Our Second Time 2

Those next four hours at work were the longest I have ever endured. I was anxious to be home, to confirm that this wasn't my imagination running wild, that it had actually happened.

Did my mother and I actually make love this morning?

I replayed the memory over and over, much like I always did with a new favorite record. By the end of my shift, the reality still hadn't quite settled into my brain. I grabbed my bike and made tracks for home.

I leaned the bike against the back porch and ran inside, breathless with ... with what? Excitement? Apprehension? Fear? It occurred to me that things might be very different from the way they were when I left this morning. Did Mom still feel the same way? Had she changed her mind, regretted what we'd done, angry at me for starting it all? I didn't know what to expect as I walked into the house.

I could hear voices, low murmurs in the distance. I found her sitting on the couch in the living room, looking as beautiful as ever.

"Oh Bradley, what good timing! Look who came home early, he'll be ever so pleased to see you!" Her voice sounded a touch strained, almost frightened.

My dad stood up from a chair and turned to me.

Shit. Holy. Fucking. Shit.

"Hi, boy! How's life? C'mon sit down, hey? Tell me what you've been up to this week!"

I stood there, speechless. My mind was reeling.

Honestly, Dad? Do you really want to know what I did this week while you were away again to God-knows-where? Would you like me to describe in detail what Mom and I did this morning?

I glanced over at her. She flashed a wide-eyed look at me.

"I was just telling your father how well things were going for you at the shop now. I happened to see Henry yesterday and he mentioned how pleased he was with your work. Isn't that wonderful, Charles?" Then she stared directly into my eyes. "I'm so happy with the way things have turned out!" She stood up and headed toward the kitchen. "What say I pour us all a cool drink. Could I tempt my two handsome men with that? Yes? Bradley dear, come give me a hand in the kitchen."

I followed her through the dining room into the kitchen where, as soon as I walked through the door she rose up on her toes, took my face in her hands and planted a solid kiss on my mouth. She stepped back and brought glasses down from the cupboard, motioning for me to come near.

"Oh my god! Bradley, do you realize ...!" Her voice was hushed, urgent. "I had no idea he would be back today! Can you imagine?"

"No, Mom, actually, I can't."

"It's all going to be okay, Sweetheart. We'll be fine. This is such dreadful timing, that's all. There's so much I wanted to say when you came home today but now ... now I don't know when we'll have a chance to."

"So you're still okay with what happened? I mean, with Dad coming back the same day and all?"

She held my face again. "Bradley! Darling, of course I am! What happened this morning was wonderful. Don't think for a moment that I regret any of it. Believe me Sweetheart, I was anxious for you to be home. I've waited all day for you." She quietly slipped over to the door and looked out toward the living room. Dad was back in his chair, his head buried in today's paper. She turned quickly and pushed me up against the counter. Pressing against me she gave me another urgent, passionate kiss, her arms wrapped around my waist. "Oh god, Bradley, I want you so much!" she whispered. "Hold me." She brought my hands around her, then crushed me in a tight hug, her chin on my shoulder. She whispered, her mouth close to my ear. "I wish it was this morning again, Sweetheart, so we could relive it all. Do you understand how much, how so very much I want you?"

Another kiss, then she quickly turned and brought a pitcher of lemonade from the refrigerator, put it with the glasses on a tray and handed it to me. "Come, Sweetheart, let's get back to your father." She kissed her fingers, pressed them to my lips, then spun me around and out the door.

The rest of that day was agony for me. We all sat and talked together for awhile, until it was time to make dinner. Dad headed upstairs to shower and change while Mom got busy in the kitchen. I was at a loss of what to do.

Should I go with Mom, pick up where we left off? Would that be too risky?

I could hear Dad moving around upstairs.

Should I just go to my room, try to settle down, gather my thoughts?

No, that was impossible. I had to be with her.

She was standing in front of the stove, bringing some water to a boil. Chops, beans, potatoes -- Dad's favorite combo, pretty much the standard fare in those days -- were on the counter all prepped and ready for cooking. She looked up at me. "Hi Hon."

"Hi Mom."

"I'm glad you're here. Your father is upstairs taking a shower. We have a few minutes to ourselves."

"Yeah, I can hear him. That's why I came back. I wanted to be with you without, you know, any distractions."

