Masculine and Beautiful

True or not, she suddenly had no doubt that they'd get past this, that his love for her wouldn't change, that their relationship would go on as before, maybe even be a better and stronger bond. Maybe even without explaining it all, Tommy would see that what happened tonight was an aberration in their mother-son relationship, yes, an insane aberration, but nothing more than that. Maybe he was so drunk he'd not remember it?

She finally felt sleepy. She glanced down at his T between her legs. Just out of curiosity, she pulled it up to her face again and inhaled. She smelled mostly his scent, but there definitely was some of her dewy fragrance too, commingled on the cotton fabric. Commingled. Her pussy clenched for a moment and she felt another little tingle. She moved the shirt back between her legs, then took a deep breath and sighed. She was asleep a minute later.

* * *

CHAPTER 2

Mara slowly awoke. There was a bird somewhere close to her open bedroom windows warbling a loud, melodic, repetitive song-- Deee-lahhhh-tuu-tu-u-teeeeeh... ... Deee-lahhhh-tuu-tu-u-teeeeeh... ...

With her eyes still closed, her mouth formed a small smile. There were some benefits about the AC not working. She probably wouldn't have heard the birdie's song with the windows closed and the air conditioning running. Her smile vanished and she opened her eyes. She turned onto her back and stared at the ceiling.

Last night. She glanced at the clock. 8:27AM. She couldn't have had more than 4 hours of sleep. She looked up again and did a thorough yet quick emotional, mental, and physical inventory.

She recalled feeling calm and confident before falling asleep a few hours ago. She thought about that. Yes, she still felt everything was going to be fine, maybe awkward to talk about, but Tommy would be fine and she would be too. Nothing would change their mother-son love and bond. She didn't acknowledge that what she really hoped was that he had been so drunk last night, he wouldn't remember anything, nor face the fact that she and Tommy would have to keep it secret. She had never lied to Phil about anything significant. She pushed those thoughts away too. Incredibly, she didn't even consider her actions the previous night might qualify as "cheating" on Phil. Maybe because the act couldn't have been much longer than five minutes if that, and it was with their son, not some other man.

Her mind was no longer reeling. No visions of Tommy's incredible manhood. She was thinking clearly. Good.

Surprisingly, with only four hours of sleep, she actually felt rested, refreshed, and energized. More than she had in months probably. She started to wonder how and why that could be with such little sleep, and then decided it didn't matter why. Anyway, she needed to pee. She had somehow pulled the top sheet up in her sleep. She tossed that over the side of the bed, then got up, not noticing the sheet had covered the soiled T shirt on the floor near the edge of the bed. She ambled into the master bath, peed, then looked at herself in the mirror. She frowned. Even though she felt rested and energetic, there were shadows under her eyes. Well, no big deal, a little makeup would cover that up. She turned on both shower heads in the stall and got a fresh towel from the linen closet, felt the water temp with her hand and stepped inside.

She reached for the shampoo. She knew Tommy wouldn't wake up until noon, not only had he been drunk and up late last night, her son never rolled out of bed on Saturdays earlier than 11:00AM. He'd undoubtedly sleep later than noon. She'd start a load of laundry, change into her exercise togs, only do two hours at the health club and skip the advanced step class today, maybe stop at some discount store and buy a couple window fans, grocery store too, then return home probably a couple hours before Tommy even opened his eyes.

During her workout, she'd figure out what to say, how to word everything. She'd of course leave a note for him, just in case he got up. Just say they needed to talk, but make the note sound normal, even say if he went out, that she wanted him home for dinner. Either talk to him this afternoon, or it might be better to talk to him later, after dinner. She'd better put something in the note about how angry she was that he had gotten drunk, that was normal. Actually he shouldn't be allowed to go out. She'd tell him to stay at home.

Her hands stopped moving in her hair as her brow pinched. Tommy always seemed to tie one on when Phil was out of town on business. Her jaw clenched. Tommy thought she was a pushover! She rolled her eyes. She had been with both Tommy and Denise, not all the time certainly, but she was more the 'good cop' to Phil's sort of 'bad cop.' Actually, she and Phil had both been sort of 'good cops.' Their kids for the most part had been good, and had turned out wonderfully, were turning out wonderfully. She hoped Denise was enjoying her summer school college exchange program in Italy. Again Mara rolled her eyes. Their daughter was probably not studying at all, but having the time of her life! She'd have to check email today. Denise hadn't written in almost a week.

