Coming home to Mom | Part 1 – Promises | [M/F] [INC] [M/S]

Dear Reader,

Like all true stories, this one has many layers and sub layers. I don’t know why what happened happened. But it happened. I promise.

And through this exercise, with you as my witness and judge, I’m trying to understand why it happened. Why i am here, telling this story. But we must begin at the beginning. I will set up some context so you can first see the world as I have seen it.

Partly because to understand what happened, dear Reader, you need to understand us. So join me as I begin to unpeel the layers of the onion.

##The core – The context of my childhood – My early childhood relationship with my mom

My mother always said, “I love you more than anyone else because I had a 9 month headstart on loving you.” Growing up, my dad wasn’t around a lot. He was always traveling for work. Eventually, he met someone and cheated on my mom during one of his “business trips”.

I was 8 years old at the time. I remember watching my mother break down and cry on the floor. I remember holding her hand to comfort her – unable to understand the concept of divorce – and promising her that I would never leave her.

She asked, with tears and a smile, “Promise?” “Promise” I said.

##Age 18 – Bouncy tummy

Picking up what at that point had seemed like an insurmountable burden, a cataclysmic chasm, a voracious void that consumed everything in its path, against all odds, we persevered. We made a small happy family for ourselves. My mother worked at a beauty salon, and somehow in our little one bedroom apartment, we found paradise.

Even at the height of my rebellious phase, I’d always honour my commitments to my mom. Friday night movies in PJs, reviewing bad restaurants, going on long drives in our rickety old car. We had each other.

We developed some close rituals, where I would lay my head on her tummy and pretend to bounce on her soft tummy while she laughed. The sound of her laughter always made me laugh.

Sometimes I would lift up her shirt and kiss her bouncy tummy. There was nothing weird about it. It was normal. It was the sound of home. There was mold on the walls we couldn’t get fixed, but it was home.

“I’m gonna miss you when you go off to college.” She said.
“I’ll get a job, go to a local college and stay at home.” I replied, “I’m not going anywhere.”
“No no”, she absent mindedly said. “I want you to go chase your dreams.”
“My dreams are right here.” I replied kissing her tummy.
“Promise?”
“Promise.”

##Age 22 – Breaking a Promise

A few years later, I had grown out of my dreams in a dilapidated apartment. I realized that I had bigger than could fit into this one bedroom apartment. I wanted to go away for college but I couldn’t make scholarship. I didn’t even get into any of my dream schools. I got wait listed at one of my safety schools.

In my country, if you’re wait listed, they call you when there’s a vacancy and you have to show up the next day to claim your seat. If you’re late, they give you seat to someone who did show up.

Getting waitlisted meant waiting for months in a motel room in a different city miles away, waiting for a phone call that may never come. It was a stressful time. My estranged father agreed to pay for the tuition and boarding but refused to accompany us or help out with his time. So my mom took a month off work without pay and agreed to stay with me.

I asked her not to. I told her I’d manage. I’d be fine. But she would have none of it. “You need someone there to support you” she kept saying over and over. In a cheap motel room with a shitty TV that had terrible picture quality, we waited. With nothing to do. I was stressed and bitter.

But my mom and I watched TV all day and tried to reconnect with some of our old rituals – walking around town, going to flea markets, trying local street food, back to the room, repeat. I never told her this but I was glad she was there.

One day, we couldn’t sleep. So we were flipping through channels and we ended up stumbling onto a racy Italian movie. We didn’t speak Italian and there was no subtitles so we decided to just make up our own lines to correspond to the scenes.

It was a scene about a boss flirting with his secretary.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Peggy. Your work is simply not upto our standards. I need to keep a close eye on you.” I said in an atrocious attempt at an Italian accent.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Sylvio. I’m a little wee girl. I’m sure I can be trained by someone of your stature.”, she said she hands in a damsel position, squeezing her breasts.
“Well. You’ll have to work closely under me then.” I replied.
“I will do whatever is required. I am a hard working lady.” She chimes in.
“Will you be able to give more than what is required?” I looked at my mother.
At this point, she gets carried away, and unbuttons a button of her PJs, exposing her cleavage, squeezes her breasts with her arms, and says “I will put all my heart into it.”

I was gobsmacked at the sight of her cleavage, and I could feel my dick stir in my pants. I didn’t want her to see it. She did sense my unwavering stare at her cleavage. She laughed. Kissed my cheek and turned my face at the TV, where the boss and the secretary had started making out.

She held me close and that night, I watched 2 Italian actors fuck in the close, soft, intimate embrace of my mother. I could feel her heart beating fast. She could feel mine. But we stuck together. My dick was so hard. She had to have sensed it. But she didn’t acknowledge it.

After the scene, I put my head on her Bouncy tummy and lay down in bliss.

“When you get into college…”She started.
“If I…” I interrupted.
“WHEN you get into college”, she quickly interjected putting her finger on my lips to shut me up. “I want you to call me everyday.”

For the first time in a long time, I lifted up her PJs and kissed her Bouncy tummy on the navel. “I will.”
“Promise?”
I kissed her tummy again. This time for slightly longer.
“Promise.”

In the world of uncertainties, at least this ritual was certain. And before we knew it, we were fast asleep, enclosed in an urgent embrace.

##Age 23 – Breaking a heart

I never liked the idea of hell as understood in contemporary culture. To me, hell is a place where no living memory of paradise exists. To me, hell is a place blemished by the curse of forgotten promises and broken words. It is where hedonism takes over the simplicity and the submission of faith.

It is surprising how easy it is for us to forget the delicate touch of paradise. Once in college, I began to look at this mom phase of me as a relic of a past, an untold story in the vaults of my memories, an irrelevant episode that languished in an untouched drawer in my dorm room.

I was having sex with girls my own age, partying till dawn, drinking and smoking weed. I was trying to apply myself at school. There was so much going on. Once, I didn’t speak to mom for weeks. She called everyday. I never answered.

When I finally did…
“WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU???” She screamed.
“Woah woah woah”
“I’ve been alone here, worrying about you and you can’t give me a call!!!”
“I’ve been busy.”
“We had a deal! We. Had. A. Deal!” She shrieked. That was the first time I heard her shriek. It stirred something in me.
“Why are you being like this? I’ve got stuff to do!”
“Oh and I’m just your mother who’s sitting around waiting for the phone to ring who has nothing to do, right?” She protested.
“You’re being psychotic!” I pipped back.
“Don’t you talk to me like that, you jerk! After all I’ve done for you? Did you forget everything?” She said indignant.
“You were the one who asked me to chase my dreams, remember?”
“NOT WITHOUT ME!”
“Well mom. Listen. I can’t carry your emotional health all my life. It’s not my fault you have nothing going for you.”
“What the fu–”
“Maybe this is why dad left.”

Silence.

Silence.

I heard her voice crack. She said, not shrieking for the first time, fighting her tears like a lioness, my lioness would “How could you say that, baby? You promis…”

“Mom. I’m busy. Bye.”

Click.

Dear Reader,

I know. I can sense you judging me. I FUCKING KNOW!

This is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end. It is, perhaps, the end of the beginning.

There is more but I need to pause to collect my emotions. If this story gains traction, if anyone cares, I’ll tell more of it. I want to tell it all.

For now, leave your thoughts in the comments. I want to hear all of them.

Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/10jh38p/coming_home_to_mom_part_1_promises_mf_inc_ms