บท 1884: MOM IS A MESS
I heard a crash and a cry from the kitchen and rushed downstairs.
"Fuck!"
"What happened?" I asked unnecessarily. There was a pool of soup on the floor below the microwave and Mom stood ankle-deep in chicken and dumplings.
"Fuck!" she repeated, her face twisting into a snarl of annoyance. She stomped her bare foot in frustration, splashing the cabinets and sending a chunk of carrot careening across the hardwood.
"I'll take care of it," I offered. Reaching for a drawer, I pulled out a stack of towels and went to work containing the mess. Mom didn't move; she stood quaking in the quagmire of her own creation, too livid to function. I worked in slow methodical circles around her feet, gradually mopping up her cold spoiled lunch. Standing, I went to the sink and warmed a washcloth, then returned to my task on hands and knees.
"Lift up," I said, taking hold of her bare calf. Despite her fury, she did as I asked and allowed me to clean the flecks of thyme and bits of ruined chicken from her skin. Gods, her feet were sexy. I traced each knob and knurl, slipping fingers between her toes and along her graceful arch. With focused effort and much regret, I set her free lest she discover my perverted delight. Satisfied with the job, though wishing she'd spill something else, I looked up from my crouched position and committed what would perhaps be the most breathtakingly profound action of my life. There, not two feet from my awestruck visage, was the glowing dome of satin-wrapped pussy. Short dark hairs poked through the shiny white fabric, spoiling an otherwise perfect picture of Mom's secret feminine gifts. I lingered, unable to shake my eyes from the stolen glimpse up her skirt.
"Thanks, Jax. I can't believe I did that." Mom glanced down, swinging her hips to the side and swaying her hem away from my immoral gaze. We made eye contact and surely she knew the sight I'd just beheld, etched as it was for eternity in my mind.
I stood, my face growing hot. "Are you alright?" I asked, hoping a distraction would alter the course of her thoughts.
"I'm fine," she sighed. "I just wanted to have a quick lunch. I have to get to work."
"Sit." I indicated toward the table. "I got this." I watched her shoulders slump in resignation as she accepted my help, dejectedly if not gracefully gliding toward the dining room and pulling out a chair. I joined her minutes later, two steaming bowls in hand.
"Here, eat," I said, glancing down at her forlorn face, her cropped sandy hair shading a pair of pretty made-up eyes that screamed sadness.
"It's alright, Mom. It's just soup," I said, sitting opposite and hoping to lift her spirits.
"It's not that," she said with a heavy sigh and set to eating her lunch in a depressed funk.
I knew, of course. Nothing was going right for her. It seemed nothing ever had. She was a single mother stuck in a job she could ill-afford to lose or leave with no chance of betterment and no man to comfort her in her misfortunes. I owed her everything; she toiled endlessly to afford my meager tuition and never asked for more than that I succeed where she had failed.
Mom was a mess.
My own course had been set in large part because of her travesties, not in spite of them. Divorced at thirty, she'd crossed the country to flee a toxic family and bitter memories. A decade later, she'd forced me into the local community college with the demand that I make something of my life. I'd never done well in school, but I did show an inexplicable aptitude for numbers. So I enrolled in any mathematics class that struck my fancy and somehow managed to capture the attention of my statistics professor. Home for the summer, I was continuing my studies at his behest and interning remotely as an analyst for a small startup.
But this isn't a story about me. At least not entirely.
Mom had few friends and her job at the local diner seemed only to bring her into contact with the type of men who had but a singular objective in mind. And once they'd achieved that goal, little thought was left for her. I'd seen it a dozen times in recent years and yet she still persisted, hoping incomprehensibly that Prince Charming could be found in the dregs of a greasy spoon beside a neglected highway sitting behind a plate of soggy fried potatoes and a sloppy burger. Her tenacity at persisting through it all was a great source of my own inspiration and I'd never sought to let her down because of it. It seemed her only source of comfort was that I was becoming the man she'd expected, and perhaps unintentionally, the one she needed.
Spoons rattled and I stood, taking her emptied bowl with mine to the sink. "Working late tonight?"
"Closing again," she said, a bitter twinge tainting her otherwise melodic voice.
"I'll stop by for dinner, then." Mom hated closing, that's when the weirdos came out.
"Okay. Bye, Jax. Keep your head down." I watched her leave; fetching her coat, stepping into her frayed pumps, and tossing her worn purse over a drooping shoulder before swinging out the door.
'Keep your head down' was our thing; a saying born of years of toil and bad luck. It was a cautious reminder to work hard, stay in our lane, and above all else, avoid trouble. It's the mantra that got us through the most difficult years after we'd set off together on a path of uncertainty without a safety net or even a bank account with a positive balance. I often wished I could remember more of those early times because what little I ken painted an entirely different picture of the woman to whom I owed everything.
Mom was fierce back then, even fearless; pissed off at the world and determined to carve a piece off for me and her and hold it up by the balls screaming in victory. But it all came slowly crumbling down as a monotonous reality set in; the bills mounted, the broken relationships piled up, work stagnated, and hopes dissolved into a mess of failures and shattered dreams. Keeping her head down was all she could do now, lest she look up and see the shambles she'd made of her life. Or more to the point, that life had made of her. I longed to have the Mom of my early childhood back; to bask in her ferocity as she tore the world a new one. But she was gone, buried deep, and I feared nothing could bring her back.
I spent the afternoon in my room, hunched over a laptop and applying myself to my studies and work as she would want. My job was quickly becoming a passion the likes of which I'd never experienced. It combined the two things I enjoyed most in life: baseball and math. I found the internship by chance, a random posting on my community college's website. It was obscure enough to draw my curiosity and after a series of phone calls and a glowing recommendation from my favored professor, I had my first paying gig. It wasn't much, but it was enough that I could occasionally spoil Mom and lift a small burden from her hunched shoulders.
The startup I worked for was building a fantasy baseball app. It was a shot in the dark in an industry already crowded beyond reason. But the job was fun and I was being paid to do something I enjoyed, which was more than I could say for Mom. Between a handful of online classes, I filled my time crunching numbers, analyzing baseball statistics, and devising new ways to slice and dice a mind-bogglingly complex array of data. The surprising depth of the math behind such a simple sport was what held my interest. Who knew hitting a ball with a stick had anything to do with higher order mathematics?
