Graduation Present

She found her footing and stumbled to the phone. It only took three minutes for a campus cop to arrive in his squad car. Mom started to hang up the phone, and I yelled, "Stay on the phone. Don't move until I tell you. Keep talking to the dispatcher!" I didn't want her anywhere near these two men.

"What's going on?" Asked the cop.

The man under my knee with his hands behind his back made one last effort to escape. A twist of his wrist discouraged him.

I looked at the cop and said, "My name is Jason Lane. That's my mother there on the phone. We were attacked by these two men."

The cop looked over the man lying unconscious. Then he walked over, verified he was breathing, felt a pulse on his neck, shrugged, and returned to my prisoner and me.

"What happened to that fellow?" The cop asked.

"He grabbed me, started a fight, and now he probably has a concussion. That's why we asked for emergency medical," I said.

The policeman reached for the microphone attached to his jacket and spoke. "Dispatch, unit 7 requesting backup and a bus to the northwest quad."

A pair of handcuffs appeared, and the fellow below me was cuffed as I stood. Mom watched from the phone, and I waved her over. She still looked dazed and had the beginnings of a black eye where she had been struck.

The cop gave Mom a look as she approached. "Looks like the EMTs should give you a look, too, miss. You're this young man's mother?"

A second police car and ambulance arrived a few minutes later. A gurney was used to load the unconscious man into the ambulance, and Mom was examined. My only injury was a scuffed-up hand from wrestling with the jackass that attacked Mom.

The cops took our statements, got our contact information, then we were free to go. I put my arm around Mom and walked her toward the car. She began walking toward the driver's side, but I said, "No, Mom, I'm driving," and put her in the passenger seat. I didn't have my license yet and had only driven a few times, but there was no way I was letting Mom drive tonight.

We didn't speak during the drive home. She had that thousand-yard stare you read about from people who had been traumatized. When we arrived home I eased her onto the couch, poured her a glass of wine, and set the lights down low. There was a throw on the back of the couch, and I wrapped it around her shoulders. Only then did she make eye contact and attempt a smile. I sat next to her, and eventually, she leaned toward me and held my hand.

The fellows in the dojo had heard about the fight. The next time I visited they had a mock ceremony and presented me with a new white belt: the lowest possible belt level. "Congratulations on your first tournament!" They cheered. I smiled. They are a great bunch.

Chapter 4: Eighteen

The lighter load over the summer before my eighteenth birthday gave mom time to teach me to drive. I've heard parents dread this duty, nervous, frantic, and nail-bitingly stressed, but I had fun learning, and mom had fun teaching. We drove all over, practiced parallel parking, quizzed each other on traffic laws, and generally gave me as much time behind the wheel as her schedule would allow. On the morning of my 18^th birthday, I took my driving test and passed easily. What came next shocked me. Upon returning home, I found a new Toyota sedan in the driveway. It was mine and was even my favorite color.

"Wow!" I said. "Thank you! Now I can do grocery runs without bugging you!"

"Only you would think of that," she said.

"Well, it also means I can take you out on Sunday date nights instead of making you drive all the time."

She smiled at that. "That will be nice. Happy birthday. I'm so proud of you!"

She hugged me, and I held on a little longer than another son might, but I enjoyed the closeness, the feeling of her pressed against my body, her breath on my neck, and the knowledge that she was smiling with thoughts of pride and love. When the embrace finally broke, I held her shoulders and kissed her gently on the forehead, whispering, "I love you so much. Thank you. You're amazing."

Life for both of us got more straightforward with that second car. I did get the groceries, did the hardware store runs, made trips to the mall when we needed things, and it was clear that I'd be saving a lot of travel time between home, the gym, and the dojo. This gave me more time to do housework and prepare meals.

In the middle of the week, we'd often end up on the couch together, her with a book or tablet and me with a handheld game console, usually watching television with the sound down low. When her eyes got tired she'd lean against me, and I put my arm around her. Many nights she'd fall asleep there nestled against me. One night, though, she reached for the remote and switched off the TV. She sat sideways on the cushion, pulling her legs up, and leaned close.

Her tone was quiet but determined. "Jason? We should talk about something. Is there a reason you're not seeing girls? Is there a problem somehow? I mean, if you don't want to talk to me about it, we could get a doctor to answer your questions or just make sure everything is alright. I'm worried."

