Lost Boy Ch. 01

There she was.

Twenty-five years old and I'd never seen my mother's face, but there she finally was. I'd only ever had dreams and ideas of what she might look like. When I was younger, I envisioned her as a beautiful princess that was stolen away from me. In my teenage years, she became an ugly, haggard bitch who I despised. None of these fantasies--hopeful or hateful--could have prepared me for the day I first saw her.

Her green eyes watched me through the screen of my laptop, trapped in the portrait of her profile picture. For a while, I thought that the private investigator I had hired wasn't going to come up with anything. I wouldn't have thought him incompetent; after all, I wasn't even sure if my parents were alive. So, when he gave me a name, Tracy Dunn, with an accompanying address in North Carolina, the first thing I did was look her up on every social media platform I knew of. Eventually, I found her. I was sure it was her the moment I saw her face.

It was a full-body shot of her in a modest but form-fitting black dress. I could see myself in her instantly, or her in me... The shape of her sharp nose, the way her brown hair gently curled at the ends, and those piercing green eyes. Even her cheeks rode high with her smile, just like mine. She didn't look a day over forty; had she really been that young when she brought me into the world?

Her profile was private. The only image of my mother I'd ever had was right in front of me, and I could only think about one thing... The erection growing in my pants.

What the fuck was wrong with me? I should have been curious about her life. Did she have a family or kids? What did she do for a living? What special event urged her to wear such a tight dress that strangled her delicious curves and exposed so much of her silky smooth legs... Fuck!

My hand was down my pants before I could shame myself out of it, jerking my cock viciously as I zoomed in on my mother's picture.

"Oh, fuck." I was panting, moaning to myself in my room illuminated only by the blue light of the computer screen. "Oh... Mom..." The word felt so foreign to me, but uttering it only brought me closer to cumming. "Mom... Mom... Oh, Mom!"

I didn't even bother pulling my horrible erection out of my pants before I blew my load. The desk shook as I knocked against it and filled my boxers with cum, and I stared into the eyes of my long-lost mother. The woman who left me on that doorstep all those years ago; the reason I had been orphaned, abandoned, and lost for most of my life.

Maybe it was only natural? What did Freud call that, an Oedipus complex? Well, I doubt he referring to kids who never even knew their biological parents. I tried to reason the shame away. But even as I sat there with semen drying in my pants, I continued to analyze my mother's beautiful body. My eyes drifted down her long legs--she looked tall, maybe around the same height as me--and lingered on the flowers tattooed on her right ankle that dipped over the top of her slim feet.

My hand hovered over the mouse, an inch away from sending her a friend request. I slammed the laptop shut.

What the fuck was I going to say to her? Hey, it's me, the son you bailed on. Wanna grab a coffee sometime? All this time waiting for some information on my parents and I hadn't even considered what on Earth I would do if I found one of them.

Had she ever tried to find me? I thought about her discovering my own Facebook profile, unable to resist running her slender fingers over her mound as she gazed into a mirror of her emerald eyes.

No. I had to shake those thoughts. I didn't search out my parents so I could fuck my mother; I was looking for answers. There were so many questions I wanted to ask, but, most importantly, I just wanted to know why...

But I knew nothing about her. I didn't know if I could trust her to give me honest answers over the phone or through a zoom call. It had to be in person--I needed to look into her eyes as she explained to me why she felt that she had no other choice but to leave me in a basket crying and helpless in the night.

I opened my laptop, struggling to close out the tab and stop gawking at her picture. The address the investigator had offered me was a suburb just outside of Raleigh, and before I knew it I had a plane ticket and rental car booked.

It had to be in person; I had to look into the eyes of the woman that birthed me...

Two days later, I was driving out of Raleigh-Durham International Airport in a blue Ford Focus. I'd never been to the South, and the summer heat combined with the humidity was a shock to my California-born-and-bred system. The highway was lined thick with green pines and lush poplars, and the midday sun was periodically obscured by heavy-looking clouds.

