Chapter 3

I stood at the front door of my house. I knew a whole boatload of shit was waiting for me on the other side of the door, so I stood outside trying to delay the inevitable. Things seemed weird as I looked helplessly at my front door. I left my house less than 18 hours before, angry at the world, and have returned home a considerably more contrite soul. To say that my life had become somewhat complicated during that time is an understatement.

Cassie and I talked a little longer, and we agreed to be friends. Which was fine with me. As bad as things were going to be when I told Mia and Shay, they'd be a whole lot worse if Cassie and I pursued anything more than friendship. We talked for nearly an hour about life, just getting to know each other before I turned over to look at the clock. It was after noon. That spurred me to action. Cassie offered her shower, but I rejected it. However, having avoided draining the alcohol for nearly 10 hours, I did take a seven-day piss before I left her house.

So here I stood, smelling like sweat, beer and sex, looking like I'd had the ever living shit beat out of me. For some reason, I always seem to learn life's lessons the hard way. Maybe I should have actually listened a little more carefully to Mom and anyone else who had already done the whole teenager thing. Oh well.

I took a deep breath and opened the door. Out of one emotional fire and into another.

"Brody? Is that you?"

I cringed as mom's voice called from the kitchen. There was a hint of panic in it.

"Yeah," I croaked. I cleared my throat and tried again. "Yeah, it's me."

"Oh my god!" she cried as she ran into the living room where I stood like a worthless pile of dirt. Without hesitation she flew into my arms and hugged me so tight that she threatened to pop my lungs. She buried her tear-stained face into my neck while she sobbed.

I was astonished. This was NOT the reception I anticipated, and I was hit with unbelievable guilt at making her this way. I really was selfish and stupid.

"Oh, Brody, sweetie, I'm so sorry, so, so sorry!" OK. Add confusion to my list of feelings. Why was she apologizing? I was the one who went off without telling her where I was going, without calling at any time, without asking for permission to stay out all night.

"No, Mom. Please don't. I'M sorry. It's my fault." I felt my eyes begin to sting as tears threatened. I hated crying. Always left my eyes red and burning and my nose a stuffy, snotty mess.

Finally, she pushed me to arms length. "Let me look at you. Are you OK?" She began a very motherly inspection of my physique, starting with a detailed assessment of my swollen eye and face, then running her eyes and hands over my face, chest and arms. Her eyes inspected the rest of me.

"I'm fine, Mom." She continued to poke and prod. "Mom, PLEASE." She stopped and looked at me with sad eyes, which just ripped bigger holes in my heart. "I'm fine." Tears welled up in my eyes again, but I willed them away.

It was amazing, actually, to visually witness the transformation from loving, concerned mother to angry, violent demon. I saw it happen over the span of about seven seconds. Before I could react, she slapped me. Hard.

"Oww!" I yelled as I immediately cupped my cheek, a different kind of tear coming to my eyes. At least she chose the cheek that wasn't already swollen. Maybe enough slaps and I'll have a matching pair.

"Brody William Brown!" Oh, shit. I was in deep trouble. "Where the hell have you been?? I almost had a heart attack I was so worried about you! Don't you EVER think about staying out all night without even thinking about calling me! Not that you'll be going out for the rest of your adolescent life! You didn't even have the decency to tell me where you were going! I called Jeff and Donald and neither of them had seen you. They knew you were going to a party but they had no idea where it was or who you were with! Who were you with, by the way? You didn't do drugs, did you?" She looked at me again and then sniffed the air. I started to speak, but she just rolled on. "So you got drunk, had sex and got in a fight. Is this truly how I raised you? Is this truly the direction you want to take your life? What would your father say if he saw you now? Do you think..."

I kind of lost interest in listening to her rant, and yet I couldn't get a word in edgewise. The comment about Dad stung, but more than anything, I was getting irritated. Mom was embroiled in her never ending rant, one hand on her hip, the other jabbing a finger into my chest. The comment about Dad was the final straw, simultaneously making me feel lower than dirt while pissing me off. I don't know why I did what I did next. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but I it wasn't like I had a first-rate track record of good judgment.