I sighed before answering. "I've met hundreds of girls at my new school, and I've not found anyone that interests me. Most are more concerned about new makeup products or daddy's money than having a meaningful conversation."

She rolled her eyes and smiled. "It doesn't have to be all about meaningful conversations."

"No," I said, "but to be honest, I don't want to have my first sexual experience to be with some girl I can't wait to ditch. Seriously, I don't get hook-up culture. I don't see how sex can be fun with a complete stranger."

"Are you sure there isn't some physical problem? I'm sorry to press, but I'm worried," she said.

I was a little exasperated and spoke without thinking. "There are no problems with my junk. They get a systems test every day, sometimes multiple times a day. They've never let me down."

She put her hand over her eyes. I shrugged. "You asked," I said.

"I did," she said. "That was a little more than I expected."

I reached for her hand and said, "Remember when you told me we could talk about anything? It's just the two of us, and we can always talk it out?" She nodded. "Well, a few weeks ago I was doing 'systems check' in my room when I heard the door knob rattle. If you'd have come in, I would have been caught red-handed in a very compromised position."

"Red-handed," she said. "I see what you did there. I'm so sorry. I don't know what I was thinking that day. I'm sorry if I scared you."

"No harm," I said. "It did make things a little extra exciting for a moment."

"I'm so embarrassed," she said as she dropped her head.

"Don't be," I said as I squeezed her hand. "I just thought you were curious and lost your mind for a minute."

"No!" She said. "I wouldn't do that!"

"Well," I grimaced before starting again. "The thing is, this is a nice house, but the walls aren't really soundproof. And while I'm pretty good about not making extra noise, you sometimes let loose a bit."

She hung her head. "Oh, god."

"No," I said. "That wasn't the name you used." Horrified. Her hand covered her mouth, and she became beet-red. I squeezed her hand and said, "It's OK. I was flattered when I heard my name. You are a beautiful, intelligent, amazing woman, and to think that I might be an object of your fantasy—even occasionally—did a job on my ego."

"Jason, I'm sorry. It didn't mean anything. I was just—I mean it was just a phase —you know, I just needed to get off. Oh, god, I'm not making this any better."

"You don't owe me an explanation," I said. "If you want to do a hostage swap, I sometimes think of you when I'm, you know, taking care of business." She looked shocked. "Why are you surprised? You're the most beautiful, capable, and kind woman I've ever met. You've already driven every grad student at the University insane. Why would you think I should be immune?"

"Because we're related?" She said.

"And, again, 'Oh, Jason!'" I said with a chuckle.

She slugged me on the arm gently. "You don't fight fair!" She said with a smile.

"This is our secret," I said. "We're human. We have desires that aren't always justifiable. I'm OK with it if you are."

Both of us were distracted, so as she leaned in to kiss my cheek, I turned to her to make a point, and our lips met. It wasn't planned. Her eyes went wide, but I slowly closed mine, enjoying the moment. When we separated, she wiped her lips, looked down, and said, "sorry."

After a beat, I said, "Don't be. I enjoyed that, and I think you did, too. Be honest."

"It's late," she said. "I should turn in." She unfolded herself from the couch and stood. I stood with her.

"Wait," I said. "I don't want to end the evening on a weird note. Please."

She folded her arms and said, "I just kissed my son on the lips and liked it. I think things already got weird!"

"Come on," I said. "Don't freak out on me. Nobody planned it. Nobody got hurt. And, you know, we both got new fantasy material. Just try to keep the noise down tonight, OK?"

She tried to look angry but couldn't. She grinned and said, "You too, buster. I'll be listening."

"Oh, man, that's hot," I said.

Again, there was a friendly slug on my arm. "You're terrible. Kiss. On the cheek. Stand still."

I did, and she held me, got on her toes, and gave me a gentle kiss safely on my cheek.

School began again for both of us. She began the second year of her Ph.D. program, and I was looking at my last year of high school. Not a moment too soon.

Saturday night parties resumed, and the clientele was a little more varied, with some students from related disciplines also appearing. Dinners were replaced with hors d'oeuvre, as the number of guests made dinners impractical, but the wine and spirits still flowed. I helped with the preparations but kept out of sight during the events. First, I didn't know these people or understand their world. Plus, I didn't want to be a cock-block for mom. Her son didn't need to be in earshot if she tried to get flirty with somebody.

