Confusion

The sweat on our skin dries and turns into a sticky salt. Our breathing calms. Mom's chest's faint rise and fall against mine tells me she has drifted to sleep. I ponder our yoga session. Mom came into the session with a plan. Had she intended to go so far? Or even further? Did I disrupt her plan or play it exactly as she wanted? I doubt that she foresaw the passion we shared. My nootropic mind had not even anticipated that, and it has continually cataloged every interaction, look, smile, scent, and anything else about her that could tell me her intentions.

No, her passion is unlike Kelly's or Ashley's. They seem to want me, sure, but in a lesser way. In a normal way, despite being my siblings. Mom came on my dick, from my words alone! Telling her I was hers, that she was mine... Those ideas, dripped into her ear like honey, sent her over the precipice and into rapture.

Could she have been that alone? I absent-mindedly trace a heart on her shoulder with my finger. Only a few weeks ago, I was a greasy, dungeon-dweller. Surely, she had no thoughts of me then. My nootropic brain sorts through every moment, every interaction. Nothing. She never demonstrated any desire of that kind towards me.

Something changed. Were the side effects of being near me more pronounced for her? Maybe it is based on genetics... I share the most with her, so it makes sense that she would be affected most. But what if it is something else entirely? Something psychological. I never truly considered how she was affected by Dad's ****. She has been alone for years. No company. No love. Three children who were, at best, difficult.

"Mom," I murmur, worried for her psyche. Despite my desire for her, I do love her. I don't want her to be hurt by our changing relationship or my relationships with my sisters.

I have to focus on that soon, I think. Things are escalating, and I can't let conflict happen.

My finger traces lower, across the straps of her sports bra and onto her lower back. I brush my tips against the valley of her spine, and she shivers.

"Dom?" she murmurs, stirring.

"I'm here, Mom," I whisper, continuing my gentle journey across her silken skin.

"I fell asleep."

"I know... I didn't want to disturb you."

She exhales, and I feel her legs spread around my thighs. She leans back onto my lap and smiles. Her eyes are sleepy, and she stretches her hands overhead in a yawn. Blonde strands fall down her chest in a mess. "I feel like I slept all night," she murmurs. She rolls off my lap and settles into a sitting position beside me.

"Dom," she says, looking at me. I meet her eyes again, finding them clearer and more alert. "Earlier... What you said. Did you mean it?"

I join her in a sitting position and take her hand in mine. I gently caress her delicate fingers, reminded of how greedily they held my cock only a short time ago as I look at them, and smile.

"You remember, a few weeks ago, I came downstairs one morning and told you I was changing. That I would do whatever it took."

"I do," she answers, softly.

"Have I done anything but that since then?"

"No... you've gone above and beyond anything I ever dreamed, son."

"Have I lied to you?"

"No, I don't think so."

Well, I haven't told her about the nootropic, but I don't consider that an outright lie. A lie of omission, maybe.

"The same is true now. I mean what I said. With every ounce of me. I mean it. Honestly, if anything, I am slightly surprised you feel the same way. I never thought..." I huff, theatrically. "I never thought you would feel the same towards me, Mom. I thought I had burned the bridge between us long ago."

"Oh, honey," she sighs, a sad smile on her face. "I'm sorry I was so hard on you. I thought it would help, but obviously, it never did. You found your own strength, though. I am proud of you for that."

I look into her eyes again, continuing to stroke her fingers out of sight.

She continues, saying, "I admit, the thought that you're my son made it difficult at first. I struggled with my sudden attraction to you. I was disgusted with myself. Maybe you've reminded me of your father, or maybe I'm just sick in the head. I don't know. But I am over that. I've accepted my desire and love for you, both as a mother and as a woman. It doesn't mean I don't have reservations, or I don't want to take it slow despite what just happened, but I am willing to try."

Her answer sends a spark of thought through my body. "Dad... what do you mean I remind you of him?"

"He was so... much. Powerful, like his name. The name you share. He was a walking ****, seeming to bend those around him to his will. I know you never saw that side of him... But he was so smart. So... forceful." Mom shivers and looks away. "Something about seeing you take control of your life... Apply yourself so rigorously. It sparked that same feeling of love I had for him. That same desire. Admiration."

A few things occur to me. One, my Mom appears to be some level of submissive. Two, my Dad was a powerful, intelligent being that I somehow never recognized as such. And, finally, three, I never knew what he did for work before he died.

"Mom, what did Dad do, actually? Before he died?"

She looks at me, confused. "How do you not know? He worked in pharmaceuticals, of course."