Appreciating Mother

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Guilt over neglecting mum leads to passionate love.
10.3k words
4.62
306.4k
298

Part 1 of the 3 part series

Updated 11/02/2022
Created 02/17/2012
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If you're after fast, shallow sex then this won't suit you. On the other hand, if you prefer erotic romance that builds more slowly, investing time and emotion in developing the relationship that provides the context for the sex (and there will be plenty of sex later), well, read on and, hopefully, enjoy.

This is my first submission to Literotica. Previously I have been a reader and occasionally have assisted other writers here with proof reading and editing.

Thanks for reading. Please feel free to comment.

Peace,

Zero.

-------------------------------

Looking back, perhaps none of what happened is all that surprising. I can see now how circumstances fell into place like the pieces of a jigsaw, or perhaps like the meshing gears of a machine. Cause and effect with a dash of human weakness.

The weekend of my 18th birthday, my mother, my father and I had been out for dinner to celebrate my milestone. It was a pretty posh affair: a table for three in the most expensive restaurant in town My mother wore a very attractive new dress and my father and I were fully suited and booted. I have to admit that formal attire is generally none of my business - I'm strictly a jeans and sweatshirt kind of guy - but my parents had made a real celebration of my birthday, so the least I could do was grin and bear the monkey suit for a few hours.

In truth it was no hardship. The restaurant was great and I always got on well with my mum and dad so the evening flew by in a blur of excellent food, wine and conversation. The place even had a real musical quartet and a dance-floor and, to my embarrassment my mother insisted that I dance with her when we'd finished eating. I protested that I had no clue how to dance in any way that would be acceptable outside of a mosh pit. My mother just laughed and grabbed my hand.

"You just do what untrained boys always do during slow dances," she said. "Pop your arms around my waist and shuffle around in a slow circle looking bored."

"I'm not bored," I said. "I'm just going to make us both look silly."

"We'll see," she smiled.

As I put my arms around my mother she placed her hands on my shoulders and looked up at me from her five feet nothing. We began to sway in time to the music, our feet slowly tracing out a circular path, just as she had predicted.

"Well, you won't win Come Dancing," she said after a couple of minutes. "But I think you're doing fine for a non-dancer. You haven't broken a single one of my toes yet."

I persevered until the end of the song. When the music finished we joined the other couples in applauding the band and returned to our table. I pulled my mum's chair out and helped her to take her seat. As I sat down beside her she leaned over and kissed my cheek.

"Thank you, Andrew. You're quite a gentleman. I'm very proud of you."

"Me too," said my father. "You might have two left feet, Sunshine, but your mum's right. You're a decent lad - no, you're a decent young man - and we are proud of you."

We were always a close enough family, but never overly vocal or demonstrative about it. The words, especially from my usually laconic father, moved me unexpectedly. Perhaps it was partly because of the wine that I filled up with tears.

"Looks like you have something in your eye," my father said, winking as he passed me a clean napkin. "Oh for heaven's sake..." He found another for my mother.

* * * * *

The next day was Sunday. I awoke to the sound of movement elsewhere in the house. I glanced at my clock and groaned. Just after 9am was too early to get up on a Sunday - even on those Sundays when I didn't have a hang over. A slight headache and a touch of queasiness bore witness to the fact that I was more used to the occasional beer than I was to wine and champagne. Of course, once even half awake I had to get up to go to the bathroom and, of course, once I had been to the bathroom I was wide awake with no chance of getting more sleep, even if I did go back to bed. I pulled my robe on over my boxers and wandered downstairs.

My mother was making a cup of tea. She smiled at me. "Sit down. Toast will be a minute." She put a cup on the table in front of me.

"Thanks, Mum."

"How did you sleep? I think you were starting to fray at the edges by the time you went to bed." Mum started to wash some dishes and cups.

"Slept fine but I feel a little iffy this morning." I got up and went over to my mother. I stood behind her, holding her shoulders, and bent my head down to kiss the top of her head. "Thanks, Mum. It was a brilliant night." I sat back at the table and nursed my cup. The tea was still too hot to drink.

My mother looked over at me. "Good grief, you really did have a lot to drink, didn't you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Before this morning, when was the last time you kissed your poor old mum?"

"Last night."

"No, I kissed you last night: a peck on the cheek. When was the last time you gave me a kiss?"

