Transformation

On Saturday Alan found a bed and dresser set he liked. Even better, it was at a price his mother liked. Elizabeth took his arm as they left the furniture store and headed across the mall to a store that dealt only in mattresses and mattress sets.

"Soft, medium or firm?" the salesman asked. She didn't miss the difference she felt in her heart at Alan dealing with a salesman as opposed to a saleswoman.

"I don't know. Mom, how do you like it?"

"I prefer a firm one," she said. The voice was casual but Alan thought he noticed a fleeting smile.

Alan looked directly at his mother. "Ok, let's look at some firm ones then."

The dialogue was the same, only roles were reversed. She was playing the part of the prince and Alan was the princess, her, in this remake of the classic.

The salesman had already turned toward some display mattresses that they could check. If he noticed the innuendo he made no indication. He probably didn't. Alan had called her mom and no innuendo in the world can exist when the person being addressed is a mom. He walked them to the back of the store and identified a pair that had different construction techniques and suggested they try them out.

"Go ahead, Alan."

He sat on the edge and then lay down on the bed and carefully placed his shoes on the plastic protector at the foot of the mattress. He moved around a bit, tried rolling over on to his side and then on to his back again.

"Seems okay to me. What do you think?" He slid towards the middle of the mattress as his mother sat down on the edge and bounced gently. She motioned for him to slide over further, which he did, and she lay back. Alan had only moved part way across so when she was lying down, the back of her hand touched his. Alan moved over further but left his hand momentarily touching hers before finally placing it across his chest.

There was jerkiness in his motion that didn't fail to register in Elizabeth's mind. The touch wasn't as intimate as his hand on her butt cheek, but it was intimate considering they were lying next to each other in a bed, in a position that usually couples assume when in bed together. Her prince had actually turned and climbed on top of her to see how the bed would really feel. She had died of embarrassment but the saleswoman had just smiled. Apparently that was not something new for her.

"If this were my mattress, it would be fine. But it's still your choice."

"Well, you know more about these things than I do, but if this is firm enough in your opinion then it'll be fine for me, too."

Elizabeth felt angry. She didn't like the experience of shopping with her son as the memories of her prince danced in her head. This was her son. That was her prince. The situations were totally different. She should not superimpose one on the other, whatever direction. And there was the real problem. Superimposition in whatever direction. It was one thing to remember her prince when shopping with Alan, but why on God's earth did she look towards Alan and expected him to climb on top of her? Did she want him to climb on top of her? It would have made the scene as authentic as the original, even though there was a salesman instead of a saleswoman, but for heaven's sake, Alan on top of her? How ludicrous?

Elizabeth felt rather subdued when they left the store. Alan realized the dejectedness. He probably knew the reason as well, most likely subconsciously. He took her hand but she did not relax it to let it shape itself to be easily held. He let it go. She felt even worst. What was happening to her?

"I'm sorry..." Alan apologized to her. Then added as an afterthought, "...mom."

She slowly took his hand in hers and squeezed it, then took it out of his and linked it through his arm. He looked over at her and smiled. "You're pretty cool, you know."

Reassurance at just the right time, which was enough to change her mood.

They shopped for the sheets and then returned home. Alan rushed to his bedroom to change for work and then came back downstairs. Elizabeth had made a small lunch. They ate and talked and then Alan took the dirty dishes to the sink, washed them and put them on the draining board. After drying his hands he turned to Elizabeth and hugged her. "Thanks for showing me the ropes. Nice to have your company, too."

Elizabeth put her arms around Alan, not because she wanted to but because she needed to.

"I actually enjoyed it. I'm not a big fan of shopping. I do it because I have to and not because I want to. It was nice having someone to chat with." She turned her face away and gently laid her head on his shoulder. Alan felt her hair move against his face and then rested his head on hers. They stood there like that for a while, Alan getting warmth from her soft breasts and getting aroused by the smell of her hair, and Elizabeth soaking in his strength and feeling excited by his erection pressing slightly into her thigh. When the pressure increased somewhat, he broke the hug quickly. "Gotta go or I'll be late."

