The following Wednesday afternoon, Cliff's doorbell rang again. He answered the door to find Dylan on the other side.
"Hey," the younger man said.
Cliff stepped back from the door. "Dylan. This is unexpected. Come in. Can I get you something to drink?"
"Nah, I'm okay."
They moved to the living room, where bright afternoon sunlight threw sharp shadows across the white furniture.
"So, what's up?" Cliff poured himself some coffee. "How's your mom?"
"She's good."
"Does she know you're here? Not that it's a big deal either way."
"Nah, she doesn't know. Um, I was wondering if I could look at those photos."
"You want to look at the photos?"
Dylan shrugged. "I was wondering if maybe I could have some copies? I have a thumb drive." He fished in his pocket and produced a small hunk of plastic.
Cliff winced. "Aw, man. I can't really do that, Dylan. Not without your mom's permission. Confidentiality issues. If they got out, it could be a big problem. Like, a legal problem."
Also, your mother would murder me slowly in ways involving fire and wire cutters, he thought, but didn't say aloud.
"Sure. I get that." Dylan flopped down on the couch, hands in the pockets of his sweat pants. "Do you mind if I ask you something else?"
"Not at all."
"Do you think this client of yours might ever want more photos? I mean, more like those?"
Cliff sipped his paper cup of coffee, contemplating. "Why? Do you guys need more money or something?"
"No," Dylan said. "I don't think so. She sent in the big house payment or whatever from the check you gave her. But I just - I dunno, I was wondering if he might want more."
"I can certainly talk to him," Cliff said. "You'll have to talk to your mom, though, and see what she says."
"Do you do a lot of these? Like, family member photos?"
Cliff shrugged. "I wouldn't say a lot. But when the opportunity arises."
"Have you ever done, like, sisters?"
Was Dylan talking about Beth? His aunt? Cliff chuckled. "Okay, buddy, I don't think I can have this conversation with you, sorry. Was there anything else you needed?"
Dylan rose. "Nah, I was just hoping I could get some of those photographs is all. Or maybe the video."
"Yeah. I hate to say this, because it sounds all dad-like, but ask your mother."
"You couldn't just hook me up? Like, as a favor?"
Cliff smiled and shook his head at this last-ditch effort. "Sorry, no. Not this time."
"Okay. Well, maybe I'll see you around." Dylan made for the door with an awkward wave,
Cliff waited for the door to close, then pulled out his phone.
# # #
Tuesdays and Thursdays were Melinda's days off from the cafe. She woke at eight o'clock on Thursday morning to the faint sound of the television playing in the other room. She yawned, stretched, and rolled out of bed, clad in a loose tee shirt that had once belonged to her ex. It showed an awful lot of flesh at the neck and down the open sleeves, but when the nights were hot, she didn't really care.
She emerged into the hallway, straightening the muss of her hair. She saw Justin's bedroom door ajar, and tipped it further open. His bed was empty. Either he was up and around, or off with his friends again.
Dylan's bedroom was empty too.
She padded barefoot to the living room. The television was on, tuned to a classic movie channel. On the screen, a miniature submarine did battle with a prop octopus in Fifties black-and-white, occasionally cutting to scenes of worried-looking naval officers. Dylan lay sprawled on the couch, asleep, wearing nothing but his boxers. An empty chip bag, along with half a jar of queso, lay next to him on the cushions.
"Fuck, Dylan," she muttered, taking the queso and walking to the kitchen with it. She returned it to the fridge. If she had told that boy once about leaving food out...
Getting chip crumbs all over the couch was not on the list of approved activities, either.
When Melinda returned, she noticed what she'd missed the first time: the front of Dylan's boxers bulged with morning wood.
She stared at it for a long moment, pondering the cliche of it. This was a moment played through in many a porn video she'd turned to for inspiration in her Tertiary Existence game. Someone - maybe the mother, maybe the father, maybe the sibling - lay asleep, and the waking person took advantage, knowing the other party wouldn't refuse if they woke up to find themselves being pleasured.
Things were different in the real world. But she and Dylan were a special case. They'd been through something unique together.
That, and part of her knew that Dylan was eighteen and perpetually horny. After what they'd done on camera, almost all bets were off. She could probably initiate anything she wanted with him, and his hormones would all but insist upon it.
The thought aroused her more than she thought it would - even thinking about it, she was already getting wet. That hadn't happened in years, certainly never with her ex. Maybe not even with Cliff, although Cliff was a good lover and she was perfectly happy with their arrangement. But this-
Melinda realized she'd been standing in the morning air for several minutes, staring at her sleeping son's erection, the tinny sound of the television still playing.
Fuck it.
She swept the tee shirt off her head and stood fully naked in the living room. A faint but fervent hope that Justin wasn't just out getting the mail or something crossed her mind. The thick curtains were open, with only the thin inner curtains masking the view from outside. It made her feel exposed, sinful.
With one expert motion, she leaned down and coaxed Dylan's boxers down around his ankles. They came easily. She climbed on top of him, gingerly, slowly. He didn't wake until she took his cock in her hand and squeezed. Then he started to consciousness with a snort.