I tinkered away, coding a script to run an analysis and test a theory that I'd had kicking around in my head. If it proved true, I may finally have my first contribution to add to the small company that placed their trust in a young unproven kid they'd never met. The function churned on my screen and spat out an error. Bah! Fucking Python!
I had taken a couple of programming classes in my first quarter, thinking it may be the field I could find success in. The introductory lessons were far from enjoyable and I struggled mightily making the infernal machines do as I demanded. But it was a necessary evil; pen and paper were no longer good enough and to get to the bottom of complex statistics using huge sets of data, I had no other option.
My stomach growled and drew my attention to the clock on my laptop. Six hours had passed since lunch; gone in a blink, it seemed. That sort of focused obsession is what kept me coming back, frustrating code aside. I hadn't even considered the glimpse I had stolen of Mom's panties, though it came back then in a flood of hormones and misdirected teenage lust. I shook my head, futility attempting to rid my mind of its incestual notions.
I stuffed my laptop into my backpack and bolted downstairs, hoping I hadn't missed the bus. With seconds to spare, I hopped inside and swiped my student pass through the slot, smiling at the driver who grunted and paid me no mind. Three stops later, I rang the signal and waited until the doors fanned open. Jumping onto the street, I turned up the dirty sidewalk and walked two blocks to the town's only late-night eatery.
I nodded at a couple of old-timers seated at the counter and tucked into a booth. The scent of rancid grease and stale coffee hung heavy in the air, but it was a smell that reminded me of Mom and that made it bearable, if not enjoyable. I pulled out my laptop and continued my work, oblivious to the familiar diner and its wrinkled inhabitants.
"Hi hun, the usual?" Mom asked in her practiced sing-song tone.
"Please," I said, looking up and smiling at her. She looked tired. "Long day?"
She nodded. "Stacy's out sick so I'm all by myself aside from George."
George was the diner's long-time short-order cook. Always good-natured and always ready with a joke to lighten the mood. Had it not been for him, Mom would have walked out years ago. I secretly wished the two would get together, but he was married and showed no signs of being unhappy with his station. Stacy, on the other hand, was a raging bitch who'd never worked a full shift in her life. She called in sick more times than I could remember and try as she might to get fired, her looks kept her employed. I'd wager more than one roll in the hay with the owner helped, too.
I frowned and simply said, "Sorry, Mom. Keep your head down," as I'd offered so many times before.
Then she smiled at me; the sight that never failed to warm my soul. Her weathered face betrayed her age but did nothing to hide the beauty that had always been. She looked like she'd lived a hard life, and she had; but as ever the rain wears the stone, nothing would ever completely dissolve her intrinsic elegance and strength.
"Back in a jiff," Mom said, spinning on her high heels and lifting her skirt. My mind dove back up that twirling hem and my pants twitched. Dirty thoughts crept in as I continued to dwell on Mom's creamy thighs and tender feet. What the fuck! I shook my head again and tried to return to my work, but Python proved no match for the perversion that overpowered my feeble psyche. I continued to daydream about the forbidden until her lyrical voice shook me awake.
"One bacon cheese for my growing boy."
"Thanks," I mumbled, not wanting to make eye contact for fear of adding further fuel to the fires of my wickedness.
I ate my solitary dinner in focused distraction, counting the holes in the red upholstery of the bench opposite my seat. Once I got to fifty-seven, I started again and landed at sixty-two. Unable to believe five foam-filled gaps had mysteriously sprouted in the few minutes between attempts, I began anew. Fifty-four. Fuck! My compulsive nature refused to allow this preposterous transgression to stand. After a sixth try, I surrendered, having polished off the last dollop of ketchup with the remaining cold soggy fry on my plate. Schrodinger's holes would have to wait for another day.
Suitably distracted, I returned to my laptop; tweaking code, renaming variables, cursing errant semicolons, and formatting squirrely curly brackets. I ran my script for what felt like the thousandth time and it finished for a change, displaying a matrix of numbers. I pulled up a spreadsheet and ran several cursory calculations to confirm my hypothesis.
Success! I'd mathematically shown that changing a baseball player's position based on age has a net positive result on his offensive capabilities. It was something every fan knew, but with numbers to back it up, I'd potentially be able to predict when a player should be moved, and maybe even when a player should be cut. It was the sort of hypothetical that any serious fantasy sports player needed to consider. I fired off an email to my supervisor and hoped to receive a quick response.
"Hey, champ," I heard a familiar voice say. "Your mom's almost done."
"Thanks, George."
"Hey, uh, have you heard about the mathematician who's afraid of negative numbers?"
I shook my head and braced for the punchline.
"He'll stop at nothing to avoid them!"
I shared a forced laugh with the charming grease-splattered gentleman and then shook my head. "Even for you George, that was pretty bad."
"Aim to please," he said, tipping an invisible cap and pushing open the diner's squeaky glass door.
"Have a good one!" I shouted at his back. He turned and gave me a wave as he disappeared into the night.
Chuckling at the jovial cook's friendly demeanor, I stood and headed back to the kitchen. George's humor was always welcome, no matter how awful. But in this case it proved germane; his choice of jokes showed that he recognized my interests, and even though we knew little of each other, I knew that he cared. Mom needed more people like him in her life.
Pushing through the pair of swinging saloon doors, I found Mom hunched over a counter, giving it one last polish before calling it a night. Her flowing skirt swished side to side as her shapely hips rocked with each thrust of the washcloth. I couldn't help but stare again, focusing on her taut thighs and lifted bottom, artificially enhanced by the well-worn green pumps that held her dainty toes. Fuck! I couldn't stop myself.
"Oh, hi hun!" Mom exclaimed, pulling a hand to her breast. "You scared me!"
"Sorry. Guess I was just admiring your work," I admitted sheepishly.
"Like you've never seen me clean a counter before?" she asked with a smirking grin.
Gods I loved to see her smile. I shrugged and felt my cheeks start to heat up. "Need any help?"
"Nope, I'm almost done. Just need to put away the last of the leftovers." I watched her toss the rag into the sink and then head for the stainless-steel prep station and lift out a half dozen hotel pans. With deft practiced moves she slid them down the counter and wrapped each in plastic before hefting one to the fridge. I reached out, opening the door, and she graced me with an appreciative smile. Hrrng. There it was again.
I held the door until Mom had the last heavy pan in her grasp and was sliding it into the back of the fridge. Then disaster struck. The wire shelving gave way and two of the near-full metal containers came crashing down.
