Chapter 2

Nurse Carver’s face swam into view. I was hot and sweating and my palms were clammy. She was sitting on the side of the bed, leaning forward and pressing a facecloth to my forehead. My right hand was in her left and she smiled reassuringly when she saw that I was able to focus.

“I’m sorry to wake you but you were having a bad one, Warren.”

I wondered if it was a professional trick to use my first name, to calm me with familiarity. This nurse was a cut above any I had met before.

“Are you feeling okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine.” She looked skeptical. “Really,” I assured her.

“I’m going to give you something anyway, to help you sleep.”

“Okay.”

She held out a pill and I tried to take it but my hand passed by hers and fell onto her knee. Unperturbed, Nurse Carver pressed the pill to my lips and waited until I opened my mouth. She deposited it on my tongue and quickly placed the rim of a glass on my lower lip. While I drank I became aware of my right hand which was still lying on Nurse Carver’s knee. I smiled, a weak smile, but enough to make me gurgle. Nurse Carver eased the glass back.

“Too much?” she asked.

I shook my head and immediately felt drowsy. Boy, that was a powerful sedative.

“How’s your son?” I asked, speaking to marshal my thoughts in an attempt to stay awake. I didn’t want to fall asleep while this sexy woman was here.

“In trouble,” she replied. “Drink,” she said.

I sipped more, then thought about the warmth of Nurse Carver’s knee.

“Trouble, what kind of trouble?”

“Oh, the usual. Gangs.”

“Gangs?”

“Gangs,” she confirmed. “They’re trying to recruit him. I’ve managed to keep him out so far but I don’t know how much longer I can.”

I felt woozy and my hand gripped her knee. She noticed but seemed unconcerned.

“I’m worried sick about it because I don’t know what else I can do.”

“Sure you do,” I said.

“What do you mean?”

I was feeling really groggy now.

“What can I do?” she asked, shaking me gently, trying to keep me awake long enough to respond.

“You can ... you can...”

She looked bleary. I was gone.

I didn’t want to hide in my room from my ‘new’ Mom. I showered and changed and went downstairs right away. Mom had changed into a sleeveless orange blouse that blended nicely with her lightly tanned skin and a chocolate brown, pleated skirt. She looked nice, as she should, in one of her better outfits. The blouse wasn’t tight but I knew it would be hard for me to keep my eyes off it anyway, knowing what was underneath.

“I hope you like dinner, it’s your favorite.”

“Steak and kidney pie?” I asked, super pleased.

“Yup. You worked hard today and you deserve a treat.”

“Dad won’t be happy.”

Mom shrugged. She knew Dad hated steak and kidney pie. I thanked her and pooh-poohed the amount of work I had done but was adamant in my mind I was going to change my ways. If this was the way Mom responded when I worked hard then I was going to work my ass off.

Dad arrived home shortly after I came downstairs and the nagging started. I couldn’t believe it! In an instant, the fantastic woman I had been with all afternoon changed back to the mother I knew so well, the harping bitch. She told Dad I had lied about the interview, said I made such a mess of painting the fence she had to fix it herself and then got paint on her favorite jeans. It went on and on. I was dumbfounded. Oh yeah. We didn’t have steak and kidney pie.

After dinner, Mom told me to clear the table and get the dishes done. Dad beat a hasty retreat to the living room and turned the volume up louder than usual when Mom followed me into the kitchen to supervise, still harping at me. Everything was back to normal.

I finished washing the dishes and started drying them, knowing the bitch wouldn’t let me get away with leaving them to drip dry. She followed me from the dish rack to the cupboards, nattering about putting the dishes in the right place.

Finally, I’d had it and pushed her back against the fridge. This time I clamped my left hand over her mouth and used the flat of my right against her belly, with my fingers wrapping onto her hip, to pin her to the fridge. I gritted my teeth and stared angrily into her face.

Mom’s eyes twinkled and she tried to smile and mumble something under my hand. I loosened my grip but was ready to clamp it tight if she started to yell, though I doubt Dad would hear over the TV.

