Chapter 3

I woke up pretty early considering how late I got to bed the night before. Already my head was spinning with the memories of yesterday and the prospects yet to come. To be honest with you, I thought that maybe all of yesterday might have just been a dream.

I smelled coffee. I checked the clock; 7:20. I was sure my Dad had showered and eaten breakfast by 7:00. With little doubt, he’d already grabbed his clubs and was on his way to the golf course to hit little balls with funny little sticks.

I couldn’t help but wonder what the day might bring. Maybe HOPE would be a better word. I assumed my Mom was awake and was pretty curious to see what her reaction might be to the night before.

I couldn’t see why we just couldn’t enjoy our new-found ... relationship. I mean, she’d made her point. She wanted me to “know” that she was totally against such immoral and deviant activities ... Fine. She wanted me to “know” that she was not a willing participant; she was being “forced” to participate in this disgusting incestuous liaison ... Fine. If pushing the blame off on me helped her do that―Then fine. I could live with that. No problem. I just wanted to do more stuff with my mom. It seemed pretty simple to me. I’m sure that was my dick thinking for me but sometimes my dick had quite a head on its shoulder.

I realize that I was only 17, but I’d never experienced anything like the rush; the bold-face, undeniable shiver of excitement that shot through me when my mother gave in to the lust. There are no words. You could have dipped my balls in gasoline and lit them on fire for all I cared ... as long as she was the one rubbing the Neosporin on them when all was said and done.

She had put up a good front and I was hoping we could get past all the bullshit now and just enjoy the moment ... or moments; lots and lots of moments. Of course, the BOX being Giant Stadium and the MOMENTS being the lint I pick out of my belly-button.

I threw a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt on and headed down stairs to put a toe in the water so-to-speak. I truly hoped she was in a good mood.

I was both shocked and delighted as I walked into the kitchen. Mom was sitting at the table with a cup of coffee and the morning paper. She looked like she was ready to have her picture taken for the cover of Cosmo ... or make a porn movie.

My first thought was, “Fuckin’ ‘A’, she’s as happy about this whole thing as I am and Dad’s out trying to play golf.

She looked like she’d gotten up this morning ready to play the part; ready to play the hot mom that gives in to her desires―The stunning MILF waiting for the unsuspecting pizza guy― There was gunna be no bullshit this time and I can’t tell you how happy I was. My dick squirmed his approval.

Her hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail, tied with a long, thin, red ribbon. She had her glasses on but I could see that her eye make-up was much darker then last night; much darker than it usually is. Her lashes were long and thick with mascara. Her full lips were the color of the ribbon that held her hair back. She had a like blue house dress on that, for some reason, kinda reminded me of Leave It to Beaver’s mom except as I remember, Beaver’s mom never showed much tit on that show. Mom had unbuttoned the first two buttons at the top of her dress, allowing a beautiful view of her cleavage and the fleshy roundness of her large tits; enough so that it was clear she had no bra on. If that wasn’t enough, I could see the outline of her nipples as they clearly pushed on the relatively thin material of the dress. {Something else I believe June Cleaver never showed.}

Her dress was pretty short, five or six inches above her knee, showing a great deal of leg. Her legs were long and smooth. My eyes followed them all the way down under the table to her feet. She was bare footed and her toenails were painted the same color as her beautiful lips. It was clear she’d spent some time this morning getting ready ... But ready for what?

I was trying desperately not to get hard. I wanted to be a little cooler than that. I wanted to at least appear like I had some self-control. Although I guess my performance yesterday on the couch might have distorted that conception somewhat.

“Morning,” I said lightly as I made my way to the cupboard for a glass.

She looked up from her paper, scrutinizing me silently for a few long seconds,

“Morning.” She replied rather coldly and returned to her paper.

I felt the temperature drop 10°. Perhaps I’d misjudged the weather a bit. It felt like there was a good chance of squalls up ahead. I suppose her memories of yesterday were not quite as fond as mine.

I poured a glass of juice and sat down cautiously at the table across for her. I felt like I was sitting my bare ass down on a hand grenade wondering how I was gunna clean up this mess if it went off. For a second I wondered if that was the kinda mess that could even BE cleaned up.

“Going somewhere this morning?” I asked her as peaceably as possible.

“No.”

“Ummm...” She didn’t appear to be in a talkative mood.

“Why?” She added without looking up from her paper.

“I don’t know, you just look like you’re ready to go somewhere.”

She looked up from her paper, tilted her head down slightly, and looked at me over the frames of her glasses.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” She asked.

