16 comments/ 113276 views/ 90 favorites Finding Beauty By: clearwinston I straightened my tie, checking myself once more in the mirror. "We have to go!" called Mom as she knocked on my door. I opened the door to see her smiling at me. "You look so handsome," she said, placing her hands on my shoulders before brushing one down my tie to smooth an imagined wrinkle. "Thanks, Mom," I smiled. "Look at you, though! Stunning!" She blushed at my compliment. "No" she muttered, looking down. "Yes." I wasn't wrong. She was beautiful, always had been. Standing at only 5'5", she had a little bit of roundness to her. Her face was cherubic and round with a perpetual, almost imperceptible, smile. Her blue eyes were bright and expressive, betraying an intelligence she didn't believe was there. Her figure was curvy, but not fat. Yes, she had some fat, but she was older now, almost 50, and it was expected. She worked hard to stay in shape and ate relatively well, which wasn't easy in the deep south, especially around our family. It looked good on her, though. Her breasts were large and seemed to sit proudly on her chest. In certain clothes she displayed deep cleavage, although she typically dressed modestly. Her ass was full and round, and a narrow waist gave her the classic hourglass figure that I found so attractive. Mom had recently had her hair cut to a shorter style than I would have preferred, but I had to agree with her stylist that it made her look younger and more stylish than the longer hair she had worn for most of my life. She also had her hair colored to hide the gray, now a dark brown. Today she wore her new dress, a simple knee-length wraparound in a shade of emerald green, and simple black pumps over tan hose. "Well, thank you for the compliment," she smiled. "Wait!" I exclaimed, remembering something. I stepped away from the door and grabbed a bouquet of various flowers off my dresser. "Here," I said with a smile. "This is only possible because of you." She buried her nose in the flowers. "Thank you," she said, choking up a little. "They're beautiful. I haven't received flowers since. . . I don't know when." "That's too bad," I frowned. "I should have been on top of that." "Not you," she said with contempt. I nodded in understanding. A lot should have been different for her. "Does he know about today?" she asked. I just shrugged. "Only if he read about it somewhere. I didn't tell him. Dad's an asshole." "That, he is," she agreed. "Well," she said, clearing her throat, "Shall we?" "Let's," I smiled and held out my elbow. She took it in her hand and we walked to the car. We reported to the staging area where Mom helped me straighten up my gown and hood before helping me to make sure my cap was straight. After the ceremony, Mom took some pictures of me with my degree and recruited a couple of people to take pictures of us together. I was glad to be out of that cap and gown, returning them to the rental desk after removing the tassel, hood, and cords. I loosened my tie as I approached the fountain, admiring the beautiful figure beneath the emerald fabric, my mother looking at the sculpture that sprayed crystalline arcs in every direction. The tarnished bronze statues of women in flowing Grecian tunics was supposed to represent the strengths of the school, each of the ladies holding a different implement to represent their field. I never really understood it, but that's not surprising. My mother was the artist, not me. I stopped a good ways back, simply watching her. It wasn't long, just a few seconds, but I was enamored. I shouldn't have been. God knows I shouldn't have been. She was my mother. It was wrong on so many levels. My friends made fun of me for being a chubby chaser. That's what they called me: "chubby chaser." They would watch their porn and their "Girls Gone Wild" videos and they would date and screw the typical "hot chicks". And they would make fun of me and make fun of the girls I dated and, yes, slept with. As they scoped out their prey on campus, they would point out the ones they thought I would like, and then burst into fits of laughter. These really were my friends, not guys who would bully me or make fun of me all the time, just really in this one area. Maybe it's not conventional, my attraction. But the way I see it, every woman wants to feel beautiful. They shouldn't have to squeeze into a size 2 in order to be loved and desired. Honestly, I think I'm more sensitive to the weight struggles of women than a lot of guys are. I'm not a hero or anything; I just spent most of my life listening to my father berate my mother for her weight and appearance and stupidity and any number of things. I would listen to her cry quietly, watch her go through countless exercise programs and fad diets. I'll say this about her: she's persistent if nothing else. She never gave up, but denied herself all kinds of things in order to try and fit into a mold someone else designed. She would eat small salads for lunch and dinner, make fresh smoothies for breakfast, and all while trying to make my father's favorites, and mine, too. Dad spent a lot of time laughing at her, criticizing her, and squeezing and pinching at her fat. Like I said, Dad's an asshole. That's why I went into nutrition as a major, so I could become a certified nutritionist. I have a job waiting for me at the local chain of a gym, doing evaluations and meal plans for members. One thing I've learned is that genetics is one of the greatest contributors to health issues, including weight, and I've used that knowledge to help mom and I both establish pretty decent habits. In the three years since Dad's been gone (he found someone else. Dickhead), I've worked hard to replace all the shit he's told mom, with positive truths. I've called her beautiful and brilliant, praised her for every quarter-pound lost, and soothed her for every quarter-pound gained. She's been a willing student and partner in our shared healthy lifestyle, and we've grown closer because of it. And here she is, not significantly thinner than she ever was, but much more confident. "Excuse me, ma'am. I'm looking for—" She turned around and smiled. "What are you doing?" she laughed. "OH! Mom! There you are. I was looking for you, and knew we were supposed to meet at the fountain, but I only saw a beautiful young lady here, and thought she could help me find my mother," I smiled. "You're one of a kind," she laughed, returning my hug. She stepped away. "The 'beautiful young lady' talk is a little over the top, don't you think?" "No," I said, seriously. "I don't." "Then we need to get your eyes checked," she said, patting my cheek with a smile. "Trust me," I smiled. "My eyes are fine." "Well, either way," she said, looking down. "Let's go get you some lunch." She drove and we went to my favorite steakhouse, one that we only went to once or twice a year. When the server took our orders, Mom said, "I'll just have the side salad with a light vinaigrette." I just looked at her and shook my head. She looked down, obviously ashamed. I looked at the server and said, "And she'll have a side of New York strip, medium rare, with a baked sweet potato. I'll have the same. And no breadsticks today, please. Would you bring our salads to start?" The server thanked us and walked away. Mom was still looking down in her lap. "Mom?" I said. She looked up, tears in her eyes. "This is a good lunch, I promise. You need to learn to enjoy good