Mothers and Secrets

Grant watched his father make his way into the den. He spoke softly, "I can't fucking believe that guy?"

Madeline looked over at her son. "What do you mean?"

The fittest person in the house stood up to start clearing the table. "I mean his belly button enters the room 30 seconds before the rest of him does, and he thinks your thighs are what needs work."

"You don't think my thighs need work?" She stood to help him clear. She studied her son's back with an artist's care for detail. She watched his shoulders shrug.

"We've all got areas that we need to improve," said the young physical trainer. He put the plates in the sink and turned to his mother. "But 'thunder thighs?' You? Pshh. No way. I've already told you: you've got a great figure. And I'm going to help you make it leaner and meaner." His words gave her a rush. "The only work we will be doing with your legs will be to make sure your lower body strength keeps up with the upper body development. Otherwise, I would say your legs don't need a thing."

"You mean working out. With your weights down in the basement, right?" She added glasses to the sink, and Grant started scooping the leftover curry veg into a plastic container.

"Yeah," he said without looking at her. "Let's get this place straightened. Then we'll go down to the basement, and I'll walk you through the basics."

"Right after we've eaten?"

"We're not going to work up a sweat tonight, Mom." There was a fraction of a beat between them as they each processed their feelings about these words. "I'm just going to introduce you to the equipment and the movements. We'll start really working out tomorrow, if that's okay with your schedule." Grant thought of his mother's online words, and said, "First I'll get my workout in, then you can come down for our time together. After that we can shower and make dinner. Sound good?"

Madeline stroked her shoulder length walnut hair and smiled.

***

The magic word is "Assertive." I want him to tell me what's going to happen and then to make sure it happens. Is that domination? I don't think of it that way, but whatever.

Reply from MadMommy1980 to a direct message from DrBabyRuthie777 two years ago

***

The basement was not big enough for three people to work in. The mother and son had enough space as long as they didn't mind close quarters.

Maddie grinned like a kid in a castle made of candy.

Grant kept it professional, but that meant occasionally putting his hands on his mother's hips, lower back, shoulders and more. He adjusted her posture as she practiced the various movements. Her hard-bodied boy re-positioned her elbows and knees as needed. Twice, he'd held her face to make sure she was keeping her neck in a proper pose. She formed a light sweat even though she wasn't lifting any weights.

Grant felt his heart rate increasing. Is it because I know what I know? Or would I be excited in any case? He took an honest look inside. No. It's Mom. She doesn't look "hot" to me. She just looks like Mom pretending to work out. He took a deep breath to center himself. But there is something else there, he had to confess. Something in her lines when she moves and bends. Beyond the loose clothes, and the rest. Once she's firmed up, she's going to be... "Whatever," he blurted at himself.

Madeline looked up, concerned. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong. You've got the basic idea of what you'll be doing for starters, right?"

"Yes, I think so."

"That's all I wanted to do tonight. Neither of us is dressed for a workout."

Madeline looked up and to the right, as if in a dream. She stroked her hair and thought of wearing lingerie for a different sort of workout. She dreamed of an appreciative son praising her.

"Mom? You there?"

She snapped out of it. "Oh! Yes. Sorry about that."

Grant's eyes flattened as did his mouth. "That reminds me. There's another part of our training I want to talk with you about. Let's go back up to the kitchen."

Madeline was sorry to leave the basement, but she was pleased that there would be more to do with her son.

They ascended to the kitchen and sat next to one another at the table; tall glasses of ice water between them. The T.V. noise from the den was the only sound beside ice clinking into glass.

The young man broke their quiet, "You go into daydreams now and again." He hadn't seen her do it often, but his mother had written about it. She'd told strangers online that it helped her cope, but she feared becoming dependent on hopeless fantasies. Grant would offer her a lifeline.

Mom sipped her water and raised her eyebrows. "Mmmm?"

"It's nothing new. I've seen you get lost in thought plenty of times. But you've been doing it more since last summer. Or maybe I've just noticed it this time."

Madeline shrugged her right shoulder. "I suppose I drift off from time to time. But I don't think it happens an unusual amount." Her eyes darted down and away.

