Mom's Little Artist

My parents divorced when I was six, so it was always just Mom and me. When I was little, Mom would let me help her paint her toenails. She called me her little artist. As I got older, I would get embarrassed when she would ask if I wanted to help with her toes, so she stopped asking. Mom and I were always very close, and I considered her my friend, too. So, the summer before I left for college, we went to the beach house. We went to every summer. Usually she let me take some friends with me, but this time she wanted it to be just us since I would be leaving in the fall. We had a great time swimming, playing golf and cooking. On our last night, we went to our favorite bar and had a few beers. Then she played some of her favorite songs on the jukebox and asked me to slow dance with her. She held me very tightly. She told me that she loved me and would miss me. I had never held her like that before, and I couldn't get over how good she felt and how wonderful her hair smelled. She was only thirty-seven then, and some of my friends thought she was hot. Suddenly, I felt myself getting an erection. I was so embarrassed. But she just smiled and said, "Thanks for the compliment." When the song ended, she said, "We better go." When we got home, I took a shower and put on a robe. Then I went out on the deck to watch the ocean. Then Mom came out. She had showered and had a robe on, too. Her hair was wet, and she looked quite nice with the wind blowing it. Then she asked, "Would you like to be my little artist again?" I laughed and said sure. So, she pulled her chair over in front of me and put her feet in my lap. Then she handed me the polish. As I started painting, I looked at her in the moonlight as she smiled at me. It was a magical night to send me off to college with.

— Leroy, 24