A good-looking medical student took a shine to my mom one Saturday night. Charles made it a point to talk with mom throughout the evening, then stayed after most had left, offering to help tidy up. I had gone to my room by then, thinking if mom was going to hook up with Charles, her teenage son didn't need to be a witness. About an hour after I retired, there was a knock on my door.

"Come in," I said.

Mom appeared and sat on my bed next to me. She sat a little closer than usual.

"Is there something wrong? Where's Charles?" I asked.

"I'm afraid Charles when home disappointed," she said.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I thought maybe you were going to go for it. He seemed pretty focused on you."

"Oh, he was," she said. "He offered to help clean up when everybody left, but dirty wine glasses were the last thing on his mind."

I shrugged. "Well, like every other man in the room, you were on his mind, and he acted on it more than most. Is that bad?"

She leaned toward me and was heavier than usual. I finally put two and two together.

"Are you drunk?" I asked, smiling, and I put my arm around her for physical and moral support.

"Maybe," she said. "I had to take a couple of shots before coming here."

"Why?"

She took a deep breath. "You are much wiser than you appear," she said. "When we talked about you dating and jerking off—"

"OK," I said, "we can leave that part out."

"When we talked about dating, you said you didn't understand how having sex with a stranger would be satisfying," she said. "I didn't think I agreed then, but now I understand what you meant."

"When I asked you why you didn't fight back when dad left, you said you didn't want to be with someone who didn't love you," I said. "In many ways, it's the same thing. You are never more alone than when you're with the wrong person."

"Wise," she said. Those two shots were kicking in now.

"So, that's why you turned down a roll in the hay with Charles? Even if you did him, you'd still be lonely, maybe even more lonely?" I spoke softly because I knew this would be touchy ground for a discussion. We were both lonely, and we were also both horny because we were both human.

She looked at me. "I want to feel like a woman again, desired and loved. I'm lonely and horny and maybe a little desperate." Her expression was one of pleading. "The last time I felt sexy was when we accidentally kissed. Remember?"

"I could never forget," I said.

"I had to take two shots because I knew I'd chicken out if I didn't," she said. "This is so unfair to ask, and I'm probably a bad mother for even thinking about it, so I should apologize up front."

"You are an amazing mother," I said. "We have the best life I could imagine. Don't you dare beat yourself up over anything!"

"I need you to kiss me," she roared. "Please. Kiss me like a woman you love. Kiss me like I'm not your mom. Please. Make me feel loved and desired and sexy. I know it's wrong, but I need it so bad!"

I shifted slightly, held her head, and slowly moved toward her. She was shaking, probably thinking of running away or pushing me away, but her eyes were kind, and I softened my expression and slowly closed my eyes and approached. When our lips met, we both took in a breath. But then she pushed me back on the bed, urged me to scoot over, and landed on me, kissing, breathless, her hands in my hair, her legs grinding into me. She stopped momentarily to see if I was OK, and I smiled and pulled her back to my lips.

She found my hands and pulled them to her breasts. With the first touch of those beautiful tits, I began getting hard. When I felt myself thrusting up I stopped.

"Mom," I said. She kept kissing me. "Mom," I repeated. She stopped, frightened by what I might say. "I need to know you won't regret anything in the morning. I love you, but you've had a lot to drink. I'm always going to protect you, always watch out for you. I need you to tell me you're OK."

Tears came, and she held my head again. "Oh, Jason, I love you; I want this; I've wanted this since that night we kissed. Please, tell me you want it too. I'm OK. Are you OK?"

"I'm great," I said, "I just needed to make sure."

Her next kiss was gentle, a thank you, an acknowledgment of our bond that went beyond mother and son. She was the most important person in my life, and though selfishness and lust were in play, I would never do anything to hurt this fantastic person—even if she asked for it.

My hands dropped down, and I kneaded her ass, that perfect ass, pulling her into me, grinding her on my thigh. She grunted, her crotch dragging across my jeans, rubbing her skin beneath, awakening forgotten feelings. Even as I continued to use my hands on her ass, she pulled herself up slightly to look me in the eye. "Promise me," she said, "you won't take your jeans off. I don't trust myself. I haven't had a cock in so long. Promise me your pants will stay on."

