Incest, mom and son, Mom gives the ultimate gift, I walked into the kitchen with a laundry basket full of dirty clothes and there he was, The Prince, as I like to call him. It was after one o’clock in the afternoon and he was sitting at the kitchen island eating breakfast.
Under his mop of dirty blonde hair, were the most intense blue eyes, eyes that could make you lose your train of thought and make you stare off into space simply by him giving you that look. Those blue eyes, together with boyish good looks and an intensely athletic physique, combined in this young man to the point that he just exuded animal magnetism.
I could sense it, and I was his mother, never mind the poor young girls and their foolish middle aged mothers who vied for his attention.
Sometimes I felt like he wasn’t my son at all, as if I had been in a fairy tale, a tale wherein I, as a young and beautiful peasant girl, was taken one magical night to the bed of the most powerful and handsome king in all of the universe, and as a reward for yielding my nubile, virginal body I was given this young prince to raise as my own.
I know that sounds crazy, I know he’s my son. I distinctly remember the morning I delivered him, and the twelve hours of labor I went through to bring him into this world, but that’s how amazed I was that he was my son. He meant everything to me.
“Good morning, your highness,” I said sarcastically, but he didn’t hear me. He was on another planet listening to who knows what on his phone.
“What?” He asked pulling the ear buds from their semi-permanent location, and giving me a dumfounded look.
“I said good morning.”
“Mornin’,” he said and gave me a smile just before he shoveled another spoonful of cereal into his mouth, Captain Crunch of all things. He would be turning twenty-one in less than two weeks, and in the fall he would be going back to college for his senior year, and yet he was still eating sugary cereals for breakfast.
In some ways he was still a boy, though he was legally a man, able to vote and go to war, but to me he was still my little baby boy, and I know I’m prejudiced, but God what a babe he had become. He was nothing like my ex-husband.
Warren, my ex, was always so smart, so intuitive, and yet he never saw, never realized, that the genetics just weren’t there. He was in complete and utter denial.
How could a short, squat, brown eyed, accountant, who was completely bald by the time he was thirty, sire a blue eyed Adonis who had been the captain of his high school football team. Warren, in high school, on the other hand, had been the president of the math team.
My ex-husband was so proud of his son that he was blind to the facts that were right there before him. It was kind of pathetic, but I never had the heart to tell him the truth.
“What’s going on?” I asked trying to get a sense of what my boy was up to.
“What do you mean?”
“What have you got planned for the day?”
“Mom, I just got up.”
“Okay, but you need to get that hair cut. You’re starting to look like a bum.”