Weekday mornings are always slightly chaotic. Since downsizing from their original family home, Elaine and Dylan’s morning routines have to be done in carefully choreographed stages. The first big hurdle is coordinating bathroom usage. It isn’t a problem if one of them gets up before the other, but that’s never a certainty. Dylan trusts his internal clock enough to get up somewhere around 6:00 AM. Provided Elaine gets up at 5:30, she typically has plenty of time to get showered and get her teeth brushed. All she has to do then is head back to her room in her bathrobe and get dressed. Breakfast and makeup can then be taken care of with relative ease, provided the two of them are able to navigate around each other in the kitchenette with minimal collisions.

On this, the morning of the 7th, Elaine gets up as the alarm sounds, the radio coming alive after a brief crackle. She has it set to one of the local vintage pop stations, which is currently playing “Rhythm of the Night” by DeBarge. She turns the volume dial down and pulls her nightie off, returning once again to her natural nude state. It doesn’t last; after folding the nightie into quarters and tucking it into a drawer, she takes her bathrobe down from its hook on her bedroom door and dons it, wrapping the belt tight around her waist, ensuring that everything is cinched well enough that nothing might fall out.

After the divorce and move were both finalized, Elaine sometimes considered walking around the house with her robe ever-so-slightly open. Her little fantasy was just starting to develop at that time, and she was still uncertain if she wanted to act on her desires. Eventually she thought better of it. What if he never even addresses it? What if he gets weirded out? What if this ruins the relationship they already have? Too many unknowns, too great of a risk. Elaine does, however, always leave the bathroom door unlocked… just in case.

Elaine moves down the hall past Dylan’s bedroom door to the bathroom, shutting the door behind her and getting the shower going. It takes about a minute for the water to heat up, and she disrobes once again. For the first time in a while, she catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror, in that minute before steam begins to form. It’s a cursory glance over her form; a basic examination of her curves and beauty spots. She thinks to herself hmm… not bad for 44. She doesn’t dwell on it, as a curtain of condensation begins to fall on the mirror. She steps into the shower and gets to work on getting clean.

One brief note about the bathroom door: like much of the house, it’s not in perfect condition. You wouldn’t be able to tell just by looking at it, but there’s a slight imperfection in the way that one of the hinges is screwed in. Not enough of an imperfection to cause it to swing open on its own, but enough so that the latch bolt of the doorknob isn’t well aligned with the hole it’s supposed to click into. Sometimes, seemingly at random, it doesn’t close all the way, and you have to sort of lean into it to get the latch to find purchase. Normally this isn’t a problem; as I said, the door still doesn’t swing open on its own, so as long as no one pushes directly on the door… or as long as there isn’t a draft… it’s not an issue.
At 5:41 AM, the wind outside shifts. An errant cold front causes a sudden gust to blow directly at the western face of the house, directly at the front door. Squeezing through a four millimeter gap under the door, the wind increases the interior air pressure of the house’s common room ever so slightly… and allows the bathroom door to drift open, just a crack.

The steam in the room escapes, and Elaine steps out of the shower at 5:44 to a relatively dry interior. She doesn’t think to check the door. Her eyes are drawn, once again, to the mirror, which is completely free of all condensation; crystal clear. She sees her form, glistening and glittering; she sees her hair falling down in slightly curly ropes around her face. Her face. She puts her hands to her lips as she looks at them in the mirror. She runs her fingers along her jawline and tilts her chin up, examining it closely. Wow, she thinks to herself. I look really good. This kind of confidence had been gone from her life for many years, but for reasons unknown to her, seeing herself like this triggered something deep within. This isn’t some kind of narcissistic self-attraction… at least she hopes it isn’t… this is pride. She’s taken pretty good care of herself these past few years, even when she didn’t feel it was worth the effort. Even when she didn’t have to.

5:46. Dylan wakes up. This is definitely a bit earlier than he’s used to, but he wakes up when he wakes up. He doesn’t bother checking the clock on his dresser; if the sun’s not up, then he has time for whatever he needs to get done.

