Gwendolyn

Gwendolyn:

(The Bad Behavior of a Green-Eyed Girl)

Eager to start my weekend, I leave early from work on a Friday afternoon. The drive home isn't horrible, traffic flows well and within twenty minutes, I park my SUV upon the concrete apron of my pleasant, suburban home. Normally, of course, I park in the garage, but my vehicle, it seems, needs a good bath, I haven't washed it in a couple months and the words, "wash me" anonymously finger-scrawled within the accumulated grime, I think to be a good indicator that the time has come to give it a proper cleansing.

The weather is rather warm for early summer, the sky; clear blue. Opening the door to my home I step inside to feel the cool atmosphere provided by the air conditioner upon my skin, relishing it, I smile wide. Right at the door, I kick off my heels and drop my purse to the floor. I'm in a good mood, a wonderful mood really. I'm home for a three-day-weekend, I've a date scheduled for later tonight and in the morning, I'm to drive out of town, pick up my son from college and share the long summer with him.

Unbuttoning my white blouse as I walk along the hallway, I happen to see that the door to my husband's den is slightly ajar. That small room has not been opened since the day my husband died within it, more than two years previous. Concerned and wary of an intruder, it is with trepidation that I peer inside. To my utmost surprise, my eyes fall upon the face of my son, Jacob, sitting behind my late husband's desk.

Surprised, yet happy to see my son, my initial want is to call him from the room and properly greet him within a flurry motherly hugs and kisses but, when I see the look upon his continence, I stymie the thought.

My son's expression is intense, as he peers to a laptop that once belonged to my husband. A series of guttural utterances from him resonate in my ears. Instinctively, my hand goes to my mouth, stifling my gasp. Oh, my God, he's jerking off—masturbating.

Though I cannot see my son's cock in hand, I do spy the rapid movement of his upper arm and the intensity of purpose culminating in the expression upon his youthful face. I've seen that expression before, but upon the face of his father. As I watch for mere seconds, Jacob's mouth falls open and he groans aloud. My son's blue eyes; the shape of them inherited from his father, close as he pleasure's himself to an orgasm.

"Ahh!" He groans."Ahh...uh!"

Feeling my own face flush with embarrassment, I swiftly move on, passing the door, I stealthily make my way upstairs. As I near my bedroom, the lusty resonance of Jacob's pleasured groans fade from my ears. I swallow hard, knowing that my son's orgasm has abated.

Once in my bedroom, I close the door and sit on my bed, feeling altogether amused, perplexed and concerned by what I'd just seen and heard. Finally, I simply shrug my shoulders and continue to peel off my unbuttoned top. "Oh well, boys will do what boys do."

Removing the rest of my office attire, I don't make a great hurry of dressing into clothing that is bound to get soaked while washing the car. I don't want to embarrass Jacob, and so, I give him plenty of opportunity to recover from his masturbatory activities, I bide my time, primping in the mirror before pulling on a pair of blue jean shorts and purple bikini top. Presumably, with enough time given, I leave my bedroom and barefoot, descend the staircase, even as I bind my long tassels within a hair clip.

Downstairs, I look about, and see Jacob beyond the far end of the hall, in the kitchen, scouring the fridge for food. I cannot help but smirk. He's just cum and now he's hungry—just like his father, typical.

"Hi mom." Jacob calls to me.

"Oh, hi sweetie, when did you get in? I thought I was picking you up tomorrow."

"Eh, a couple hours ago, Marko dropped me off; I'd have called ya to let you know that I was on my way but my cell phone is dead—forgot my charger at school."

Smiling, I enter the kitchen. "Well, that's okay—saves me a trip."

Coming to my son, I open my arms to embrace him, half of a leftover sandwich held in the same hand he was masturbating with only minutes ago. With his free arm; lean and muscular, Jacob hugs me in return, pulling me tight with his youthful strength.

"I missed you mom, it's good to he home."

"I missed you too sweetie, now we've the whole summer together." I smile.