After her shower, Mara put on her exercise outfit. Before stripping the bed and emptying the hamper, she quietly walked down the hall to Tommy's open doorway. He was still asleep, his breathing deep, regular, and a little noisy. He had moved. She smiled and her eyes teared slightly. He was hugging a pillow in his sleep. It was something he did sometimes as a little boy. She returned to her bedroom and started stripping the bed.

*

Tom groaned as he slowly woke. Some goddamn bird was right outside his window making a racket. He groaned into his pillow, "Shut the hell up." He rolled onto his back, his head splitting, his mouth cotton dry, his stomach queasy. Before he opened his eyes, his hand smeared around his face. He mumbled, "Fuck." His eyes squinted open. It made his headache worse. Oh shit... did I drive back? The next thought wasn't anything verbal, he had a flash of an image of Mom's stroking hand on his bone. His gut instantly clenched and for a moment he thought he'd blow chunks.

He looked at his open bedroom door. He slid off the bed and quietly walked to the doorway and listened. He didn't hear anything. He slowly and silently shut the door. He moved back to the bed and lay down. What the fuck did I do last night?! More images started flashing in his mind. Oh shit! He had been asleep, then got up... no, he had been sweaty and still wearing his jeans so he stood to get them off. Then he had begun thinking about Marcia again, fucking her, how he had blown all that by pushing her, how he still loved her. For some reason he ended up sitting on the floor. He was... he had been trying to get his damn jeans off, then... Oh fuck, did I start fucking bawling about her? Oh shit.

Mom had come into the room and... and talked to him and he had an aching hard-on, and... Oh shit! Mom was sitting next to him, and then he pushed her hand down to his dick. Oh fuck! Oh shit! Did I fuckin' beg her for a goddamn hand job?! Again he thought he might vomit. He closed his eyes and both hands cupped his aching head, giving his scalp a light massage.

More images came to him. Mom was doing it herself. His hand wasn't on top of hers, or... was it? No, maybe... maybe at the beginning it was, but then... yeah, she was doing it on her own. Wasn't she? Did I threaten her somehow? Oh jeezuz, did I say I'd... no.... NO, I didn't threaten her with any violence. I could NEVER do that!

He tried to calm down. He needed aspirin or whatever was in the bathroom med chest. What if Mom was up? He had to think straight, he needed aspirins, and he needed to drink about a gallon of water too. He noticed his chest felt like it had thin layer of dried glue on it in spots, the spots that weren't sweaty. What the hell was that? His heart almost stopped. He blew his wad on his chest, Mom's hand pumping his rod. Even with all the intense stress and hangover, his cock actually twitched and started growing.

He rose again and stepped to the door. He listened. Nothing. He opened it up slowly, then peeked down the hall. He thought Mom's bedroom door was open but wasn't sure from his line of sight. He needed aspirin, he needed water. If she was up, he'd not answer any questions, just say he was feeling sick and get back into his room. What the hell time was it anyway? He looked at his alarm clock. Not quite 11:00AM. He needed water.

He opened the door and virtually tip toed to the hall bathroom, went inside, closed and locked the door as quietly as possible. He needed to piss before anything else. As he aimed his dick at the toilet, he realized he had walked out of his room only wearing his boxers. That was normal, but maybe this was the morning to put some fuckin' shorts on or something. Jeezuz. Mom gave me a hand job last night! What if he forced her to do it? How could he have forced her? The more he thought about it, the less he believed he had physically forced her or even intimidated her with threats. He'd never do that to her! He'd never do that to any girl!

He shook the last drops of piss from his dick and then flushed the john. SHIT! She'll probably hear the goddamn flush! He moved to the locked door and listened for a full minute. Nothing. He opened the medicine cabinet, found the aspirins, took three and got them down with water. He used a paper cup from the Dixie cup dispenser. He wondered for a moment about Mom and her Dixie cup obsession. The damn things were so small it was easier to drink from the faucet or your palm! He was glad they were there this morning though. He filled it a dozen times, first drinking quickly, then slowing down realizing he might barf from downing it too fast.

