"Not again, Steven...this is ridiculous."
Annie Collins put her fists imperiously on her hips and glared at her son with a mixture of anger and despair. For his part, Steven had the grace to bow his head in shame.
"Which part of 'do your homework' don't you get?" she demanded. "Your math score is bad enough, but don't get me started on your English and Georgraphy. And look at you..." - She reached out and put a finger under his chin to tip his face up. "You look tired all the time, and I can't seem to get you out of bed in the morning."
Her question was rhetorical, because she felt sure she knew the reason for his failures at school and the dark patches under his eyes. Furthermore she sometimes heard the cause. Some nights, awakened by her snoring husband, Ken, she would gaze at the ceiling trying to hypnotise herself to sleep. But one night, a few weeks back, she had begun to hear noises. At first she thought it was the central heating pipes - which Ken had still not gotten around to fixing - but then she realized it was something else. The room next to theirs was their 18-year-old son Steven's. The sound she was hearing was his bed creaking. Initially she assumed her son was simply restless and turning heavily. Until the quality of the creaking changed. Became more rhythmical. The creak-creak-creak went on for some time, at first softly and then more assertively and faster. Faster and faster the bed creaked, and then, finally, the noise stopped.
"Oh, God," thought Annie, "when did you grow up, my darling son?"
It wasn't until next morning, when she caught him gazing intently at her while she made coffee, that she realized it had probably been all her fault. Steven had been studying her breasts through her sweater, and she felt his eyes track down to her bottom and then her legs.
She could only pray that she hadn't really been the cause. After all, he would have reached manhood all on his own, without any external encouragement, apart from the sight of all those pretty girls, and maybe some female teachers, at school. But...his own mother? No, that was ridiculous.
All she'd done was to adjust her pantyhose. A perfectly innocent, everything act. Though, now that she thought about it, it may only have been herself who saw it as an ordinary act. She'd been in a hurry to get to work that morning and realised while she was getting her paperwork together that her pantyhose didn't feel very comfortable. Steven was sitting over a bowl of cereal at the kitchen counter through the serving hatch and she was in the lounge. In a rush, as usual.
She'd sighed, reached down and started yanking at the pantyhose, pulling the nylon up first one leg and then the other. The shiny tan nylons made her shapely legs look their best (so her friend, Angela had told her) so she'd always worn the most expensive ones...typically Wolford Suntan. But as she'd reached up under the skirt of her suit, settling the nylon at the top of her thighs, running her finger across the crotch area between the edge of her panties and the top of her thighs, she felt she was being watched. She took a quick glance from under her brows and realized Steven was sitting there pretending not to look though it was obvious where his gaze was fixed. And now, another memory returned: she'd seen his arm moving beneath the counter, just slightly. She might have imagined it then but now she was convinced he'd been massaging himself while watching her adjusting her pantyhose.
Oh, God, she thought, you're such a terrible, thoughtless woman. And a bad mother.
Subconsciously she realized she must have been aware of how her son had been reacting, but some inner part of her had rejected the whole, shocking idea. Now, however, yet another sleepless night - for her and Steven both, apparently - had persuaded her it must be true.
Steven was responsible for his own poor grades, true enough. And Ken was of no help. Whenever she would broach the subject her husband would shrug it off, saying, "He's a teenager, Annie. Bottom line? He can always learn a trade - I'm no genius, and look at how well I've done."
No, she'd thought, perhaps unkindly, her husband certainly was no genius. But his plumbing business had provided well for them and for the most part Ken had always been a thoughtful husband. Except in the bed department. The first year or two of their marriage barely a day went by without sex. Good sex, too, though perhaps not as great as she'd led to believe it could be. Often, after an unimaginative workout during which she had fairly reasonable orgasm, and Ken had ejaculated thickly inside her, she would roll on her side and surreptitiously flick and tease her clitoris until she had a deeper and more satisfying orgasm. Poor Ken, it wasn't his fault. A domineering mother probably made him less assertive than she would have liked.
But her mother-in-law was a veritable angel compared to herself it now seemed. She had been responsible, albeit unwittingly, for helping her son fail his exams and maybe even psychologically disturbing him.
But reading some parent and psychology resources online helped reassure her that her son's reactions, and possible feelings toward her, were normal. Which didn't explain her own feelings toward him.
While trying to put the whole business out of her mind she found herself instead becoming more and more irritable with her son, and her husband. She was now continually giving Steven a hard time about his studies, and she didn't wish to hear any more of Ken's pearls of wisdom in relation to the boy's future prospects.
"If you're so worried about it, honey," he'd said one night after dinner, "Why don't you do something about it. See his teacher, guidance councilor, or help him out yourself, if it comes to that. You're the smart one in the family, after all."
While it was true Annie had graduated from college with a degree in history, she'd never done or achieved anything with the qualification. Apart from get married,that is. Though the degree helped her get work as a PA in an advertising agency, which paid reasonably well, though the work was mostly dull as ditch water.
The Math scores provided to be the final straw. Steven had failed all of the preliminary tests for this year, apart from music and art, in which he'd fared pretty well, scoring particularly highly in music theory (who knew? she mused, believing him to be mainly interested in clubbing and heavy metal music).
Her friend, Joan, had ventured she try a reward system.
She'd said, "You know, when my Katy was doing poor in science I offered her more pocket money, or I'd ask her if there was a special outfit she wanted, and if at the end of term she did well I'd buy it for her."
Annie had replied, "Ken will keep sneaking extra pocket money on Steven. The boy walks all over him."
"Well," Joan had replied, "If you're not both singing from the same hymn sheet, I don't know what to suggest. But threats don't work, I can tell you that much. Talk about inciting teenage rebellion!"
Annie had smiled at that; clearly Joan knew whereof she spoke.
This past weekend had been especially bad for her. Steven's bed had been creaking, as usual, and she'd found a stash of sticky tissues under his bed the next morning. When he'd come back into his room to see her reaching under the bed and scooping up the tissues to throw into the refuse bag she was holding, he went white.
"N-no, mom...please, I can clear up my own mess."
