It all started as a game between my son and I. I never meant to let it progress so far, though I should have know. With each turn we became more deeply involved in the game, unwilling to quit even though at so many points it would have been best. Our rules, while unspoken, were simple and mutually understood. The most important rule — no one must know. When we weren't playing the game, we would act completely normal, simply a mother an son with one hell of a complex family. When our time turned towards the game, we could let go, both knowing that we could not allow our feelings to progress beyond the lines of a mother and son relationship, and most importantly, nor could our physical actions. It was a game of one-upmanship to see who would chicken out first. At first, I'd expected I would stop it once the game got to far, but in reality, the change in our relationship was so slow the line was long since crossed before I even realized we had progressed far further than I'd ever intended.
The game started completely by accident. It was during Henry's senior year of high school. I'd returned home late one night and was frustrated to find Henry had left dirty dishes in the sink. He was far to old to expect me to clean up after him anymore. I would not have been so angry, except my day at work was trying and I was close to my breaking point. The dirty dishes in the sink crossed a line that would not have normally bothered me. Angry, I stormed upstairs to confront him. While he was in my house he would obey my rules.
I should have knocked on his door. If I had, the whole game would never have started. I should have known better than to burst into a teenage boy's room. The sight I encountered was far more than I wished to see. Laying in bed looking at posters of underwear models he insisted having in his room, there Henry was pumping his fist around his cock. Henry's startled eyes briefly connected with mine before I turned away and slammed the door closed. Dishes forgotten, I retreated to my bedroom in mortification. Fifteen-love to Henry.
The next morning was awkward. I had no idea what to say to Henry beyond apologizing for walking in in him. He, too, was clueless what to say. Luckily, it was Friday, so he spend the morning eating cereal and heading off to school. He would be going to stay with Emma for the next week, as he switched houses every other week, and while I normally missed him while he was gone, I was relieved for the weeklong break so I would have time to collect my thoughts.
When Henry returned the following Friday, it was as if nothing had happened. The awkwardness was completely gone even though we had never really talked about it aside from my brief apology. Henry was busy with college applications and homework, so he spend most of his time spread out on the kitchen table studying. I tried to keep myself scarce during those times so he could study uninterrupted. I knew it was much harder for him to study at Emma's place, what with Gillian, Mary Margaret, James and little Neil constantly coming over. Henry tended to do most of his long term projects the weeks he was at my house because he had more uninterrupted study time. Sensitive to his needs, I tried to give it to him, even if it meant spending slightly more time busying myself with activities such as cleaning or cooking so I would not be tempted to interrupt him.
The weekend passed quickly. Henry wrote two application essays, both of which he asked me to look over before he submitted the application. Everything was progressing smoothly, and by Thursday, two whole weeks had passed since the incident we both refused to acknowledge.
Slightly past midnight, I awoke with a dry mouth. I normally slept nude, so I just threw on a baggy t-shirt that came midway down my thighs before trudging to the kitchen for a glass of water. Henry had long since gone to bed, but for some reason he awoke that night starving and decided to go to the kitchen for a small snack. Purely by coincidence, he reached the kitchen shortly after I did. Had I know he was going to come in, I would have thrown on pants as well, or underwear at the very least. When Henry walked in, I had bent down to retrieve a napkin laying on the floor. My shirt had risen above my bum, and I had no idea how much Henry had seen. I honestly hoped it was just my ass and not my more intimate parts. I could deal with that. When I stood up again, I saw Henry was standing in the doorway pretending to look anywhere at me, so I knew he'd seen more than was appropriate. He stammered an apology and grabbed a granola bar from the pantry before disappearing as rapidly as he had entered. My shirt was thin and the air was cold. He must have been able to see my pebbled nipples through the shirt, though he never drew attention to the fact. Fifteen all.
The unspoken rule became looking was okay, but not touching.
Once again Henry spent the following week at Emma's and I was grateful. At the time, Henry and I were unaware what our game was, and that it was only the start. In our minds, the two events were simply coincidence.
The Thursday after that, Henry was finishing his shower when her realized the soap was gone. "Mom," he shouted.