food, too, not just deny yourself. We're celebrating. That means we're BOTH celebrating." "I know," she sighed. "I just don't want to. . . I don't know," she said, shaking her head. "Look at me." She did, and I reached across and took her hand. "You're beautiful and you're healthier than you've ever been, Mom. We've been doing that together. Why won't you let yourself be proud of that?" "Because," she leaned in to speak quietly, "I'm still fat." "No, mom," I shook my head. "You're not. You've been lied to by a man who was supposed to love you and by a market that wants to sell you beauty in a bottle. Mom, we just ran a 10k race together in a little over an hour. You can swim a mile in 45 minutes. Your heart beats at 50 beats per minute. You are an athlete, mom. Your body is what it is. If your nutrition plan and exercise plan isn't burning fat or adding fat, then your body is telling you you're good. When's the last time you put on any significant weight?" "Two years ago." I nodded and smiled. "Do you think your body's not going to know what to do with that steak?" I asked. "I guess," she smiled. "Damn right, it does. You're a fit, beautiful woman. If I wasn't your son, I would—" I cut myself off and looked away. I sat up and started to pull my hand away, but Mom held it tightly and leaned in close. "You would what, Vince?" "I'm sorry. Forget I said anything." I reached for my tea and took a sip, but Mom wouldn't let me go. "No. Would what?" I sighed and hung my head. I leaned forward. "If you weren't my mother, I would kiss you. You're that beautiful and amazing." She sat up in her seat, her eyebrows raised in surprise. "I told you to forget I said anything," I defended. "I'm sorry." "No," she said, shaking her head, as if trying to shake loose the last twenty seconds. "No, it's. . . it's fine. I'm just surprised, is all." Right then the server brought our salads. We ate in silence. My stomach was gnawing at me and I never looked up from my bowl. Finally I looked up and saw Mom looking at me. "I'm sorry I ruined our lunch, Mom. I didn't mean to do that." "You didn't ruin our lunch, baby," she smiled. After a pause she said, "Can I ask you a question?" "Sure." "When you are attracted to a girl, what attracts you?" "To a woman, you mean?" "Okay," she smiled, "To a woman." "I like curves," I shrugged. "Most men like curves," she laughed. "No, I mean, I like a woman with a little bit of a fuller figure." She cocked her head a little and had a confused look on her face. I sighed and continued, quietly. "I like something I can sink my teeth into, you know? Something I can grab." "Oh!" she giggled. "I think I understand." "I didn't mean to embarrass you," I apologized. "I mean, you asked, so. . ." "No apology necessary," she laughed. "So when I was at the fountain and you said. . ." "Oh, yeah. I would totally be into a woman like you. I mean, with your shape. I mean—" "I know what you mean, sweetie," she said with a smile. "You don't have to explain." Fortunately, the server rescued me, bringing the two steaks and sweet potatoes. Mom did her best to normalize the meal, but I felt like I had totally embarrassed myself. What must she think of me? But she never said anything to humiliate me and didn't bring it back up the rest of the meal. She tried to lure me into talks about my new job and the apartment search, but I was still mired in my embarrassment. After a few minutes, Mom said, "Are we still swimming this afternoon?" "I don't know," I shrugged. "Vincent, enough." I looked up at her. "You don't have to be embarrassed about anything. Okay?" I shrugged. "Well, then, I'll be going to the pool when we get home. If you would like to join me, you're welcome to. If not, I'll go alone." "You're right. I'm sorry. I do want to swim today. I'd like to go with you." "There you go!" she said cheerfully. "That's the Vincent I like to see." We chatted back and forth over lunch and she reiterated her questions about my job, this time receiving more enthusiastic responses. She still didn't like the thought of me getting an apartment when there was plenty of room at home with her, rent-free. Plus, she pouted about being left alone. I suggested she find a good man. She just rolled her eyes at that one. That afternoon we went to the Y for our swim and we shared a lane. We always shared a lane. We were supposed to do circles when there were only two to a lane, but Mom and I had agreed to each take a side since I swim faster than she does. After 500 meters of warm ups using kick boards, fins, and leg buoys for drills, we set out to do our 1500 meters. Mom had a great day. Her form was on, her pulls were strong and her turns were the best she had ever done. As we made our way home after a quick change in the locker rooms, I told Mom, "I think today was your best workout. In fact, you shaved almost three minutes off your best time. What happened?" I laughed. "Well," she said, never looking at me as she drove. "I think you did. You have been very complimentary all day, and that helps. You also pretty much reminded me of how much I could do, and that boosted my confidence. I was very relaxed today." When we got home, we took our showers and changed into some casual comfortable clothes, both of us wearing shorts and t-shirts. Mom asked if I wanted a fresh smoothie, and I said I would enjoy that. When she brought them in, she sat on the couch at the opposite end and curled her legs under her. I was online, just poking around. I looked up over my laptop screen and saw Mom looking at me. "What?" I asked. Mom just looked away and took a sip of her smoothie through the straw. She cleared her throat and said, "Can I ask you a question?" "Sure." "Close the computer. I want to talk to you." "Okay." I closed it and set it on the coffee table. "Um. . . what do you know about body confidence?" "Well, we talked about it in our fitness and nutrition classes some. Why?" "How does it work? I mean, how do you become confident in your body? You told me today that my self-perception is a result of constant lies that are being told to me about my looks. So how do I change those?" "Right now, you believe those things are true, so you have to believe new truths that will replace the old ones. It's like self-talk. Self-talk is what you say to yourself. When it's quiet, self-talk is what comes into your head and fills that quiet. When we hear the same thing over and over, we begin to believe it, so that becomes what we tell ourselves. Changing that self-talk needs to be a process of repetitively telling yourself something new to replace what you have always been hearing." "Like what?" "That depends on you. What do you need to eliminate?" "I don't know," she shrugged. "I just want to see myself. . . the way you see me. Or at least talk to myself the way you talk to me. Have you ever done this self-talk stuff?" "Yeah. We had to track it in one of our classes, so we could see how effective it is. That way we can help clients confidently, assuring them that this can actually work." "Does it?" "It has for me. And for some of the other people I've talked to." "What did you have to tell yourself?" I didn't want to tell her. Let me put it this way. I don't have a nine-inch dick as big as a girl's forearm. No woman has ever pulled my pants down to my knees before my giant prick sprung up and smacked her in the chin. I had my share of penis jokes thrown my way from middle school through college, not usually