“Wow!” I thought.

“Nothing.” I told her defensively. “It’s just ... the way you look.”

“The way I ... LOOK?”

“Well, yeah ... I mean...”

She let the paper drop on the table and focused her full attention on me. I shut up, swallowed hard and shifted my weight around on that hand grenade.

“And how, exactly, do I... ‘LOOK’?”

I guessed we weren’t finished with the bullshit after all. I somehow felt that maybe she should be reading a copy of, I’m OK You’re OK or Sybil or maybe something on the terrors of PMS, instead of the morning paper. Maybe a couple of pamphlets on anger management would be nice.

{On a side-bar: Mom isn’t like this with just me, she gives Dad his appropriate share of bitching when needed. Evidently, I was getting the lion’s share. She wasn’t always like this. I’m not sure what happened to spawn this version of my mom but I remember a time when she was relatively pleasant and caring most of the time. I think I was in the fifth or sixth grade... }

“Well, you look really...” She stared me down “ ... Really great like that. I just figured you were going out, that’s all.” I told her but I was pretty sure she wasn’t planning on going out like that ... I mean unless there was a Pornography convention going on in town that I didn’t know about. Maybe the advocates for legalizing prostitution were having a rally I was unaware of.

“I look ‘great’ like THAT?” She repeated. “What do you mean― ‘LIKE THAT’? Like WHAT Robert?”

I wasn’t sure what to say. Where was all this hostility coming from? Jesus, I thought. I get caught ONE TIME jerking off on the living-room couch and shit hits the fan. You would have thought I’d got caught jumping up and down on her bed with dog shit on my shoes. For fuck sake! I didn’t know what her problem was and it was starting to get tiresome. She was quickly snatching away my good morning.

“Is there something wrong with the way I look?” She questioned me.

What was I gunna say to that? Even if there was something wrong with the way she looked {And there wasn’t}I’d have to be brain dead {Or maybe Larry The Cable Guy}to even mention it.

“No, no Mom, not at all. I just mean you look really pretty, beautiful as a matter-of-fact, you know ... Hot? You’d really turn heads walking down the street.”

“Walking down the street?”

“Yeah.”

“Like a whore? You think I look like a whore!?!” She asked angrily. “Is that what you’re trying to say Robert? Is THAT what you think of me now? You think your mother is a WHORE?” She stared at me waiting for an answer.

I felt like the fat little kid that just got caught eating everybody’s lunch.

“No! No! Of course not ... No...” I was floundering; already looking for the closest exit. “ ... I mean you look like a ... a ... a movie star or something.” I tried to explain as best I could as I wondered how the fuck the conversation had gone from Good-morning to “I think you’re a whore.”

“Oh...” She paused.

I took a breath while she rubbed her pretty lips together.

“Like the star of one of those movies you like to watch in my living room, is that what kind of movie star you mean?” She snipped and stared at me with her pretty blue eyes.

If I’d seen this mood-swing coming ... I could have ducked.

The truth was that Mom looked as hot as any centerfold I’d ever seen. My mind wandered for a moment. I pictured my Mom in the pages of Playboy and under the first picture―

Kat― A forty three year old Para-Legal from New Jersey.

Her turn offs are working, cleaning the house and the sound of laughter.

Her turn ons are Sports cars, Bitching, Incest porn and fucking young boys...

“Robert?”

“Uh-What?”

“Well, is that what you think of me now?” She asked, taking a sip of her coffee; the white cup a profound contrast to her red lips. I could see her lip prints on her cup as she set it down. I couldn’t get the picture of those lips around my cock out of my head. I watched her lick her lips. Yes, she did look like a whore; a beautiful, sexy, high dollar whore. She was Hot.

“No, no! I mean you look ... Great― I stupidly tried to lighten the mood― Like you might be going to some ‘Hot Moms Convention’ or a Hot Librarian contest or somethin’!”

“Robert...” She stared. “ ... Is that supposed to be amusing? After what you made me do last night, now you want to make jokes?”

“What I MADE her do.” I thought.

“I just think you look hot Mom, that’s all.” I told her honestly, with equal measures surrender and frustration. “I think you’re really pretty, that’s all, nothing between the lines, no hidden meanings.”

“Is that so?” She asked staring over her glasses.

I shrugged my shoulders and shook my head, “Yeah, that’s so ... sorry.”

She had really taken the wind out of my sails.

“Dad leave?” I asked knowing full well that he had.

“He has.” She told me. “Why, something you wanted to talk to him about?” Her tone was cold and snotty but her eyes were filled with concern.

