”“Still is,” I said, standing up to give her the tour. She popped straight into the room, which I used for storage, although it still contained ... double bed, which she sat on.“Still squeaks,” she said.“The other one’s much cooler,” I said.“That bed squeaks too,” she observed. “I used to hear Mom and Dad sometimes. Very embarrassing.”We went through and she sat on the bed to demonstrate, bouncing up and down.“Oh. It doesn’t anymore.”“I fixed it,” I said. “Easy enough. Your beds upstairs still do. Which was again the reason for finding some sort of job in the meantime, possibly getting my license, and perhaps even working with mom at some point.An idea I didn't exactly disapprove of. The more time I could spend with her, and around her, the happier I was. But it was almost as equally frustrating too. Fantasies, images, wicked erotic thoughts about my own mother, dominated almost every waking moment of my day.It was a catch 22.And then the most amazing thing happened that basically. More

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