from girls, but mostly from other guys, even guys who have never seen my penis. It's just a go-to insult for some people, and it cuts deep. Just like my dad's comments about Mom's weight. "Well, for one thing, I'll never be very big." "What do you mean?" she asked, her brow furrowed in confusion. "You know how you feel like you're overweight because you're not as small as the models or celebrities or whatever?" "Yeah." I didn't think I could tell her about my penis concerns, so I modified my story, which was still true. "Well, no matter how hard I try, I'll never be hugely muscular. I mean, I'm fit and I'm pretty lean, but I'll never be ripped or huge. I've got a smaller frame, so unless I take tons of supplements, and I don't even know if that would work, I'll never have big muscles." "Oh, I think I see what you mean. So how do you feel about that now?" "I would still like to be bigger, but at least now I accept that it just won't happen for me. It's beyond my control. I've got a smaller frame, but I'm strong, I'm fast, and I'm pretty lean. And there are girls who are okay with that, just like there are guys who want a woman with a body like yours, Mom." She blushed a little. "Okay, so what do I need to do?" "You can do it alone or with someone. I've been trying to help for a long time, telling you how beautiful you are, but you have to be the one to believe it. Your own voice has to replace everybody else's, even mine. It's okay for you to believe that I see you as sex. . .beautiful. But you have to believe it about yourself." She gave me a suspicious look, but then it turned to a smile. "So how do I do that?" "You need to make it a habit a few times a day. First you need to come up with a statement you want to believe about yourself, then you need to write it down and stick it in a place you will see it several times a day. Every time you see it, you quote it to yourself out loud. Soon enough you will memorize it and you will need to look yourself in the eye and say it several times. Then when a lying voice sneaks in, you will need to cut it off by repeating that phrase about yourself. For instance, 'My body is perfect just the way it is. It is healthy and strong and men find it arousing.'" She looked at me with a subtle smile and cocked her head to the side. "Just like that, huh?" "Not exactly, but yeah. It works for your whole body, but also for individual parts. Just pick the part you're not happy with and admire it, find the beauty of it, and tell yourself how great it is." "You mentioned something about having a partner to do this with?" "Yeah, you need to do it alone, too, because it's about your own beliefs, but embracing someone else's perspective can give you that confidence to believe it about yourself." "Oh. All right, then." "Do you. . . do you want me to help you?" She hesitated before nodding. "Let's go to your room. You have that full length mirror." "Okay," she replied quietly. She stood to walk to her room, and I waited until she was past me so I could adjust my erection. I watched her ass as she walked and noticed how short her shorts were, her strong legs flexing with each step. I followed her into her room and she stood in front of the mirror. "Now what?" she sighed. "Okay, what you want to do is start at the top of your body and work your way down, praising every part you see." "Can you show me?" "On you or on me?" I asked. "On you." She stepped to the side and I took her place in front of the mirror. I took a deep breath and looked at my hair. "I like my hair. It's thick and full and styles easily." I moved down. I commented on my eyes, my nose, my mouth, my ears, my chin, my chest. "My chest is strong and lean. My stomach is flat and strong." I skipped down to my legs. "My thighs—" "Wait," Mom called. I looked at her. "What about the. . . you know, the middle there." "My, uh. . . my groin?" "Yeah." I sighed. "Don't laugh, okay? This is embarrassing enough." "I promise." "My. . . my penis is a decent size," I said, glancing at Mom, who was looking at my crotch. "It can be rock hard when I'm excited. My thighs—" "What about your. . . testicles?" "My what?" I asked. "Your, um, your scrotum? Well, you said, everything!" "Mom." "You're going to watch me, right?" she blushed. I sighed and cursed under my breath. I turned back to the mirror. "My balls," I said, looking at Mom, who smiled behind her hand, bringing a smile from me. "My balls," I said, "are sensitive and very potent. My thighs," I said, looking at her again, "are lean and powerful, making me very fast." I continued on with my calves, my shoulders, my arms, my back and my butt before looking over to Mom. "See? Just like that." "Okay, but I don't want to describe my penis and balls." She didn't even crack a smile until I busted up, laughing. Finding Beauty We traded places and I stood to the side close to the mirror. Mom said something to herself and shook her head before standing up straight and saying, "I like my hair. . ." but stopped. Her mouth moved as if she wanted to say something, but no sound came out. "I can't do this," she sobbed. "I don't like my hair, or my eyes, or any part of my body really. I can't tell myself I do when I don't." As she cried, I quickly took her into my arms and let her cry into my neck. She wept openly with her arms around my waist while I held her. A few minutes later, she sniffled and pulled back. "I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to do that. I just don't think I can do this." "Yes, you can. Listen, this will be more difficult if I'm here. Maybe it's because you feel like you have an audience. I'll leave and you do what you need to do. Remember, it doesn't matter if you believe it at first, just say something positive about everything and start there." "Can. . . can you give me a head start? Maybe help me out with it?" "Like what?" "I mean, can you say something nice about me? Maybe if I hear you do it, I can do it better." I thought for a moment. "If that's what you want," I whispered. She nodded. I took my place behind her, looking over her right shoulder. I looked at her in the mirror and began to speak. "I like your hair. It's soft and stylish and always smells like fruit." She smiled, making me smile. "I like your eyes. They sparkle when you smile and they always look at me with kindness and love. I like your nose. It's a beautiful little nose, feminine and small. I like your. . . I like your mouth. Your lips are beautiful and full. Your smile is amazing and your white teeth shine when you smile that amazing smile. Your ears are perfect and small. I like your skin. It's so smooth and soft with a few light freckles, which give it a youthful appearance. I like your. . . I like your breasts," I whispered. I could tell her breathing picked up, maybe nerves. "They're full and round, and. . . and soft when we hug." Her nipples were starting to show, poking against her gray t-shirt. I noticed and my voice caught. "I [ahem] I like your breasts. Any man would be lucky to. . . I, uh, I like your waist. Your stomach is gently rounded, but is strong from all your exercise. It's narrow compared to your breasts and your hips. I love your hips. The roundness of them expresses your femininity. I like the way they sway when you walk and the way your full, round butt moves. It looks firm, yet feminine. I like your butt. I like your thighs, so smooth and strong, like pillars of a temple. I like your calves and the