I did not hear him the first time over the sound of the water. When he called a second time, I moved towards the bathroom door. He asked me to retrieve more soap, so I rummaged through the extra bathroom supplies until I found a bar. I knocked on the bathroom door and heard the shower turn off. That was followed by the soft padding of feet against the floor. Henry opened the door and I silently handed the bar of soap to him. He had a towel wrapped around his waist, but I could see rivulets of water running down his muscular chest. He even had hair on his chest. I think, subconsciously, he was trying to show me that he was no longer a little boy but a boy who had recently turned into a man.
The sight of his wet chest and soaking hair pleased me more than I felt comfortable admitting at the time, but the towel covered all that needed to be covered, so I convinced myself there was nothing wrong with the exchange. Thirty-fifteen Henry.
Life continued on as normal, and I had two weeks to plan my next move. That was the time when the game transcended the realm of subconscious to conscious. When Henry returned that week, I kept our interactions as normal as possible. Henry spent the weekend studying frantically for midterms and writing yet more college application essays. There was no end to the madness. I spent the weekend cooking his favorite meals and providing him with his favorite hot chocolate with cinnamon when I noticed he was looking tired. I tried to tell myself that I was doing what any mother would do for her stressed out son. At the time, I believed it too. In hindsight, the domestic scene I created could have been mistaken as a mother caring for her son, but not necessarily.
What did not fall into the category of a mother looking after her stressed out son was my plots on how to up the stakes of the unspoken game. Thursday evening, everything seemed to happen on Thursday, I made my move. After doing the laundry, I nicked one of Henry's newly washed white collared shirts and put it on. It was all I put on. The shirt was large on me. While he was only slightly taller than me, Henry had a lot more muscle mass and much broader shoulders so I ended up looking positively dwarfed in his shirt. I fiddled with my appearance in the mirror, finally deciding to leave the top three buttons undone. It was enough to cover me, but left enough of a gap that anyone looking could see down to the valley of my breasts. I tied my short hair into a messy bun and applied mascara and eyeshadow to give my face a smoky complexion. My lips I painted red, and I tried not to think about the symbolism behind that.
Finally satisfied with my appearance, fully armored with my looks, I marched to battle. I subtly went into the living room where Henry was taking a brief break from his homework and watching a movie. He did not look at me at first, and unsure the best way to get his attention, I did what any mother would do. I planted myself in front of the TV and asked, "I hope you're done with your homework."
Henry rolled his eyes as he responded, "Yes mom." The sarcasm and frustration in his voice was evident. He just wanted me to move out of the way so he could continue watching the movie. I crossed my arms when I heard his tone. That was no way for him to talk to me. While I was preparing to scold him, he finally seemed to take notice of my attire and his entire countenance changed. My crossed arms must have pushed my breasts higher so they were occupying a more permanent spot, the shirt barely covering my nipples.
His eyes widened at the sight of me in his shirt and a gleam formed in his eyes as he drunk in the sight of my body like he was a parched man. His gaze was appreciative, and I could tell from his intense stare that he liked the sight of me wearing his clothes. Like, really liked what he was seeing. Thirty all.
That should have been my indication of our little game going to far, but I was thrilled by my success. In some regards, I was a giddy teenager whose crush had finally noticed her. In reality, I was his mother playing games no mother should play. I briefly tried to tell myself that we were not blood related, so it was not incest. Besides, there was no touching involved. Then I remembered that once upon a time I had been married to Henry's biological great-grandfather. I should have backed out then.
With midterms over and most of his college applications completed, Henry had the full week at Emma's house to plan. When he returned to me, I waited anxious for what he would do. A small part inside me almost hoped he would do nothing. Then the silly game would be over and I would no longer have to wrestle with the daily guild nor the goading voice encouraging me to go farther. As long as no touching was involved, I could convince myself that no lines were being crossed.
Thursday evening, Henry put his plan into being, and clearly he had prepped well during the last two weeks. I do not know which was sweeter between the anticipation and the actual surprise. When I entered the living room that evening, I saw Henry had pulled out his old train toys, toys he had not played with since he was twelve. The moment I walked into the room, he turned the on switch on one of the trains. It moved along the tracks before plunging into a tunnel. Henry looked at me pointedly. It was simple, made of a child's toy, yet from his look I could clearly tell the meaning. He then stood and indicated I should follow. I did.
He led me to his room. Upon entering, I noticed that the posters were gone, and instead a chair was set up by the wall where they used to be. Henry asked me to sit down in the chair, so I silently followed his request. He then pulled off his shirt, leaving his hair rumpled. I resisted the urge to go an smooth it down, but our unspoken rule rang loudly. No touching.
