the final preparations for both Thanksgiving and my sweet sixteen. I was on the court at volleyball practice as the team was preparing to go to the State Championship tournament the day after Thanksgiving.

But I could hardly concentrate on that for I was far too excited about turning sixteen. I was even more excited about the plans my boyfriend and I had for the weekend away. His name was Ryan Tanner and we'd been together for over a year now. We'd met at freshmen orientation.

All was right with the world.

Just then, my coach called me into the locker room. As I entered her office, I came face to face with the Vice-Principal, the school Nurse and two Alpharetta police officers. They sat me down, the nurse took my hand and informed me that my Daddy had collapsed behind the podium while giving his lecture and died. He was just forty-one-years-old and had been in excellent health. They didn't yet know the cause of death, only that it was instantaneous.

It was later determined to be a massive cerebral hemorrhage.

The next few hours were a complete blur. I remained at school, lying in the nurse's office until Mom came to get me. She was still in her pilot uniform. I cratered into her arms and they held me so protectively. Her wonderous scent flooded my nostrils and completely engulfed me, as did the warmth and power of her body. All I knew then at that moment for sure was that my hero was there, and that I was safe. And that's all I needed. Mom took me home, walked me into her room and we fell into her bed where she just held me all night as I sobbed piteously.

And hence began a very intimate and precious bonding between mother and daughter. I continued to sleep in Mom's bed with her every night for the next two years. Even on the nights that she was away on a trip or on a successful date, I would still sleep in her bed for the pillows, blankets and sheets were bathed in her hypnotic scent and I could just breathe her in all night. The entire room was filled with her; allowing me to immerse myself in her. Though it wasn't the same as having her there beside me, it was enough to help me sleep.

Now you understand why I don't sleep well at the sorority house.

Up to that point in my life, Mom was like a mythic or historical figure. You know, the type of hero that you've never actually met and had to worship from afar. But now, I was truly getting to know her; and she, truly getting to know me. You might be inclined to think that due to her military background that Mom would be very prim and proper. Stern, rigid and stoic; a stickler for policy, procedure, schedules, decorum, tidiness, punctuality and morality.

Not a chance! You forget, she was a fighter jock and they are none of those things. In fact, they're just the opposite. Ever see "Top Gun"? And while her call sign wasn't "Maverick", it should've been.

Her call sign was "Phasma."

By the time I turned eighteen, Mom and I shared a relationship that most mothers and daughters could not even imagine, hope for or even dream of. We were the very dearest of friends as well as the most intimate and trusted of confidants. I could tell her anything; as she could tell me anything! And we did. We could talk about anything.

And when I say anything, I do mean, anything! And we did. We were incredibly close. We were soulmates.

We could literally predict each other's movements, read the tone of each other's voices and know what the other was thinking, feeling or even going to say before she said it. We would very often bathe, or shower together and just wander around the house naked all day long. As we had a pool, we'd often skinny dip and nude sunbathe together in the summer.

We'd do each other's hair and nails, as well as consult and/or police one another on the outfits we chose for dates. We'd freely pull the bra or panties off each other if we felt it would interfere with the optimum effect of the evening's apparel. We'd console each other if things went wrong and share the most intimate and naughty details if things went right.

I guess some might say that Mom and I shared a relationship that most mothers and daughters shouldn't share. But don't misunderstand: Mom would ground me and chew my ass if I screwed up. She'd get on my case about my grades, staying out too late, bringing boys home without authorization, drinking and driving, being on my phone too much. As she'd been a state champion high school volleyball player herself, she could be a tyrant about my keeping in shape.

Bottom line: Though she was my best friend and my soulmate, she was still my Mom too.

When my parents first met, Mom had been struggling with her sexual orientation and preferences for a long time. Well, she finally came to discover and understand her orientation as Bi-sexual with strong lesbian tendencies. And when it comes to preference: She likes them young.

And when I say young...

Well, just to give you the hint as well as to provide an example of just how close we are. Mom never lied to me and never went behind my back about anything. So, when one of my closest friends and volleyball teammates in high school, Kendra Lawson; who was eighteen at the time, caught Mom's eye; Mom sat me down and asked my permission to seduce her.

Granted, it was a bit awkward; probably much more so for Mom. But in the end, I gave my consent for I knew that Kendra had a major case of the hots for Mom as well.

So, Mom and Kendra had a pretty wild and intense affair that lasted a few months. And I must confess, it really hurt! For it was then that I realized just how powerful my attraction to Mom was, and just how deep my feelings for her truly were. But I kept it to myself, even though Mom could sense something was troubling me.

Not long into Mom and Kendra's fling, one of Mom's closest friends, Gail Renner; a fellow female pilot with the same airline, had just been through a nasty divorce and was really leaning on Mom a lot for emotional and moral support. Gail was forty-five at the time and as both of her two children were older than me, there had been no custody battle. But for some reason, they had both sided with their father. One afternoon when Mom was away on a trip, Gail came by the house rather distraught and in search of comfort and consoling.