The sound of the clacking wheels of the train droned on and on with only the squealing brakes interrupting the ceaseless noise as we slowed for every whistle stop and tiny town. It was a long and arduous trip from State University to my home in upstate New York … five hundred and fifty one miles to be exact. Fortunately, I only had to endure the trip several times during the school year. Of course, driving would have been more convenient, but State University doesn't allow freshman to have cars on campus. It seemed a silly rule, but there was nothing I could do about it; all freshmen suffer the same inconvenience. Besides, I'm not entirely sure my old Ford would have made the trip anyway.
I tried to sleep, but when I dozed off, thoughts of my mother invaded my dreams. That wasn't unusual because, like many young men with a gorgeous mother, she was in my dreams rather frequently, especially since I had graduated high school and moved on to college. I missed her as my wonderful mother, but in truth my dreams were not always pure, to say the least. However, I am no longer embarrassed by those thoughts. I am a psych major and my research convinced me that sexual fantasies are a healthy outlet in most cases—thanks to Sigmund Freud's contention that fantasies often replace the need to act on some of our darkest desires. I am not sure it would have made much difference had the research shown that I was a sick kid. It wasn't something I could help. Mom is thirty-six and, as I said earlier, gorgeous. She is still trim and keeps herself in great shape. My buddies from high school loved to hang out at my house and I know why; they love to see Mom rushing around the house fixing snacks and bringing them sodas with her rather large breasts wiggling freely under her revealing tank top. I had to admit I liked it too … I was proud of her, if not a bit jealous of my friends watching the unconscious display she put on. I could see their eyes as they snuck glances at her. And of course they loved to watch her leave in her tight denim pants or safari shorts. Not only that, but Mom had a special way about her that made her seem like one of the guys, even if every guy there wanted to get into her pants.
My mom is still young for having a son in college. I was born when she was just eighteen. It was a shotgun wedding since she became pregnant in high school. Dad was only a year older and wasn't exactly ecstatic about having to get married. It surely put a crimp on his college plans … he had to go to work for his dad in the family auto business instead. Although the pregnancy was a mutual mistake, I think dad blamed her for getting pregnant. I sensed that he felt that she somehow tricked him. I am not sure he wanted to have children, ever. After I was born, Mom went on the pill and could never convince my father to change his mind about children. Although I didn't know it until recently, she wanted a large family—she was an only child and felt that she had missed something by not having brothers and sisters. She told me later that she wanted four or five children; but that was not to be.
Being an only child didn't bother me at all and I enjoyed the attention. I believe that being an only child had something to do with my fascination with my mom. She wasn't exactly a doting mother, but I was born prematurely and that made me special. Dad was always complaining that she was going to make me a sissy. Of course that never happened.
When I graduated high school I was six foot one and almost one hundred ninety pounds in spite of being premature and just three pounds at birth. I consider myself good looking, but I have always been shy … something to do with being a "preemie" I think. Unfortunately, I was never comfortable around girls with the exception of Mom. She encouraged me to date and in fact tried to set me up with several of her friend's daughters. I am not totally naïve when it comes to girls and I am not a virgin, but the few girls I have been with always seemed immature, especially when compared to my mother.
And now my mother is alone (except for me). Dad left her three weeks ago. It would have been bad enough if he had left her for another woman, but instead, it was a man. After eighteen years of marriage my father confessed that he was gay and had been having an affair with another man. As hard as that was for my mother to deal with, it was just hard for me, I think. I was never close to my dad, but he was my father and I respected him ... at least I did. The lost of respect was not because he was gay but rather because he was living a lie for so many years and my mother and I ended up on the short end. It is easy for me to hate him now, after what he has done to my mother.
When Mom called to tell me at school, I was incredibly shocked to say the least and I wanted to come home right away. However, she insisted that I stay and finish my final exams. I had three weeks left until the end of the term, but my mind never really returned to school. I just couldn't get my head around what had happened. How could my father have hidden it from us all these years? How could he do this to my mother? How could he do this to me? It was almost more than I could take. At one point I started to question my own sexuality. Although I knew that I had no interest in men, I went out, got drunk, and got into a fight, receiving a black eye and a fat lip for my stupidity. It was my silly adolescent way of proving that I was a man, I suppose.
