A Little Night Music, Danny is looking for harmony with his mother

A Little Night Music, Danny is looking for harmony with his mother, Mozart made me rich. I have to give the credit to someone since none of the money I made came through my own efforts or talent. Of course Carla Kopecki had a lot to do with it too. She’s my friend Red’s mother.

Red and I went through school together until I went into the Julliard college program and he and his mother moved into the city. We had even more in common then because his father also died.

Meeting at his mom’s condo near Lincoln Center after school provided as much education as any formal lessons could. Mrs. Kopecki was amazing. She took us to plays and movies and museums all the time, but the best part was that when she told us about what we had been seeing, she made it sound so interesting.

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Carla Kopecki made her living being a financial planner, a good enough living to get her and Red from a small Staten Island rental, to a luxury condo in Manhattan, but her heart was in the arts. And that’s why I got rich.

Before I tell about that, let me say what was going on at my home. My mom was a typical struggling single parent, but she was true to her name, she did everything with grace. We had enough, but still did without a lot. We were fortunate that my father’s insurance paid off our small house on Staten Island or else we would have been in real trouble. Grace was a good mother and as I got older I began responding to the fact that she was also a good-looking mother.

She’d had me when she was young and so she was only in her mid thirties when I became of age. And I liked the way she looked. Maybe she was my type because she was my mother, but I loved her long legs, her soft curves, and her dark almond shaped eyes.

And incidents that would have been insignificant to most, made a big impression on me. So when I walked in and saw her asleep on the couch with her skirt hiked up to where I could see the tops of her stockings and a hint of her panties, it didn’t take long for the stiffening in my pants to become huge. It mesmerized me, and it made me uncomfortable. But I knew I wouldn’t look away until I had to. The five minutes it took before she moved lasted an hour to me. Anticipating getting caught, drops of sweat rolled down my neck. I knew I could make it seem as if I had just walked in, but I couldn’t get away from all the feelings.

My compromise to rubbing myself as I watched her was to place the book I held over my pants and press. I wanted to fuck her. I could say whatever I wanted about what was going on, the bottom line was that I wanted to fuck my mother. That’s not an easy pill to swallow, but I’d finally made it go down.

That certainly wasn’t the first time I’d had sexual thought about her. What most sons wouldn’t take any notice of had always got me going, like watching her cook in a slip, or seeing her putting on her makeup in a way that would keep her blouse clean. That meant that she stood there in her heels, skirt, and bra, oblivious to my goings and comings. I took in as much of the sight of her as I could. And anything she wore that showed her beautiful cleavage got me crazy.

And it wasn’t that I was a sex-starved kid. You know the guy in high school that you didn’t think was that good looking, but ended up going out with a lot of the better looking girls? That would be me. It didn’t hurt that I played bass and sang with the band that did the local gigs. I’d even had a couple of older women thrown into the mix. Maybe some of the attraction to mom had to do with the fact that the sex was better with the older women.

So I stood there as she slept, hard, wanting to fuck her, thinking, ‘what the hell is wrong with you? Aren’t there enough women out there?’ It was at that moment that mom turned and said, “Oh hi Danny, I didn’t hear you come in, what time is it?” She didn’t pull her skirt down and I was glad the book was in front of my tented pants.

“It’s about five mom,” I said. “I just got in this minute, sorry I woke you; I know you worked late last night.”

“That’s okay honey, I have to start dinner.” She got up and kissed me on the cheek and I made sure the book stayed between us. So I’m not telling you this because it was so unusual, but because that was the kind of stuff that was happening to me all the time.

Now I might have thought that with my attraction to my mother and older women, Mrs. Kopecki might have turned me on. She sure had the tits for it. She wasn’t a porn star, but she was nice looking and kept herself very well. Maybe because Red was my friend, there was no sexual attraction for me.

Red and I spent so much time together it was hard to keep secrets. If you ever had a ‘Best’ friend you know what I mean. We used to ride our bikes to Silver Lake, which was more like a pond, and sit at the edge of the water and talk. He was the first one I ever told about my feelings. I probably would never have said anything if he didn’t tell me about him and Mary first.

Mary’s his sister, who’s older by a year. He still loves her. Even though he never said those words then, and he wouldn’t say them now, it’s so painfully clear. It started with some kissing and what I inferred was some harmless playing ‘Doctor’ when they were young. But all he ever wanted to talk about was Mary, where she went, what she did, how she looked.

For Mary, the thing with Red was a short episode of fooling, kissing, and trying her newfound power of feminine attractiveness on for size. For Red it was too much more. When she quickly moved on to other boys and other things, Red was left behind, tied in an emotional knot. Not that he didn’t go out and get involved with other girls, but I only had to see Mary and Red in the same room to know that he might never get over her.

What I saw in Red was something of what I saw in me, and what it told me was that I wasn’t the only one in the world who could feel something for someone they weren’t supposed to. When I told Red that I had a thing for my mom, I wouldn’t say he wasn’t surprised, but it wasn’t that big a deal to him. He knew where I was coming from. So I could tell him what I saw and what I felt, and then the same incident could stimulate me, all over again.

The piano thing started when Mrs. Kopecki decided she wanted to learn to play. After school I would show her some things on my small electronic practice instrument. Before long she went out and bought a baby grand. I still remember the moment when I was looking out at the spectacular view of New York City from her window when she said, “Danny, do you have time to give me piano lessons twice a week? It’ll be worth a hundred dollars a week to you.”

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