way they flex. They are firm and rounded, showing how strong you are from miles and miles and miles of running. And I like your feet, so soft and small. When you paint your toenails, they are even more beautiful. I love when you walk around the house barefoot so I can see your beautiful feet." "Oh, wow," she breathed. "Yeah," I whispered. "Wow." She looked at me in the mirror, and caught me looking at her body, scanning her up and down. When she caught me looking at her nipples, she covered them with her hands. "Thank you, Vince. I think that's enough." She walked away hurriedly. I cleared my throat. "Yeah, so that's how that's done. Oh, yeah, and when you're alone, you're supposed to do it naked so you see everything and appreciate every part of your body. So, you know, there's that." "Um, okay. Thank you. I think I need to lie down for a little while. It's been a busy day. I'll make dinner in a couple of hours." "Oh. Okay." I walked out and her door closed quickly. I went to my room and realized how excited I got, talking to and about my mother that way. I had always been attracted to her, and found her alluring, but would never have admitted to it. I imagined, for the first time, what it would be like to be with her, to make love to my mother. I stroked myself into a towel, pulled my pants up and fell asleep on my bed. ###### When I woke up I heard the television on and Mom cooking dinner in the kitchen. The washer was going and I noticed that the lid to the hamper was open and that the towel on the floor was gone. Mom was still mom, doing my laundry for me, even at 23 years old. I went to the bathroom and relieved myself before going downstairs. "Need any help?" I asked as she pulled the bones from a baked chicken. She didn't even look up. "No, thank you. I can do it." "Are you sure? I can—" "I said I've got it!" she snapped. I froze, not sure what to do. After a moment I turned to walk away. I made it three steps. "Vince! Wait!" she said from behind me. I stopped. "I'm sorry. I'm just. . . I don't know," she sighed. I turned around and saw her resting her hands flat on the counter, her head hanging forward. "Mom," I said, walking toward her, "I really didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. If I crossed a line today, I'm sorry." I rested my hand on her shoulder. "It's not you, Vince," she said. Looking up at me, her eyes were red. She rested a hand on my hand on her shoulder. "It felt so nice to hear someone say those things about me today, and I got carried away. I shouldn't have let it get to me like that." "It's okay, Mom. Do. . . do you want to talk about it?" "I don't know. Maybe. Why don't you get us something stiff to drink while I get this chicken finished up?" I fixed us both a couple of Jack and Coke's and took them into the living room. A minute later, I heard the glass casserole dish slide across the oven rack before the door closed and Mom set the timer. She walked in, still in her short shorts and gray t-shirt, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel. Reaching for the drink, she said, "Thank you, sweetie." She sat down on the couch and took a sip before resting her elbows on her knees. With her head hanging down and her eyes still closed, she asked, "Did you mean all those things you said about me this afternoon?" I nodded. "Yeah, Mom. I did." "Where do you get off?" she asked angrily, sitting up and looking at me with fire in her eyes. "I'm your mother, dammit!" "I know," I sighed. "Is this some sick fetish? You need to get this under control!" I stood up suddenly, yelling, "I've been controlling it for ten fucking years! Don't tell me to get it under control!" Her eyes were as big as saucers and the color drained from her face as she looked up at me. "Oh, Vincent," she said quietly, shaking her head. I paced the living room. "I'm sorry, Mom, I really am." I took a gulp of my drink. "I never meant for this to come out. I never wanted to look at you this way and I don't know how to turn it off. I tried all through high school and I thought I would just lose interest. When I got to college I figured that if I got a girlfriend my feelings for you would realign the right way, but it never happened." I sighed and stopped, closing my eyes so I wouldn't have to see her face. "I think the reason I like bigger girls is because I'm attracted to you." She didn't say anything. I opened my eyes to see her looking at the floor between her feet, her right knee dancing nervously. "Maybe it would be best if you got that apartment," she said quietly. She stood and walked up the stairs and closed her bedroom door. I dropped onto the couch before tipping my glass back and swallowing the rest of the liquid comfort. As I replayed the events of the day, I heard the oven timer beep and I went into the kitchen. I got out two bowls and scooped some of Mom's casserole into each one. I walked up the stairs with a bowl and spoon and a glass of tea. Stopping outside her door I called out quietly. "Mom? I brought you some dinner." No answer. "I'll just leave it outside your door. I love you, Mom. I'm sorry." She had never failed to answer me, no matter how upset she was. This was new. I was scared. I finished my dinner and cleaned the kitchen. No stirring from upstairs. I sighed, picked up my laptop and took it up to my room. Her bowl and glass were still full. She hadn't eaten anything. I didn't know if I should leave it for her, but I also knew that her casserole was no good cold, even she thought so. I placed my computer on my desk and walked to her door. As I bent down to pick up her dishes, I heard her talking quietly. ". . . likes my skin, even the freckles. Vincent likes my. . . my son likes my breasts. He says they are soft when we. . . when we hug. Oh, God, what's wrong with me? Okay, breathe." I could hear her do her deep breathing exercises to calm down. Then she cleared her throat. "My son likes my stomach and my hips. He likes the way my butt moves. He likes my thighs and my calves and my feet. Dammit, Claire. He's still your son." What the hell was going on? I wanted to knock and ask, but this was her time. Alone. Especially if she was trying to settle down from the mess I had caused. I picked up the dishes and took them down to the kitchen before emptying them into the garbage disposal and putting them into the dishwasher. I walked back to my room, tempted to listen in again, but I thought better of it. After closing my door I stripped to my underwear and started watching a movie on the streaming service, but I fell asleep within the hour. ###### "Vince?" I heard, feeling a hand on my shoulder, shaking me awake. "Vincent, honey? Wake up." "Mom? What time is it?" "It's just after 11. We need to talk, sweetie. About earlier." "Yeah, okay," I said, sitting up. "Put something on and come downstairs. I'll make coffee." With that she got up and left my room. I went to the bathroom, splashed water on my face to wake up, and went back to my room to put on some lounge pants and a t-shirt. By the time I got down to the kitchen, Mom had already made our coffee and was sitting at the kitchen table. I sat down across from her and took a sip from my favorite mug. "First of all," she said, "I want to apologize for my reaction earlier. I think I was out of line." "It's okay," I said. "I shouldn't have—" "Yes, you should have." I didn't understand. "I have always told you that I wanted you to be honest with me. I wanted