But it was more than just them spending less time together. As the prospect of securing a place at a respectable university drew closer over the years, and as Samuel’s aspirations grew with it, he had started to notice he felt a little embarrassed by his mother. It was the way she was incessantly ‘true to herself’. It was so unlike Samuel; who actively prayed to be literally someone else. Fair enough, he supposed that his mother was content with who she was, but because of the slight body enhancements she had made over the years, her British nanny-type accent made her seem less like Mary Poppins and more like some east-end of London hair dresser.
‘I bet Miss Brighton would call her a Chav.’ He found himself thinking as Stacey twirled around the kitchen tossing peppers and meat into a sizzling frying pan. ‘Thankfully, I suppose they’ll never have to meet at a parents’ night. I wouldn’t want mum starting an argument back or letting Miss Brighton know that ‘She don’t need no degree…she’s got street smarts and business sense, love!’
Samuel watched his mother as he took a seat at the table and told her that he was glad that she’d had (yet another) positive day.
“But less about me. I want to hear about you. Tell me everything about your day.” She said bending over to get tortilla wraps out from underneath the grill. “I want to hear everything, all the details!”
‘Yeah, that’s not happening!’ He laughed to himself realising that he could tell her about 10 percent of his day truthfully, with the remaining 90 percent having to be made up to account for all the drink-spilling, panty-stealing, wardrobe-malfunctioning and bedroom-wanking that he had done. Thinking for a moment about about what he could honestly tell her, he then mumbled out an evasive: “Umm, it was good.”
Stacey turned around, still bending over, to mouth the word “and” to instruct her son to keep talking. She knew he had a habit of being shy and untalkative, even in front of her, and knew to push him sometimes to get him to talk. He’d been looking forward to starting university for the best part of three years now – it was pretty much all they had talked about. She wasn’t going to let him off the hook with such a meagre response now they day and arrived.
“It was good. Sort of…interesting, really. Definitely an experience I won’t forget.” That last part was especially true. “We didn’t actually learn anything. We just had various lectures on what to expect there and how we should use our time. I suppose it was just the boring admin they need to tell all First Years.”
“Oh.” She replied, genuinely a little disappointed that it wasn’t like in one of the cheesy American movies she loved watching. “Well, did you meet anyone? Make any friends? You must have met some people at least?”
She was always trying to get him to make friends. Unlike her, his phone wasn’t vibrating with messages every minute and she didn’t understand why. Samuel could tell she was perplexed by his decision to do most of his social interactions through a screen in his bedroom and not in-person. It was a topic of conversation mother and son had a few times: why doesn’t Samuel go outside and meet someone? He would always respond with some comment about how he did have friends, they were just ‘online friends’ and that that’s how people interact nowadays, and that he didn’t see how loitering in a shopping centre or in a park would help him expand his social group. The two would fail to see other’s point of view, and the conversation would be left unresolved, waiting to emerge again a few weeks later. At least being well versed in handling the conversation without it ending up in doors being slammed shut, Samuel knew what to say in order to best navigate the topic.
“Yes, I did actually”. He lied. “There were a couple of people: a few boys and some girls. I reckon I’ll have a few classes with them; so should get to know them a bit better.”
“Ohhh ‘some girls’ how exciting!” She said, genuinely pleased, as she plated up the food and carried it over to Samuel at the dining table. “What were they like? Were they pretty?”
“Oh – what?” He replied, blushing. Nothing made him more embarrassed or nervous than real-life pretty girls. His mind would always just blank and he wouldn’t know what to say or how to say it.
“Were they pretty?” She repeated. “It’s OK you can tell me. I just want to know what they are like, that’s all. You don’t have to be embarrassed!”
“I…guess so. Some were…I suppose.” His memory flashed back to the red head: the angelic looking rocker who’d been watching him. He chose to blank out why she’d been watching him or what she said to him in the corridor after their lecture and instead just focus on how pretty she looked in her skirt and leotard and how it felt when she was looking over at him.
“Anyone in particular..?” She asked, smiling before she bit into a wrap.
“Why do you want to know? He replied, feeling increasingly nervous from the butterflies in his stomach.
“I just want to know, Sammie. I just think it’s interesting to know what you think about the girls in your class. There’s nothing wrong with that, is there?”
“And I’ve already said, haven’t I?” He replied, trying not to sound angry or confrontational. She always asked him about girls and it annoyed him. He knew that her friends’ sons and daughters were bringing home partners years ago – something he had never done. He suspected that his mum thought about why he had never bought a girl home before quite often; perhaps thinking that he was asexual and was just attracted to his TV or pot plants or something.
Not wanting an argument to break out. He took a breath and calmly explained: ‘I think some are nice, yes. I didn’t really get the chance to speak to them, that’s all. I should get to know lots of people soon. And I will tell you all about it. I promise.
“OK. Thank you, Sammie.” She replied with a smile.
He was pleased that he had avoided an argument and that she genuinely did look happy at the prospect of him meeting (and then talking to her about) girls. To secure her happiness for the evening, and convince her that he really did want to meet people and wouldn’t be spend his days humping brick walls as she suspected, he added: “I really am looking forward to my time there, mum. I mean it. I think it’s going to be really good for me.”
“That’s wonderful, honey. I’m super proud of you.” She said as she leaned over the table to give him a kiss. He sat and watched as her tits nearly knocked over a drink (a near-miss she was oblivious to) as she moved in closer. Leaving a faint lipstick kiss on his face, she withdrew and wrinkled her nose, then asking: “Did they make you do sports today?”
“Sports? No. Why?” He replied, confused by her question.
“Hmm…bit awkward, babe. But I didn’t know if I could smell sweat or…something else on you?”
“Something else? What do you mean something…” He cut himself off mid-sentence. His face turned white and he squirmed in his seat. ‘Shit! She can smell my cum! Oh fuck. Does she know it’s cum or is she trying to work out what the smell is?’