He was like a lover to me more than a willful, misbehaving son.
My handsome, big boy. He was becoming a man. A man with exquisite taste in older women. What more could a cougar ask for?
His father was too busy “ruling” the craps table. My eldest was in line, so what’s a poor woman to do??
Keep it silent. That’s what we agreed on. I tried to overlook his many flaws. After all I wasn’t his puppet master. And for me he came alive with every slam of the headboard.
So alive that he threw off that metal harness I was chained to, he crawled off the floor after me. He slithered into my mind, in my bed. Told me sweet nothings before he held a hand to my mouth to muffle my screams.
“I am your mother, I created you.” This was wrong, but oh so right.
Yet, he kept stealing my heart, my body.
He had that effect on women, breaking hearts.
He came to me late tonight, smelling of whiskey and belligerence. I snapped.
As I stand over his cooling body, I weep as if it were an accident. But it had to be done.