to know what was going on. So then you tell me something big that you've been struggling with for half your life, and I react out of anger, as if it was a personal offense to me. I know, sweetie, that this has nothing to do with me. I mean, it does, but it's not about something you are doing to me or against me; it's just how you feel." I nodded. "Mom, I don't want this to come between us. I don't want this to be a problem. I may always be attracted to you like I have been, but I've had it under control for this long, and I can continue to control it. Maybe I'll outgrow it in time." "Or maybe you won't." She peered at me over her mug. "So, what now?" "Now we talk." She took a deep breath. "You've been very honest with me and I think it's time I'm honest with you. I've known for a long time, how you feel about me." "You have?" She held up a hand to silence me. "The reason I got so angry this afternoon is that I felt like the foundation of our relationship cracked." I shook my head to signal that I didn't understand. "I've known how you feel for at least five years, since your graduation party at least. But you never said anything. You never acted on it. It allowed me to keep the illusion that you didn't feel that way, that we were safe. Now, however, we aren't safe. Our relationship can't be what it was." "Why not, Mom? What's not safe? So you know; so what?" "So, now I have to fight for both of us, and I don't think I'm strong enough." "Fight for both of us? I don't understand." "So far, I've only been fighting myself. As long as I could pretend you weren't interested in me. . . that way, then I could fight the temptation raging inside me. Now that I know for certain how you feel, then my own temptation is stronger." Suddenly, a light bulb came on. "Mom? You mean you've. . . for me?" She hung her head. "I'm sorry, Vince. It's wrong on so many levels. When I told you to get yourself under control, I wasn't just talking to you; I was talking to myself. So now that we both know, maybe we can work together to fight, you know? We can overcome this vile temptation, watching each other's back." "Why?" I asked. "Vince, don't," she said, shaking her head enthusiastically. "Don't even think about it. This is wrong and we have to stand together against it. Tomorrow I will help you find an apartment. As my son I want you to stay here with me, but the risk is too great now. We can't stay here together, not now at least." With that, she stood and took her cup to the sink. I stood up, too. "Wait, can we talk about this?" She walked past as she said, "We just did. I'll see you in the morning." She walked out on me and I began to cry. ###### I don't know if Mom slept that night, but I didn't. Even when I tried to think of Mom and I in a romantic situation, it was different. Before today, when I had fantasized about seeing Mom in her swimsuit, or looking down her shirt when she bent over, or rubbing up against me as we decorated the Christmas tree, it would sometimes lead to a kiss between us. I never got farther than that, wracked with guilt at what I was thinking, but I was somehow still okay with thoughts of kissing her and maybe copping a feel. When I would fantasize about her, she would smirk when she caught me looking, or maybe wink at me. That night I had a familiar fantasy of looking down her shirt when she bent over, catching a glimpse of her deep cleavage. This time when she caught me, however, she quickly stood up, grasping the neck of her shirt and asked me what the hell I thought I was doing. Then she stormed out of the room. Dammit, I thought, why did I have to go and screw everything up? Maybe Mom was right. Maybe I needed a place of my own, a place away from her. I finally dozed off into a fitful sleep, although it wasn't until almost 5am. When I got out of bed at 6:30, the sun starting to peek over the neighbor's roof, I stumbled downstairs. I was surprised to see Mom at the table already, still in her bathrobe, her hair a sexy mess. Her left hand was wrapped around her coffee mug and with her right, she circled another ad in the paper, which was spread out on the table. She looked up at me and muttered, "Good morning." "Yeah," I mumbled. I fixed a bowl of cereal and sat down across from her. She didn't acknowledge me a second time. I dropped my spoon in the bowl, causing a splash of milk to land on the paper, the table, and my arm. "Are we really doing this, Mom?" "Yes, Vince, we are," she said as she calmly blotted the milk droplets on the paper with a napkin. "This is insane," I said. "Can't we please talk about this and come up with a workable solution? Please?" "Go ahead," she challenged. "Tell me how we're going to work through this living under the same roof, knowing how we both feel. Lay it out, Vince." "I. . . well, we. . ." I stammered before sighing, exasperated. "I don't know just yet, but we can work together, Mom, you said so yourself." "This," she said, stabbing the paper with her finger, "This is working together. This is how we fight it." Her eyes were filling with tears and her voice was angry. "I don't see any other way. You can't stay here." "Fuck it!" I said, shoving my bowl away and standing up. "I'll find my own damned place!" I stormed out and up to my room. I threw on some shorts, a t-shirt and a ball cap. I bounded down the stairs and headed to the front door. "Vince, wait!" I heard. Mom continued to call me, her voice frantic and I caught her out of the corner of my eye, as she rushed toward me. "Vincent! VINCENT!!" The door slammed behind me. The morning was quiet outside the house, despite the storm that had been brewing inside it. I jetted out of my driveway, my Civic squealing on the pavement as I slammed on the brakes and jammed it into first. I stopped at the gas station on the corner and grabbed every copy of the apartment finders I could get my hands on. Sitting in the parking lot of the local park, I circled apartments that might work and dog-eared the pages. By 8:30 I was driving from complex to complex, meeting with property managers and looking at the model apartments. I ate lunch while I drove, afraid to stop and sit down for a few minutes. By four o'clock I was wiped out mentally and emotionally. Over the course of the day, my phone rang several times, at least twice every hour, usually three times. I had a series of missed calls and new texts. I hadn't even bothered to take out my phone and look at it. It wasn't important either way. When it rang, I would just hit ignore and keep doing what I was doing: driving, touring the apartment, listening to the agent. Actually, by 10:30 I had just set it on silent so I wouldn't even know. Now I was back in the car, trying to decide where to go for the evening. I looked at my phone and picked it up out of the cup holder. There were only four texts from Mom. All of them essentially said the same thing: She was sorry and I needed to answer my phone. I cursed under my breath and called her. It didn't even get to the second ring. "Vincent?" she said, excitedly. "Yeah." I was still plenty hot under the collar and didn't feel like doing this. She sighed, "I'm so glad you called." "You told me to. What do you want?" "Please come home. We can talk, work this out." "No, Mom, we can't." "We can, Vincent! I know we can," she began to choke up. "Please come home." I sat silently, reconciling my pride with my true desire. Was I hesitant to go home just to piss her off? To