A Widow's Comfort Ch. 01 - Sex Stories

A Widow's Comfort Ch. 01

... looked like she had been taking her vodka straight out of the bottle and I figured this would be better. I grabbed a beer for myself, having a bit of a nostalgia fit when I popped open one of theCoors I found there, realizing it was Dad's favorite and probably the last he bought.

I took the drinks into the front room and sat on the couch beside Mom.

"Honey," she started but I shushed her with a finger to the lips.

"Eat and drink first, then talk," I said.

She smiled at me, an odd smile, took a drink, and said, "You're all growed up, aren't you?"

I chuckled, put an arm around her, pulled her to me, and said, "Well, yes, but I'll always be your boy."

She chuckled, took a drink, and snuggled against me.

We sat like that, comfortable, as I fiddled with the remote and found Fox News. We sat, quietly, watching the news, sipping our drinks. I was happy to note that Mom actually was sipping, not slamming drinks back.

Food came and we ate. She giggled when I speared a piece of her sweet and sour and I slapped her hand when she tried for a chunk of my foo yung.

When we finished I gathered up the little white cardboard boxes and dropped the leftovers into one of Mom's Tupperware bowls of which she seemed to have about a million.

I mixed another screwdriver for her and opened another beer for me.

"Mom," I said, "I'm home. I'm not dropping out, but I'm home, okay."

"Thank you, Honey," she said, "but won't you..."

I talked over her.

"I'm where ...

... I want to be. I won't miss anything," I said.

She held my eyes for a very long count, her eyes doing that twitching thing as she would focus first on my right eye and then my left.

"Welcome home, Honey," she said.

And she kissed me.

It was an odd kiss. It was a kiss on the lips, more than a mother-son peck but less than an invitation. I kissed her back.

She snuggled against me and we foundCasablanca on one of the dozen streaming services Dad had insisted on having.

When the movie was over, Bogey and the Frenchman walking off into the foggy night, I smiled and said, "It's me for the bed. It's been a long day."

"Good night, Honey," she said, "I'm glad you're home."

I kissed her, just a light good night kiss, and said, "Night night, love you," as I had pretty much every day of my life.

"Night night, Honey," she said.

"And stay out of the vodka," I said.

She giggled, waved me away, and said, "Don't let the bedbugs bite," completing our nighttime ritual.

I brushed my teeth, peed, tossed my T-shirt into the hamper and my jeans onto the chair by my bed that served as a clothes rack, and crawled into bed, my boxers on.

I read a few pages on my Kindle, a silly space opera book I'd been working through for a while, laid the Kindle on the headboard, and went to sleep.

I've always been easy to get to sleep.

I woke. Well, something woke me.

It was pitch dark.

"Are you awake?" she asked.

I chuckled and turned my head far enough to be ...