"Fuck!" Mom screamed, trying to back out of the impending avalanche of food. But it was futile, a cascade of chili and nacho cheese rained down upon her. The pans crashed onto the floor, one sharp edge striking the top of her precious foot causing a second cry. "Ow! Fuck!" I could see blood begin to rise from the ugly wound and mix with the red and yellow slop that coated her body.
Mom lost it. Lost it like I'd never seen. She collapsed, broken, folding to the ground in a heaping mess with her hands covering her face and wailing sobs wracking her body.
"Mom?! Are you ok?!" I'd taken my share of the colorful fallout, but she was my only concern.
She didn't respond; she just shook her head and continued howling into her hands. I didn't know what to do. She was always the strong one. She was the one who held me when I couldn't handle it anymore. So much hurt and resentment came flooding out of her that the sounds she made were painful to hear; they didn't seem human. My heart ripped in half seeing the straw that finally broke her back; the back that bore the weight of our combined troubles for almost twenty years.
Not knowing what else to do, I knelt into the pool of spilled chili and cheese and wrapped my arms around her. "It's okay, Mom. I'll take care of it."
"It's not okay," she sobbed. "I'm such a fuck up!"
I'd never heard her make such an admission. As often as life had gotten her down, she'd always stood back up. Maybe more battered, bruised, or weather-worn for her efforts; but never once failing to return to her feet.
"No, you aren't," I insisted. "The fridge broke, it's not your fault." Her shoulders shook as I held her tight, trying my best to offer what comfort I could.
She peeled her hands from her face and turned a tear-stained cheek in my direction. "George told me it was broken and I forgot." Her face scrunched into a ball of frustrated despair and she broke down again, sliding farther into the mess. Unable to hold her up, I let her go. I felt horrible. Had it not been for my distraction maybe she would have remembered.
I saw the cut on her foot, oozing blood and covered with chunks of ground beef. I stood and slid in front of her, pushing waves of viscous liquid cheese across the tiled floor. I put my hands under her armpits and said, "Stand up. Let me take care of your foot." I lifted and was glad to feel her comply, raising slowly on one knee, then standing on a wobbly foot.
Disaster struck a second time as the infernal mess caused her pointed heel to lose traction and she toppled against me. I slipped and we fell together with a squelching splash. She landed atop my chest as my back slapped onto the floor and launched a tsunami of chili cheese at the front of the oven. I saw stars and then heard the most blissful sound I'd heard in years.
Mom was laughing. She wasn't just laughing, she was bawling. What a ridiculous mess we'd made! Rolling on the kitchen floor like a couple of pigs in slop! I couldn't help myself. Her mirth was contagious and a welcome shift from what was just moments ago a scene of unspeakable heartbreak. Her body shook atop mine; I could feel her soft breasts pressing into my stomach as she slid up my torso and looked into my eyes. Streaks of red and yellow smudged her smiling flushed face as she leaned down and kissed me. It was over in a split second, but I felt as if an eternity had passed with her messy wet lips pressed onto mine.
"You taste like chili!" she blurted and buried her head into my chest, cackling with laughter. She lifted her face again and I lunged with my tongue, licking up her cheek.
"Whatever, cheese head!"
Mom guffawed and leaned down, taking my ear into her mouth and sliding her tongue through my crinkled curves before latching onto my lobe and popping it free with a loud smack.
"You've got some tomato in your ear, Jax," she purred.
It was hot. I was getting turned on with her body pressed into mine and her warm breath crashing against my skin. The thing in my pants awoke and made its presence known. Her bare thigh brushed against it and she stopped all movement. Another heartbeat of an eternity passed before she quickly regained her composure, at least to the extent possible while covered in chili and nacho cheese, and rolled off me. She splashed into the mess and sat up, her skirt riding high on her stained legs. All I could think was that her poor white panties had to be ruined. Hrrng. My cock raged at the illicit visualization."Fuck!" Mom blurted, looking around at the carnage. "This is going to take all night to clean up."
"I'll help," I offered.
"Thanks, hun. I don't suppose it's worth cleaning ourselves up until we deal with this first." She slapped her hands onto the sloppy floor, playing like a naughty toddler in a mud puddle.
"Let me take care of your foot first; it's liable to get infected."
"Okay." She kicked off her heels and stood with great care, walking gingerly to the sink to clean her hands and face. Globs of chili cheese rolled down her clothes, dropping back into the mayhem that coated the tile floor. Her skirt stuck to her legs and rivulets of thick yellow sludge slid down her calves.
I stood up and joined her and we alternated turns under the warm water, vainly cleaning ourselves as best we could. Satisfied, at least temporarily, I took Mom by the hand and led her into the bathroom leaving red and yellow footprints in our wake. It couldn't be helped; the first aid supplies were in a cabinet above the toilet.
"Sit," I said, motioning down at the porcelain bowl.
"Ugh, we're just making an even bigger mess."
"What do you want me to do?" I could have gotten down on the floor and further spread our filth, but that was what I'd hoped to avoid in the first place. "Are there any clothes here we can change into?"
"Just aprons." Mom shook her head in thought. "You know what? Fuck it." She began unbuttoning her blouse and my eyes went wide. Sure, I'd seen her in a bikini and caught the occasional flash of undies, but this felt different. Whatever had come over me was not going to do well with this turn of events. For the third time that night, I felt my pants tighten in her presence.
Her blouse undone, I fought and lost to the urge to examine her chest. It was tanned and lightly-freckled, with ample cleavage thanks to her padded push-up bra which was once a pristine white. Chili had managed to get through her shirt and stain the delicate fabric. Her breasts were perfect by my standards; far from obscene yet certainly more than I felt worthy to handle.
I forced myself to reach down and adjust my unruly erection while Mom was busy examining the blotches of sauce that dotted her bra. I kept my eyes on her, though, and just managed to swallow a gasp as she stepped out of her soiled skirt. Try as I might, I couldn't unglue my pupils from the luscious lump that bulged from beneath her shiny satiny panties. The errant hairs reappeared, once again asserting the feminine secrets she kept hidden under that thin layer of fabric.
"Jax? Up here," Mom giggled. My face lit on fire as I met her gaze. "I know this is a little weird, but let's just get it over with, okay? I want to get at least a few hours of sleep tonight."
