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The Hook

The Hook

Home for the Christmas holidays. I was eager to show off the new skills I had learned but Mom never joined me at the piano except to stand behind me while I played. My hopes for a replay of summer’s end, especially another ‘broken’ heel incident, dwindled with each passing day. Christmas day passed uneventfully and we were approaching the last day of the year when Mom asked me if I would play a piece or two at the New Year’s Eve party my parents were hosting that night.

“Sure, what would you like to hear?”

“Play a few pieces and I’ll pick,” Mom said, more cheery than she’d been all holiday.

I sat down and began to play. On the second song, Mom laid her hand on my shoulder. At the end of the song, she slipped down onto the bench beside me, eagerly awaiting my next number. I played my heart out for the third piece and my chest tightened when Mom exclaimed her pleasure when I finished.

“That was, how do you say it nowadays? Awesome,” Mom enthused, turning slightly toward me.

“Thanks, Mom. I’m learning a lot at college,” I said, proudly.

“That wasn’t just learning, that was raw talent,” Mom beamed.

I blushed and looked down.

“You must do a recital at Church.”

I looked up quickly. This wasn’t what I was hoping to achieve. “Mom, …”

“Oh, but you must. Please, Jon.”

I shook my head. “Mom, you know I …”

“It would mean so much to me,” Mom interrupted, her voice softening.

The change in her voice triggered an immediate feeling within me. I lowered my head to avoid her eyes, fearing my sudden carnal thoughts could be easily read, and was surprised to see the fingers of Mom’s right hand scratching her skirt, slowly tugging it up from her knees. I went rigid, eyes fixed on Mom’s thighs.

“It would be so wonderful to see you up there in front of everyone,” Mom purred.

Mom’s hand, now filled with her bunched up skirt, withdrew up her leg, dragging her skirt toward her hip. Her left knee moved but was blocked by the bench. Then, just as her hand stopped, Mom’s right knee moved away, spreading her legs and drawing her skirt even higher. Suddenly, light reflected off a narrow expanse of white material, starkly outlined against the dark material of Mom’s skirt.

“You will, won’t you?” Mom asked, her voice still soft but not as smooth as before.

“I’m going back to school in a few days.”

“Oh, but it won’t be until summer. You can do it then, can’t you?”

My voice caught in my throat but I nodded and managed to croak, “Yes, of course. If that’s what you want, Mom.”

“It is,” Mom whispered, though we were the only ones home.

And with that, her hips pushed forward and her pubes strained against the cotton material that, though they didn’t reveal as much as the lacy, black ones months before, still disclosed much, and my mind filled in the rest.

“You make me so happy, Jon,” Mom’s voice returned closer to normal but in a throatier version.

“But at the end of the summer, right?” I said.

Mom’s brow furrowed. “The end?”

“Yes, we’ll need to practice,” I said.

“Practice? We?”

“Yes,” I said, my confidence rising. “I want to do a duet, with you.”

“Oh, Jon. I couldn’t play with you, not the way you’re playing now.”

“Sure you can. You just need to practice.”

“No. I’d look like a fool.”

“Bull,” I said, the closest thing to a swear word I could use in front of my mom. Mom’s eyes widened, realizing that I must feel strongly if I used a word like that in her presence.

“But Jon …,”

“I want to play, with you, Mom.” I held my finger to her lips to silence further protest. “I need you to be up there with me,” I pleaded, “the two of us, together.”

Mom looked deep into my eyes and I held firm. She must have been satisfied because she suddenly smiled sweetly and agreed, “Alright, Jon. The two of us will put on a show, a mother and son duet.”

She leaned forward to kiss me. Surprised, I actually pulled back and Mom’s lips landed on my cheek, as intended, but caught the corner of my mouth. Her face flushed slightly when she pulled back, indicating she was aware of the miscue. On impulse, I followed her retreat and kissed her back, my mouth partly on her mouth, as if in retribution. When I pulled away, I was surprised to find my hand had found her waist during the short duration of our caress and awkwardly pulled it away. My mind flooded with the awareness of how firm her waist was and a strange excitement about how sharply it flared out to her hips.

I cast my eyes down for a final look at Mom’s panties and the lovely triangle they formed with her thighs, patted her bare knee, and said, “You’d better let me practice now if I’m not to play the fool tonight, then.”

I played rather well that night and was the hit of the party. At midnight, several of the women, somewhat tipsy from the evening’s consumption and loud merriment, showed me their appreciation under the mistletoe hung from every door jamb in the house. Unfortunately, there were only two that I really didn’t mind kissing and only one of them kissed like she didn’t mind if anyone was looking. I was surprised by these church-going women who, under the cover of darkness and a couple of drinks, were eager to provide a taste of what they had promised to someone else.

After everyone had left and Dad had stumbled upstairs, I stayed to help Mom tidy up so there wasn’t such a big cleanup job the next morning. Mom was just leaving the kitchen, and I was bringing the last two glasses from the living room, when we met in the doorway. Mom took the glasses from my hand and placed them on the counter beside her instead of taking them in to the sink.

“That’s enough for tonight. Thanks for your help, Jon.”

I nodded.

“You played wonderfully tonight. Everyone really enjoyed themselves,” Mom said. After a short pause, she added, “I noticed Mrs. Erickson was particularly pleased,” referring to the good looking woman that trapped me under the mistletoe with a particularly enthusiastic embrace.

Although she was joking, I sensed displeasure. I looked up to the top of the doorway to avoid her eyes but they followed mine and we both latched onto the mistletoe that still hung there. I reached around to the light switch and flicked it down, throwing the kitchen into darkness. Mom’s upturned face reflected the dim light of the single lamp lighting the living room behind me. I circled her waist with my arm and lowered my face to hers.

“Happy New Year, Mom,” I whispered, covering her lips with my mouth before she could react.

Mom didn’t resist me. In fact, she actually pressed against me as earnestly as Mrs. Erickson had, squashing her breasts against my chest and standing on her toes to meet my lips as they moved on hers. It was neither a short nor a long kiss and though Mom ended it, she was breathing hard when she pulled away. Both of us seemed awkward after my spontaneous act.

“Whew, I guess it’s going to be quite a year,” Mom cried, turning her head to the side to avoid my eyes, unnecessarily, given I was similarly looking around.

Mom stepped around me and rushed up the stairs to her bedroom, and husband.

A few days later, I left for school.

Updated: October 21, 2016 — 12:12 pm

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