Elizabeth stood there listening to his receding footsteps. She was smiling but her eyes felt heavy and wet. What would the man do now? What would the boy do now?

There is a picture tucked away in her drawer of memories, as she calls it, where her prince is holding her in his arms. They are standing in water as the camera captured the sweet loving expression on their faces with beautiful span of the ocean as a backdrop. They were on their honeymoon and had found enough time to go frolicking on the beach. There was love in their hearts and hope of a bright future in their eyes.

Whenever she looked at that picture, as she found herself doing after Alan left, she felt herself transported back in time. She would see herself with him in the picture and feel the water on her feet as his hands closed around her waist. She could swear that she felt his heartbeat on her back each time she held that picture in her hands. Laughter echoed in her ears and his touch filled her heart with the energy and passion he had for her at that moment in the picture. Yes, time stood still for them when they were there and it stood still for her whenever she found herself visiting that site. She could practically walk into that ocean from her room and take her place in the picture even after all these years. The smell of the ocean came to her nostrils as she immersed herself in the scene.

The picture was alive and she lived that day each time not only in her memory but in her present as well. Whenever she looked at it, she didn't look at a faded print but a living, breathing ocean with living breathing prince and princess standing in its water, holding each other with the gentleness of the wind that was creating waves on the surface that crashed at their feet. The experience was real, the faces were real, and the tears were real. She could touch him as she had done for many years and she could feel the bumps on his skin as she had done while he slept in the bed those many years ago.

That picture was a live scene framed with white edges of the paper and deep set into its texture.

The following weekend, Alan, with occasional assistance from Elizabeth, painted the room with two coats, assembled the bed and put new sheets on it. Both days were hot and by the end of Sunday afternoon, Alan was covered in a light sheen of sweat. He finished a few touch-ups, stood in the doorway to admire the results, and called his mother.

She came up behind and looked over his shoulder into the room. "Nice job. Very nice job. You can be quite pleased with yourself." From behind, she wrapped her arms around his chest and pulled herself to him.

"I'm all sweaty."

"I know. But I don't care." Alan felt something in his heart, a certain kind of warmth. He had never expected any woman, including his mother, to hug him so carelessly when he was soaked in his own perspiration.

"You are weird," was all he could say.

She kissed the nape of his neck and said, "More weird than you think."

They both laughed. "You've done a fine job on your room, Alan. I think you should be rewarded for such good work."

"Well, a proper hug would do." He sounded mischievous.

"I was thinking more like a special meal that I could cook for you, but hug seems to be an easy way out, so here goes." She turned around his body and came in front of him. She placed her arms around his waist and moved into him.

He wrapped his long arms around her and placed his hands around the small of her back. "Shoot, if I knew you meant a special meal, I would've asked for lasagne."

"Too late buddy," She looked up into his face as she felt his hands move on her back. He kissed her forehead and as he leaned down for the kiss, his hands moved onto the top of her butt. She didn't know if it was a deliberate move or if it was just a natural result of their closeness, but she was aware of his hands on her ass.

She reached up to kiss him back. She had to stand on her toes to reach his lips and as she touched them with hers, she felt his hands caress her butt cheeks, lightly, but firmly.

I shouldn't have done that, she thought to herself. But it was too late to do anything about it and there was nothing else she could do but come back down. His hands moved back up onto the small of her back. "We could order pizza though," she chirped.

"Oh mom, you are the best." He leaned down and tightened his arms around her to give a full hug. Her breasts pressed into his chest and he squeezed her into himself. He held her there for a while before letting go of her and then his hands rested just above her butt, making small caressing moves. She held herself against him, wondering what to do.

His moves were uncertain. He really didn't know what to do or even what he could do. He was testing the waters, so to speak. Nudging the line a little, just to see what he could get away with. She was his mother and she knew him well enough to let him go only so far where he won't get hurt. The boy was trying to be a man and the mother was trying to keep the boy in line so he won't get hurt.