With all this conflict running through my head, I was on my way home to my mom and summer vacation. Unfortunately, I didn't figure it was going to be much of a vacation.
When the train pulled into the station I hopped off and looked up and down the walkway for my mother. I saw her waving her arm from across the terminal. I smiled and waved back. She hurried over and we hugged. Then we kissed lightly on the lips as we have always done. The hug and kiss lasted longer than normal, which was totally understandable in this situation.
I pulled away and said, "Let me get my luggage and I'll be right back."
"Okay. I'll bring the car around."
As we parted, I turned and looked at her. My eyes were drawn to her rear. She had on a pair of tight denim jeans, a western style top, and boots. As I stared, she turned and looked at me. It was obvious that she didn't really mind me staring and she smiled knowingly. I waved again before turning away with my face red with embarrassment.
Once I loaded my luggage in the back of the SUV and settled in I finally started to relax. It was good to be home, even considering the circumstances. As I looked at Mom, I realized how much I missed her. I stared at her profile as she navigated the traffic. Her black hair was a little shorter then when I had left, but it framed her soft features perfectly. Her eyes were a twinkling blue and she had a cute dimple that only appeared when she smiled. Even a tiny smile would light up her entire face.
"You cut your hair. I like it." I said.
"I did. And thanks; it is sweet of you to notice. How was your trip?"
"Long and uncomfortable," I answered.
"Well, you have the entire summer to recover," she said and showed me that smile. It seemed forced, though.
We were silent for a long time, neither knowing where to start.
Finally, Mom broke the silence. "David, I don't know what to say. Everything happened so quickly. Even now I'm still in shock. I never knew about your father."
She paused and I could see tears in her eyes. I could feel the anger building in me again. I swallowed down the bile in my throat and said, "I know. Neither did I."
"We … your father and I have been having problems for the last several years, but I thought it was normal after so many years of marriage. Then I began to think it was because we had been married so young and never got to know each other," she said. Then added wryly, "I guess I was right about that."
"Son-of-a-bitch," I whispered under my breath.
My mother reached over and grabbed my hand. "I know it's hard on you," she said quietly.
"It's harder on you. I hate him."
"Don't hate him, David."
"Why not?" I said with anger. When I saw my mother wince, I softened my tone and squeezed her hand. "Sorry, Mom, I know I have to deal with this and so do you. But we will get through this together." She looked at me and smiled weakly.
Mom looked tired. I could see that the stress had taken a toll on her. In fact, it appeared that she had gained a little weight. Not that she looked bad, but her breasts were fuller and I had noticed that her jeans seemed tighter then normal. I guess stress will do that to you … maybe too much comfort food.
It was about a thirty-minute trip from the train station to our house. We didn't talk much until we arrived home. As we walked into the house my mother said, "I'll fix you lunch if you want. Are you hungry?"
"Starved. Let me go take my suitcase to my room and wash up."
"Okay, sweetheart," she said and reached for my hand and squeezed it again.
On impulse I pulled her into my arms for a hug. She held me tight and I heard her start to sob. I had no idea what to say so I just held her and let her cry. At some point, I realized that her breasts were mashed to my chest and her thighs pressed to mine. I was mortified when I felt my cock start to fill with blood. In spite of how badly I felt, she was still my fantasy woman and I just could not help myself. As much I wanted to keep holding her, I knew that in a minute she would feel my excitement. I pushed her back and kissed her lightly on the lips. I could taste her tears and incredibly that made my almost hard cock pulse. I took her face in my hands and used my thumbs to wipe away her tears. Her eyes held mine and I was almost lost in the deep pool of blue in her eyes. My excitement grew.
"Uh … let me go unpack," I said. I turned quickly and hurried to my room.
