Ask your mom if she's ok.

You quietly watch your mother cleaning up the breakfast dishes for a moment or two, then your concern for her outweighs your desire to ignore and forget the odd behavior you just witnessed. You've always been able to talk to her about anything, without her judging you. You think you should at least do the same for her and decide to find out what's going on with her, even if it is uncomfortable. "Mom... is everything ok? You're acting... well, kinda... different."

"Oh, everything is fine, honey." she says, putting on a casual tone. "I must be a bit tired and not feeling quite myself. I didn't sleep well last night. I had some strange dreams." Her voice becomes more hushed as she mentions the dreams and her eyebrows draw together in concern, as if she's remembering something disturbing about the dreams. Her cheeks flush red again and her eyes move away from you, back towards the dishes in the sink. She takes a breath and smiles again. "It's nothing that you should worry about."

You can tell she's minimizing how much the dream affected her. It must have been really unpleasant, to keep her up and have her acting so strange this morning. You want to comfort her, so you get up from the table and give her a hug. "It's ok, mom," you tell her. "It was just a dream. Right? It's daytime now."

You can feel her breathing deeply as she nestles against you in the hug. Then her body shudders. She tenses and her breathing becomes faster. She pulls back from the hug. "Yes, just a dream." She says, again the brightness in her voice sounds a bit ****. "We can't stand around here all day. Have to get you to school." She says, changing the subject.

"Mom, if there's something bothering you, I want you to tell me," you say to her. "About the dream, or anything else."

Your mother opens her mouth to speak, but her voice catches. She looks like she's struggling. "You want me to tell you?" she murmurs, almost too softly to hear. "The dream... and anything else..." she repeats. "It was a sex dream, and, honey, you were in it. No, not just in it," she corrects herself. "It was about you. It was you and me." She is blushing furiously now, obviously ashamed by what she's telling you. "It really upset me, well, because I enjoyed it so much." Her voice is barely a whisper now. Her hands are trembling. "And when I woke up from it... I couldn't help myself. I masturbated to it." Her face was down and turned away. She's too embarrassed to look in your direction.

You can't believe she's actually telling you all this. She doesn't stop, her words coming out in a rush. "I told myself it was just a dream, and people dream weird things all the time, but then this morning, when I saw you, I felt like I did in the dream. I, I wanted what happened in the dream to be real." Her chest heaves as she restrains herself from sobbing from the emotion of admitting her shameful thoughts. "Fuck! I'm a terrible mother. I shouldn't have told you all that. Should have dealt with it myself." she hisses, sounding like she just realized how what she was saying might affect you, and is angry with herself. "But... you said you wanted me to tell you." Her hands grip the edge of the kitchen counter hard. "Please don't think I'm some kind of monstrous pervert."

You stand frozen for a few seconds, stunned, not knowing what to think. Then it's your turn to speak in a rush, wanting to reassure her. "No mom. I don't think that. You're right, people have dreams about weird shit all the time. This one just, I guess it just got in your head a little." You hesitate, then tell her. "I mean, I've had sex dreams about you, too. I think it's a normal thing, you know, Freudian stuff, but it does always make me feel kinda like I'm a perv."

You're hoping that your confession will make her feel more comfortable with what she just told you, but her reaction surprises you. She lets out a quiet gasp. Her eyes go wide and she blurts out, "Really? You dream about me like that?" She sounds incredibly pleased and excited. Then she realizes that's not an appropriate reaction for a mother hearing about her son's Oedipal dreams, and she regains her composure. Nodding, with a more serious expression. "You're right. Of course, you're right. Just dreams. I raised a very wise young man." Then she smiles at you with a warm, motherly expression. "I'm glad you feel like you can talk to me about things like this, Dave. It's healthy to get things out in the open and talk to someone you trust, not keep them inside and stew about them." Her voice takes a tone of giving maternal advice. "Whew... that was a lot," she breathes out a long, shaky breath. "I'm going to get dressed and get you to school now. Grab your bag and make sure you have everything." She rushes out of the kitchen and up the stairs to her room.