Mom's Secret Wish List

Beverly means the world to me and my brother, but it always falls on me to show her how much we love her. Which is awkward because, frankly, I've always had a hard time looking at her.

She wasn't like other moms. For starters, she insisted on us calling her Beverly.

When we were growing up, all the women in our neighborhood aspired to be little more than stick figures. They were all on eating fads—the Last Chance Diet that caused their hair to thin and their gums to bleed, the Sexy Pineapple diet that had them excusing themselves at lunch to spray the walls of their favorite brunch place in liquid shit, and the Scarsdale diet that helped them keep their figures, but caused them to slouch and pass out during girls' night.

All of them looked conventionally attractive in their own way, albeit fairly interchangeable, but none of them had any personality. But Beverly was different.

Our hot mom was a big, beautiful woman and she had as much sass as she had ass. She was full-figured and proud of it, perpetually sporting skintight leggings, strappy high heels and brightly colored crop tops with plunging necklines.

Her long blonde hair and enormous tits made her the talk of the town, for good or ill. There wasn't a husband in town who hadn't been caught gawking at her big naturals at least once.

As a kid, we couldn't bring friends over the house without at least one of them talking about sticking his head between her massive cleavage. And you could hardly blame them since it's all my brother and I ever looked at during supper.

You couldn't miss it, no one could.

The other moms scoffed, even cracked jokes about her behind her back, but secretly they were all jealous of her sheer confidence. She was voluptuous and she knew it.

My brother was older than me, so he was away at college when I was still in my teens. Those years were hard in more ways than one, not least because of the longings I was developing for our mother.

Beverly got kind of weird once I hit puberty, I noticed she took to walking around the house in next to nothing. Like I said, she was fond of form-fitting pants and low-hanging shirts, but the robes were a new addition to her repertoire. At least I hadn't ever seen them before.

I distinctly remember a hot summer night when I was seventeen years old and Beverly emerged from her bedroom wearing nothing but a sheer body stocking and a thin scarlet red kimono. Her chubby feet were covered in furry peep toe heels that betrayed her cherry toes, her nails coated in a glossy red polish.

I remember her leaning in the doorway of my bedroom, asking me what I was doing and would I want to watch Sleepwalkers, the Stephen King horror movie about a mother and son who are cat people. I knew from watching it with my buddies that the flick got weird when the mother cat shared her pussy with her son.

“Beverly, what are you doing?” I remember saying, shielding my eyes with my hand.

Beverly laughed that strange little laugh of hers and favored me with a crooked grin. She stared at me with her glacial blue bedroom eyes.

“Relax, suge. There's nothing unnatural about the human body. You remember that. Not a girl in the world wants a man to hide his eyes from her. Sure, you'll meet some liberal gals wanna talk trash about the male gaze, but them self-same bitches will drop you like a hot potato if you don't notice their new top. It's totally natural, Darren.”

When I think back on it, I should have realized sooner that Mom had special feelings for me. She was always teasing me about becoming a man. And more than once she had treated my girlfriends like lepers.

I guess I was too busy stuffing my own feelings down to notice just how high-key obsessed my mom really was. Had I known, there's no telling what life might have looked like.

The holidays are coming up and my brother asked me to pay Beverly a visit to try and suss out what she would want for Christmas. I head over on my lunch break under the pretense of helping her decorate the family tree.

She answers the door in faded blue jeans that look painted on her apple bottom, her hourglass hips hugged half to death by a blazing pink halter top. Her dazzling blue eyes are accentuated by smokey eye shadow.

She is barefoot, standing with her weight balanced on the balls of one foot so tha