She kinda pissed me off. She had obviously made an effort to look good this morning. Not GOOD ... but SEXY. And she did! She looked great! I couldn’t figure her out. I felt like she was just “Sticking it to me”. Was she actually going to stick with this “You made me do it” bullshit? Did she really think I was that stupid? I’m 17 not 5. It was kinda insulting.

I made a mental note to make it a point to find out what had turned my mom into such a bitter person.

“Yeah.” I told her with a little attitude of my own, ready to play her little game.

“Listen Robert...” Her tone had changed somewhat. She sipped her coffee again; she looked deep in thought, like maybe she was looking for just the right angle; the right approach.

“I know what’s going on here; what’s going on in that sick little mind of yours.” She tells me.

“You sure didn’t think it was too sick last night when you were sprawled all over the hood of Dad’s MG.” I thought to myself.

“And what’s that Mom?”

She took a long leisurely sip of her coffee then set the cup down on the table in front of her. Thick on the dramatics. She took off her glasses and laid them on the table next to it. She took a long look at the red lipstick on her cup, ran her delicate finger over it and them rubbed her finger and thumb together. She appeared to be lining up her ducks ... Or just stalling for theatrical effect. She took her pinky and dabbed at the corners of her mouth then examined it. I assume looking for any traces of lipstick. She rubbed her lips together slowly to smooth them. The whole thing was very erotic.

I felt myself getting extremely warm. In spite of the fact that everything was going rather poorly in my option, my dick seemed to thing otherwise. It was kinda funny: Where I was barely treading water looking for someplace to put my feet ... My dick was ready to jump head first, as-it-were, into the mucky water.

“Robert, I saw the kinds of movies you like to watch.” She shot me a quick look. I guess to catch my reaction. When I didn’t give her one, she went on.

“... ‘Mothers’ doing things to their ‘Sons’...” She glanced over again then back down to her coffee cup; lightly dragging her finger through the lipstick stain again. “... ‘Sons ... fucking their Mothers.” She stated as if she were disgusted; throwing a little more emphasis on the word FUCKING. Still I gave her no reaction.

“ ... Incest Robert...” She whispered as she looked up at me as if to see if I understood the meaning of the word.

I like Babysitter movies too but didn’t think it was such a good idea to mention it at the moment.

“ ... And I know that you were looking at ME yesterday when your little dick got hard again, NOT the movie.” She tells me with this judgmental look on her face and a hint of pride in her eyes.

What? Did she forget I was there too?

She was right about me though; I was looking at her.

And what’s with the “Little dick?” bullshit? I thought that was kinda harsh. I mean, maybe I couldn’t knock the bottom out of that thing last night but I thought I at least gave the sides a good talking to.

“So now that you’ve got me under a barrow, so-to-speak...”

“Under a barrow?” I protested from across the table unable to take anymore.

“That’s right Robert. Now ... because of something that ... something that you wouldn’t understand ... a brief lapse in judgment that you, yourself facilitated...”

“ME!”

“That’s right! Because of that movie, the movie that YOU brought into MY house ... I’m now held hostage in my own home...”

Jesus, was this shit getting’ deep, or what?

“I know full well what incest could do to this family ... I had no choice last night but to submit to your dirty blackmail. Now I have to be subjected to your depraved, immoral behavior in order to ... to ... keep this family from imploding.”

I was amazed. Talk about your distorted view. I actually found myself concerned about her mental health and quietly hoped that whatever it was she had ... skipped a generation.

“Really ... Imploding? That’s the way you see it huh?”

“Certainly ... So get on with it.”

“With what?” I asked, a bit disgusted myself now.

“With whatever filthy things you’re planning to blackmail me into doing this morning to keep your father from knowing about all this?”

I’d had just about enough. She was obviously going to push this whole thing off on me; like I was a sick fuck that held a gun to her head when she grabbed my dick on the couch. I wanted to ask her, if I was blackmailing her into doing all these depraved, immoral things, then why had she fixed herself up like a whore this morning? Had I made her do that too? But I could feel the pin to that grenade rubbing up against my asshole so I held my tongue.

She looked into my eyes like she was trying to read my thoughts; see if I was falling for this bullshit I guess. I didn’t waver. I stared right back at her and sipped my juice.

It was hard not to stare at her. In-spite of all the bullshit, she was so alluring. And even though she was playing the victim and trying to look all pissed off, she still looked super-hot.

We held each other’s gaze until she finally looked down at her coffee. I considered that a small victory and that gave me an idea.