We heard the water begin running in the upstairs bath. She turned off the stove, came over and wrapped her arms around me again. A moment later we were kissing, impassioned lovers urgently exploring each other. My cock was rock hard, pressed against her belly. She brought her hand down to my crotch, squeezing gently.

She looked up at the ceiling. "We don't have much time." With that she unzipped my fly and pulled my cock out into the open. She turned her back to me and lifted her dress. Bending over the kitchen table, she looked back at me and pulled the crotch of her panties to one side.

"Quickly Hon, we don't have much time."

My god, was this really happening?

My father was in the room directly above us yet my mother was standing there waiting for me, wanting me?

"Mom, are you ...? What if ...?"

"Please Bradley, hurry! I can't wait a moment longer. I need you. I need you now, inside me. Hurry, while we still have a chance!"

I didn't need any more encouragement. Who knew when we might have another chance? As I moved toward her she spread her feet and lifted her hips, rising up on her toes, waiting. As I've said earlier, my experiences with sex had so far been very shallow. I'd never even entered a girl from behind.

"Mom, like this? You want me to ...?"

"Yes, Hon, just come up behind me."

A moment later I was inside her for the second time that day, the second time in my life. She was bent low, hands gripping the table's edge, pushing back against my thrusts, taking me deeply inside her. I held her hips and watched her body move in time with mine. She was whispering to herself. "

Oh yes, Bradley, fuck me. Oh god, he's inside me

." I was startled by her language. She had never used the word "fuck" before, not to my knowledge. This was a side of her I'd never seen. It seemed she had entered another world, a world where it was just the two of us alone together.

She brought a hand down between her legs and pressed it against my cock as it moved inside her. She was moaning; it came from deep within her, like the low rumble of a distant storm approaching. I was breathing heavily now, almost ready to cum. She felt me go rigid, my cock throb. "I'm cumming Mom, I'm going to cum!"

"Oh Darling, yes. Yes, cum inside me."

My body shuddered, legs shaking as I emptied myself into her, gasping for air through clenched teeth. She stroked herself as I did, until I heard a high-pitched squeal and she too began to shake, her body writhing. "Oh! Ohh!" She moaned again, her head down low, hips high. We stood there, joined together, adrift in that other world.

The sound of running water stopped.

She pulled away from me and quickly stood up. Holding her dress, she grabbed a clean washcloth from the drawer and splashed it with water. I watched, fascinated as she pushed it between her legs to soak up the cum that was spilling out of her - my cum, her own son's cum. She wiped the insides of her thighs, then handed the cloth to me. Smoothing her dress back down, she rose up and kissed me. "Take this, clean yourself off, make sure there's nothing on your trousers, go hide it in the laundry hamper. Quickly now!"

By the time Dad came down for dinner everything was back to normal - whatever that meant in this strange new world. I had the table set; Mom was finishing up in the kitchen. We all sat together over supposedly just another evening meal, chatting as if nothing out of the ordinary had ever happened. I tried to focus on the moment but my thoughts kept wandering.

"You okay, boy? You look kinda dozy." Dad was looking at me, his brow furrowed.

"Um, yeah, I'm okay. Just a little tired I guess."

Mom spoke up. "I hope Henry hasn't been working you too hard. If he is I'll give him a good talking to!" She smiled at me and I felt her foot press down on mine.

"Oh Jackie, don't go mothering the boy. He has to learn what hard work is. Right, boy?"

"Sure, Dad. I can handle it."

At least, at the time I thought I could handle "it". Little did I know what living hell waited for me that night.

...

It was close to midnight. I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, wide awake. Events of the day, questions of the future ran through my head in an unending stream. This was a path that I had always hoped to be on but now that I was, I was unsure of myself, wary of my father, in agony to be with Mom. I wanted her, needed her to be here with me, just to feel her beside me. I knew her warmth and gentleness would help settle my mind.

I needed some water. The bathroom was beyond my parents' bedroom. As I walked down the hall I could hear a low noise, a steady, rhythmic "unh, unh, unh." The closer I came to their bedroom door, the louder it grew. Now I knew what it was. Dammit, that was the last thing I needed to hear.

Were they really going at it in there? How could she? Didn't she know it was just us now? Couldn't she keep herself just for me?

I quickened my pace, wanting to hurry past their door but cautious not to make a sound. The grunting was clearer now, louder. To my dismay, their door was open, no doubt by accident. My feet froze to the floor. I wanted nothing more than to run past but I couldn't. In the soft glow of the streetlamps outside I saw them there on the bed. I couldn't look away.