It was probably the adrenalin from such hard work, or the sense of accomplishment from finishing something even his father never dared to do. Maybe it was the need of a woman to validate his being grownup, or just machismo leaking out of his limbs. She couldn't imagine Alan feeling Elizabeth. It had to be the man feeling the woman around his house, or around his domain. There was no denying that he needed to express that side of himself, but he couldn't use her as the outlet of his expression. That would demean who she was, mother or woman, didn't matter. Either way, it wasn't supposed to happen that way.

"I see you are feeling a bit frisky."

"Sorry, can't help it. It is so easy to get carried away with you."

There, he had made a bold --- grownup --- statement and she appreciated his honesty. At the same time his honesty put an end to the possibilities. He had to treat her like his mother; nothing else was acceptable. The relationship required a certain amount of respect which would wither away if she became anything else. She couldn't become anything else. She was his mother, period.

"Well, you better keep your hormones in check. There are limits, you know."

He pulled away abruptly. "Sorry, mom. It is just this being man of the house kind of thing."

She knew Alan's wants and she knew, even if he didn't, that he wasn't ready. He was a boy, even though he had passed the teen part of his life. He was her son, her boy, and her responsibility until he stood on his own. Alan, she knew, didn't understand any of this. And as long as she was the adult and he was not, he would never understand.

Alan was under the influence and he needed to be deflated. He was like a kettle of milk about to boil, but once boiled, it would be nothing but regret and guilt. He needed to simmer until he matured to a level where he could control the spilling out part when coming to a boil. He didn't know the prize, yet he was looking for the game to come to a head. He wasn't ready for the gift that he was trying to unwrap. He needed to be taught, but she couldn't be the tutor. She was the parent; that in itself was bad enough, without having to add another dimension to it. Put simply, she wasn't the one. His wants required someone else and his needs belonged to another.

There were her wants, too, and they couldn't be satisfied by a boy. Her needs were a woman's and required a confident, self-assured, experienced man. She had tried with a boy once and helped him become a man. Along the way, she had lost herself and the woman that she became wasn't the woman she wanted to become. But that was another lifetime. There was no going back.

She left before awkwardness filled the room. The feel of his big hands on her buttocks went with her.

Alan brought his old bed down into the living room and placed it in front of the TV. He needed to sleep out of his room until the smell of paint became bearable. When Alan came down after showering and dressing, he had expected the pizza to have arrived. There was no pizza waiting for him. Elizabeth had changed into some nicer outfit and had applied a teensy bit of makeup as well. She was waiting for him at the door. "Let's go for that pizza."

"I thought you were going to order in," he said.

"No, it will be fun to eat it in the pizza joint."

The outing for pizza turned into pizza and movie. They didn't come back until after midnight. It was a pleasant change of routine for Elizabeth who hadn't been to the movies in a long time. Alan was a good companion. He was funny, thoughtful, and gentlemanly. Things that the young men of today don't even know about, except the funny part, of course. What she noticed the most about his demeanour was how gentle it was.

Alan enjoyed himself, despite the reprimand. His mother was right, he knew that. Why did he even let himself get that carried away, he couldn't explain, but it seemed like the right thing to do. He wasn't sorry for doing it; he was just sorry that his mother reacted negatively to it. But, water under the bridge. The movie made him forget all about it.

He freshened up, changed into his usual night clothes, shorts and T-shirt, and started flipping through the channels in his old bed. He felt a bit nostalgic about the bed and had this uneasy feeling about getting rid of it. Soon he was engrossed in a show, so the bed lost its importance. He didn't even notice when his mother came down and slid into bed with him.

When he felt her hand on his side, he looked over his shoulder to acknowledge her presence. "Couldn't sleep?" He asked nonchalantly.

"No. I was feeling a bit restless, so I thought I join you for a short while. What you watching?"

"Benny Hill."

"Oh, I like that show. I didn't know it was back on."

They both started to watch the show together. She had to raise herself up a little to see the TV because of his shoulders blocking it from her view. She leaned on him for support and sort of balanced herself on his torso to be comfy.