“I take it you don’t want me to nag you.”

I shook my head, confused. “No.”

“Are you sure?”

Her eyes twinkled again. What the hell did she mean by that? Of course I didn’t want her to nag me. The TV roared into laughter. Dad was watching Red Skelton.

“What?” I repeated, totally confused.

“I thought you like it when I nag you.”

What the hell was she talking about?

I stared into Mom’s sparkly eyes, trying to understand what was going on behind them, but became even more confused. Then I got angry thinking she was laughing at me. She was really pissing me off!

I closed my hand more firmly over her mouth so she couldn’t talk. Mom struggled and twisted her face from side to side so I brought my other hand up to keep her head still but she arched her back and tried to break away from the fridge. My hand got caught in the neckline of her blouse when I tried to stop her from twisting away and a couple of buttons pulled apart.

The orange blouse opened to reveal a chocolate brown bra that matched Mom’s skirt. It was skimpier than the one she’d worn in the afternoon and her tits threatened to spill out of it. This time, I knew the fleshy colour I could see through the lacy parts was Mom’s skin.

I looked at Mom and for some reason removed the hand covering her mouth. She gulped in air and I realized I might have been choking her but then thought, no, she could still breathe through her nose. So why was she so short of breath?

She looked down at her loosened blouse and then up into my eyes. Her pelvis wiggled, probably unintentionally, but it drew attention to something else down there that was also at attention.

“Should I call your father so he can see what you’re up to?” she asked, emphasizing one short word near the end.

“Hmmmm?” she wiggled.

I felt myself, unfolding, stiffening while my power over the situation started to slip away. If she called Dad into the kitchen now my guilt would be undeniable.

“Well?”

Mom pushed her shoulders against the fridge, forcing her pelvis outward, and my cock bulged against the softness below her belly. I should have called her bluff. I almost did because I wanted more than anything to shove my bulge hard into her mound but at that moment I thought she was crazy enough to do it. Mom’s hips wiggled again, demanding an answer, and I shook my head.

“I think I will anyway,” she said.

That made me mad. She was always pushing me. I closed my hand over her mouth again and was surprised that, rather than expressing anger, Mom looked triumphant which made me even angrier since that meant I had somehow played into her hand again.

I’ll show her who’s boss, I thought.

My free hand slipped inside Mom’s blouse and between her breasts, the back of my knuckles caressing the inner swell of her left tit. I lowered my hand and twisted it around, then moved it up to cup her breast. Mom’s eyes went cold and she started squirming, trying to get away, but I brought my pelvis and legs to bear to keep her pinned against the fridge. She stopped struggling and went limp, her submissive eyes indicating she wanted to speak. I loosened my hand to hear her apology.

“Let me go,” she hissed.

“No.”

“Warren,” her voice was terse and harsh. “No more games. Let me go!”

When I didn’t comply Mom’s eyes softened and she changed tactics. Smiling sweetly, she said, “Do you want a beer with your lunch tomorrow?”

I let her go.

Mom silently buttoned her blouse and smoothed it down with both hands. She stretched up to give me a kiss but when I moved to respond she swished by me and out of the kitchen. I looked at my hand, still warm from her tit, and pushed it into my pants to curl it around my hard cock.

What the fuck was going on?

Mom wore a fancy dress the next morning. Not a going-out-for dinner dress but still one of her better ones. She looked fantastic.

“You can finish the fence this morning,” she informed me when I came down for breakfast. “I’m going shopping and I expect to see it done when I come home. Do you hear me, Warren?”

“Yeah,” I answered, disappointed that the old mom was back.

“See that you get it done.”

Dad looked up from his paper and gave me a sympathetic glance.

Thanks a lot, Dad.

I grumbled but didn’t waste much time getting started on the fence. I was starting to learn that it was better to do what Mom wanted. Why fight her? She always won. The one day in my entire life that I did what she wanted without complaining had really been worth it. Maybe it would happen again. After five feet of painting, I was starting to doubt it. Twenty feet of fence further on, I was still mumbling to myself.