He then pulled down his pants. He was not wearing anything else beneath them, and I was greeted once more by the sight of his cock. It was slightly smaller than the first time I'd seen it, having been fully erect then. As he laid down on is bed, I suddenly wondered if he was going to jack off to the sight of me. Instead, he arranged himself as if he was a Roman god. "It's been such a long time since you've drawn."
Drawing was one of my hidden talents. Henry was one of the few who knew about it. I did not draw often. Usually, I only ever set pencil to paper when I was particularly stressed or emotional. Henry pointed out my notebook and drawing pencils beside the chair. His meaning was clear. Draw him. So I did.
His gaze remained on me the entire time, and it was so intense, so heated, that I flushed under his scrutiny. Part by part I analyzed his ever curve, first drawing a rough outline and then filling in the details starting at his head. I captured his wild, unruly hair, sparkling eyes and lips upturned into a knowing smirk. Moving downwards, I put onto paper a duplicate of his chiseled chest and abs. The arms, legs and feet came next. They were well toned just like his chest. Oh the advantages of being so young. Finally, I had one part remaining, the one part I had avoided. I turned my eye onto the last part to more fully observe it. Without a doubt, Henry noticed when my gaze finally drifted there for his smirk only increased. By that point, Henry Junior was much larger. I started with the balls, following by the appendage that pointed proudly upwards and ending in the mushroom head. Were it possible, I believe the chair could have sucked me inwards so great was the tension in the air. I tried to tell myself it was only art, and nudity was common in art.
By the time I finished my drawing, I felt like I knew the contours of his appendage as well as if I had spent the evening fondling it, but I suppose I would have to have studied it in order to give the drawing justice. Once I finished, I carefully tore the sketch from the notebook and left it gently on the chair. I retreated to my room and inhaled sharply. Forty-thirty Henry.
Almost from that moment I knew what I would be doing in two weeks. The match was almost at an end, and there was one way I could up it. The Wednesday before I hatched my plan we met up with Emma for dinner at Granny's. We talked mainly about Henry's plans for college, though he had not yet heard back from any of the schools he applied to. He started listing the things he was considering majoring in, and I was overwhelmed by the sheer multitude of choices. Maybe it was simply because I came from the Enchanted Forest where things were done differently, but Emma did not seemed nearly as overwhelmed by the college talk as I was. Who knew there were so many choices, and that was before Henry had even gotten there.
Afterwards, we returned to my house. Henry was exhausted so he went to bed early. Maybe it was for the better, for I was dying to try out my plan. When he woke up the next morning, I had pancakes prepared for him. I'm not sure why, exactly, as Thursday morning is no special occasion, but Henry was appreciative of the hot breakfast so I was glad I made it.
When Henry returned home from school that afternoon, I patiently waited for him to finish his homework. I tried to create minimal distractions, though I sensed Henry rushed through his work, only doing what absolutely needed to be turned in the next day, simply so we could get to our game sooner.
The moment all his homework was packed back into his backpack and left by the front door for him to pick up in the morning as he left the house, I led him up to my room. This week, I wanted to show him me. He'd seen so many layers to me, from the Evil Queen to Regina Mills, mayor of Storybrooke, to simple mom. It was silly, but that day I wanted to show him me the woman exactly as I was, no masks and no barriers.
I led him into my bathroom and allowed him to watch as first I washed the chemicals out of my hair and patted it dry with a towel. Free of hair products, my hair was not quite as shiny and little hairs occasionally stuck outwards. Natural, it was a bit wavy, but I knew Henry had seen as much before.
Next, I removed my makeup, starting with my eyes and mouth and then washing away the foundation. When I turned to face Henry, for the first time ever I was completely devoid of my outer mask in front of him. I wore makeup as a shield, never wanting to be without because if my beauty was less then somehow my power was as well. I wanted to stand before Henry completely devoid of my shields. I knew from the mirror that without my makeup, my lips were not nearly as bright red, my cheeks were blushing, though that was from the intensity of the moment rather than the makeup. Little bags could be seen under my eyes and there were the occasional splotches and acne on my face that were constantly covered by foundation.