Dad was on his knees, his pajama bottoms down around his ankles. He was behind her, just as I had been only a few hours earlier but this - this seemed a very different sort of love-making. Mom was completely naked, bent low on the bed. She was staring at the headboard, chin buried in a pillow, fingers digging into it. She made no sound at all. She looked so fragile and vulnerable, passively taking - no,

enduring

- his thrusts, her body shuddering as he slammed his cock into her in a steady, almost mechanical motion.

My jaw tightened, a gnawing ache grew in the pit of my stomach and yet I still couldn't look away. I was trapped, desperate to move but grief-stricken to see my mother like that, like some sort of sex toy my father was using to get himself off, as if all he wanted was that 'thing' between her legs, nothing more. She could have been any one of a hundred women for all he seemed to care.

I couldn't stand another moment of this. I finally turned away. To my absolute horror a floorboard creaked. I froze and looked back. Dad hadn't heard and was carrying on as if nothing had happened. But Mom ... Mom was staring at the open door. Our eyes met. In the dim light I could see that her cheeks were wet. Once again I was unable to move. Her eyes were locked to mine, never wavering, pinning me to the spot. There was nothing I could do but watch this tragic, infuriating scene play out. Moments later Dad's thrusts quickened, the grunting noises grew louder until he finally let out a gasp, his ass shuddering as he spilled his cum into her. She dug her fingers deeper into the pillow, her eyes filled with tears. Finally she looked away and buried her face. I turned and hurried back to my room.

...

I at least managed a couple of hours of restless sleep that night, tossing and turning, my mind full of vivid dreams. I awoke with that same gnawing in my gut and I had a pounding headache. It was a grey morning, cold, threatening rain, a perfect match for my mood. I found some aspirin in the bathroom cabinet and then slowly trudged down the servant stairs to the kitchen. She was standing across the room, her back to me, making breakfast.

"Mom ...?"

She turned. Her hair was a mess and dark circles ringed her reddened eyes. She strode across the room and gave me a hard, stinging slap. Instantly she brought her hand to her mouth, her eyes wide with shock at what she had just done. "Oh Bradley! Oh god, I am so sorry!" Tears welled in her eyes once again.

I stood there, lost. "No, I'm sorry Mom."

She fell into my arms and held tight. Her shoulders started to shake. She was sobbing, her lips close to my ear. "Oh Bradley, why? And of all times, why last night? What a horrible thing for you to see!"

"I'm sorry, Mom. I'm really sorry. I -- I don't know what came over me. I got angry. I was so angry at how he was treating you I couldn't move!"

She took my face in her hands. "Oh Sweetheart, no. Don't be angry. No, he has never hurt me, ever. It's ... it's just the way things are, Hon. It's been this way for a very long time. It's not his fault. Last night I was just so sad ... remembering the way it used to be, the way ... the way it is now ... with you."

I squeezed her tightly. "Really? Do you really mean that?"

"Oh, Darling, yes. Yes, I truly mean it. Being with you, making love with you is wonderful. I knew it would be. If you could only know how much I've hoped for this, longed for us to be together. I want you so much, Bradley."

We heard Dad's footsteps in the front hall. Mom quickly dabbed her eyes with a dish towel and went back to work. I grabbed the pot of coffee and morning paper off the kitchen table and headed for the dining room. He was dressed in a shirt and tie, ready for work. I handed him the paper and poured his coffee as he sat down.

"Hi, Dad."

"Morning, Brad. Was your night all right? Feelin' better? I gotta tell ya, you sure don't look it. And what in hell happened to your face? You look like somebody slugged you with a hot iron!"

I brought my hand to my cheek, still stinging from Mom's slap. "Really? Maybe I slept on it wrong. I had a rough night, don't really know why. Maybe it's the weather or work or ... something."

Mom walked in with two plates of hot breakfast for us. Her eyes widened when she saw her red handprint on my face. "Where's yours, Mom? Aren't you going to have breakfast with us?"

"N-no, not right away Hon. I'm an unholy mess. I - I didn't sleep well last night." She cast a sidelong glance at my father. "I think I'll go upstairs and draw myself a nice, hot bath. Can you two manage on your own?"

"Sure, Mom. I've got this."

"Thanks, Dear." As she passed by she gave me a quick kiss, her lips gently caressing that damaged cheek.