What was almost as bad as thinking he had somehow forced her to give him a hand job, was that he had been fuckin' bawling like a goddamn little kid in front of her. Jeezuz! He had to get his shit together about Marcia. He had blown it. She was history. He had to move on. How many times had he told himself that over the past month? He knew she didn't want to do it, why the fuck had he pushed her about it?! It's past, dude, fuckin' just quit thinking about her and it! She wouldn't even talk to you at the party!

He had more urgent problems. Mom. Jeezuz! How the fuck did he get her to do it? It had been a fantasy for fuckin' years, but never in any of those fantasies had he ever dreamed the part of how he actually got her hand on his dick. And now, even after the fact, he still couldn't imagine how he did it.

He needed time to think before facing her. Shit, he needed time to just try to remember it all. A new thought entered his mind. What if she's not home? She's usually at the health club for most of the morning on Saturday. I could... He blinked. Shit... my car's over at Steve's house! Start thinking, asshole! Get a fuckin' plan!

He stood silently in the bathroom for three minutes trying to come up with one, then quietly returned to his room, pulled on his baggy cotton shorts, and a clean T. He had to find out if Mom was in or out of the house. He made his way down the hall to her open bedroom door. Her bed was stripped.

What was that on the floor? Oh shit... that's my fuckin' T shirt! He glanced down the stairs, then quickly entered the master bedroom. He picked up the shirt. It was crusty in parts and damp in others where it had folded over. Another vision popped into his head. Mom wiping his chest with it to clean his jiz off. That's why his chest felt both glued and extra slippery on the sweaty areas. His cum residue.

For some unknown reason, he brought the shirt to his nose and inhaled. His eyes popped wide. There was pussy juice on it! There couldn't be! He took another long whiff. That was cunt dew on it. He was sure. It didn't smell exactly like Marcia's, but it was close. He blinked. It had to be Mom's. What the hell was his shirt doing in here anyway?

His brow pinched as he got even more scared. No. No, he hadn't been in here last night, unless his memory was totally blacked out. No, he'd remember being in here. They were in his room not here. So, what was his shirt doing in here? He inhaled it again. His cock stirred. It had to be Mom's. It had to be. Did that mean...?

He shook his head. He'd think about the shirt later! He had to get the hell out of her bedroom! He went to the doorway, glanced down the stairs again, then hurried to his room. He hid the shirt in his closet, then as quietly as possible went downstairs.

At the bottom of the steps he stopped and listened. Nothing, not a sound. He moved passed the foyer and looked in the sitting area then at the open kitchen area. She wasn't anywhere. He walked over to the patio doors. She wasn't on the patio or in the pool. He went into the kitchen to look at the island counter. It was where she left notes for him. His gut tensed when he saw one. He picked it up and read:

.

Tommy-

You'll probably still be in bed when I get back from the health club and shopping, but if you get up earlier make your own breakfast.

You and I are going to have a very serious talk today. I doubt you'll be feeling up to it until this evening. I am going to be very nice and will wait until after dinner to speak to you because my guess is you're going to have quite a HANGOVER.

I hope your car isn't smashed up somewhere. You better go get it wherever it is. You can do that, but I don't want you going anywhere else. I want you home, not hanging out with your HUNGOVER friends. If you need to, take a nap when you get back.

Even though I'm really angry with you right now, I STILL LOVE YOU. And I always will, you IDIOT.

Go and get your car. That's ALL you are allowed to do outside of the house today!

Love,

Mom

.

Tom was still tense, but he did relax a fraction, although he knew he shouldn't. He looked at one of the lines again: I STILL LOVE YOU. And I always will, you IDIOT.

He knew he had definitely been an idiot last night, mainly after he got home. He better take a quick shower and get out of the house before she got back. He had to think it out, he had to remember it all, or as much as he could. For a moment he considered calling Bill to drive him to Steve's. Jeezuz. He was an idiot. That guy probably wouldn't get up for a fire right now, he had to be feeling equally as lousy at this moment. Hell, he was probably still asleep. Tom considered walking to Steve's. It was on the other side of town though. It would take a while, but he needed time to think and remember. Maybe ride his bike over there? Yeah, take his bike and one of the liter water bottles. He wrote a quick note. Saying he was riding over to Steve's for his car, and would be back as soon as possible. Before he signed it, he added: I'm sorry about last night, Mom.

He figured that would cover a lot of territory. He signed it: 'Love, Tommy' instead of 'Tom.'