“I’m not gunna make you do anything.” I answered in an even, smooth tone.

For just a second, she looked surprised then her brow furrowed and her surprise turned to suspicion. She certainly wasn’t expecting that.

“Mom...” I drank the last of my juice, gave her one last glare as I stood,

“I got some stuff to do.” I told her, making no attempt to hide the fact that I was annoyed and tired of the bullshit.

I walked quietly back upstairs to my room and waited to see what her next move would be. I thought I was holding a pretty good hand here but it was hard to know what cards Mom had up her sleeve.

I laid there on my bed and thought about how my Mom was acting. I wondered how she “ ... Knew full well what incest would do to this family.” I wondered if maybe that had something to do with her bitterness.

I thought about what had happened the day before and about how she was trying to push all the blame off on me. Why did there have to be any BLAME to divvy out?

I recalled how Mom had crawled up on Dad’s car and propped her ass up for me. I remembered how she’d pushed back into me and the intense orgasm she’d had. I could feel my dick getting hard.

It was blatantly obvious to me that Mom wanted to do those things and I think she wanted to keep doing them too. I believe she was just trying to justify these unnatural desires by telling herself, as well as me, that it wasn’t right and it wasn’t her fault. I was MAKING her do these things. And I believed she wanted me to MAKE her do more.

I lay there rubbing the bulge in my pants consoling my poor hard-on; trying to explain to it that we’d have to wait. We didn’t have to wait very long before I heard Mom’s light tap on my open bedroom door. I swung my feet over the edge of my bed and sat up.

“Yeah?”

“Am I interrupting?” She asked blatantly from the doorway as her eyes shot down to the bulge in my pants.

“Not really.” I told her as I stood up and deliberately adjusted my boner before walking over to the chair in front of my computer; the only chair in my room. I sat down.

I quickly noticed that another button on Mom’s dress was undone. I could see more of the fleshy ball of each breast now.

Mom walked in. She looked so good. She was a 9½ for sure and would have easily been a perfect ‘10’ ... A ten point something maybe, had she only smiled.

“Sit down.” I suggested. “What’s up?”

She glanced at the front of my pants again.

She fleetingly looked over at my bed then shot me a dirty look after realizing there was nowhere else to sit.

I smiled, hoping the gesture would show her that I knew what was going on. She walked over to the bed slowly, gracefully. She was so attractive and extremely desirable; a sexy but manipulating woman with a side order of schizophrenia.

The open “V” of her dress moved freely as she walked; the material barely hiding her nipples; allowing me the fleeting glimpse of each dark areola as she walked. Without a doubt she’d seen me looking. I’m sure she knew I would be. I made no attempt to hide it. She sat down, her feet together and her knees touching one another. Her hands were properly placed in her lap. Aside from the tops of her well formed tits showing ... she was the LADY.

“Listen Bobby...” {I noticed I was ‘Bobby’ again}” ... I need to know what you’re planning on telling your father and what I need to do to prevent it.”

{Boy, she wasn’t too obvious}

“You don’t have to do anything.” I told her trying hard not to smile.

“Bobby?”

“What?”

“Bobby, I know better than that.”

“Really?”

“After what happened yesterday afternoon...”

I could see her pretty face flush with color. It was kinda surprising.

“ ... After the things you made me do in the garage...”

{She was going to stick with that “You made me” bullshit.}

“ ... Well, let me just say I know how young boys are.” She tells me. I’m sure she was unaware of the tiny twinkle in her eyes as she said it. It made me think she might be recalling some long ago memory; or perhaps even a recollection from yesterday.

“And how are we?” I asked somewhat sarcastically.

“Well ... At your age, all you guys want to do is...” She looked for the words; first on the floor, then the ceiling and then over towards the window,

“ ... Cum!” she decided on.

My eyebrows went up when she said the word and I felt my dick move up to the gate.

“ ... And it’s a known fact, not unusual as a matter-of-fact, for a young boy to have―Well―certain feelings for his mother at one time or another; certain ‘un-pure’ feelings...” She called them. “Freud called it...”

I cut her off, “Un-pure feelings?” I asked with a smirk.

“Yes Robert. The kind of feelings I’m sure you have when you’re masturbating.” She says sharply, criticizing as if she’s uncovered some deep dark secret and she’s letting me know that she knows.

“Ohhhhhhh...” I made like I’d finally got it. “Riiiiiiiiiight.”

She sat on my bed with a smug look on her face like she was back in charge.

“Well then...” I gave her a long look. Breathtaking, I thought.