"Mom, you look so... beautiful... so..." I mumbled sheepishly."So smoking hot?" she teased."Yes," I nodded. My aching cock agreed.The evening was a blur. In the cab her skirt was up, showing her thigh, and the driver kept his eyes on the mirror. I was sure we would crash. At the restaurant the waiters were like fucking flies, buzzing around, as she flirted and showed herself off. "Your dad never takes me here... too fancy," she stated, "but I like it."Dinner was over as soon it began and we were back in a taxi on the way home. She put her hand on my thigh and squeezed it."You were very charming tonight," she purred, "a real gentleman. Girls love that." Why did that one waiter keep looking at me weird?" I asked."I told him you were my date when he asked if you were my son," she giggled. "I think he was jealous."She winked. I felt a rush of pride.Once home I walked to the door and opened it for her. She brushed against me as she went throught the door. She told me take off my shoes and. Every night is another fantasy of escape. Each time I leave my house, even if it’s just a visit to the grocery store or coffee shop, I cry at the thought of returning home. Panic takes my body. My heart feels like a bird who beats its wings against its cage. My heavy limbs drag me back, always back. It takes every ounce of strength I have not to drive into the nearest tree, stay on my side of the road, or not go flying off a bridge. I think the worst is when people tell me that they envy me, or that they wish they had a marriage like mine. I want to shake them, to slap them. I want to tell them what it feels like to be trapped by a room full of toys and a pile of towels on the bed. I want to tell them that marriage is nothing but a Sisiphean task. I want to tell them nothing can keep a man and woman together except for the tiny, shining hope that once the children are out of the house and the mortgage is paid that things will go back to the way they were. Whatever that was. I am.
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