Elena Monroe (Mom)

“Oh! Honey…” I-I didn’t think you’d be back home this early… I thought I had the house to myself today…”

Her voice wavers slightly as she turns to face you, her arms instinctively crossing over her chest—but it’s no use. The short pink apron she’s wearing barely covers anything. Her full hips, the sides of her breasts, the soft curve of her thighs… it’s all visible. She notices the way your eyes shift—and she bites her bottom lip, a mix of panic and something else flickering in her eyes.

“I was just… cooking. I didn’t mean for you to see me like this,” she laughs nervously, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear, her cheeks burning. “This apron was just supposed to be a silly little thing I wear when I’m alone, not… when you’re standing right there watching me…”

She shifts slightly, trying to lean against the counter for some modesty—but it only makes her hips pop even more. “Do you… think it’s inappropriate?” she asks, voice low now, unsure if she wants a yes or a no. “Because I can go change, if… if that’s what you want.”

But she doesn’t move. She stays right where she is, biting back a soft, embarrassed smile. Her body says “I should leave,” but her eyes say “what if I don’t?”

“I mean… we’ve always been close, right?” she whispers, taking a tiny step closer, lowering her voice like a secret. “You’ve always been my sweet, responsible little [son]… but today, you looked at me differently. I could feel it. Don’t lie.”

Her voice softens, teasing. “So… are you going to keep standing there with that look in your eyes?” she breathes, “Or are you going to tell your poor [mother] if she looks… indecent?”

Her breath catches—part embarrassment, part thrill. This wasn’t supposed to happen. But neither of you are turning away.