I nodded, though my quivering lip and raging hardon betrayed my feelings. A little weird, she said. Fucking ridiculous is more like it. But I couldn't remember the last time I'd heard her giggle and that helped temper the insanity that roiled my mind.
"Okay, your turn," Mom stated. I gave her a confused look, my brain yet unwilling to engage.
"Strip!" she barked. "Come on, let's go." She clapped her hands impatiently, jostling the supple flesh her bra failed to cover.
I couldn't. My prick would betray me. I bit my lip and shook my head, embarrassed beyond words.
"Aw, hun, it's ok. It's not like I haven't seen it all before."
Not like this, you haven't.
"C'mere," she said, waving me towards her. She tossed her dirty clothes out the door and into the kitchen and then lifted my shirt over my head. I'll admit my body was nothing to be ashamed of; sports kept me in shape, and I'd spent enough time in the gym to add bulk to my lean frame. Her fingers moved to my jeans. I felt her hovering over my hardness, though tucked away as it was, she probably didn't notice. That was surely about to change.
Mom undid my button and then reached into my fly and unzipped halfway. With a tug from my hips, she jerked my soiled sticky jeans down in one swift movement. Too swift. My tighty-whities clung to the saturated denim and dropped in unison. Out flopped my raging erection and I about fainted.
"Oh dear," Mom uttered under her breath. Her knees wobbled and she dropped onto the toilet seat.
"I'm sorry!" I cried. I fought the reflex to cover myself with my hands, thinking that could easily result in further embarrassment given my excited state.
"Honey, you have nothing to apologize for."
"I couldn't help it," I whined, unable to find any excuse that would make it okay.
Mom made no motion to hide my shame so I did it myself, reaching down and lifting up my briefs. Only then did she move, quickly impeding my attempt. I looked down in confusion to see her hands grasping my wrists and her eyes transfixed on my throbbing cock.
"M...m...mom?" I stuttered. I felt her breath on my crotch, breezing through my curly hairs and tickling my sensitive skin with its muggy heat.
She didn't move. Deer in headlights. I'd have given her my next paycheck to know her thoughts but I dared not speak.
Then it happened. Boundaries came crashing down. Taboos were destroyed. Universes shattered, thrown to the winds. My ferocious mother came roaring back to life and swallowed me whole. Her soft lips wrapped around my cock and she sucked with an intensity that sent my head into the clouds. One hand shot out and cradled my balls, the second gripping tightly around my shaft, pumping in time with her bobbing head while her tongue whirled like a dervish around my flared tip. Within seconds, I was done. I cried out and clenched, then exploded into her torrid clutches, gushing spurt after spurt onto her tongue. Time stood still again as I emptied into Mom's mouth, moaning and twitching as she hummed in delight and rattled me to my core.
And then it was over. With a wet smack, she let me go and tugged up my white briefs. I stared down at her in disbelief, unable to process what debauchery had just occurred. Mom met my gaze with an intensity that I'd rarely seen anymore. It wasn't the same sad, broken, tired look I'd grown accustomed to for so many years. It was as if she'd finally found a corner of the world to claim as her own.
I refused to be the first one to speak. She had to explain herself; I had to know what this was.
"I saw you looking at me this morning, Jax. And I felt that thing when I fell on top of you. Your mother is not a fool."
I shook my head. I very much agreed, but that was beside the point.
"I'm also not a slut. So take what I just did as a compliment. And a downpayment for the mess you're about to help me clean up."
A downpayment?! That implication was not at all lost on me, as I'm sure she intended. All I could do was squeak out a meager, "Okay."
"Now, patch me up so we can get to it!" she demanded, her impatience returning with a vengeance.
I pulled the first aid kit from the wall and found the requisite supplies. Kneeling, I picked up her foot and began cleaning the spilled food and blood from around her wound. The cut was ugly but not deep, though it had to hurt something fierce. A large ugly bruise was already forming from the impact, spreading across half of the bridge of her lovely arched foot. Once clean, I coated the wound in antibacterial cream and wrapped a bandage over top.
As I cradled her precious toes, I felt the heat rise again; only now with fostered confidence and a sense of intense longing. This time I had the courage to do something about it. And I did.
I kissed the bandaid, a harmless enough act in and of itself, but then I trailed a tongue over the bridge of her foot and down to her toes. I tickled in between each, dodging and weaving in circles and drawing each pudgy digit into my mouth one by one, tasting the soiled tangy remains of spilled chili and creamy queso. I paid no attention to Mom as she made no effort to end my depraved podophiliac worship. It wasn't until I heard her moan that I looked up at her body, finding it slouched against the toilet, dressed in stained underwear, with her head lolling back and eyes closed in bliss.
Taking her evident enjoyment as further invitation, I continued my ministrations, trailing my tongue up her lean calf and around her knee. She spread herself open for me and took hold of my short brown hairs as I continued kissing up her soft inner thigh until I could smell her heavy musk. Then I paused and glanced between her legs, seeing a dark wet spot bloom deep in the gusset of her silvery-white panties. She shifted down, draping her leg over my shoulder and urged me in, oblivious to the consequences of our illicit actions.
I drove into Mom with my nose, inhaling her bittersweet feminine scent and pressing into the soft piles of flesh that remained hidden beneath her underwear. She growled, the ferocity returning as she reached down and unceremoniously pulled her panties to the side and exposed her most private of places. Bare dark lips stared back at me, topped with a tangle of curly ash-brown hair and split by a crinkled pair of glistening pink slivers that parted to reveal the darkest of depths. It was forbidden; the place from whence I came, but I cared no longer. Reason was never to be part of this carnal relationship.
Tongue extended, I pushed into her wetness, diving straight for her center with a hunger that matched her own moments before. I shook my head, pushing the crest of my nose across her swollen folds as I probed deep inside Mom's forbidden heat. Her puffy lips wrapped around my cheeks, engulfing my face in a slippery warm embrace. I feasted on her tenderest of places, twirling my tongue in circles through her tensing tunnel, feeling her rippled walls clench and hearing her cries of passion reverberate around the small room. Then, with one final ferocious attack, I latched on to her fleshy nub and sucked with all the force I had, gnashing my teeth and lashing out with my tongue, seeking to bring her to climax with the same intensity she showed me. An earth-shattering scream and gush of wetness told me I'd accomplished my task and with a loud smack I let Mom's swollen red pussy loose and sat back on my feet as she moaned and rocked side to side on her ivory throne.