Henry looked taken aback by my appearance, and I suddenly worried that he preferred me when I was all dolled up. I was beginning to think it was a bad idea when I saw his appreciative gaze. Even as I shed my layers he still liked what he saw, and I felt a boost to my self-confidence that I was unaware I needed. Inside, I should have been sickened that my self-confidence could be boosted by my son's appreciate of my face.
Leaving the bathroom, Henry followed me back into my bedroom. I indicated for him to sit on my bed, so he perched himself on the edge. Standing in front of him, I felt even more insecure. What if he did not like what he saw? I reassured myself that he'd liked everything else so far. I stepped out of my heels, and nearly moaned at the relief my feet felt. I then unbuttoned the front of my blouse and untucked it from my pencil skirt. It fell open to reveal my black lacy bra against my creamy white skin. I shed the shirt entirely.
I then unzipped the skirt and shimmied it down my legs, followed by the hose. Henry's gaze did not leave my body the entire time. I was left standing before him in a bra and panties. I lifted my arms to the clasp in the back of my bra, and I felt Henry's gaze burning a hole into me from its intensity. The garment dropped to the floor and my breasts hung free. They were not as firm as they were in the prime of my youth, nor were they overly large, but Henry seemed to appreciate them all the same.
In one quick movement I shed my panties so I was completely nude. Henry could see every inch of me. His eyes roamed over the stretch marks I'd gotten from gaining weight to quickly as a child. He saw the scar on the left side of my torso, a scar I'd gotten from a fall as a child. So, too, could he see the scar formed from where I'd ripped my own heart out of my body.
His gaze lowered to my neatly trimmed public hair and the gem that laid hidden beyond. "Like what you see?" I'd intended to come off as confident and seductive, but instead it sounded insecure. I winced at what I'd said for more reason than one. Aside from the fact I'd aimed to sound far more confident in my unmasked body than I felt, I was also his mother. He should not be witnessing me in such a state, though in that moment, I loved his gaze upon me.
"Love it," Henry responded, "You are so beautiful." My heart and confidence soared as one at his reassurance. It should have been awkward standing there on display while he looked on while fully clothed, but the reality felt as natural as breathing. "Thank you for showing me," Henry said softly before he left my room. Deuce.
The following day, Henry returned to my house after school even though it was time for him to go to Emma's place. He'd claimed he'd forgotten something he desperately needed to pick up. In reality, he brought me into the kitchen. He pulled a carton of strawberries out of the fridge along with a bowl of cream. One by one, he dipped the strawberries into the cream and held the tip up to me. First I licked the cream off my lips and then he gently pushed the fruit into my mouth. Once I took a bite, he drew the top away by the stem. His fingers came so close to brushing against me, but it was only ever the strawberries that touched my skin. He was so close, yet so far away.
By the time he fed me the last strawberry in the carton, I was incredibly hot and bothered, and I mumbled my excuses while I retreated to my room. Henry left that day with a shirt he claimed he could not possibly spend the next week without. I knew that he really only needed to bring something back to appease Emma. He could not very well return empty handed when the whole official purpose of his visit was to retrieve a forgotten item. Match point Henry.
With finals creeping up, I though Henry had almost forgotten about our little game. Almost, but not quite. A week and a half after the strawberry incident, Henry returned home from school and immediately began studying. He even ate dinner while he studied. By eleven that night, he still had not taken a reprieve from the books. I was disappointed that he was not going to take his second turn, but he looked like he was worked half to death, and the semester was almost over I knew he would have time for the game again soon.
With only a minute till midnight, Henry padded into my room. I looked up from my book. Henry handed placed an object in front of me, and I studied it curiously. It was a heart. Not one of those hearts with two rounded tops and a pointy bottom. No, this was an actual heart, with the right and left atrium and ventricles, valves in place and aorta and vein emerging from the heart. "For your safekeeping," Henry said. To some mortal, the gesture would probably be strange, but the symbolism behind the gift astonished me.
It looked exactly like a real heart I could easily have pulled from the chest of a living human, though I knew for a fact that it was fake. It did not have the same pulsing feel or luster, but it was a close enough replica it could not be mistaken for anything but what it was. Of everything that had passed between us so far during our game, this present was the least revealing yet the most intimate. Without words, Henry told me that he trusted me beyond all doubts, that he trusted me to keep him safe and well, and to allow him to make his own decisions even though I held the power in my hands to control him. It was quite sweet in a disturbing manner. Game one Henry.