say I'd won? Or was I just that angry? I wanted more than anything to be home with her, at least for now, but I couldn't afford to be jerked around, begged to come home, only to be told tomorrow that I needed to move out. "Where are we going with this?" I asked. "I need to know where I'm sleeping." "Here," she said. "With me. I mean, I want you home with me." "I don't know, Mom." I was calm and confused. I really didn't know what to do. I knew I'd messed up big time. "Maybe it really would be better for me to find somewhere else to be." It was quiet for a moment before Mom spoke again. "No, Vincent, it's not. This is your home. I overreacted and, rather than finding my own strength, I put the responsibility on you to change. I need to be strong here. We can work through this here. If you want to move out, I understand. You're a grown man and it's expected that you have your own place. I don't want you to feel pressured to stay here. I just don't want you to move out because I told you to. I want you to know that there will always be a place here for you. For tonight, however, won't you please come home?" I thought about it for a minute. Mom was very good not to push me for an answer as I processed through it. "Okay. I'm coming home." "Thank you, Vincent," she said. I could hear her smile through the phone. "I love you, Mom." "I know. And I love you, too, baby doll." I hung up the phone and drove home. As soon as I pulled into the driveway, Mom was on the front porch, beaming. "Hi, Mom," I said as I walked up the sidewalk. As soon as stepped onto the porch I said, "I'm sorry I—" My words were cut off by my mother's sobbing hug. I wrapped my arms around her tightly as she squeezed my neck in her own embrace. "Vincent! No no no. Shhh. No apologies. You didn't do anything wrong, baby." She pulled away and stroked my hair with a gentle smile. "Come inside. Would you like a drink?" I sighed with a smile. "That would be great." I dragged in behind her and closed the door. I plopped onto the couch and listened to Mom mixing me a Margarita before mixing one for herself. She handed it to me and sat on the coffee table, facing me. The margarita was good. "Mm, thank you. This is really good." Finding Beauty "I'm glad," she smiled. She suddenly looked concerned. "You look exhausted. Tell you what. After you finish your drink, you rest and then I'll take you out to dinner. How does that sound?" I nodded. "Sounds good," I said. Unfortunately, I didn't finish my margarita. I fell asleep right there on the couch while watching a show I had DVR'd. When I woke up, it was dark outside and I had a blanket covering me. Mom apparently caught me stirring because she said, "Look who's awake. You hungry?" She sat down on the couch by my hip and rubbed my arm. "I could eat," I smiled, stretching and pushing myself up. "Go clean up and we'll go get Mexican. Sound good?" "Sounds great." I stood up and walked up the stairs. A few minutes later I was out of the shower and getting dressed. Mom knocked on my door. "Yeah?" "Are you about ready?" I opened the door as I pulled my shirt down. "I just have to put on my shoes." I sat in my desk chair and put on my shoes and socks as my mother sat on my bed. "What do you think, Vince? Think we can put this behind us?" "I was thinking more along the lines of moving forward, not backward," I smiled, looking up at her. "But we can definitely work it out." "I think so, too," she smiled. I stood up and took her hand. I kissed her on the cheek and we went to dinner. While we were there, we each had a couple more margaritas. We weren't drunk because they weren't very strong, but our mood was definitely lighter and I'm sure the drinks had something to do with it. I had no trouble driving us home and I felt like Mom and I were in a good place again. When we got home, I told Mom I was going to change and watch a movie. She thought it was a good idea and changed as well. It wasn't long, however, before she had fallen asleep on the couch. After the movie was over, I helped her off the couch and walked her to her room. "Vincent, don't leave," she mumbled tiredly. "Mom, get some rest," I said as I helped her lie down. "I'm not sleepy," she said, looking up at me. "Yes, you are." I pulled her covers up over her. As I reached for the light, she grabbed my other hand. "Vince," she said, sitting up, suddenly more alert. "Stay with me." "You're drunk," I laughed. When I reached for her lamp a second time, she pulled on my hand. "I'm not," she said. She sounded sober. I stopped and stood up, looking down at her. "Today when you left, I thought I'd lost you. Then when you didn't answer my calls, I was afraid I would never get you back. The thought of you not being with me was devastating." "I'm not going anywhere, Mom. Even if I do get an apartment, I'll still be here for you." "Sit down, Vince," she said, scooting over a little. I sat. She looked at our hands and rubbed her thumb on the back of my hand as she talked. "I loved your father very much when we first married. It wasn't long afterward, though, that he started making little comments about my weight. I wasn't as big as I am now, but I've never been toned. I guess it's like you said, that it just isn't in the cards for me to be small. If that's what he wanted, he should have married someone else, right?" she laughed. "But I eventually gave up even trying." She took a deep breath and looked into my eyes. "When you were young you always loved to cuddle up to me and sometimes as you got older and your father became more brazen with his criticism, I saw how sad you got, and you would often come and apologize for him later and would remind me that I'm beautiful. You've always called me beautiful. In high school, especially, I noticed that you started checking me out. I would catch you looking at my boobs or my butt and it would make me feel good that a young man would find me attractive, even though I knew it was wrong because you were my son and because you were so young. I thought you would outgrow it. "Then I started noticing the girls you would date and how most of them were also a little plump. I thought maybe you were just a breast man and the rest of it just came with the territory. I did notice that all the girls were beautiful, though. When you went to college I noticed that your pattern was still the same. It wasn't until yesterday when you were describing the things you liked about my body, that I was willing to make the connection that you were attracted to me, too. And that's why I panicked." She took another deep breath and spoke more quietly. "When you left today, I thought all day about what we talked about and I realized that I'm just fooling myself if I think this will go away on its own." She looked me in the eyes. "I know it won't." I sat quietly for a minute before speaking. "What would happen if I kissed you right now?" She shook her head, but didn't back away. "I don't know. We shouldn't." "I know." I leaned in and she didn't move. I gently touched my lips to hers and heard a sharp intake of breath through her nose, but she didn't move. Her hands squeezed mine, but that's all the response I got. I certainly felt some electricity, but I didn't know if she did or not. I pulled away and her eyes were closed. She licked her lips as she opened her eyes, a shy smile spreading across her lips. I smiled in response, relieved. "The hell with it," she breathed before wrapping her arms