Disclaimers: I hadn't planned to write this. I was working on a different story. That story fizzled out. Some comments asked for a continuation of Mothers and Secrets. I looked into my mind about the future of Madeline and Grant Bloom. It wasn't much to tell. So I got started on a second story. That one fell in on itself.
I pecked out some of what I would tell if I were writing a follow-up to Mothers and Secrets. It's not enough to be a part two. I scratched more down with no intention of writing the whole thing out. "I suppose," I mumbled to myself, "it could be an epilogue instead of a full-blown story arc."
So I wrote some more. Scenes and dialogues surfaced. It wasn't magic, but it also wasn't planned.
And now, I've written the whole damn thing.
Here it is: Characters, unrealistic in beauty and athleticism. (Though, I've had occasions of surprising endurance, once upon a time.) Around 30,000 words to cap off the story of Mothers and Secrets. Don't read it if that's too long for you. The adultery goes unpunished. If you need cheaters to suffer, you will be dissatisfied here.
If that's all cool with you, then enjoy! Kindly give a kind rating! And politely comment! It's where I get the juice to keep writing new stories!
O.F.
***
Mothers and Secrets: Epilogue
***
A handful of
weeks
after the events of Mothers and Secrets
DrBabyRuthie777: Hey, Gypsy-Mamma. Do you know what happened to MadMommy1980? The last I've seen or heard from her was about a month ago.
Romantriarch: Hi. I can't say I know what's happening with her.
DrBabyRuthie777: "I can't say I know," as in you don't know? Or "I can't say I know," as in you're not supposed to tell?
Romantriarch: Can't say, Candy Bar. >:)
***
A handful of
hours
after the events of Mothers and Secrets
Madeline Bloom awoke naked in her son's bed. Sounds of beating pans and bowls arose from down in the kitchen.
It must be Grant,
she thought. Then she spoke aloud to herself. "No one else lives here now, remember?"
With a smile and sore muscles, she climbed out of bed and shuffled to her bedroom.
She didn't shower. The 40-something beauty dressed in blue running shorts and a pink tank top. She had no plans for a run.
Not after the workout we've had.
The outfit was for comfort, but it had another advantage. The loose garments would be easy for her lover to peel away.
She sat on her bed and took a deep breath. There were familiar smells; old scents. Without thinking she got up and changed the sheets. "Grant's sheets stink of sweat, saliva and gods know what other fluids," She remarked aloud to the empty room. "But here I am changing
this
bed."
She pulled the fresh sheet over the last corner of the king-size mattress.
There was an ache inside her. It wasn't yearning. "I can still feel him inside me," she smirked to herself. "I'm still acclimating to his girth."
There was a clang downstairs.
Madeline descended to the kitchen. She had a satisfied smile and a tingling between her thighs.
Grant wore pajama pants and a white T-shirt. He was ready to cook for his mom. "It's scrambled eggs: breakfast for dinner."
Mommy sidled up behind him and put her left arm around his waist. She pressed her groin against her coach's firm buns.
Then, with her free right hand, she swatted the side of the seat of his pajama pants.
"Hey!" he feigned grievance. "I'm working here."
"Aww," she ground out her softest sounds of pity. "After how red you've made my cheeks today, making Mommy a good girl for you? I figured a strong man like you could handle it." Knowing she was finally, completely, and oh-so-sexually his, she was already more confident. More assertive.
He knows my secret, and he feels the same. Everything is different.
"I can handle it." He grumbled more to himself than the woman rubbing her pubis against him. "I handled
you
up there in my bed, didn't I? From now on you're gonna experience 'handled' day and night."
She giggled and kissed his upper arm so she could peek around and watch his cooking.
He dropped a pat of butter into the heated pan. To the right of the stove was a large bowl of beaten eggs and a small bowl of shredded cheese. The butter melted, and the eggs went into the pan. Grant salted and peppered the gooey mass. The spatula scraped and folded. When the eggs were nearly done, he reached for the cheese.
Maddie's right arm grabbed his wrist from behind. Her full chest pressed even harder against his back. He thought he could feel her firm nipples.
"Don't add the cheese yet, hon. Take the pan off the burner."
He did as told.
The pan sat on an unused burner, and the flame was out.
"