"I don't know," I admitted. "Christmas, probably."

"And it's now June," she said.

"That sounds really bad," I said. It did sound bad. She was teasing and I knew it, but even in jest she had a point.

My mum has always been great: kind, patient, understanding. She's a good laugh, great to talk to and she's always taken great care of me and my dad. She does all the mum things: cooking, housework, laundry, but she's also found time to run a part-time catering business and - a couple of years back - to do an Open University degree in psychology. She plays piano and has a broad taste in music. She even likes a lot of the same contemporary bands that I do, and she always copies my CDs and MP3s onto her phone.

I didn't take her for granted. I swear I really did appreciate my mum. I knew how intelligent, cool and hardworking and generally awesome she was. But as I sat in the kitchen while she joked about me never giving her a kiss I had a kind of epiphany moment. She was right. I never did give her a kiss, or a hug (although she would sometimes casually hug me in passing). Nor did I tell her I loved her or that I appreciated all that she did for us.

I actually felt ashamed. She was only teasing - my mum never complained or grumbled - she wasn't really scolding me for my neglect, but I felt as guilty as hell. For the second time in 24 hours I felt my eyes fill with water. I mumbled something about needing the bathroom before breakfast and beat a hasty retreat.

As I stood at the bathroom sink washing my face I resolved to show my mother the appreciation she deserved, and that I really did feel. After all, I was 18 now - time to start acting like a grown up rather than like a selfish kid.

I went back for my toast and sat down at the table. Mum looked at me curiously as she put a rack of toast and a clean plate in front of me. "You all right?"

"Yes, fine." I said confidently. And promptly burst into tears. For heaven's sake, what the hell was the matter with me?

Mum was taken aback. She hesitated for just the briefest moment then she hurried back to me and threw her arms around my head, hugging my face to her chest. "Oh, baby. What's wrong?"

I gently pushed her back just enough to free my face from her large, soft bosom.

"Apart from not being able to breathe?" I said, smiling sheepishly through my tears. "I love you, Mum."

"I love you too, Andrew; but what on earth's wrong?"

I explained, as lucidly as I could, the revelation I had experienced as she had teased me. I told her how ashamed and devastated I had been at the realisation that I never showed her how much I loved her.

"Oh, baby, don't be silly. It really is probably still the wine from last night that's making you feel all sentimental. Don't worry, you'll be back to normal by lunchtime." She tipped my head up and kissed my forehead.

"I know you love me, Andrew. I don't need you to carry a banner around. We're just not the kind of family who make love into a display."

It was true. I was always faintly embarrassed by hugging and kissing amongst friends and family members. It was just something that hadn't been a feature of my upbringing. I felt kind of sorry about that sometimes. A lot of my friends had very demonstrative, even soppy, families, whereas my own family was kind of reserved. I'm an emotional sort of person, I think, even sentimental. I did like affectionate contact, but never felt comfortable or confident instigating it myself - with anyone except girlfriends, that is.

I finished my breakfast in silence then took my cup and plate over to the sink where my mother was still cleaning up. She washed them and put the put them on the draining board. As she turned around I wrapped my arms around her. I could feel my cheeks burning with embarrassment - after all, I really didn't do this kind of thing - but I had resolved to change the way I treated my mother and I was determined to do just that.

I hugged her for a few moments. As I released her she looked up at me with surprise. I bent to kiss her cheek.

"I mean it when I said I was going to change," I said. "You're great, Mum and I've always known it, but I never bothered to tell you."

"Oh, baby." She gave me a hug of her own: a much more thorough one than the nervous attempt I had made. When she looked up at me again her eyes were shining. "You really are such a darling." She have me a shove. "But it's time you were showered and dressed. Your father was off to golf at the crack of dawn. You wouldn't catch him slobbing around in a robe halfway through the morning."

* * * * *

You may be expecting me to confess that I soon let things slide - after all, it's easy to slip back into old, lazy ways - but I didn't. I made an effort to be helpful around the house. Whenever my mother did something for me I made a point of thanking her properly, often with an accompanying hand on the shoulder, or a hug, or even the occasional kiss on the cheek. My mother accepted all this with a faint air of bemused delight. A side effect of the additional attention I paid her was that she paid me more in return.