"It gives me the feeling that you're unhappy." He watched his mother take another sip. "I'm worried that you're trying to somehow escape." Maddie focused on the bobbing cube in front of her lips without a word. "Do you want to get away from this conversation? Should I go away? Leave you in peace?"

She spat her water back into the glass with wide eyes. "No! I just...I don't know what to say. I...I am not trying to escape from you, sweetheart." The television din from afar was a low buzz; to the side, but impossible to ignore.

Grant braced his forearm against the table to lean forward. This closed the gap between himself and his mother. He spoke in a low firm voice. The television noise would hide it from Gabe, but Madeline couldn't miss it. "When you and I are together -- working out or shopping together or cooking or just shooting the breeze -- I want you present. You need to be here with me." His mother's thick lips held together tight. But her eyes gleamed and darted left-right-left in hyper-focus on her son's matching grey-blue irises. "You okay with that?"

"Yes," she answered immediately.

"If you like, we can try to work on helping you be more present in general. Step out of the dreams, and be here with me. Would you like to try that?"

Before Grant had finished asking the question, his mother was panting, "Yes, I want that. I want to work on that with you."

***

RoosterBoy777: I get it. I know that fear. Both my mom and I do. But don't you think things will have to give one way or another?

MadMommy1980: What do you mean?

RoosterBoy777: I mean all this passion and fear can't build up forever. They've got to resolve somehow. What if your son made a pass at you? You'd grab him then! You'd end up tackling him and showing HIM what passion is really about!

MadMommy1980: No. The idea of taking action like that is as appealing as jumping out of a window. I could never risk it. I could mistake a loving gesture as a flirtation and ruin our relationship. Nothing is worth the danger. He's not some boy I have a crush on. He's my son. I'd rather hold my unrequited love secret and have him close. I'll take it to the grave to protect what we have.

From a recent chat thread between RoosterBoy777 and MadMommy1980

***

With paper and pencil, they assembled a workout schedule that allowed for each of their unusual schedules. Grant worked at the gym past dinner time a few nights a week, and Madeline worked at home some days. She was free all weekend, but he was needed at the gym on Saturdays. In the end they settled on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Sundays.

The next day was Wednesday. His employer had him starting late and returning home too late for dinner, so a session in the basement this evening was out of the question. Madeline had to leave early in the morning for work (as did Gabe every weekday.) This left Grant alone in the house for a few hours.

He read more material by and around MadMommy1980. It was fascinating. Posts on struggles with her feelings were engrossing. When she wrote about her desire and adoration of her son, she was direct and fiery. Her passion for him was like the gravity of a star; inescapable, undeniable, powerful and driving the course of so much of her emotional life. She enjoyed an encyclopedic collection of fantasies (he had only scratched the surface of these.) But wherever a conversation stuck a toe into the realm of acting on her feelings -- or any hope of enjoying her charming son's charms -- she shriveled and retracted. His mother never said it couldn't happen in the real world. But the idea of trying petrified her.

Her conversation with some guy calling himself RoosterBoy777 made that clear.

Grant wanted to talk to this part of his mother, but he knew that approaching her about this directly would be a mess. He needed special tools for this job.

He needed to head to work soon, so he only had time to create one fake account on the community site. It would be ready to ask Maddie questions or give suggestions from afar. He named it JaneRabbit1982, a "single" (meaning she was not physically intimate with her son) mother; curious about the flirtatious interest her son has shown, but hesitant to act. He could always make more if he saw a need.

At work he felt stronger. The customers responded to him with more positivity than usual (though they were always cordial at a minimum.) He noticed Patricia looking at him from across the main floor where they both circulated to assist clients in need. He had expected to feel embarrassed when he saw her again, but he felt no shame. Why should I? I just asked her out on a date. I never begged. The matter, he realized, was peripheral to larger matters in his life.

He focused on doing his job. When he had a break, he pondered about how to use JaneRabbit1982 to reach his mom. He'd be home late tonight, so he wouldn't want to go on the laptop. Rest would be the priority, and fiddling around with that community never lead to a restful state. Tomorrow morning won't work either with mom home and a regular shift here at the gym. Maybe tomorrow night, or some time after that. Until then JaneRabbit1982 will have to stay silent. I guess she could be reading Mom's public posts until then. After his break, he spotted Patricia watching him from afar for the third time.