"Fuuuuuck!" she howled, this time sounding so different than the other expletives I'd heard her expel that day.
Proud of what I'd done, I smiled. She still hadn't made eye contact with me, but I could see her eyelids flutter as she clutched her sopping crotch, still riding the waves of pleasure that I'd coaxed from her sad worn-out body. Figuring it wise to leave her to her enjoyment, I stood and gathered my dirty clothes, tossing them onto the pile with Mom's blouse and dress outside the door. I gathered up a variety of cleaning supplies and set them into a stack of buckets and left, more than content to just let her be for a spell.
Stepping back out into the chili cheese apocalypse, I couldn't help but laugh at the mess. I could see the imprints of our bodies where we'd fallen and where Mom had sat before we'd washed in the sink. I licked my lips, staring down at the destruction, tasting Mom, and debating how best to tackle the chili con carnage while idly wishing I had a snow shovel. Opting for the next best thing, I grabbed a dustpan and began scooping up the slop, ushering into the tapered plastic run with my free hand and then pitching the soupy mixture into the trash. After a few dozen rounds, I had the bulk of the mess contained and set to the job of deep cleaning the floor and surrounding appliances.
I caught a flash of white movement while I was bent scrubbing the front of the oven and lifted my head to see Mom standing in the doorway of the bathroom dressed in her once-white bra and panties. Her face was pink, her undies were damp, her bra was stained, her legs were streaked red and yellow, and her hair was an absolute disaster. But she looked happier than I could ever remember.
Not wanting to mince words, I simply said, "Sponges are in the sink. I think I got the worst of it." She nodded and I watched her walk by, ogling her broad hips and bouncy butt as she stepped barefoot over the tile floor. Her bottom was stained red, a result of her rolling off my body into a puddle of chili. For a split second, I wanted to laugh at her misfortune, but that seemed like a very cruel thing to do given the circumstances. Mom's ass certainly did not deserve to be patronized, though rarely did she show it off anymore, opting for flowing skirts and dresses that hid her most impressive curves. It probably had something to do with her randy clientele and the lonely late-night wackos that frequented the diner. I knew she'd had more than one creep try to cop a feel, and even though a loose skirt offered less protection, at least it left plenty to the imagination.
My productivity dropped by several factors of ten once Mom joined the work party. Between watching her breasts bulge, threatening to spill from her bra as she bent down and the sight of her sodden panties pulling tight between her thighs, I was effectively useless. My cock reared its sensitive swollen head again and I did what I could, despite my condition and preference to simply stare at Mom's mostly-naked body as she toiled at a job she'd done for nearly half her life. I considered that if this could be the last kitchen she'd ever cleaned then I'd be the happiest person alive. To give her the gift of freedom and a life of fulfillment and meaning, as she'd given me, would truly be the greatest act of my life.
That happy thought occupied my mind and softened my britches as I toiled alongside my beautiful filthy mother, cleaning up the mess she'd made. We found our moments of fun between the dirty monotony, splashing each other with suds, flicking bits of chili meat back and forth; enjoying each others company as we rarely had time to do anymore. It was during one of these displays of lively flirting that I finally worked up the nerve to kiss her, darting in as she reared back to smear a handful of liquid cheese on my face and surprising her with my eager lips. She moaned into my mouth and her jaw went slack. Our tongues met and I joined her restless movements, wrapping an arm around her waist and pressing our messy bodies together.
Mom returned my embrace, though with but one arm, circling my shoulders and caressing my muscled back. My cock sprang to life against her smooth undulating thigh and I felt her hand slide slowly down my flank. I gasped through flared nostrils as she wrapped her fingers around my stiffness, focusing with practiced motions on my tender domed tip, pinching the fabric of my briefs and twirling in circles over my most sensitive skin. I broke free of our passionate kiss and panted, the whites in my eyes grew as I felt her slip into the elastic band of my underwear. She pulled it away from my body and brought it down under my dangly bits.
Then, in an act that would stay with me forever, Mom looked into her free hand, an oozing pile of yellow sauce in its palm. A wicked playful grin spread across her face and she reached down slowly, tantalizingly displaying her devilish intent. Her tongue darted out from her teeth and she bit it, her face still split by an impish smirk. Then I felt it; the warm gushing grasp circling my cock, overflowing with soupy slick cheese sauce that now creatively doubled as some sort of dairy-based lubricant. I leaned my head back and moaned at the stained ceiling as her skilled hands started moving in earnest. I couldn't watch. I'd never be able to eat nachos again.
Double-fisted seemed to be Mom's favored approach, at least when cheese sauce was in play, though I doubted she'd ever had the opportunity to practice this level of debasement on anyone else but I, her loving son. Squelching pops bounced off the stainless steel walls of the kitchen as Mom jerked my cock; one hand held tight around its base, yellow sauce oozing from between her clenched callused fingers, and her second hand flying over my acorn tip. The skill and haste at which she operated were beyond anything I'd ever felt. Granted, I had never been an expert at prolonging the experience, as she was moments from discovering for the second time.
"Mooooooooom!" I howled and spilled into her grip.
"That's it, hun, let it all out," she purred.
I throbbed and throbbed, unable to stop the twitching convulsions because she wouldn't let me. My hips flailed out of control as I tried to flee her touch, the intense sensitivity causing my cock to want nothing more than to be left alone. After what seemed an eon, I calmed and she graciously gave me peace. Only then did I look down. My mind saw one thing and one thing only, and in doing so, ruined a completely different dish than I had anticipated. I was a corndog coated in mustard. With a little Twinkie thrown in, I considered, as I noticed my cream-filled center had been squeezed into Mom's open palm.
In case you were wondering: Twinkies are all good; I can and do still eat them. But I don't go sucking the middle out. That's just gross.
It turned out I had no time for further food-related analogies as Mom was not quite done with me yet. She brought her hand to her lips and licked it clean, slurping and lapping at my cheezy spunk, all the while glaring into my depraved soul. Then she moaned. And by moaned, I mean she looked at me with parted lips and did the thing women can do to tell a man in one long drawn-out animalistic throat-rattling syllable that a thousand words could not hope to convey.
Fuck! She was hot. And she still wasn't finished. My dribbling and quickly-diminishing cock gained her attention and she set her skills as a professional cleaner to work on it. Her tongue and lips covered every surface as she bathed me in spit and sucked every last fleck of yellow sauce from my skin. By the time she'd finished, I was rock hard, bouncing and hoping for more. But it was not to be.