Dad sat in silence, reading his paper while I nibbled at my breakfast, barely able to eat. In my head I was raging at him.

How could you treat her like that? Don't you know how lucky you are to have her? What's wrong with you? If you don't love her, just leave her alone!

The phone rang, Dad got up to answer it. We lived in a large old house that was built long before there was any such thing as a telephone. We had the grand total of two: one in the front hall and one upstairs in my parents' room. I could hear him talking with who-knows-who, probably another client or maybe even his slave-driving boss. He was always working, it seemed, traveling everywhere, gone for long stretches at a time. It was rare for him to ever be home more than a month at a time. I heard him slam the receiver down.

"Damn it all!" He stormed back into the dining room, grabbed his coffee and gulped it down.

"What's up, Dad?"

"That god-damned client needs his hand held because he goes and does the same god-damned thing we got him through two god-damned months ago! Chrissakes! Can't these idiots do anything for themselves? Now I have to fly out there and start all over with him. Goddammit!"

"Sorry, Dad. Where d'ya have to go? How long?"

"Seattle! And who knows for how long? Last time it took a whole week! Dammit! Does he think he's our only customer?"

I felt badly for him, in a way. On the other hand, I could barely conceal my absolute joy. An entire week without him here? An entire week alone with Mom?

Sorry Dad, but don't let the door hit you on the way out.

He snatched a piece of toast off his plate and stormed upstairs. In the distance a door opened and I heard Mom yelp. He must have gone up to tell her the news, meanwhile startling her, killing her quiet moment.

Nice one, Dad.

The door slammed and he came back down, suitcase in hand.

"I've been home a day! A day! What's your mom been doing, sitting around eating bonbons? Now I'll have to get the hotel to launder this stuff! Call me a cab for the airport, will ya? I gotta get some papers together." He stomped off to the library.

A few minutes later a cab was waiting in the drive. Mom was at the front door, in her bathrobe, a towel wrapped around her hair.

"Goodbye Charles, I do hope your trip goes well. I'm so sorry about your clothes."

"Bye Jackie. Better luck next time, heh?" He turned to me. "Take care of your mom, okay? I'll probably be gone all week. Stay out of trouble."

"Will do, Dad."

With that, he was gone.

We both stood at the door, watching the cab drive away. When it turned the corner, Mom put her arm around me. "I'm so sorry about your face, Sweetheart. I should never have done that. I'm glad your dad wasn't paying too much attention. Can you forgive me?"

"Of course I can, Mom. Not that you need me to. I deserved it."

"Oh, let's not get into all that again." She stretched up and kissed my cheek. "Do you realize what just happened, Sweetheart?"

"What's that, Mom?"

"That wonderful, horrible client that your father is flying off to see has just given us an entire week to ourselves."

...

I wish I could tell you that we rushed back upstairs and spent the next seven days making wild, passionate love but, well, life has a habit of getting in the way. We both agreed that we were completely worn out. Neither of us had the strength, regardless of how much we wanted to be together. It was the way things were to be between us, that we would always be honest with each other, that we would always try to take care of each other.

We went our separate ways at the top of the stairs, me to get ready for my job, she to try to get some rest after such a tough night. I promised I'd be home as soon as my shift was over.

...

Once again the day dragged endlessly. Even though I was exhausted, at four o'clock I was out of the shop like a shot, racing for home. I heard her call my name when the door slammed behind me. She was in the laundry room, finishing up. She seemed much brighter, rested.

"Hi Sweetheart! How was your day? Did you manage alright? Poor dear, you were so tired this morning."

"Oh, I managed okay. Still kind of beat but I'm okay."

She came over and gave me a big hug. She turned my face to the light to look at my cheek. "Well, at least I didn't do any lasting damage. Did anyone at work notice?"

"No, it was pretty much all better by time I got there. Riding my bike in this cold weather probably helped it."

"Well, why don't you sit here and relax while I finish up. Can I get you something? A beer perhaps?"

"A beer? Really?"

"Sure! Why not? You heard your father. You're the man of the house now. Don't you deserve a beer after a hard day?"

"Well, um, sure! I'd like that. But let me get it, you stay here."

"Bring me one as well, please? Thanks, Sweetheart."

I went to the kitchen and opened a couple of bottles, pouring hers into a glass. In all my life I'd never seen her drink straight from a bottle, not at parties, not at the beach, not even at home. Why, was another one of those little mysteries.