He smiled at her and waved. Then he turned his attention to show a septuagenarian which muscle group she should be using for her machine. He didn't watch for Patricia's response. The old lady smiled a row of yellowed teeth, but her eyes sparkled like a young girl.

He got home long past dinner time, as per his schedule. His father was long gone to bed, but Mommy was waiting up for him in the half-lit kitchen. She heated up tonight's dinner, as she did most Mondays and Wednesdays. She brought him a bowl of piping hot minestrone soup, light on the salt. It was served to him with a small side plate of rice with last night's curry veggies. It was an odd combination, but it worked.

Madeline was dressed down in a loose pair of sweatpants and an old T-shirt. She stood across the table from him.

"Your father insisted on white bread to sop up the soup, but I skipped it. I can get some for you If you like."

"No thanks. The rice will be enough grains and starch for me."

"Okay." She took a seat.

"Remember, this diet isn't designed for losing weight," he said before scooping up a spoonful of minestrone.

"Yeah, I remember. Healthy, not skinny. And the workouts are going to be key."

"Right. I'm proud of you already, though. Eating healthier like this. It's great."

She slid her hand halfway across the table and tapped the wood between them. "Thanks, kiddo. I'm proud of you too."

They downshifted to small talk. How was work? Fine, and yours? Good. Good. Eventually that disintegrated, and the pair enjoyed the warm, quiet and dark kitchen together. He sipped. She watched him. She tried her best not to daydream. He enjoyed the food more than he could remember enjoying a meal in the last weeks or even months.

When her son was nearly done eating, Madeline stood to go to bed. "I was busy on the computer after dinner, so I'm pretty bushed."

"I'll clean up here, go on," Grant said with warm soup sliding down his throat.

She rounded the table, stood beside his chair and hugged his head against her chest. There was nothing lustful or flirtatious about the gesture. This was love, plain and simple.

He let his spoon clatter in its bowl, and shifted in order to get his arms around his mother's waist. They held each other in the semi-dark for longer than either had anticipated. With a full stomach and his mother's warm arms holding his head between her breasts, Grant felt at home in a way that was familiar and yet new.

The embrace endured so long that he got past the mixture of scents: soup, curry, Mom's perfume and both of their bodies natural scents lingering beneath. They hugged beyond the physical sensations: Her cuddly shirt against his cheek, the bulging of her bosom beneath, her soft waist under his fingertips and the swelling of her hips and ass under his forearms. His eyes were closed. More than anything he heard the sledge hammer of her heart.

It was pounding out a strong rhythm, too hard and fast for a relaxing good-night embrace.

Of course, he knew why. She was titillated by their closeness. She's feeling more than just her son in her arms.

Suddenly the breast that rubbed his face through his mother's thin T-shirt held much more meaning than a soft pillow. Those hips took on a shape that indicated much more than his gateway into the world. He listened to her heart beat. She held still in his arms and transformed in his mind: Mother became woman and more. He opened his eyes and searched -- against his best judgment -- for a bump in the fabric that might indicate a hard nipple.

Her heart rate increased, but Madeline loosened her grip on her son's head. "Good night," she murmured. He would never have caught the tremble in her voice if he hadn't known to listen for it.

The embrace broke. Up the stairs she retreated.

***

MM, sitting across your strapping young man's lap at that cookout, you look like a blushing bride to me. I love how tight you have your arms around his neck. I can imagine his broad grin beneath the Photoshop blur. Even with him not suspecting, you two look like a match made in...well...some otherworldly place. You two will be a perfect fit when you finally come together as you SO CLEARLY SHOULD!

Response by Romantriarch to a MadMommy1980 photo post

***

Thursday Madeline worked from home. Grant worked a normal shift, and got home a few hours ahead of dinner. This gave him time for a light snack and a workout in the basement before calling his mother down for her instruction.