I grabbed her upper arms and crushed my lips against hers. It effectively cut off whatever she was going to say next. First, her body froze. Then she started trying to speak into my mouth while pushing at me. I held tighter and kissed harder. Her struggle increased to the point where she was shoving her fists into my chest to try to get me to stop. About that time, I slipped my tongue into her open mouth as she was still trying to talk—and suddenly her fists stopped pushing. Instead, she grabbed my shirt in her fist to hold me tight and sent her tongue chasing mine back into my mouth.

Moms love their children unconditionally. That's the only way to explain why she allowed me to kiss her when I smelled like a cheap whorehouse.

I slipped my arms around her waist and she slipped her arms around my neck in a lovers' clinch not all that dissimilar from the one I had with Cassie earlier that morning. Only, mom was taller, so I didn't have to bend over even a little.

The kiss really heated up as our tongues danced. It was like an out of body experience. I felt like I was floating above the scene, watching as I kissed my beautiful, sexy mother. I pushed my swelling cock against her mound. She moaned into my mouth and ground her crotch against me.

She seemed to tense up again at that moment, and this time when she tried to push me away, I relented. We both stood, facing each other, trying to catch our breaths. She had her eyes closed while she was trying to figure out what to think about what had just happened. Her face reflected a kind of tortured yet contented feeling, if that's possible. I don't know how else to explain it. She looked almost serene.

Slowly her grey eyes fluttered open. They took a second to focus on me. Her expression didn't change at all, so I had no warning. She slapped me again, and then fled from the room. I heard her pained cry from the hallway.

"OWWW!" I said louder than I needed just so she'd hear me.

SHIT! SHIT! SHIT! I stood frozen in place. What was I supposed to do? Go after her? Run away? Dance a jig because I just shagged a freakin' hot girl and then Frenched my freakin' hot mom? For lack of a better idea, I decided to take a shower and inspect my eye, which, by the way, I'd been able to avoid looking at so far.

I took a deep breath as I paused at the top of the stairs. The office, which used to be a bedroom, was the first door on the right. Then came Mom's bedroom, which was the first door on the left and was next to the bathroom. My bedroom door was across the hall from the bathroom door. A linen closet was at the end of the hall.

I passed Mom's closed door and grabbed some new underwear, a t-shirt and some shorts from my room. Before I went into the bathroom, I stepped to Mom's door and leaned quietly against it to see if I could hear something, like maybe crying or the chanting of demonic phrases, anything really. But all was silent. I sighed and went into the bathroom.

I took a moment to inspect my eye. Yes, it was still swollen shut, but I was getting kind of used to having no depth perception, so it wasn't really bothering me. I was pleased that the swelling was contained to a much smaller area than I thought. The bruising would get worse before it got better, but it didn't look like it was going to be as bad as I thought. I credit my nursemaid for that. I mentally thanked Cassie, then hopped into the shower to rid myself of my filth.

Fifteen minutes later I emerged from the bathroom feeling much better than when I went in. I was still anxious about my mom, but surprisingly, I had no feelings of guilt for kissing her. The guilt I had was for making her so sick with worry.

"You are an asshole sometimes, Brody Brown," I muttered to myself.

I looked over at her door and was surprised to see it standing wide open. I tentatively glanced around the door jamb. Mom was sitting on the edge of her bed staring down at the floor in front of her. Some Internal Mother Alarm must have announced my presence, because she looked up at me.

"We need to talk," she said simply. You think? Yeah, we definitely needed to talk.

I started forward into her room, but she jumped up, her expression suddenly panicked. "No! Not in here." She visibly calmed herself. "In the kitchen. I'll make lunch, and we can talk."

I shrugged and stepped to the side so she could pass me and lead the way into the kitchen, then I followed quietly behind. I'm not sure if it was because of what had happened over the last few days or if I was just in some heightened plane of sexuality, but I was seeing Mom in an entirely different light than before. My God, she was a beautiful woman! She was wearing a tight pair of leggings and an oversized baggy sweater that hung down below her ass. However, the sweater was clingy and hugged her hips well, which really accentuated the sensual sway of her walk.

Down, boy, I told my penis. This is your mom.