Alan became aware of the soft breasts pressing into his back the instant Elizabeth relaxed. He tensed up as a result. The sweet and tender feelings were quite overwhelming for him and he remembered the reprimand. He couldn't enjoy those feelings because that was in itself crossing the line she had mentioned to him earlier. But it wasn't humanly possible to ignore the feelings either. Whether he wanted to or not, the signals from her breasts to his back eventually ended up in that part of his brain that directs the flow of blood to his genitals. As hard as he tried to focus his mind on the show, his penis kept getting harder, slowly but steadily. Elizabeth squirmed every now and then and her breasts caressed his back. His penis reacted to each caress by enlarging, until he finally had to reach in and fix his erection because it was becoming uncomfortable.

Elizabeth noticed the movement of his arm and knew what he was doing. She suddenly realized how hard her breasts were pressed into his back and how they had caused his body to react. "Should I move," she asked.

"No, I am okay." He didn't know that she knew about his erection. So she stayed. The best course of action was to ignore the situation.

Only if Alan could do that. His erection continued to harden. Of course there was a limit to that as well and he reached that limit rather quickly. At that stage he couldn't keep his penis held between his thighs. It had enough strength to break free. With his cock loose and throbbing, his brain started to sugarcoat things to suit the situation.

Sure, those were the breasts of his mother, but they felt like breasts of any woman. Actually, his mother had better than average breasts, larger than average in size and round and supple in shape. He wasn't responding to his mother's breasts. He was responding to breasts, period. The fact they were attached to his mother meant nothing. The only thing he needed to be aware of was that there were these, soft and warm breasts pressed into his back. If he got hard as a result, it was okay, because he wasn't hard because of his mother. He was hard because of the feel of those breasts. Yeah, they belonged to his mother but they were generic breasts in his mind to lessen the guilt about his generic erection.

Elizabeth realized that his body had gone all tense and she decided to call it a night. There were those limits and she didn't want to push him over the edge. First erection --- sorry, reaction --- was caused by her inadvertently, but now that she knew what the reaction was, a continuous stimulation of that part of his brain was wrong.

"Good night, son."

"Good night, mom."

Neither looked at the other as Elizabeth quietly went to her room and he continued watching TV.

Elizabeth stayed up late that night trying to figure out how the one way stimulation that her breasts caused to his body, was actually a two way stimulation. His body had pressed her breasts firmly and she realized after she was in bed how his shoulder blades [he had rather wide shoulders, she also noticed] had firmly caressed --- pressed --- her breasts, almost like it were his strong hands on her breasts, hand that those shoulders supported so in a way it was not too much of a stretch.

She couldn't shake from her head as she tried to sleep, the thought that she was only a foot away from a fully erect, hard [as a rock] cock. By the time she actually fell asleep, her son had grown a few notches in her mind.

Fast rewind.

The first time her prince touched her breasts, she expected fireworks. He was a bit clumsy, a bit rough, but he wanted it and she wanted it, so together they enjoyed it. It wasn't an experience to remember, except may be the pinches or the hard squeezes. But, as time went by and as she learnt that she could direct him to do anything and there was no shame in letting him know what worked and what didn't, it became a beautiful experience. She enjoyed his hands cupping her breasts and applying even pressure on them from all directions. She didn't much care for rolling or kneading as the motion of his hands didn't fire enough neurons or the right neurons to make it worthwhile for her.

She liked the gentle but firm pressure as he pressed them down into her chest and massaged them from all sides. This, coupled with slow and gently kisses, made her warm and fuzzy all over --- and wet. He always tried to move away from her breasts and get into her pants, but she didn't enjoy the pants part as much when she finally relented, after much begging and pleading. She liked his begging and pleading though, because she learnt the power of sex and how it worked in the politics of a relationship.

She almost always made him beg for it and whenever he was given the opportunity to explore her wetness with his penis, he basically boiled like the milk kettle. There was so much excitement in him that he couldn't contain himself. There were no fireworks there either but he went like a cracker anyways.