The Talk

Mrs. Benson was growing exceedingly fond of Sam. The realization was both unexpected and somewhat scary. She knew that Freddie and Sam were infatuated with the each other, and she always knew that Sam was irresponsible and audacious and that Freddie was slightly less bold and reckless. That irregular mixture can lead to certain issues.

As she sat on her plastic covered sofa with her yellow yarn and needles in her scented hand, she realized that it was time to have the Talk with Freddie.

Yes, the Talk.

She sighed and aimlessly gazed at the clock on her peach-colored walls. How she loved those peach-colored, antibacterial walls. She knew Freddie was upstairs, on his computer, most likely chatting with Sam. She abruptly put away the yarn she was clutching and inhaled deeply. This was it…she was going to talk to Freddie about se…about…se…

She was worrying now, a little apprehensive and a little nauseous. She scarcely ever used the word when talking to her Freddie-Bear.

"Okay, Benson," She consoled herself. "How hard could this possibly be? You are about to have a very mature conversation with your seventeen year old son." The fact did not calm her down but made matters worse. "Freddie is seventeen…what am I going to say to him that he doesn't already know?" Ms. Benson knew Freddie knew what se…that word meant but she felt like she needed to put in her advice.

"Benson," she whispered to herself. "You could do this. Freddie is seventeen; he probably didn't even go through puberty yet." She knew that thought was erroneous. With Freddie's toned body, baby face, and deep voice? He definitely hit puberty. "What are you doing Benson? You are a grown woman! You are afraid of speaking to a little boy about se…se…sex?"

She said the word and that was the first step.

"FREDDIE!" she yelled. She could hear movement from upstairs. "Freddie-Bear could you come down here? I need to talk to you!" She could hear faint footsteps in the distance and before she knew it Freddie was standing in front of her, looking exceedingly anxious.

"Mom, if this is about that new pair of antibacterial tighty-whities you got me," He commenced looking extremely nervous. "I could explain how they got into the toilet…you see…"

"Freddie," Mrs. Benson raised her hand to silence him. "Calm down! The state of your briefs does not interest me right now. I wanted to have a serious conversation with you."

Freddie raised his eyebrows, his face a mixture of confusion and suspicion. "What about?"

"Sit down Freddie."

Freddie obeyed.

Mrs. Benson crossed her pale legs, contemplating on what she was going to say next. "You and Sam are getting pretty serious, right?"

Freddie nodded slowly. "Yeah…and?"

"Well Freddie," She said, leaning over and taking his clammy hand. "Since you are getting older and never had a father to talk to you about these things, I felt that I should step in."

Freddie was growing nervous. "W-What do you mean?" He could feel her squeeze his sweaty hand underneath her palm. "W-what things?"

"Sex, Freddie, sex"

Freddie laughed inwardly, he probably heard her wrong. She didn't say what he thought she said. "I'm sorry, what was that?" It must have been he heard her incorrectly.

"Sex," Mrs. Benson said, ashamed at her son's serious ignorance at the moment. "You know, sex? Let me explain, when a guy inserts his peni—"

"MOM!" Freddie exclaimed, pulling back his hand. "I know what it means…but why?" Mrs. Benson looked peaceful and composed while Freddie was utterly distressed. He scowled at his mother who returned a small smile as if unfazed by Freddie's look of panic.

"Why?" Mrs. Benson "Well, you see. Sometimes guys have sexual urges…"

"MOM!" Freddie groaned, sinking his head into his damp palms. "Not that! Why are you having this conversation with me? I am seventeen…and y-you're what? 84?"

"48." She confirmed. "Freddie, boys like you don't know the true facts and you need to. I feel like I could help you understand better."

"Understand what exactly?" Freddie asked, failing to grasp the concept. It was extremely hard to comprehend his mother sometimes, especially during times like these.

"SEX!" Mrs. Benson yelled, frustration evident in her voice. "You know? The bump and grind? The Bam, Bam thank you ma'am? The hot and sticky?"

Freddie was officially traumatized. He could scarcely believe what was slipping out of his mother's scarlet lips. "What are you saying? Why am I here?"

Mrs. Benson stared thoughtfully into Freddie's pale face. "Freddie let me tell you a story of when I was younger, about your age." Freddie watched her carefully, waiting for the worst. "Freddie I was a little more reckless than you are when I was your age. They called me Booty Benson, on account of my big butt." She giggled as memories ran ubiquitously in her head. Freddie, however, was entirely miserable. 'Of course, I don't have a big butt today but anyways…boys were all over me.