around my neck and kissing me hard. My arms instinctively went to her waist. It wasn't long before her tongue licked my upper lip, inviting me to kiss her like a lover, not a parent. Our first kiss was sensual, erotic. Admittedly, my cock was as hard as a rock and my stomach was filled with butterflies while we kissed and I wondered if she was as turned on as I was. I leaned over her to push her onto her back as we kissed and she didn't resist at all, even moaning into my mouth. Her kiss became more frantic and I didn't have to wonder any more. "You're so hot, Mom," I whispered. "Yeah?" she asked, still kissing me. "Mmhmm. I want you bad." She pulled back a little, fire in her eyes. "Are you sure about that? We can't go back if we do that." I was surprised at her answer. She didn't say no. I smiled and nodded. "Who wants to go back?" She smiled and kissed me again. I was again surprised that it was my shy mother who made the first move by grabbing my ass and squeezing. I groaned at her first overtly sexual touch. I took it as permission to touch her. I ran my hand up her naked thigh as she moaned. I kissed and nibbled at her neck as I squeezed her soft ass. Her hips began to rotate as we kissed, and her breathing picked up. I moved my hand up to squeeze her breast, bringing a moan from my mother. She took advantage and cupped my cock, stroking my shaft through my shorts. "You're so hard," she whispered. "You're getting ready for me, huh?" "Oh, yeah." I slid down her body and lightly bit her nipples through her gown. "Oh!" she yelped. "Mmm, that feels good." I began sliding her gown up. Taking the hint, Mom lifted her hips and pulled it further up, exposing her pink cotton panties and stomach. She sat up and allowed me to pull it over her head. Her breasts were magnificent. They were full and heavy and round. The areolae were large and pale pink, with thick pink nipples sticking out excitedly. Mom gasped and moaned when I clamped onto her right nipple with my mouth, sucking excitedly. I squeezed both breasts enthusiastically as my mouth switched back and forth. Mom continued to stroke me through my shorts. At first. "Let's get rid of this," she said, pulling at my shirt I pulled it over my head and Mom's hands roamed freely over my body. She looked me in the eye with a twinkle and smirk and said, "And these," before pushing my shorts down my legs. As I kicked them off, smiling at her, I said, "Should I leave my underwear?" "For now," she winked. "Fair enough." I began kissing her again while I squeezed her tits. After a moment I said, "Get on top." "Really?" She sounded surprised. "Yeah," I said, rolling over. "Let me get a good look at you." She giggled and sat up, straddling my waist. Her pussy snuggled right onto my dick and her breasts hung heavy in my face. I resumed tasting her nipples and she began sliding back and forth on my groin. I moaned into her breast as she worked me over. "Damn, Mom," I said, grabbing her ass. "If you keep that up, I'm going to come in my shorts." "Not tonight," she said. She sat up and reached behind her. Her hand made its way into the fly of my boxers and she pulled my erection out into the cool air. She looked me in the eye as she grabbed the crotch of her panties and yanked them to the side. I looked down with a gasp, just long enough to see a dark tuft of hair and her flared pink lips hanging down. With one hand she held her panties to the side and with the other she gripped my shaft and sank down on it. I grunted at the feel of her hot wet pussy sliding all the way down onto me. "That's it!" she groaned. "That's what I wanted." Mom looked at me with a smile and shrugged. "Oh, well," she giggled. "We can't go back now." I smiled as she began rocking her hips, sliding me in and out. "You were right," she sighed. "Your dick is perfect." "Oh, my god, Mom! You feel so good. You're so hot!" "You like being buried in my pussy, baby?" "Oh, yeah!" "You're a mother fucker now, aren't you?" she growled. "I'm fucking my mom," I breathed. "Holy shit, I'm fucking my mom." "Even better, your mom's fucking you." She closed her eyes and bounced more quickly. "I can't believe I'm fucking my son." She shuddered. "Fuck, my son's cock is inside me." She picked up the pace and started riding me harder. I grabbed her thighs and squeezed, loving the feel of her soft, fleshy thighs as she rode me. "You're going to make me come!" I called. "Do it, baby. Shoot it inside me. I want it." With that, I let go. I growled my release, forcing my self into her and pulling her down onto me. My pulsing rod poured rope after rope of seed into her depths. She settled onto me and convulsed through her own small orgasm before collapsing onto my chest. I loved the feel of my mother's bare tits crushed against my chest. After a minute, our breathing settled down. "I guess I should get you something to clean up with," I said. "Not this time," she said, stroking my hair. "I want to feel you leaking out of me. I may need a reminder that this is real." "Can I stay in here tonight, then?" "You can stay in here every night." I smiled and felt her slide sideways off of me before turning away and backing into my side. I heard the lamp click off, but didn't see it; I was already gone. ###### "Morning, Vince," Mom whispered. I stirred awake and saw Mom sitting beside me on the bed, rubbing my back and holding my favorite coffee mug. I smiled at her beautiful face. "I called in sick today so we can have the day together." She giggled as she said, "I told them I had a fever." "It must be catching," I said with a smile. Sitting up, I took the coffee from Mom's hand and gave her a kiss. I had to make sure, even though I had an idea. "We're okay, then?" I asked before taking a sip of my coffee. "More than okay, baby. I feel better than I have in years. It feels like a huge weight has been lifted." She was positively beaming. "So what's on the agenda for today, then?" I asked. She laughed as she said, "Making up for lost time." She hopped off the bed and said, "I need a shower. You coming?" She dropped her robe and removed her panties before standing before me naked, lightly scratching at her pubic hair as she gazed at me. "You think I would miss an opportunity like that?" I jumped up off the bed and dropped my boxers. My erection bobbed in front of me. "Well," laughed Mom, "It looks like someone's ready." I shrugged and she grabbed my erection and stroked it as she kissed me. "Come on," she whispered. "Let's clean up so we can get dirty again." She turned and walked toward the bathroom. "Yep," I called, "I love that ass." She laughed and shook her head. "You'll have to show me just how much you love it." She reached in and turned on the shower. I wrapped my arms around her waist and pressed my erection against her soft ass. "This," I whispered, "Is how much I love it." She leaned back against me and sighed. I cupped her breasts and squeezed them, bringing a moan from her. "Come on," she said, stepping into the shower. I closed the door behind me and ran my hands over her wet body. We spent our time in the shower washing each other clean and exploring every part of each other. Last night was quick and urgent. This was leisurely. I couldn't get enough of her and it seemed as if she had the same problem. Her hands ran over my body constantly, everything from stroking my face and hair, to running her fingers through the crack in my ass. The feeling of her slick, wet