The open road usually made me feel so free. I spent a lot of my youth running away from the place my guardians called home. They never got the cops to look for me because they worried CPS would take me away, and I always came back after a day or two anyway. By the time they finally bothered to adopt me and become my legal parents, I was already stealing their cars and disappearing for weeks at a time. I was a wild kid--independent and lionhearted--and my parents did nothing but piss me off and give me an endless list of reasons to leave.

Behind the wheel, with the pavement stretching out and piercing the horizon, I was free.

But this time, it didn't feel like that at all; it felt like I was driving back into the basket my mother had left me in. My past had always been a mystery (my guardians offered no explanation other than that they found me on their doorstep one night), and I was free to be exactly who I wanted. Would that change when I met her? I never had roots to connect to, and maybe I preferred things that way.

Was I prepared to face someone that shared my blood for the first time in my life?

Before I could prepare decent answers to any of those questions, I was parked outside the address the PI had given me. It was a wide two-story home with a tall wooden fence that jutted out from either side and squared off somewhere at the rear of the house. Everything was tidy, well-trimmed, and sweating in the humidity. The driveway was long, snaking through rows of bushes and a massive lawn and leading up to a two-car garage. The great oak tree in their front yard stood as the lone defender of the house, its limbs gnarled and jutting out like massive tentacles.

I killed the engine, trying to discern if anyone was even home. There had to be a husband and at least a couple of kids occupying all that space. I lost myself in a brief fantasy of growing up in a grand home like that. We would have had a couple of big dogs that roamed the backyard freely, and I would have climbed that oak tree every day, scanning the horizon from new heights as I grew braver and climbed higher.

Someone walked past the wide living room window. From that distance, I couldn't make out more than the shape of a woman as she rushed by. I swallowed hard, stepped out of the car, brushed my thick curls back with my hand, and made my way slowly up the driveway.

My boots clapped on the pavement, each new sound bringing another wave of goosebumps as I approached the front door. Someone walked past the window again, and I froze. She looked younger than in the picture. Could she be even more beautiful in person?

"Can I help you?" An angelic voice from behind me made me whirl hastily around, crashing right into the woman who had snuck up on me.

"Fuck! I'm so sorry," I yelped as we untangled ourselves.

She wasn't just more beautiful in person; she was the most perfect thing I'd ever seen.

Her white tank top was translucent where the sweat had pooled between her creamy breasts, allowing me to just make out the lines of her underboob and nipples in the strained fabric. She wore a pair of denim shorts that exposed her smooth, olive-toned legs that were tanned to perfection and ended in toes painted a deep red. Those green eyes stared right back into mine; green like the grass and trees absorbing the southern moisture, the color of life blooming in her irises.

A few strands of my mother's long tawny hair had fallen in front of her eyes, and she secured them in her hair tie as she laughed softly. "That's alright, I shouldn't have ninja'd up behind you like that!" She insisted, straightening herself out and slipping off a pair of dirty gardening gloves. "Is there something you need? Lindsay is home if you're looking for her." She raised an eyebrow at me.

Lindsay? Was that the girl I'd seen in the window? Had I just been ogling my own sister?

"I--" The words just couldn't find their way out of me. "Tracy? Tracy Dunn?"

She took a closer look at my face, her eyes going wide as her mouth fell open. I swear my name bounced silently off her luscious lips before she said, "Yes...."

I tried to stand up tall; I had a good two or three inches on her, but I suddenly felt small and afraid. "My name is Oliver."

She dropped her gloves, throwing her delicate, veiny hands over her mouth. The wedding ring on her slender finger caught the sunlight as she gasped.

"I'm Oliver," I said again, my voice breaking. "I'm your son."

"Mom!" A young woman's voice called out somewhere behind the house, and my mother's neck snapped around and then back to me. Her lips were quivering, panic washed over her gorgeous face.

I didn't know what else to say, so I said the first thing that came to mind. "Would you like to grab a coffee?"