He showered quickly, dressed again, drank some orange juice, and was on his bike slowly heading to Steve's fifteen minutes later.

*

As Tom turned into the driveway he saw Mom's crossover parked in front of the garage. His gut tensed yet again. After getting the car, he sat in the park for a while, and had remembered more from the previous night, but there were still a lot of gaps. He planned to do what her note had said, he'd tell her he was still feeling sick and was going to take a nap, then in his room he'd think more about it all, especially what the hell to say to her later.

He parked in his usual spot on the driveway, then got his disassembled bike out of the back seat. He put the front wheel on, then pushed it towards the garage. He reached through the open window of Mom's car to the visor and pressed the button on the garage door remote. The door started raising. He walked his bike the rest of the way and hung it up on the wall. Before he opened the mud room door, he thumbed the button wall switch for the garage door and it started rolling down. He took a deep breath, entered the mud room then stepped into the kitchen. Mom was putting some groceries on an upper shelf in one of the wall cabinets. She was barefoot, wearing a baggy T and her cuffed "soccer mom" shorts. She was on tip toes so she could reach the high shelf. He gazed at her toned and lightly tanned legs. His cock shifted when he looked at her bubble ass.

He walked up to her. "I can get that up there for you, Mom."

"Thank you. These two also go on that shelf." She stepped back and put on her 'irritated face' as her arms folded over her chest. Once again, a vision of her hand on his thick manhood popped into her mind. She shut her eyes and gave her head a quick shake. The picture disappear. She watched him close the cabinet door. "So... you just picked up your car? You didn't go anywhere else?"

His gut couldn't relax. He looked at her. "Yeah, Mom. I mean... I only went to Steve's, then straight back here. I'm... I'm not feeling too well. I... I think I'm going to ahhh... take a nap. Okay?"

"All right, but first go out to my car. There's two window fans in the back. Bring those upstairs. Set up one in my bedroom window. The other one is for your room. Put the empty cardboard boxes in the garage for recycling, then you can go up to your room and nap. You think you can manage that even though you're hungover?"

Tom sighed. "Yeah. I'll do it right now."

"Thank you." Mara was trying to cover up her nervousness with bluster. She had been calm until he walked in. She had to keep calm!

When he had finished the chore, he returned to his bedroom and pushed the lock button on the doorknob. He lay on his bed. His palms rubbed his face. He only had a vague notion about how to handle the later "conference" with Mom. He was surprised she hadn't called it that in her note. A while ago, she had started calling serious talks with Denise or himself or both of them, "conferences." Usually Dad was part of it. His gut tensed again. He didn't want to think about Dad. It was more than enough to think about only Mom regarding last night.

He thought about the cum stained T. He glanced at the door, got up and retrieved it from the closet, then returned to the bed. He brought it to his face and inhaled deeply. There was still a hint of pussy dew on it. His cock started growing. On the bike ride he had come to the conclusion that Mom had to have used it to wipe her pussy, and the only reason to wipe her pussy was if she had cum herself last night. He doubted she had from doing the handjob, but had to have fingered her pussy later in her room. He still wasn't sure why she used his shirt to wipe up though. One conclusion was that it had his cum on it and she had done what he was now doing. Smelling it.

He blinked. He had opened his shorts and was stroking his hardened meat and hadn't realized it. He got a mental image of Mom laying face down, her face in the cum stained shirt, her finger fucking her pussy, her hot bubble ass rising and falling as she fucked herself. He quickly pulled the shirt from his face and shoved it around the head of his dick just as he started pumping his load. He released a growling groan.

*

Tom turned on the dishwasher, then followed Mom into the sitting area, unable to take his eyes off her ass. During dinner she had told him he was not to leave the house for the next two days, and also gave him a list of chores he'd have to finish in that time frame. He was actually surprised it hadn't been two weeks or a month of house detention. Then again, Mom was the easier "grounding" par unit, but the one who always... always made you talk about everything you screwed up on, she talked on and on about being responsible, ramifications from one's actions, other's feelings, or getting along as caring siblings, and on and on, and then asking questions about why he did it, and how he would handle whatever it was in the future, et cetera, et cetera. Dad doled out harsher sentences, but usually kept the talks brief-- Don't ever do that again. I hope you learned your lesson.