When I returned to the kitchen my mother had a bowl of soup and a sandwich on the table for me. She was sitting across the table and her eyes were still red from crying. When she saw me she started to cry again. I walked over and hugged her. She buried her face in the fabric of my shirt just above the belt. Again, I let her cry until I felt her tears soaking though my shirt. I whispered again, "We'll get through this." I was trying to convince myself as much as her.
"I know," she answered as she pulled away and looked up at me. "But there is something else that you should know."
I suddenly had this rush of dread. I had no idea what she was going to say but from the look on her face, I figured it couldn't be good. "What?" I asked.
"Sit down," she said.
I sat down quickly, staring at her, waiting.
It took a few long moments before she spoke. "I'm not sure how to tell you this and I wanted to wait until you got home before I did."
Now I was even more concerned. "What's wrong, Mom?" I asked, almost on the verge of tears myself. Maybe cancer, I thought and felt my stomach begin to churn.
"David," she said and paused again for what seemed an eternity. Then she took a deep breath and said, "I'm pregnant."
Suddenly the room was totally silent. I wasn't sure I had heard her right. "What?" I asked.
"I'm two months pregnant."
I heard it this time. I almost fell out of my chair. I stared at her for several very long moments. When I could respond I stuttered, "How … when … oh Jesus, Mom. I thought dad was … you know … you two weren't …"
She had tears streaming down her cheeks as she said; "It wasn't dad that got me pregnant."
I gasped and stared. My head started to spin.
After a moment she composed herself and said, "A couple months ago I was out with a friend. We were drinking and I was telling him about how your father and I never … uh … get together anymore … you know, sexually, it's been years. Well … uh … one thing led to another and I ended up going to a motel with him."
I looked at her with my eyes were as wide as saucers.
"I'm sorry, David. It wasn't something I wanted to happen, it just did. It was only once, but I guess that's all it took."
"God," I said.
"Your father and I have not had sex in five years. He cut me off long ago, and now I know why. But that is no excuse. Can you ever forgive me?" She bowed her head.
I was silent. I had no idea what to say. There were a host of emotions running through me at that moment. Somewhere inside there was anger or more likely it was jealously that she had been with another man, but I certainly couldn't let her know that. Neither could I really be mad at her, especially after all she has gone through. "Who is he?" I asked, trying to keep my emotions out of my voice.
"You don't know him. I met him a few years ago at one of your father's company Christmas parties. We kept in touch, but nothing ever happened until … you know, this one time."
"Does he know you are pregnant?"
"No. He's married."
"Oh shit," I said and then wished I hadn't. "I mean that complicates things I guess."
"Not really. I don't intend to tell him. It was not his fault. I mean it didn't take much to seduce me … if he was even trying. It was just a big mistake for both of us. We both apologized the next day and agreed to never do it again. I don't want to ruin his marriage."
"I guess I can understand that," I said, still fighting my jealously. "What about Dad, does he know?"
"No, and I don't intend to tell him either," she said with thinly veiled anger. "He'll find out soon enough anyway."
Mom looked at me and started to cry again. I got up and came around and knelt at her feet and hugged her.
"I don't know what to do. I'm so ashamed," she said and continued to cry. Then she slipped to her knees in front of me, placing her hands over her face, sobbing.
My heart was being ripped from my chest. I held her shoulders, unsure what to do no. I was just no good when a woman was crying. I repeated for the tenth time, "We'll get through this." I tried to sound confident. I was the man of the house now. But my head was spinning and I was almost shaking. "I can quit college and get a job … you know, to make some extra money," I said.
My mother looked at me with surprise and gathered herself. "Oh no, that's not necessary. Your father is paying alimony and quite a bit of it too. His "friend" has plenty of money; in fact he is very wealthy. The house and everything is ours. So we don't have any worries financially."
I had to admit I felt relief. Yet, I was still concerned about her. I mean I couldn't go back to college and leave her alone while she was pregnant. I could go to a local college, I thought, but did not say. Then I said, "I'm glad you're not telling Dad. We can handle this ourselves. We don't need him."
I saw my mother's face turn soft and I saw a look that was filled with emotion. She said, "David, I love you. You are my rock."