Breaking the embrace, Jacob bites into the sandwich, takes a can of soda from the fridge and with push from his foot, closes it. "So— " The boy says, chewing his food. "—what ya doing half dressed, were you heading to the beach or something?"

Even as Jacob sits at the kitchen table, I thumb toward the front door, my ample chest, jiggling as I do so. "No, I'm going to wash the car; it needs it—wanna help?"

Jake shakes his head and takes a slurp from the soda can. "Not really, but I will."

Smart assed as ever, the young man offers me the same devious smirk that I know, oh, so well.

I grin in return and nod toward the door. "Well, you're ole mom would appreciate it."

"You're not old mom and ya still look great in a bikini—well, half of one anyway."

To the rare compliment, I cannot help but blush a little.

Consuming the last bit of his sandwich, Jacob, well mannered as ever, guzzles the remainder of his soda all at once and expels a horrendous belch.

"Jacob!"

"Sorry, mom, I'll mind my manners—my roommates are just a bad influence on me I think."

"Yes, I'm sure they're the cause."

The boy stands from the table and exiting the kitchen, makes his way toward the stairs, leaving his mess for me to clean. "I'm just gonna go change, be with you in a few minutes."

"Alright." I call back as I drop the empty can into the recycling bin and scoop breadcrumbs into the palm of my hand, discarding them into the garbage. A mother's job, it seems, is never done. I'd hate to see what you apartment looks like, Jacob.

Brushing off my hands, I make for the hallway once more and take notice that the door to my deceased husband's office is still ajar. Knowing Jacob to be upstairs, I peer in and see my husband's desk, and the laptop, still open atop it. For a lingering moment I look to the door knob, reaching for it with the intent of sealing the door. As my painted finger tips touch the metal, however, I stay my hand, my curiosity, now piqued. It's been two years now, Gwen, time to move on.

Opening the door, I all at once, step inside, my green eyes; closed, nostrils; flaring with emotion, lips; trembling as I slowly exhale a few deep breathes. Gradually, I allow my eyes to open. The bright sun beams though the pale window curtains, two walls, lined with bookshelves of dark wood, many of the tomes upon them, written by my husband. Various pictures hang about the walls of the room, pictures that I'd not seen in two years—captured moments of cheerful times. Pictures of Jacob...and of me...and of, the man I loved, all of them, treasured mementos of family—of us.

Struggling to stifle my tears, I finally manage it. I'm weary of crying and I wish this day to be a happy one and I feel that it still will be if I simply leave this little room. But my curiosity, seemingly, knows no bounds and as I walk behind the desk, I see a box of tissue paper upon it and a couple sheets of them crumpled in the waste paper basket aside the desk, both of them having absorbed the residue of my son's lust.

Shaking my head, I frown. The boy still has a bedroom here; I don't know why he couldn't just play with himself in there instead of his father's office.

Both curious and somewhat concerned over the psyche of my son, I take notice that the laptop is still powered on and with a touch of my finger tips, the seventeen inch screen brightens to vibrant color.

As far as I knew, my husband hid little to nothing from me including the password to his laptop which over the years, never changed; my name—Gwendolyn. I type the letters and within seconds, full access to the laptop is given. It takes me but moments to see the most recently accessed files and know when they were last viewed.

"Seven of them viewed today; pictures and a video, the rest, accessed years ago—those are just Hugh's old book files." I mutter aloud.

With a double tap of my finger tip, I access the most recent file, most likely the one my son was viewing while pleasuring himself to orgasm. My eyes gape as the laptop initiates its picture viewer, producing the nude photo of a woman in mid copulation, her eyes gazing lustfully to the one taking the photo...his thick cock buried deep within her bared loins. The woman's long hair is tossed from the throes of passion, her half-smiling lips expressing both pleasure and desire as she cups a large breast in one hand and with the other, braces firm against a headboard.

With a gasp, my hand once more reaches to cover my mouth—the woman in the picture, in all the pictures...is me.