The Mother in Me - Part 2

 

"Bedtime, honey," Mom reminded me.

I felt my way back into the master bedroom. I could see the outline of the large, king-sized bed, a territory I had only ever entered on weekend mornings to wake my parents. Now, I was expected to sleep in it. Alone.

"Pajamas are in the top right drawer," she guided, her voice as mundane as if she were reminding me to take out the trash. My hands, still damp, fumbled with the wooden knob. I pulled out a soft, worn cotton nightgown. It was overwhelmingly intimate.

The sensation of the soft cotton against my skin, so soon after what had just happened, made my stomach clench. I pulled back the heavy duvet—her side of the bed, the one nearer the door.

I slid in. I lay rigid, flat on my back, staring up at the textured ceiling.  Silence. For a full minute, there was nothing. Just the sound of my—her—breathing. The house settled around me. I could hear a floorboard creak down the hall, probably from my old room. Mom, in my body, shifting in *my* bed.

Then, her voice returned, softer now, "You're shaking."

I hadn't even realized I was.

"There's no need for that. You're safe. You're home. You're with Mommy now."

"I'm proud of you, you know," she continued, her tone shifting to that warm, approving cadence, "That was a big step tonight. A very adult step. You're learning so fast."

"I don't know, Mom. I just masturbated in your body. That's fucked up."

“Embarrassment is a sign that you're alive. It means you care about what you're becoming."

I rolled onto my side, facing the empty half of the bed. Dad's side. His pillow was right there. I could smell him on it. I recoiled, pulling my knees up to my chest. My nipples grazed the cotton of the nightgown and tightened instantly, sending a shudder through everything below. My thighs, pressed together, felt alien—softer, plumper, more yielding than I'd ever known them to be.

"You felt what you felt tonight, all by yourself. Can you even *imagine* what it feels like with him? With a man who has loved this body for twenty years?"

"I can't think about that," I hissed, into the dark, "I won't."

"Picture it: you wake up before him. You shuffle to the bathroom, you pee sitting down, you brush your teeth with the pink toothbrush. You put on my robe, the blue one with the little monogram, and you make coffee just the way he likes it. Two sugars, no milk. He comes in and hugs you from behind. He kisses your neck. You lean into him, and it feels real. It feels good."

"Ew, why would I want to kiss my own dad? That’s disgusting."

"Just think about it, okay? You need your rest. It's been a very big day for you." Her voice became distant, drowsy, "Tomorrow... tomorrow we'll go through my closet. You can't just wear sweatpants all week. We need to find you something... appropriate. Something beautiful. You'll see. It'll be fun. Just like playing dress-up."