It appeared that I had said the right thing and then I saw her features relax and the tension drained from her. "Thank you for being so understanding," she whispered, continuing to hold me tight. When she pulled back there was something in her eyes that I had never seen before. The blue of her eyes seemed like deep pools of crystal water shimmering in the morning sun. I could suddenly feel heat and I didn't know if it was coming from her or me. My heart began to thump. Then, like a magnet our lips slowly came together.
I am not sure how long the kiss lasted, a minute or an hour, but it was enough to start my blood boiling. When we parted, I could see that my mother was breathing heavier and she still had a funny look on her face. I glanced down and saw that her nipples were hard and poking through the material of her top. She saw my eyes. Her face turned red and so did mine. I quickly pulled away, although reluctantly, and went back to my chair, now embarrassed. I think she was too.
"Want me to heat that soup up for you?" she said, still breathless.
"No, it's fine." I bent my head and began to eat my now cold soup.
My mother stared at me for a few moments … I could feel her eyes but I didn't look up. She got up and went to the refrigerator to get a bottle of water. She was composed when she came back to the table. "So, I suppose things are going to be changing around here. I mean with a baby and all … crying, diapers, baby food, etc." She laughed lightly. It was obvious that she was trying to lighten the conversation and reduce the tension that had result from the kiss.
"We have plenty of room in this big house," I said. Then I added honestly, "I can turn the bedroom next to yours into a nursery."
"Would you do that for me? That would be wonderful," she said with appreciation in her voice.
"Sure, that shouldn't be a problem. I can put in a doorway to your room, then a little paint and some furniture," I said and paused. "Is it a boy or a girl?"
Mom smiled. "I don't know yet."
"I'll have to wait to paint it until I know if it is going to be blue or pink. A boy certainly can't have a pink bedroom."
She smiled again and said, "I'm going to have to get some maternity clothes. All the clothes I had when I was pregnant with you are long gone. Besides, I doubt they would fit me anymore."
"Why not?" I asked.
She smiled and said, "I've gained a few pounds over the years."
"All in the right places," I blurted.
"Really. You don't think I have gotten … you know … fat."
If I had been older I would have known that was a loaded question, but instead I was just surprised. I looked at her like she had two heads. Then without being conscious of it my eyes drifted down to her breasts. Her nipples were still hard. I quickly drew back to her face. "Uh … no, of course you're not fat, even for being pregnant. In fact, I think pregnant women are very sexy."
I flushed but nodded my head.
"I'm learning new things about you all the time," she said and laughed.
It was the first time I had heard her laugh for real since I met her at the train. I liked it. It lifted the cloud that had seemed to cover the room. I smiled broadly.
Then she added, "But I'll be gaining weight with the pregnancy. I remember before I was pregnant with you, my breasts were quite small, but during pregnancy and after you were born, they grew much bigger and, while they have gone down a bit, they never really went back to the way they were. Now, if they grow …"
I smiled again, trying to keep the lust hidden, but my eyes were drawn to her breasts again. "Sorry, Mom, but they are great now and will be even better later," I said. I had no idea where I got the boldness to say this to my mother. We had never talked about anything like this … especially not sexual things.
"You're so sweet," she said and blushed.
I could tell her demeanor had changed dramatically in the last few minutes. It was as if the weight of the world had been lifted from her shoulders. My reaction to her pregnancy must have been better than she had expected. It seemed that she was coming to terms with the situation and I had helped. At least I thought I had.
"Listen, sweetie, I have some grocery shopping to do. You want to go with me?"
I looked at her with a frown but then smiled and said, "I'd rather have a sharp stick in my eye."
"Okay," she said and laughed. "I'll be back in a couple hours."
I watched her leave the kitchen, staring at that great ass again. And like she had done at the station, she turned and smiled at me. My face reddened but I didn't turn away this time.
Later we ate dinner and talked. In just a few hours we had become much closer. Not that we weren't close before; preemie's and their mothers are generally closer for a variety of reasons. But suddenly we had a common problem and she was treating me like an adult, as an equal, and not like her child.