Mum clearly loved to be loved and appreciated and she loved to be hugged. Within a week we both seemed to have adjusted to a new way of being with each other but, at the same time, we both revelled in the novelty and newness of it. It became natural for us to hug or to slip arms around each other's waists whenever an opportunity arose. It was completely natural, innocent and wonderful.

At the same time I began to notice how little attention my father seemed to pay to my mother. I was sure that he loved her. I know he respected her and he had been very proud of her when she got her degree, but he was still the same old, undemonstrative, head-in-the-newspaper dad he had always been. Of course, I forgot that I had, until recently, been guilty of the same thing and, like an ex-smoker scowling at the cigarettes of others, I disapproved of my father's lack of display of appreciation for the wonderful woman who made our lives so comfortable. I started to drop hints.

"Dad," I said one evening while he and I were watching television. "How come you and Mum don't go out together?"

"Hmm... I don't really know," he said. "I suppose we just don't have the time these days."

"But all you do is play golf and watch TV. And Mum's been practicing her piano for an hour. You could both have gone out for a drink or for dinner..."

"You trying to get rid of us so you can bring a girl home?" He lowered his paper and peered at me.

"No, Dad. I'm serious. Mum does so much for us. I just wondered how come you don't you take her out more often?"

"When did you become my marriage counsellor, Sunshine?" my father asked. His tone had altered slightly. He sounded just the tiniest bit peeved. "Your mother and I are fine, thank you very much." He raised the newspaper and then lowered it again. "Now you're all grown up you could take her out yourself," he said. "Just let me know if you do and I'll slip you the money to cover the cost before you go."

I didn't think it was sarcasm. It seemed more of a challenge: as if he were saying 'You're no better than me. Show me you're concerned enough to do something about it yourself'. At least that was the kind of vibe I thought I picked up.

"Why not?" I said. "Mum's good company and I spend way too much time in front of the TV. I might just do that."

He looked a little surprised. "Go ahead. I'll foot the bill if you can get her interested enough to go out. Your mum is in as much of a rut as I am. We're creatures of routine these days, Sunshine. We're happy to potter about. You'd be better off going out chasing girls."

Jesus, he made them sound like pensioners. Mum was 44 and he was only just 50. Old, yeah, but not that old.

"Don't worry," I said. "I get plenty of time to do that too." Which was kind of true. I was never short of a girlfriend. I'm one of those lucky fellas who seem to attract the opposite sex without trying. I'm pretty tall and I guess I'm pretty fit from the swimming that is my sport of choice. Despite my unashamedly casual sartorial bent I seem to be presentable enough, and I just get on well with girls. Anyway, although I hadn't actually had sex, I was getting plenty of attention and relief when needed, so I would find it no great hardship to find the time to take my mum out if she was up for it.

The following Friday evening I got home from school to find my father loading a small case into the back of his car. "See you Sunday evening, Sunshine," he called as he climbed into the driving seat.

"Sunday? Where are you going?"

"Scotland. Derrick's got pneumonia so there's a slot free in the Collins Laurel Tournament. They've asked me to shoot up there and make up the numbers."

"Isn't Mum going?"

"God no. She can't abide golf or the people who play it. Look after her while I'm away, eh? Oh, there's a note in your room. Got to rush..." He slammed the door and started the engine, waving as he pulled away.

"Mum?" I called as I entered the house.

She was in the sitting room, reading the paper. "Hello, dear," she smiled.

I excused myself to get showered and changed. As I pulled on my jeans I spotted an envelope on my computer desk. I opened it and read the note.

Andrew, This golf game came up at short notice. It was too good a chance to pass up, but I don't reckon your mum's too pleased. If you were serious about taking her out to cheer her up this might be a good time. Actually, you'd be doing me a favour as I'm half expecting to be in the doghouse when I get home. Anyway, if you do get the chance to entertain your mum then the evening's on me, as I said before. See you when I get back. Dad

PS: Don't go mad. I wouldn't mind seeing a little change out of this.

He'd drawn a winking smiley face after the PS.

I counted the wad of £20 notes from the envelope: there was £200 in total. At least no one could accuse the old man of being cheap. I grabbed my mobile phone and made a few calls.

By the time I got back to the sitting room my mother had put the newspaper down and seemed to have nodded off. She stirred as I sat on the sofa beside her.