"I promise," I said.

With that last detail out of the way, she became more energetic, grinding harder, kissing me all over, snaking down my T-shirt, and moving to my crotch. I sat up a bit, confusing her, but once I removed my shirt, she smiled and purred and moved back up my torso, kissing my stomach, licking and sucking on my nipples, sniffing my armpits and my musky end-of-the-day smell that drove her more mad with passion. We were animals with ground rules, and we were lovers with limits, and it was glorious.

She sat up, riding my thigh cowgirl-style, running her hands up and down my torso, scratching me with her claws. Time at the gym and dojo had firmed up things, and she was checking out every inch. My hands returned to her breasts, and her rocking continued faster. "I want to cum," she said. "I need to cum so bad!"

I wanted to eat her. I wanted her to sit on my face. I wanted to fuck her. I wanted to fuck her all night, every way. I wanted to empty my balls into her over and over. I wanted to wake up tomorrow with her naked body curled against me, her head on my shoulder, her leg thrown over mine.

But I had promised to keep my pants on. Even drunk, she was wise. I didn't trust myself, either, but she knew I would never break a promise to her. She was safe because she was with me.

She stopped squirming, unbuckled her pants, and unzipped them. She leaned forward, mashing her tits into my chest, and thrust her hand down her pants. She didn't kiss me right away. Instead, she spoke. "My finger is in my pussy now. I'm finger fucking myself. I want your cock in me, but I'm not ready for that, not tonight. But I'm imagining my finger is your cock, and you're ready to fill me, squirt jet after jet of your ball juice in me. Oh, god, I'm touching my clit. Grab my ass and kiss me!"

I did just that. She was loud. She came with one hand down her pants and the other in my hair, pulling it, rubbing my cheek, and grabbing my neck. I kneaded her ass some more, and she pulled her hand from her pants and thrust her fingers in my mouth. I sucked them and licked them, grunting each time she withdrew them before she stabbed them back in again. The room smelled of pussy. Her fingers wiped her juices on my face, on my lips, and in my hair. She returned to grinding herself on me, though slower now. Finally, she lay on me, breathless, spent, and smiling. She kissed my neck and said, "Thank you."

"I love you," was all I could think to say.

We rested there for a time, then she got up, zipped and buttoned her pants, and kissed me tenderly. I found her hand, brought it to my lips, and kissed it. "You're beautiful, sexy, and amazing," I said. Then I released her hand. She kissed my forehead and left, closing the door behind her.

Chapter 5: Morning After

I woke on Sunday morning after the most intense night of my life. After rising, I found mom in the kitchen leaning against the countertop, coffee mug in hand, unmoving, and staring at the floor. She must have heard my footsteps because she looked up, but she was otherwise still as a statue. When I reached her, I took the mug from her hands and set it aside. Her coffee had gone cold.

Our embrace was tender, with our arms encircling, sharing our warmth, and only the sounds of our hearts were heard. Then I felt shaking, and my cheek, nestled against hers, felt wet. My arms pulled her closer, and she squeezed me hard in response. My hand reached for her hair and smoothed it slowly, gently, and with the lightest touch until I held her head and pulled it against me.

Her tears became quiet sobs as she squeaked out, "I'm sorry!"

Rubbing her back, I said, "No, nothing to be sorry about. Everything is fine, better than OK."

"I used you like a sex toy," she said through the tears. "I'm a monster!"

I was afraid of this. Even after her assurances last night, I feared she would wallow in regret and loathing for finally acting human, seeking intimacy and validation.

"Come sit by me," I whispered, moving her toward the kitchen table. I pulled out a chair and got her seated. Once I sat, I reached under the table and held her hand.

I spoke softly and hoped she could hear my words. "You are my mother, mentor, friend, and confidant. You've done so much for me. Every time I needed reassurance, you were there. Every time I fell, you were there to pick me up. I sometimes believe I have the best mom in the world."

Her voice was shaking. "But will you be able to see me as your mom after last night? I've ruined that. I've ruined us."

I scooted my chair closer to hers to put my arm around her. "Nothing is ruined! I have a wonderful life, and you will always be my mom. You are the most important person in the world to me, and you always will be."

"But the way I acted last night—I was disgusting!" She said, and the tears flowed again.