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So, I kept silent.“I’m not putting all the blame on you, son, but what happened is not supposed to happen between a mother and her son. We should not have had sex.”Again, silence from me.“I’m not even sure how it all happened. My memory of it is a little foggy. I remember showering, coming into your room, and then nothing until I felt us both having an orgasm.”Still silence but with a nod of agreement.“Can you tell me why this happened?”“No, Mom,” I responded. “I don’t know how it happened, just that it did.”I took a deep breath, gulped, and feeling I was taking my life into my hands, I continued, “I liked it, Mom.”“How can you say that, Rick? We shouldn’t have made love. We’re mother and son. Not man and woman.”That was twice she labeled what we had done as “making love”. Was that a hint? I decided on a bolder response.“Mom, I love you and you love me. Making love together was just a larger expression of that love,” I said.“It wasn’t right, Rick!” retorted Mom.“I don’t know how you. She limped up the ramp to the barn-door, determined to find my lost boots wherever I had left them. In the dim, cavernous expanse inside papa’s old barn, we split up and searched, with only the pale morning light streaming through the large, open barn-door to illuminate our way. We each took a corner of the huge barn and wandered around the rough, hay-strewn floor, avoiding the big clumps of mud the tractor wheels had dropped everywhere, until Helen finally returned with her prize held high over her head. Since I had let her wear my rubbers, she gave me the boots to wear, and I pulled up my skirt and leaned on Marlee, while Helen wiggled the over-sized galoshes over my slip-ons. Now safe from mud-puddles, we trotted down the lane from the barnyard, and off into the fields. The hillside at the left of the lane was dotted with enormous marshmallows. At least, that’s what we called the big, round hay-bales that were each wrapped up in white plastic. Hundreds of them were still strewn.
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