skin under my touch was electric. I was finally able to touch all the parts of my mother that I had wanted to for so long. As I knelt in the shower behind her I cupped and squeezed at her luscious ass. I leaned forward and bit her right cheek. She squealed and laughed, reaching back to smack me lightly on top of my head. I kissed it to make it better and continued kissing all over her ass cheeks. I kissed the top of her crack and kissed my way down between her cheeks, burying my face between the slick, wet mounds. I stuck out my tongue and licked along her crack. She moaned in response. I gripped both cheeks and spread them so I could bury myself even deeper in that amazing ass. "Bend over, Mom." "Oh, Vince," she whined, placing her hands on the wall and sticking her ass out even further. She moaned when my tongue made contact with her asshole. I circled it repeatedly and lapped at it before lowering my head a little and eating her pussy. She groaned and bent over even further when I buried my tongue in her. "Damn, baby, your tongue feels good." I wouldn't stop working her over until she was satisfied. After a few minutes of tongue fucking my mother, randomly licking at her clit and ass, she began to whimper as her orgasm drew near. I moved my tongue to her clit, pressing my nose into her pussy, and lashed at her little bean until she came. I stood up behind her. She tried to stand, but I placed my hand on her back, letting her know that I needed her to stay where she was. She looked over her shoulder at me with a look of excitement, knowing what was next. I pressed forward into her and wrapped my arm around her waist to help support her. She whined my name and pressed back against me, making sure I was buried. "God, you feel good," I groaned. "You do, too," she said, her eyes closed. "Remind me what it's like to be sexy." "I promise I'll never let you forget again." I pulled out slowly and buried myself again. With one hand I gripped her hip and with the other I cupped her tit and pinched lightly at her nipple. As I withdrew and pressed forward, I picked up the pace, mindful to keep our balance in the slippery shower. The last thing I wanted was for either or both of us to crash onto the hard tile. Confident in my footing, I picked up the pace, fucking into her aggressively. The sound of our wet skin slapping together combined with the prickles of hot water on my back and the feel of my mother's sexy body under my fingers, bringing me to full hardness. The grip of her hot, wet sleeve begging me not to leave and welcoming my return, was enhanced by Mom's whimpering pleas to make her come again. I knew I wouldn't last long and warned her. "I'm about to come," I breathed. "Wait for me, baby! Wait for momma! Almost there." "I don't know if I can!" I was really starting to feel the churn. One of Mom's hands came off the tile wall and she rubbed her clit as I continued to plow into her. "Oh, god!" she yelled. Her body tensed up and flinched, her cunt gripping me. "Now," she grunted, "Do it now!" Her hand continued to fly. If she had told me to wait any longer, she would have been sorely disappointed, but since she demanded my immediate orgasm, I was happy to oblige. I forced myself as deeply into her as I could and felt my orgasm burst forth from the top of my head to my clenched toes. It felt like fire pouring out of me. "That's it, fill me up," she said quietly. After a moment she giggled as I still fired into her. "Still going? Wow." I finally stopped and practically stumbled out of her. I had never actually felt weak in the knees after an orgasm before, but this one was spectacular. I slid down the wall and sat on the floor as Mom turned around and settled onto the floor beside me. "Now do you believe me," I breathed, trying to recover, "About how sexy you are?" "I think it enhances your credibility," she laughed. "Oh!" she looked down, drawing my eye there as well. "You're leaking out." We both watched as my cum trickled out of her bright pink pussy, mixing with the water and swirling down the drain. She forced more out, also releasing some air I had forced into her, which caused us both to laugh, I think hers was more in embarrassment whereas I just thought it was funny. "Come on," I said, standing before extending my hand. "Let's get dried off. I'm getting hungry." "But you just ate," she smiled, taking my hand. That made me laugh. I decided to go out for breakfast instead of asking her to cook. I knew she liked a little sidewalk café that had pastries she always raved about. She hasn't been there in a long time, especially since working out and watching her diet. I convinced her that we would do this just to celebrate, but that it wouldn't be a habit so she didn't think I was trying to sabotage her efforts. She took me up on it and we sat on the patio under the big green and white umbrella sticking up through the center of the small metal grate table. Mom had dressed in a little yellow sundress that accentuated her figure nicely. She wore brown sandals with a small heel that flexed her calves nicely. Her toenails were still painted from this weekend, as were her fingernails. She wore a small gold chain that rode high on her chest, and her make-up was perfect: light, barely there, but accentuating her beauty. The sun beside us made her blue eyes shine. "I can't believe how beautiful you are," I said, shaking my head. I was wearing a simple golf shirt and golf shorts, and brown leather boat shoes. I felt very underdressed next to her. She kept her head down and picked at her cinnamon bread, pinching a small morsel off with her fingers. I could see her smile. "You don't have to say that," she said quietly. "I know I don't," I agreed, "But it's true. I've always thought you were beautiful, but now I can't take my eyes off you." She looked up at me. "I can't take mine off you, either." She looked away for a second and had a nervous look. She sighed and asked as she looked out at the small garden, "Would you. . . would you be upset if I said I'm in love with you?" I leaned forward and took her hand with a smile. "Why would that upset me? I'd be delighted to know you felt the same way about me." "Really? Because I know that sex can complicate things." "Sex didn't complicate our relationship. It completed it." I winked at her. "Now we don't have to hide anymore. Yes, we will probably have to keep it quiet, but not from each other." "I'm so relieved to hear you say that. I was worried that I was speaking out of turn." "It's not out of turn if it's from your heart, right?" I asked, throwing her own words from my childhood back at her. She smiled at me and nodded. Mom looked peaceful, sitting there in the sun, eating her pastry and watching the hummingbirds in the garden. I kept quiet, enjoying my own sense of peace at having opened myself up to my mother. ###### We made love again that afternoon, and that evening. Mom showed me how much she loved giving me a blowjob. She apologized for not being more skilled, but she told me later that Dad was never one for foreplay or adventure. Part of the reason she felt unsexy was that he insisted on sex with the lights out, so he "didn't have to look at her fat ass" or so he "could imagine she was someone else," he joked. Her eyes teared up as she told me, waving her hand and trying to laugh, saying he had always told her he was kidding, but what kind of a fucktard says that to the woman he swore to love?