Mom pulled a skillet from the cupboard and asked me to get the ham and cheese from the fridge. While she assembled the ham and cheese sandwiches, I got out a can of tomato soup, poured it into a bowl, mixed in some milk and popped into the microwave. We did all this without talking and without getting in each other's way. Don't forget, it's been just the two of us for the last three years. We'd danced this dance a thousand times.

While the sandwiches cooked on the skillet, I grabbed glasses and filled them with ice and cold water. Mom had her back to me the whole time. When I set her glass next to her on the counter, she flinched, like my unexpected presence so close was too much for her. I moved back and sat at the table, sipping my water while I watched Mom.

She reached into the cupboard and grabbed two plates and two bowls. The food finished and she served. Finally she sat down and looked at me, still not speaking. It was maddening, but I wasn't going to go first. I took a bite of my sandwich. She grabbed the pepper shaker and began to talk.

"Brody, you can't kiss me anymore, not like that."

"Why not?" I asked while I dipped a piece of my sandwich in the soup and popped into my mouth.

She just shook her head. She obviously decided to move to safer ground.

"Where were you last night?"

"I was at a party at Cassie Jones house."

"All night?"

I nodded.

"Why didn't you call me?"

I hesitated. What do I say? The truth? Might be painful now, but in the long run...

"I was kind of angry at you."

She didn't even ask me why. She either knew why or she didn't care. Based on her emotional reaction to my arrival earlier, I'm guessing she knew why.

"We'll talk about that in a minute," she said. "I'm assuming from your ... physical state ... when you returned home that there were no chaperones present."

I sensed the reproach in her voice. Mom had a long standing rule that I didn't get to go to parties if a responsible chaperone wasn't at least in the house somewhere.

Time to eat humble pie. "No, ma'am."

"How much did you have to drink?"

I started trying to count, but truthfully, I had lost track after the third cup. She waved me off.

"Were you conscious the whole time you were at the party?" she asked.

How to answer that? I wasn't conscious the WHOLE time but I think it had more to do with The Walking Dick's right fist than with my alcohol consumption.

I shook my head. "No, ma'am."

She sighed. "Do you remember how that happened?" She waved towards my swollen eye.

"Yes, ma'am."

"All right. Start at the beginning."

So I did. I told her about Kristin Franz flirting with me more and more all semester, about spending the whole party with her, about getting hot and heavy before moving to the bedroom. I told her about Kristin's attempt to get me naked.

I watched Mom while I talked. She seemed to get more and more fidgety—almost physically uncomfortable—as the story progressed.

"Why did you stop her?" Mom asked. She still had her Mom look, but there was something else there, a true curiosity as to what happened.

"I'm not sure. I thought about Mia and Shay and about how I didn't like Kristin much and I certainly didn't love her. Then I remembered what you said about not having sex with someone you didn't care about. It just really struck me that I didn't want to cheapen what I had with Mia and Shay by doing it with Kristin."

Mom's eyes got a little misty. "OK. Continue."

I told her about Mike finding us and knocking me out with one punch, which actually made her smile. I didn't think it was really all that humorous.

"The combination of Mike's fist and the alcohol was enough to keep me out until this morning."

Mom appeared contemplative for a few moments. "So you didn't have sex last night?" I shook my head, and the relief really was evident on her face. "I assume this girl ... what was her name?"

"Kristin."

"No, the other one."

"Um, Cassie?"

"Yes. I'm assuming this Cassie girl at least let you sleep on the couch or a bed instead of leaving you on the floor."

I must have reacted in some way because Mom raised an eyebrow.

"Uh, yeah, I slept in a bed," I answered.

"What happened when you woke up this morning?"

I suddenly felt supremely uncomfortable. It was actually easy to get through the discussion about last night because, even amongst my stupidity of getting drunk, going with a girl to a bedroom and getting into a fight, if you can call it that, I still did something noble and stopped things with Kristin before we went too far.

I wasn't so noble with Cassie, at least to my limited understanding.

"Brody," Mom said in THAT voice that's meant to get my attention. "What happened this morning?"

"I, uh, I had sex with Cassie."

As if I wasn't feeling bad enough about the whole situation, the expression on Mom's face at that moment made me feel like a six foot pile of cow dung.