"Sorry. I must have dozed off."

"You work too hard."

"No harder than anyone else," she smiled.

"Fancy a hug?" I opened my arms.

"Always," Mum replied and slid over to me. I wrapped her in my arms an she lay her head on my chest. "You know," she said. "I have to admit that I didn't really take a lot of notice when you spoke about making an effort to show me that you love me." She looked up at me. "You've really kept it up and it is so nice. Andrew, you are a lovely, lovely lad and the extra attention has begun to spoil me. I'm starting to feel entitled to all these cuddles."

"You are entitled, Mum. I was kind of shy at first - we've never been that kind of family - but it feels really nice to be able to cuddle up with my mum." I kissed her head and squeezed her gently. "I love you."

She sighed and snuggled into me happily. "With your dad out of the way and me feeling so lazy I might just stay like this all weekend."

"Suits me," I said and squeezed again.

She laughed. "But I'll have to get up in a while to get your dinner."

"No you won't. If you like we can go out for dinner."

She looked up at me again. "Hmm?"

"I tapped dad for a few quid so I could take you out. He's off pleasing himself, so why don't you let me spoil you properly?"

"You didn't!"

"Yes I did. Dad feels guilty already. He knows you're a bit pissed off about him shooting off on the spur of the moment, so he agreed to let me take you out to make sure your weekend wasn't ruined."

"Good heavens. Why would he do that? I rarely go out... And mind your language, young man."

"Sorry, Mum."

"He's a selfish so-and-so."

For a moment I thought I'd just made her cross by mentioning dad going AWOL, but she snuggled back and hugged me again.

"You, on the other hand, are a real sweetie. You'd really take me out for dinner?"

"Of course. In fact, I've booked us a table for 8 o'clock and a taxi for 7.45, so I calculate we've got about 20 minutes of cuddling before you need to start getting ready."

"Really?"

"Honest. Cross my heart."

Mum made a small excited noise and kissed my chin. "Where are we going?"

"You'll have to wait and see, but it's the kind of place where we need to look presentable, so I'm going to have to change as well."

"You mean wear a proper shirt? Again? That'll be twice in a month. People will start to worry about you."

"Let them worry. I may prefer to slob about in jeans, but if I'm taking a lady out I have to do it right."

We settled into our cuddle and didn't speak again until it was time to get ready. As I sat there cradling my mum in my arms I was happy, warm and relaxed. Surely nothing could feel better than being close to the person I loved most in the world.

I had been ready for a good fifteen minutes when the cab arrived. I waved out of the window to let the driver know I'd seen him. When I turned to call out to my mother she was coming down the stairs.

"Wow, Mum!"

"What do you reckon?" she asked uncertainly, giving me a twirl as she reached the hall.

"You look amazing... Like a different person."

"Think it's appropriate?" she asked, still a little doubtful.

"Hell, yes." I hesitated. "You look..."

"What? Like I'm trying too hard? Like mutton dressed as lamb?"

"Well, please don't be offended... I probably shouldn't say it, but... My god, Mum, you look hot."

She giggled.

Her outfit was all black. I'd never seen the dress before. It was knee length with a fairly tight skirt. The bodice was cut lower than anything I could recall seeing her wearing, and Mum was displaying an impressive cleavage. Honestly, I had never really given much thought to the fact that my mum had a figure, but she surely did and it was a bloody good one. Her breasts were large and the skin exposed by the low neckline was clear and pale. By no means wasp-waisted, Mum did curve in enough in the middle to make the flare of her curvy hips a beautiful sight to behold. Her long dark brown hair was down, hanging forward over one shoulder. Around her shoulders she wore a silky, crocheted black shawl.

I was never a fan of thin, blonde clone models. Most of my... personal magazines and pictures on my computer featured voluptuous women. My mother was, undeniably, voluptuous. I was stunned. In an instant my perceptions had been scrambled. My mum was a woman. My mum was a very attractive woman. I suddenly felt uncomfortable; tongue tied and confused. I wasn't sure how to act towards her.

"Baby? Are you ok?"

"Well, yes, I suppose," I said, trying to moderate my scrutiny a little. Leering at my own mother? What the hell was up with that?

"Do you want a coat?" I asked.

"No thanks, honey. I'll be fine like this."