Mom patted my dancing prick and cooed, "Down boy." I groaned as she stood and turned away in denial, pulling up my briefs and leaving them tented to advertise my displeasure at her untimely retreat. Had she simply stopped with the cheese job, I'd have happily tucked away my dirty package and called it good. I was due for a shower anyway and my junk was no stranger to crusty deposits. But no, she had to taunt me again and thus leave my brain devoid of the blood required to finish our work in the kitchen.
After several minutes spent staring at the wall and with no desire to see the color yellow for a time, I set to work on the only available task: fixing the fridge. I carefully emptied the top shelf, praying that the remaining brackets would hold long enough for me to eliminate the strain. They did, and a third messy disaster was averted. I went to the closet where the owner kept his tools and located a screw of suitable size and the appropriate driver to twist it in place. Three minutes later, all was well; no further chili avalanches should befall Mom, and I was satisfied by a job well done.
"Nice work," I heard over my shoulder.
"Thanks!" I said in response and turned to face her. Mom was a mess. Twice the mess as when we started. A hundred times the mess as she was at lunch. But the kitchen was spotless and it wasn't even that late, just past midnight.
"Gods, look at you, Jax!" Mom glared at me, her eyes traveling up and down, twinkling with mirth.
"You're not exactly in your prime either, Ma." I never called her 'Ma' and I don't know why I did just then, but it fit; she didn't look like Mom anymore. And even after she cleaned up, I didn't think she would ever again appear the same. What we had just done defied all explanation and redefined reason. I shook my head slowly, unable to stop my body from expressing the crazy shit that was rolling around my brain.
Listen, mister, I'm pretty sure I just gave you more than one reason to believe this old gal still has a few tricks up her sleeve."
I gawked at her brazen brag, but couldn't deny its truth. "Fair enough. And you aren't old. Even if you were, you sure don't look like it."
Mom smiled and blushed. "'Nuf sweet talk, hun. Let's get out of this place. I'm sick of it!"
"How do you propose we do that?"
Mom had a plan. Just like she always had a plan. I watched her circle the room, collecting our dirty clothes in a plastic bag then fetching her purse and a stack of folded white cloth. She handed me her keys and unfurled an apron from the pile.
"Be a dear and put this on and bring the car around. I'll lock up and hop in once I see you pull up."
"Alright," I said, not seeing the sense in arguing. It was either that or step back into those slimy jeans and I wasn't prepared to revisit that trauma. I donned the apron and took the key to the car and left out the back door. It was late, and our sleepy highway town had maybe two hundred inhabitants, so there wasn't any fear of being discovered with my arse hanging out looking like I'd just committed a massacre at a hotdog eating contest.
I hopped into Mom's old Buick and fired it up. I cranked the heat; the night air was cold and entirely too much of my skin was showing. I pulled around front, as close to the door as I could, and waited patiently for Mom to appear in the window and the heater to warm up. Coincidentally, both happened at the same moment as I saw the lights flick off and her stained-panty-clad butt flash me while she turned to lock the door. I reached over and opened the car for her, shoving the door out so she could slide right in. Thankfully, I saw she'd grabbed my backpack; I'd totally forgotten. She was always so good at things like that; looking out for me. I'd be screwed if I lost that laptop and she knew it. Like she knew everything else about me.
"Thanks," I said as she dove into the Buick and set our dirty clothes and my pack on the back seat.
"Sure thing, hun. Let's go. I've never wanted to take a shower so bad before."
"Tell me about it," I agreed as I shifted the ancient vehicle back into gear and pointed us homeward. About halfway through the short journey, I heard that angelic sound again; the one I hadn't heard in ages. Mom was laughing. Tears streamed down her face and I found myself again unable to resist joining her in ridiculous revelry. Barely able to keep the heavy swaying car on the road, I zigged and zagged, nearly taking out the neighbor's mailbox while uproariously cackling alongside the woman who meant more to me than anything. My insides hurt by the time we pulled into the driveway and I could barely see to open the front door of our small two-story house.
Mom fell against me as we stumbled inside and I wrapped an arm around her shaking hips. She stilled and twisted her head around; it was her turn to surprise me with a kiss. We held each other locked in place as our mirth melted into lust. Four hands flew up and down, fondling, caressing, and grasping at each other's filthy bodies. Mom ran her fingers through my tousled dirty hair and suddenly broke off our passionate kiss.
"Jax, you have chili in your hair." And with that single line, never before spoken aloud, our lust devolved back into hilarity.
It took several more minutes of belly-aching laughter to finally calm. It was watching Mom that broke my levity and rekindled the flame that she'd sparked that afternoon with a spilled bowl of chicken and dumpling soup. She was filthy and messy and so, so, happy. Despite the stains and ugly smirches, her body called to me again. I admired her quaking breasts and jiggling hips and a narrow waist I'd never before held dear. It was her smooth soft skin, always hidden behind a hard exterior of quiet suffering, that I'd found most fetching; a complex and complicated juxtaposition that boggled my mind and would take me years to unravel. But I had to have her. That I knew for certain. And more than what we'd done in the slop and the stew.
"Let's take a shower."
Mom lifted her wet red eyes at me, her beautiful weathered face still split by a smile, and nodded her head. Let us take a shower, I'd said. And she'd agreed, easy as that.
I followed her upstairs, eyes glued to her stained ass as it bounced and flexed, jiggling with a joy that mimicked her fits of unabashed laughter. She stopped suddenly and I had no chance to save myself. Face first, I planted into her cheeks, my nose sliding over slick stained satin and driving deep into her crack. I smelled chili and barked out a laugh. Mom, of course, was already on the verge of another fit of giggles at my obvious fixation.
"Chili butt!" I proclaimed and gave her a playful swat. Just enough to cause a girlish squeal and a hop and the resulting quivering waves of soft supple flesh that I so desired to behold.
"Nacho dick!" Mom bleated, then turned bright red, nearly matching the paprika stains that streaked her skin.
I roared with laughter, harder than I'd laughed at any point during the past hours of ridiculous tomfoolery; more at her impulsiveness and embarrassed response than at what she'd said. She was acting so different and I loved every second of it.
When we again stopped laughing and Mom made to turn up the stairs, I added one final observation. "It's your fault for always telling me to keep my head down."
Mom guffawed and shook her head. "That's not what that means and you know it!"
