Josh and his mom hit a bump in the road.
All characters are over 18.
Much thanks to JordanJohnson for his help in editing. Any errors remaining are my own.
Enjoy. Let me know what works and what doesn't.
**********
Mom and I slept for an hour or so. When we woke, I was able to bathe her in the shower before making love to her again, more slowly this time. I fell asleep snuggled against her back.
Thank God, I set the alarm on my phone. When it went off, I struggled out of bed, tired but exuberant. I had just enough time to make a sandwich and head off to man the grill at
Mickey's
.
Mom was still in bed when I left; her shift at the bar did not start until 7:00 pm.
Mickey's
closed at 9:00. Mom would not be home until almost 2:00 in the morning. Between the romps with mom and a night on my feet, dripping sweat onto a sizzling grill, I was out like a
fucking
light within minutes of my head hitting the pillow.
I had taken a shower, in the event mom decided to join me. My bed was a twin, but I would have loved to snuggle some more.
When I woke, I was alone. Alone with my usual ferocious morning wood.
As I laid there, the events of yesterday running through my mind, I idly stroked my cock. My normal routine would be to jerk off and then go back to sleep for an hour or two. Not that morning.
I hopped out of bed, naked, and padded across the narrow hall to the bathroom where I peed for what felt like an hour. I made coffee and got myself a giant bowl of cereal. These mundane tasks occupied my mind just enough to allow my cock to, more or less, deflate.
I wiped the precum off the head of dick and licked my finger clean before leaning against the countertop and eating my cereal. When I finished, I washed the bowl and spoon and poured a cup of coffee.
I was torn between being quiet so mom could get her rest and making enough noise to wake her so that we could pick up where we had left off.
By the time I finished my coffee I still hadn't heard a sound from mom's room. I sat my cup down and tiptoed to her door.
I tapped lightly with one knuckle.
"Mom?" I called, barely above a whisper. No response. A slightly louder tap followed by a slightly louder, "mom?" Nothing.
I took hold of the doorknob and turned slowly. It wasn't locked. I would have been surprised if it had been. I pushed the door open an inch or so.
"Mom?" I opened her door a crack, just enough to peek through the gap.
Her bed was made.
The room was empty.
†
I checked the bathroom. Her toothbrush was gone. How had I missed that earlier? I yanked open the medicine cabinet; her deodorant was missing. I jerked the shower curtain back so hard several of the rings went flying. Her shampoo was not there.
I went back to her bedroom. No phone charger on the bedside table. I opened her closet. The small carry-on she kept on the top shelf was gone, as were some of her clothes.
As my heart pounded, I tried not to panic. Maybe something happened to Nana? But she would have told me. Maybe she wanted to let me sleep? I hurried back to the kitchen. The kitchen table, under the saltshaker, was our unofficial official location for leaving notes. I had eaten leaning against the countertop. I might have missed a note.
Nothing.
Running now, I hurried to my room and grabbed my phone. I was already seeing the local news talking heads babbling on with faked concern about a local woman who went missing after finishing her shift at a local bar. Beneath the false concern would the subtext implying that working in a bar implied she had hooked up with the wrong patron after work.
In our part of the world, a woman working in a bar was always cause for a raised eyebrow.
Mel answered the third time I hit 'redial'.
"This better be fucking good or I swear I'll track you down and shove that phone so far up your fucking ass you'll..."
"Mel, sorry dude, it's Josh. Sorry to call so early but I'm worried about my mom. She didn't come home last night. Was everything okay at the bar last night?"
"No, everything was not fucking okay at the bar last night. I ran my ass off is how everything was at the bar last night. Your mom called in sick. If she's not there puking her guts out, she's fired. Pass the word."
He hung up before I could utter a syllable.
I called mom. Voicemail. I called again. And again. Every call went straight to voicemail. She either had the phone switched off or was declining to accept the call.
"Mom, answer your phone, I'm worried." I typed out, my fingers stumbling over the keys.
I re-sent the text again, pacing the narrow confines of my room. My finger was poised to hit the 'send' button once again when I jolted to a halt.
"You stupid ass dumb motherfucker," I whispered to the empty room while shaking my head at my stupidity.
Our iPhones are part of Family Share. Mom is not a techie. I couple of clicks and I know two things. I know she didn't turn sharing off and I know where she is.
I jerked on a pair of shorts and my tennis shoes, dropped my phone in one pocket and hurried outside. I opened the door to the detached garage; her car was gone. Duh. I hopped on my bike and took off, pedaling as fast as I could.
Though our town is surrounded by flat farmland and I was in good shape, it took a while to bike the eleven miles to the motel where mom and her phone had holed up.
I was dripping with sweat and panting for breath when I skidded into the parking lot. The motel had seen better days. Like many small-town businesses, the freeway had dealt the motel a near fatal wound. It was kept alive by those in need of a place to hook up or the hopelessly lost and exhausted traveler fearing they had wandered into a Stephen King story.
Mom's car was in the parking lot, near the end of the line of rooms. There was only one other car in the lot. I pulled my phone out of my pocket, regretting my repeated attempts to call or text her. What if she had turned her phone off to get some peace?
I walked to the room in front of her car and hit "dial". I had always hated mom's ringtone, "who let the dogs out". As I heard it wafting through the cheap door, I thought it was the greatest song ever written.
I tapped lightly on the door with one knuckle, even though I wanted to bust it down with my shoulder.
"Mom, open the door. I heard your phone." I pitch my voice low and speak slowly. To my ears I sounded too much like a kid trying to coax a stray dog to eat out of his hand.
I saw the curtain covering the window beside the door twitch.
"Joshua, go home. I do not want to talk to you right now."
"Mom, please open the door." I hate the way my voice cracks.
"Josh, please, please, just go away and let me think. Please." I could hear her sobs through the door.
"I can't do that, mom. I can't just leave you here like this. Let me in. Please."
The only sound came from the cars on the county road.
"Mom," I tried again. "I can't just hop on my bike and go home and leave you here. I'm worried about you. You don't sound like you're in any shape to drive and this place is a dump. You don't belong here."
With that I sat with my back to the door. I crossed my legs and leaned forward to rest on my elbows. I entertained myself by counting the drops of sweat that dripped from the tip of my nose to darken the dusty concrete.