She wore sweatpants and a sweatshirt. She broke eye contact to look aside and inhale a deep breath through her nose. He stifled a smirk. He knew she was taking in his scent. He'd arranged things so she could. A little something to put her in the mood to work.

"You may overheat in that sweatshirt, Mom."

She shrugged. "Yeah, but I'll sweat a whole lot out before I do. You may be interested in health, but your mamma wants to shed some weight while she's at it. If I get too hot I'll take off the sweatshirt. I've got a T-shirt underneath. You won't get creeped out seeing your mom all sweaty, right?"

"I expect you to sweat. But you don't need to be soaked by the end."

Madeline smiled. "You're the coach! I'm clay in your hands!"

He guided her through a light stretch routine. Her enthusiasm was infectious. Once she was lifting real weights, he had to remind her to slow down.

"You've got to resist the urge to overdo it on the first workout. Sore muscles are inevitable, but there's no need for it to be crippling." Her focus was impressive. "You're doing great, Mom. I can see how present you are. It's good to have you here."

She smiled, and a gasp of exertion escaped between her teeth. Wet spots appeared on the sweatshirt. It was similar to their practice run two days ago. At first she was simply Mom in her lumpy sweatsuit. But as the sweatshirt clung to her chest, the curves of the woman were revealed. He wasn't seeing anything that belonged in a dirty magazine, but it all hinted at the shape she would achieve if she continued to eat well and exercise regularly.

Madeline finished the last set without needing to remove her sweatshirt. But when "Coach G" told her they were done, she lifted it up and off in a flash. The T-shirt beneath was a soaked dark blue cotton piece; not even a little bit transparent. Did I hope it would be transparent? Am I dissapointed it's not? Yes. At the center of his chest Grant felt a pang of let down. The detailed contours of his mother's breasts would not be on the menu this evening.

They returned to the kitchen. He saw that his mother had left a plate of thin salted zucchini slices. Beads of bitter moisture had accumulated atop them.

"Sweetheart, could you dab those zucchinis with a clean towel for me while I run up to my room for some fresh clothes?"

"Sure, Mom."

"Cool. If you don't mind holding off your shower a few minutes, it would be great if you could chop up a couple of onions too."

"No problem. Do you want me to mince up a clove of garlic while I'm at it?"

"No, I like to do that right before I put it in. Hey, I was pretty focused today, right?"

"Yes. I was very impressed."

"Not a daydream the whole time, and not even now."

"That's right. That's the way it should be."

"But I'm allowed to daydream while I'm in the shower."

Grant was caught up short at the suggestion. His mother grinned at his stunned expression.

"Don't bother answering, hon. You're the boss down there," she pointed at the door to the basement. "But my mind goes where it wants when I'm up there." She moved her pointer up to indicate the bathroom attached to her bedroom.

***

New Message!

From JaneRabbit1982

Subject: Hesitant too

Today at 22:32 PM

Dear MadMommy1980

I've only signed up onto this site a few days ago, but I've had time to read several of your posts. Like you, I have not engaged in any sort of adult play with my son. Like you, I'm worried about the ramifications. I'm afraid of losing him and what we already have.

The difference is that my son has been showing signs of interest. At least I think he has. He's been handsy, flirtatious and kissing my face a lot in a playful way. When we have the closed mouth kisses we would normally have (saying good night or when one of us leaves for work or school) he holds me tighter and keeps the kisses longer than what I'd call normal.

I'm struggling to get clear about how I feel about his advances; or if these are really advances at all. My body is responding to his touches and flattery. Do you think that means my mind and heart are responding too?

Your posts reflect the care and hesitation that I feel.

How were you able to fully embrace your feelings for your son? When do you think you will know it is time to open up?

I'm sure the decisions come down to the individual, but your thoughts may help me frame my own.

Respectfully Yours,

JaneRabbit1982

***

Gabe was disgruntled at yet another meal without meat. His wife sat calm and hard. No compromise. She agreed that meat may return to her repertoire, but she wouldn't commit to when that might be. The friction was so rought that no other conversation seemed possible.

Finally, Grant put a hand on his mother's thigh. "Tomorrow's Friday, Mom. A bit of chicken breast wouldn't hurt."