06-11-2019, 08:42 AM
“I thought you might be studying,” she said, implying she wouldn’t have brought me anything if she’d known I was just playing a game.
“No, I just needed to blow off some steam,” I replied. More like frustration, I thought to myself, conscious that Mom was wearing a housecoat which meant she’d already changed for bed. Her hip felt warm pressing against the side of my arm. Mom’s hand lifted from my shoulder and her fingers curled around to play with the hair at the nape of my neck.
“Well, that’s one way to do it,” she said.
Mom played with my hair for a few more seconds before pulling her hand away and walking to the door where she briefly paused.
“Dad’s just gone to bed.”
She was gone but somehow it felt like she was still there. It wasn’t just the faint smell of perfume or other feminine products, it was the excited tension her voice had inspired in me. My nerves tingled and I found it hard to breathe. Dad had gone to bed. She hadn’t said goodnight. She’d just told me that Dad had gone to bed, and she’d brought me a drink, implying I should take a few minutes to drink it.
I jumped up and stripped my clothes off, lunged to the dresser and grabbed a pair of pajama bottoms and jockey shorts, yanked them on and then searched for a t-shirt. After that I turned for the door.
Too quick, I thought, turning back. I’d better finish the hot chocolate. I strode to the desk and picked up the mug, taking a big swig. Shit! I sprayed frothy brown foam all over my LCD screen. Christ, that was hot! I picked up the front of my t-shirt and stuffed it into my mouth, trying to relieve my burning tongue. Jesus!
Seeing the stain on my t-shirt, I pulled it off and tossed it to the floor. I began looking for another one but changed my mind. The hell with it. I go the way I was. Thinking about it, I took my pajama bottoms off, stripped off my jockey shorts, and put the pj’s back on by themselves. No guts, no glory, I thought, suddenly riding a wave of confidence again. I returned to the computer desk and slowly sipped the hot chocolate until it was gone. As fast as I could, mind you, but without burning myself again. With confidence and anticipation, I strode out my door.
By the time I reached the door to my parent’s room my anticipation was unchecked but my confidence had waned somewhat. Mom hadn’t actually asked me to come. What if Dad was awake? My pajama’s weren’t exactly tenting, shrinkage having wreaked havoc with my new found anxiety, but I was still loose and fancy free under there and anything could happen. I looked down; not now, anyway. I was through the door, having continued walking.
The room was dim and filled with the sound of my father’s heavy breathing periodically broken by a soft snore. Mom was sitting in front of the dresser, her back to me. I approached slowly, stepping quietly on the thick carpet. She looked up and smiled as I neared, lifting her right hand over her shoulder, offering the hairbrush. My fingers trembled as I took it. Saying nothing, Mom turned her eyes down, and waited.
“No, I just needed to blow off some steam,” I replied. More like frustration, I thought to myself, conscious that Mom was wearing a housecoat which meant she’d already changed for bed. Her hip felt warm pressing against the side of my arm. Mom’s hand lifted from my shoulder and her fingers curled around to play with the hair at the nape of my neck.
“Well, that’s one way to do it,” she said.
Mom played with my hair for a few more seconds before pulling her hand away and walking to the door where she briefly paused.
“Dad’s just gone to bed.”
She was gone but somehow it felt like she was still there. It wasn’t just the faint smell of perfume or other feminine products, it was the excited tension her voice had inspired in me. My nerves tingled and I found it hard to breathe. Dad had gone to bed. She hadn’t said goodnight. She’d just told me that Dad had gone to bed, and she’d brought me a drink, implying I should take a few minutes to drink it.
I jumped up and stripped my clothes off, lunged to the dresser and grabbed a pair of pajama bottoms and jockey shorts, yanked them on and then searched for a t-shirt. After that I turned for the door.
Too quick, I thought, turning back. I’d better finish the hot chocolate. I strode to the desk and picked up the mug, taking a big swig. Shit! I sprayed frothy brown foam all over my LCD screen. Christ, that was hot! I picked up the front of my t-shirt and stuffed it into my mouth, trying to relieve my burning tongue. Jesus!
Seeing the stain on my t-shirt, I pulled it off and tossed it to the floor. I began looking for another one but changed my mind. The hell with it. I go the way I was. Thinking about it, I took my pajama bottoms off, stripped off my jockey shorts, and put the pj’s back on by themselves. No guts, no glory, I thought, suddenly riding a wave of confidence again. I returned to the computer desk and slowly sipped the hot chocolate until it was gone. As fast as I could, mind you, but without burning myself again. With confidence and anticipation, I strode out my door.
By the time I reached the door to my parent’s room my anticipation was unchecked but my confidence had waned somewhat. Mom hadn’t actually asked me to come. What if Dad was awake? My pajama’s weren’t exactly tenting, shrinkage having wreaked havoc with my new found anxiety, but I was still loose and fancy free under there and anything could happen. I looked down; not now, anyway. I was through the door, having continued walking.
The room was dim and filled with the sound of my father’s heavy breathing periodically broken by a soft snore. Mom was sitting in front of the dresser, her back to me. I approached slowly, stepping quietly on the thick carpet. She looked up and smiled as I neared, lifting her right hand over her shoulder, offering the hairbrush. My fingers trembled as I took it. Saying nothing, Mom turned her eyes down, and waited.
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