I would like to tell a strange story about my ... "relationship" with my mother. For some, this story will seem wild or even taboo, but, as the classic said, “If only both would like it. If there is this harmony, then you and only you are right, and all those who condemn you are perverts. " And running ahead I will say that nothing super-forbidden is happening in our country, although, perhaps, everyone has their own "super-forbidden".

My name is Artem, I am 20 years old and I live with my mother. Her name is Alina, she is 43 years old, but regular fitness classes and a complete rejection of alcohol and cigarettes allow her to look 30. Although, maybe I flatter her a little In general, this is a beautiful young woman with blond hair, a pretty face and slender a figure that a student would envy. We live only together, with my father, my mother has been divorced for 5 years and, in principle, this is all you need to know about him, the story is not about him. And the story, I repeat, is about my mother and me. I'll go over to her.

Only after tearing my eyes, I trudged to the kitchen to make myself some coffee. It was already noon, the usual time at which I wake up in the summer on vacation. Mom was still at work, so you could walk around the house even without panties, which I always did. In such unbearable July heat, being at home in clothes is simply unbearable, even a bar of chocolate melted before our eyes, as if in an oven. On the kitchen table, a sticker was waiting for me with a note: "Breakfast in the refrigerator ". And how she manages to wake up around six in the morning, take a shower, put on makeup, make me breakfast and still have time for work ... I put the kettle on the stove and disappeared into my thoughts.

The front door banged hard. So loudly and unexpectedly that the dishes in the kitchen rattled lightly and my legs gave way a little.

- I'm at home. Artyom, hello, it's my mom. She usually continue reading...