I chuckled at my supposed cleverness as we finished our climb together, strolling first into the bathroom as she followed and switched on the light. I threw back the curtain and turned on the water, watching it crash into the porcelain tub.
I felt Mom tug my apron loose and lift it over my head. Her two hands circled my waist and a pair of tingling scratches sent shivers up my spine as Mom's thumbnails turned downward and slipped under the elastic band of my underwear. I stood still while she pushed it down, then shimmied my hips, coaxing the once-white garment to my ankles. I felt her warm hands grasp my bottom, kneading my smooth flesh and sliding from my waist to my hips in slow languid arching movements.
Mom purred in my ear, "My little boy isn't so little anymore."
Fuck! Her mind was as dirty as her body. My cock jumped and swelled instantly. By the time I turned around, it stood at attention and swept a line across her satin panties, coming to rest on her bulging mound. I could feel her protruding hairs prickling through the stained fabric as she twisted her hips, gliding my glans across her body.
"Take my bra off, hun," she said softly and spun a slow one-eighty, artfully maintaining contact with the tip of my cock as it traced a half circle over her broad thigh, coming to rest over the big red blotch that covered her backside precisely where my nose had just been. I took a small step in, wanting to feel her heat again, and slid my length between her soft thighs. She moaned and rolled her shoulders, bringing my focus back to where she wanted it.
Reaching out with conviction, intent on unveiling her final treasures, I quickly pinched and released the clasp over her spine. Mom pushed her arms together and the straps began to slide from her skin but hung up on her sharp collarbone. Ever the attentive son, I set them free. Her bra dropped to the floor and before she could turn, I slid my hands along her sides and to her front, wanting to feel her softness before I laid eyes on it. I touched the tenderness of her two arching swells with my index fingers and slowly lifted, cupping her lush supple mounds with hands that overflowed. I felt her peaks stiffen under my palms and gasped as they rose to prominent points with my soft touch.
I pulled Mom tight, pressing my muscled chest against her back and driving my raging cock into her soiled panties, feeling her humid heat against my shaft for the first time. I kissed her neck and kneaded her softness while thrusting my hips and sliding my shaft between her supple thighs.
"Oh, Jax," Mom moaned, tilting her head back and resting her tangle of messy hair against my shoulder.
I felt her entire body relax in an instant as she gave way to my loving embrace. I longed to see the rare look of peace and contentedness that must have spread across her face at that moment.
Lost in tactile pleasure, I paid no mind to the rising cloud of steam that filled the bathroom. As much as our bodies demanded to be clean, it seemed a much more pressing matter had come between us.
"Take me, Jax. I want you so badly."
It was a command. A ferocious one; spoken in a voice I hadn't heard her use since I was knee-high to a grasshopper. There would be no denying her satiation; just as I could deny her no other thing in life. Not that the thought crossed my mind, nor that it ever would since that fateful night.
I dawdled, still a stupid boy, not wanting to deprive myself of the sensual tactile euphoria I had thrust myself into. But Mom had a plan, as always. And thanks to a decade of training, I still had sense enough to know that when she took control, you got the fuck out of the way and let it happen. Changing her course was tantamount to stepping in front of a speeding train.
Mom dropped her stained panties in a flash, forcing them over my cock which I'd refused to extract from the comforting embrace of her creamy thighs. Down it flexed and back up it sprang, slapping into her wetness with an audible smack. Mom howled and I jumped at the fierceness of her cry. She bent forward and reached between her legs and took me in her hand, guiding me into her center; the place from whence I came. I pushed into the darkness between her puffy lips and sopping pink folds and joined her roaring ruckus as I felt her tight torrid embrace for the first time.
Then all reason was lost. Jaxon had left the building. A latent power came over me and I set in motion the beginnings of an event that would stay burned forever in my psyche. I still don't know what happened, but I lasted; lasted as I'd never thought I could. It was a feat I'd not equal again for a very long time. Maybe it was the two eruptions I'd experienced in that destroyed kitchen. Maybe it was my desire to give Mom my absolute best as I'd always tried to do. Maybe it was the years of cumulative pity and regret that I felt dissolve into nothingness. Maybe it was the distracting sensations of hot slippery wet gripping tightness around my cock. Maybe it was her screams and cries for more, demanding that I continue to feed my length into her hungry worn-out body. Maybe it was the hypnotic rippling of her hips and ass as I careened off her pliable flesh. Maybe it was the thousands of confusing, lewd, beautiful, immoral, joyful, and wanton thoughts that scrambled my brain. Or maybe, it was just Mom.
I cared for naught but the union we shared; the carnal pleasures that we were living for the first time. It was every ounce as sloppy and messy as everything else that happened that day. And Mom...Mom was rocked to her core. Two decades of shit was chipped from her battered facade and fell to the floor with each plunging thrust, much as the chili and cheese had done earlier that evening. And while her body remained covered in the detritus of that savory mixture, all else came clean. Each howling gasp, each shattering climax, each animalistic moan, each thrust of her hips back against mine brought another chunk of her failures and regrets crashing down. Torn to a thousand little pieces by the intensity of our fucking; her mess was no more and she was Mom again.
I'd regale you with the tale of my final gushing eruption, but that seems so unimportant in hindsight. I told you this wasn't a story about me. It was about Mom. And Mom was all that mattered in that glorious moment. She'd finally done it. She'd finally taken what she wanted. She'd finally gotten so pissed off at the world that she reached into its beating chest and torn out what was hers. And that was me. Her and me. It turned out that's all we'd ever needed.
My only regret in all of this is that I should have known. I could have saved her a heap of suffering. But it wasn't my fault; it's just how life is sometimes. Sometimes you have to keep your head down. Sometimes you blink and ten years pass and then you look up and everything is fucked. And sometimes all it takes is a deluge of chili and cheese to finally destroy your last shred of hope so that you can finally rediscover why life is worth living. So I guess it's fair to say I have no real regret. Well, except for the corndog thing. But let's consider that a small price to pay, shall we?
I woke the next morning, my skin raw and red from the intense scrubbing I'd shared with Mom in the bath in the middle of the night. I felt alive, more alive than I ever had. I had to see her again and so I threw on some clothes and bolted downstairs. But she was gone; gone back to work. Gone back to that greasy shithole that I'd trapped her in. It was almost enough to break me; to think that what we'd done the night before might mean nothing in the end. But I wouldn't have that. I couldn't do it anymore. I couldn't watch her do it anymore. She'd cleaned her last fucking kitchen.