"I could not escape the boys. They loved me; they wanted a piece of Booty Benson." Freddie sat immobilized on the plastic covered sofas, he was truly horrified. "I wouldn't give it to them but they were relentless. They would call my house and stalk me after school. I couldn't escape the slave..I mean boys… until one day…"

'One day?" Freddie asked, despite himself. "Mom, please don't tell me you did it" His voiced dropped into a whisper as he said the last word.

"Well, of course, I did!" Mrs. Benson cried out. "I was getting tired of them following me, so I decided to give them what they wanted. And let me tell you, it was great! He hit all the right spots."

"MOM!" Freddie groaned. "Please?!" This was not happening.

I remember moaning and screaming…"She ignored him completely. "I was having a great time."

"Mommy!" Freddie whined, his voice higher in pitch. "Please!"

"We made love all night," Mrs. Benson continued, oblivious to the fact that Freddie was miserable. "It was magnificent …but that's not the point. The point is that after I spent a night full of having…fun….I felt extremely shameful of my behavior afterwards. I barely knew that man but my hormones had the best of me. I don't want you to feel the same shame that I felt."

Realization hit Freddie so hard; it almost knocked all the oxygen out of his chest. "Y-you think that I want to have sex…with Sam?"

"Yes."

"You are crazy."

Mrs. Benson did not look intimidated. "You're telling me that you never had those thoughts about Sam at all? Not one bit?" Freddie could feel a blush creep on his face, betraying him. "You are a teenage boy with hormones and you never thought about sleeping with Samantha?"

"Sam." Freddie hastily corrected.

"Answer the question, Freddie."

"Yes!" Freddie yelled. "Yes I did! Are you happy now? I did think about it but it's not like I'm going to act on it. Even if I wanted to, Sam wants to wait until marriage."

"What?" She asked, with incredulity. "Sam wants to wait until marriage?"

"Yeah…"Freddie said indignantly. "She's may be rude but she does have her moments. She thinks it would be special if we 'waited'." Freddie scoffed. Mrs. Benson chuckled at her son's sulkiness.

"She's right…"

"Yeah," Freddie agreed unwillingly. "It doesn't matter to me really because I think that it would be special every time but what does Freddie know, right?"

"You know a lot, Freddie" She leaned over to kiss her son on the forehead. "I would know"

"What do you mean?" Freddie asked in a small voice, fearing the most terrible. "What, did I do something?" Mrs. Benson was staring at her palms. "Mother! Tell me!"

It was Mrs. Benson's turn to blush profusely. "Well…one night I woke up because I heard strange noises coming from your room. Being the protective mother that I am, I decided to walk in your room to see the problem…" she stopped.

"Mom?" Freddie asked attentively. "Continue."

"Oh, Freddie…I can't!"

"Mother, you already brought it up! Now explain!"

"Well, I walked in…and…and…well…you were moaning, rather loudly." Mrs. Benson began, trying not to look Freddie directly in the eyes. "You were sleeping, of course, and there was a strange aroma coming from your sheets and I went to see what it was…" Freddie wanted to cover his ears, he knew what was next. "Your boxers were moist and your sheets were damp as well. Oh, Freddie! I walked in on you having a wet dream!"

"YOU WHAT?" Freddie bellowed. "I can't believe this…I am going to die of embarrassment."

"Oh honestly, Freddie," She said, looking rather red but composed altogether. "I don't see what the big deal is." Freddie looked at her skeptically. "It's nature's way of saying 'Hey, I getting old and horny and need to release my stress.' And no one else knows that I saw my son…you know…"

"I am officially, irrevocably traumatized."

"Oh Freddie, relax," Mrs. Benson said rubbing the small of Freddie's hand. "I don't know about you but I'm rather happy."

"Really?" Freddie asked with a mixture of amusement, exasperation, and sarcasm. "Why?"

"Because now my son knows to save himself for marriage and if something happens to always use protection, right?"

"I guess?" It was a question.

"Right?" Mrs. Benson reiterated, firmer.

"Yes!"

"If you don't use protection you can get the girl pregnant or catch a Stinky. Tingly. Dangerous.

"What?"

"A disease, Freddie-bear."

"Sam is healthy, mom. She may have a weird diet but she is as clean as a whistle." Freddie explained.

"I wasn't talking about just Sam. I was talking about any girl you may meet in life. Be careful Freddie, it's a tough world out there." Mrs. Benson grabbed Freddie and embraced him for a few moments. It was not as awkward as Freddie thought it would be.

"I love you, mom."

"And I love you." Mrs. Benson said releasing him. "Oh and Freddie, one more thing?"

"What?" Freddie asked inquisitively.

"This means you're a virgin, right?"

"MOM!"

The end.