Son’s Birthday, Mom gives the ultimate gift

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.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

I went down into the basement and threw into the washing machine the clothes that he had left on the bathroom floor, and as I did I noticed that one of his shirts had a hole in it. Nothing major, but he did need some new clothes.

His twenty-first birthday was coming up in less than two weeks, and I reminded myself that we needed to go shopping or he wouldn’t have any presents for the big day.

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He was putting his dishes in the dishwasher when I got back to the kitchen. It was at times like this that I felt like a munchkin next to him. Standing side by side he towered over me.

“So Jack,” I said to start the conversation.

“Yeah,” he grunted.

“What do you want for your birthday?”

“My birthday?”

“Yes. It is coming up, and I haven’t gotten you one thing.”

“Nothing,” he said shrugging his shoulders.

“Don’t say that Jack. I need to get you something. You must need something.”

“You mean like a new XBox?” He asked sarcastically.

“You’re an ass. No, I mean, do you need new clothes.”

“Yeah I guess.”

“Holy shit Jack,” I exclaimed in exasperation.

“What do you want me to say?”

“I want you to think about it, and give me a list; shirts, shoes, shorts, underwear?”

“Yeah Ma, I could use some tighty whities.”

“My God, Jack. What am I going to do with you?”

“Mom,” he said folding his arms and leaning back against the kitchen cabinets. My God, I realized as I looked at him, he was giving me that look. A look that he would give a girl before he turned on the charm. “Actually,” he said flashing me a devious smile, “now that I think about it. I know exactly what I want.”

“And what’s that?” I asked suspecting that I was going to get a wise crack in return.

“I want you to take me out for my birthday.”

“Yeah, yeah. Your father and I have reservations at Trieste. That will be a fun night,” I mused, “going out to dinner with your dad.”

“I don’t mean out to dinner, and certainly not with dad.”

“Then what do you mean?” I leaned against the kitchen cabinets opposite him, and folded my arms as I looked into those baby blues.

“I mean, take me out. Go drinking with me.”

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“What do you mean, to a bar?”

“A bar. A club. Whatever.”

“Stop fucking around, Jack,” I said. The anger getting the better of me.

“I’m not fucking around. I’m finally going to be legal. Why can’t we go out and have a drink together.”

“Wouldn’t you rather do that with your dad?”



“I mean, yeah maybe.”

“And you don’t want to go out with your friends on your birthday?”

“Yeah, yeah, we already have that planned. After that?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Oh forget it. If you don’t want to go, just forget it.”

“NO! NO! I want to go. I just don’t know why you’d want to go with me.”

“Because your my mom, and I thought it’d be fun.”

Well as the saying goes, you could have knocked me over with a feather. I was flabbergasted. How many mothers got a invitation like that.

“Okay. If that’s what you want. I’d love to go.” I felt like a young freshman girl that just got asked out by the quarterback.

“Okay. It’s a date,” he said and just disappeared upstairs to his room.

I know I should have been wondering whether this was a good idea. I mean he would soon be of legal drinking age, but should a mother go out bar hopping with her son? I was just so thunderstruck and flattered that he’d ask me, that I didn’t think of the possibilities, or of the repercussions.

For as long as I could remember, boys had never been my forte, and to me Jack, the ultimate boy, was tantamount to a Greek God.

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