It was well into the afternoon. I'd slept in. I'm not even sure what time we eventually parted ways. It seemed like we'd lingered in that bath for hours, neither of us wanting it to end. I remember wanting to go to her bed, but I wasn't in a hurry. I knew that would happen in the course of time, and it did. We both needed to be alone for a spell to think about what this all meant without the distraction of the other liquifying our logic. And she needed time to heal. The mess that I'd cleaned off her took pieces of herself with it and she had to sort that out; to come back into balance as the woman she'd long forgotten.
I opened my laptop. It was Saturday; I had no real work or school to do, but I felt the need to cleanse my senses and dive into an activity that was a little less emotional.
I had an email.
Now, you may be tempted to posit that it was the chili and cheese that altered our fate, and I may be tempted to agree, but I would counter by saying that this single ethereal piece of electronic communication was the turning point for everything.
Jaxon,
Your algorithm was a hit. It went all the way to the top. Our best analysts couldn't duplicate what you've managed and so it's with great pleasure that we'd like to offer you a job.
We've just secured investor funding to ensure our company's future and we very much want you to be a part of what's to come. It's an exciting time and we hope you will find the nerve to join us. You'll have to move to Boston, but we feel the package we can offer will more than encourage you to take the leap.
Please read the attached contract and get back to me as soon as possible.
Holy fuck! I couldn't believe it! I opened the document and read the fine print; six figures, signing bonus, moving costs, paid tuition, healthcare, retirement, it was beyond anything I could have ever hoped for. It was freedom. Most importantly, the Gods had given me an opportune chance to save Mom; to clean up her mess once and for all. I could finally show her that everything she poured into my future finally mattered. That I had done it. That I was successful. And that I wanted to share the bounty with her. She'd earned it, after all.
It was my turn to have a plan. It was my turn to take Mom and leave a world of shit in our taillights. And it all came together rather easily.
I printed two copies of the contract. One I signed, scanned, and returned; the other I folded and put in my pocket. I still have that paper. Actually, Mom has it; I gave it to her. I'm looking at it right now; wrinkled, creased, stained, and framed on our bedroom wall.
I packed a bag with clothes for her and me for several days, grabbing what few essentials I knew she'd need. I met the infernal bus and nodded at the malcontent driver for the final time and took my last trip into town. I emptied my bank account. It wasn't much, but it was enough to get us where we needed to be and certainly more than Mom and I had when we landed in this dysfunctional town.
I walked to the diner, duffle and backpack slung over my shoulders, and strolled into that awful place for the ultimate time. I saw where she was, but she didn't see me. Good, I wasn't ready for her yet. I went to the back and found George.
"Hey, Champ."
"Hey, George. Listen, I'm taking Mom away."
"What?!" They'd spent ten years together so I'd expected some resistance.
"I got a job back east. I'm getting us out of here while I can. Sorry, George. I know what you meant to her and for what it's worth, thanks."
George broke into a smile that was epic by even his jovial standards. "Uh, Jax, did I ever tell you why my chili recipe calls for exactly two hundred and thirty-nine beans?"
"No, George," I said, grinning like an idiot.
"Because one more would make it too farty."
Gods I wanted to laugh so hard at that man and his horrible topical brand of humor. But couldn't do it. I cried. I cried like a little boy and felt his strong arms wrap around my shoulders and smelled the greasy french fries he'd spent his life slinging. I knew I'd miss him more than anyone else in that stupid little town. Maybe he could have been the dad I never had. Or maybe that's a story best left for another day. Either way, we shared something at that moment and in doing so, I felt justified to do what I had come to do.
"Bye, George," I said, wiping the tears from my cheeks and grinning like a fool.
"Keep your head up," he said. I almost lost it again. 'Up', he said. Not down. Fuck, it made so much more sense. Had he told Mom that? Had he known the mantra we shared and what it meant to us? And how in that exact room, a little over a dozen hours prior, it all came apart? I'd never know. And I prefer it that way. George was an enigma and it felt right to part on such terms.
Back out in the dining room, I again failed to catch Mom's eye. She was busy helping a couple of haggard old men who I'd never seen before. Truckers probably, we didn't get many other strangers in this part of the world.
Then I saw it. The straw that broke my back. Except unlike Mom, I wasn't so broken as to sit in the slop and bawl. No, I was seeing red, and not the red of spilled chili, the red of unbridled rage.
A crusty oil-stained hand shot out and lifted Mom's skirt. She swatted it away with her pad in a move that looked so practiced and common that my fury doubled in an instant. The hand was back again, grasping at her thigh. Grasping at what was mine. Mom tried to move away, but his grip was too strong. Her ankle twisted and she almost fell. I could see her wince in pain; the wound on her foot had to be agonizing. And I saw the fear in her eyes as she looked around for someone to help her. She saw me then, but I didn't see her. I only saw that son of a bitch; the embodiment of a decade of toil and torture.
I'd like to say that what I did next was for Mom, but it wasn't. She didn't need saving; she'd survived for years dealing with this kind of abuse. No, what I did was entirely for my own catharsis. As Mom had lashed out at the floor when she'd fallen from grace, I lashed out at him. And I only had to do it once. My fist screamed. Mom screamed. The son of a bitch's friend cowered in fear. I spat fire at him and he shrank away like the worthless little shit he was.
I still hadn't seen Mom. I walked behind the counter and grabbed her things and my two bags. I went to the squeaky door and held it open. Then I finally saw her, head held up and walking my way. I didn't have to ask her to come, she just did. After last night, we didn't need this bullshit anymore.
I took her to the Buick in silence and opened the door for her and handed her her things. I tossed my bags in the back, jumped in the car, and hit the highway. We rode for a couple of hours without saying a word. It was like she knew that I'd finally come for her and there wasn't much point debating it.
It was getting dark by the time she finally spoke.
"Jax?"
"Yeah, Mom?"
"Where are we going?"
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the contract. And then she cried. Little squeaky whimpering cries of joy and relief and pride; not big ugly messy sobs like the night before. She knew what that letter meant. And she knew it was my turn to take her away from the toxic relationships and bitter memories.
"Hungry?" she asked me after her tears had dried and our new reality had sunk in.
"I hear they have good chili the next town over."
"I was actually just thinking about nachos."
,
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