“Shit.”

He notices the phone at his side, still showcasing an autoplay of pornography from the night before. The phone burns to the touch, the battery is almost completely depleted. He shuts off the screen and plugs it in. He’ll probably just have to take the charger with him to class today. Not ideal, but not the end of the world.

Dylan walks out into the hallway, and he feels the familiar haze of warm, wet air on his skin. This signals to Dylan that things are business as usual; as far as he can tell, his mom has taken her shower and probably gone back to her room to get dressed, since she has clearly opened the door after taking her shower, as indicated by the humidity of the corridor. Without giving the situation any more thought, without checking the time on the wall clock, he walks to the bathroom door. Just as he puts his hand on the doorknob to push it open, he looks through the three-inch crack. He can’t see his mother directly, but from here he has a perfect view of the mirror.

Elaine has continued her self-examination, and has moved on to her breasts. She runs her fingers along the edges of her areolas, thinking about the last time a man (or anyone) has touched them. She takes time to linger on each small raised bump that lines the perimeter of her nipples. Electricity courses through her shoulders and arms, goosebumps form, the faint hairs on her arms stand on end. Her arousal goes hand-in-hand with her fantasy, as she thinks about Dylan once again, not yet realizing that he’s just a few feet away from her, watching her in the mirror in disbelief. He can’t move, he can’t breathe, and in all honesty he can’t really think either. He had never thought about his mom in sexual terms before, but here now is the unavoidable truth that she’s as much of a woman with needs as he is a man with the same needs. He isn’t precisely aroused; the shock he’s experiencing wouldn’t allow for even processing that emotion.

She looks up at her face in the mirror… and then at the dark gap in the door, where the light from the vanity lamps shine onto two wide eyes. She’s looking directly at him. They’ve become fully aware of each other.

Dylan instantly goes into flight mode. He turns around and moves out of sight, his heart beating faster than it ever has before. His lack of thought in those thirty-or-so seconds of voyeurism is pierced by a million thoughts flowing through him all at once. Shit. I should’ve said sorry, or something. I should’ve said something! She looked right at me, she knows I was looking at her and I just ran off. What the fuck am I going to do. Do I go back and apologize? How do I bring this up? Shit! He runs back to his room and silently closes the door, as quietly as humanly possible. He hopes that it might be possible she didn’t see him. It’s unlikely, but that’s the best he can hope for.

All of the air in Elaine’s lungs has left her. She stands there, staring into the corridor even after Dylan has run off. There’s no telling how long he was standing there for. It could have been a few seconds… or he could have been there the whole time. Regardless, he saw everything. Everything that she has secretly wanted him to see for so long. Everything that she’s been too ashamed to reveal. Her mind slowly begins to create scenarios; ways of moving. After all, if Dylan’s spying on her… that means he must be interested, right? He must be interested in her.

Wait, she thinks. This could’ve been a fluke. Maybe this is all a misunderstanding, and he wasn’t spying at all. This is too risky…

But another voice rises inside of her, from deep within, moving up from the base of her spine and into her brain. A voice of arousal that drowns out all reason. She shuts the door, leans into it a bit to latch it shut, and leans her back against it. She brings her legs apart and reaches down to the space between them, rubbing the exterior of her pussy. Her lips part almost immediately, being wetter than she was even expecting. She imagines Dylan, kneeling on the bathroom floor in front of her, hands on her thighs, mouth on her dripping cunt. Her breathing is ragged and loud from her raised heartbeat. Her fantasy son plunges his tongue deep into her as she inserts two of her fingers several inches deep, mimicking the sensation she wishes she could feel.

Dylan gets dressed quickly, grabs his board and his backpack, and runs out the door. The sun still has an hour to come up, but he needs to get out. The situation is more awkward than he can bear, and he doesn’t want to have the conversation about what happened… not yet, at least.