Watching Mom

Watching Mom

It was nearly nine, according to the clock on the fridge, and he hoped his sister would come downstairs soon. She never slept in on Saturdays — not unless she’d been out late the night before — and even then, she was usually gone before ten, heading off to her job at The Gap. He silently hoped she’d show up soon; otherwise, all this preparation wouldn’t exactly be wasted… just not what he had planned.

He placed the full filter into the coffee machine and turned it on. There. That should be brewing in a minute or two—now back to the eggs. Over-easy is not his specialty. He was having to keep a constant watch on the little bastards. Now where was that tray . . .

Yes. Oh, wonderful. Rachel’s foot on the stairs.

There she was, her golden hair pulled back in a ponytail, her clothes only slightly less slutty than usual—for her, that meant formal attire. In a tight off-white shirt he could see her bra through, the tightest of jeans, and a silver-chain belt showing off her slender waist. She paused momentarily at the bottom of the stairs to regard him.

“What the hell are you doing?” She spat, making it sound like she was amazed he was doing anything.

“What’s it look like?” he said. “Making breakfast.”

Rachel rolled her eyes slightly, gave him her best you’re-a-moron look, and said, “Uh, you don’t drink coffee, dipshit.”

“Making Mom breakfast,” he corrected.

“Mother’s Day was a week ago.”

“Yes, it was.”

Oh my god,” said Rachel, her face now panicky. “It’s not her birthday, is it?”

“No, Rachel. You don’t have to wait till someone’s birthday or a national fucking holiday to be nice to them. You should try it sometime.”

“Oh, fuck you too.” After another moment, Rachel said, “What’s with you, anyway? You have some kind of religious conversion or something?”

“Because?”

“Because you’re acting weird lately. Oh wait, I know . . . You’re failing ’chemistry, aren’t you?”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Uh, no, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are, you big fat liar head!”

Ian smiled and flipped over an egg. “Well, you just go on thinking that if you like.”

“You are; you’re wiping out in Chem!”

“You wish.”

“Oh, brother. So you get up and make Mom coffee and eggs and bacon. That’s your way of buttering her up. What a retard.” Rachel deftly snatched one bacon slice from the pan and headed for the door.

“Love you too, bitch.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

The front door closed behind her. Seconds later Ian heard the chirp of her car alarm being deactivated.

Failing chemistry: what an idea, he thought. True, he had been doing pretty poorly in Mr. Robinson s’ class a month or so ago. Mainly because he sat behind, and one row to the left of, Marilyn Adams in that class. Many, many formulas and equations had drifted right over his head and out the window while he admired the glorious curve of her butt in tight shorts, or checked out her long legs, or nearly came in his pants when she put the tip of her pencil in her mouth. But that was then, and then was a long time ago. Now, able to concentrate more clearly, he was at last understanding chemistry. His buddies also worshipped at the altar of Marilyn Adamson; when they saw his grades, they’d be sure he’d turned gay.

Whir-r-r-r. Whir-r-r-r-r-r. The sound of Rachel’s engine trying to start.

Oh shit, thought Ian. Start, you bastard, start.

Whir-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r.

Come on! Don’t flood it, you crazy bitch!

Whir-r-r-r-r . . .vvvrrrooooommmmmm!

Yes. Oh, thank you, God, thought Ian. He left the sputtering bacon to watch his sister’s departure through the living room curtains. That’s right. Keep going. Halle-fucking-lujah.

Quickly, he returned to the eggs. Just right, he thought. Bacon? Good enough. Okay, onto the plate, and the plate onto the tray. Coffee in the cup, one sugar. Good . . . but something’s missing.

Being careful to open and close the door silently, Ian stole out into the yard to clip one magnolia flower for the breakfast tray. He was glad he hadn’t forgotten. No way could he have done that with Rachel around—she’d know something was up.

Before taking the tray upstairs to his mother’s room, he made double sure the doors were locked and bolted.

“Mom?” he whispered at the door of her room. It was open slightly; he pushed it gently with the tray. “Mom?”

There she was, well-snuggled into the covers, like a little girl. All but her tousled head and one arm were buried beneath the big comforter. Lying there, snoring softly, with the ghost of a smile about her pouty lips, she was the very picture of sweet innocence and leisure. Ian put the tray down on the bedside table and sat next to her.

“Hey,” he said softly, kissing her bare shoulder. “Wake up. Rachel’s gone.”

Ivy Thompson was dreaming. It seemed like the dream had gone on forever: sweet, slow dreams. She had heard that dreaming in color was a rarity. That was nothing. Not only were her dreams in color, but they were even in slow motion sometimes. And she could smell things in her dreams. Vividly, like she was really there.

In her dream this morning, they were castaways. That probably came from watching The Blue Lagoon together the other night. They had been alone on the beautiful, lush island for many days and had long ago stopped bothering with clothes. There was no one around to see them, to interfere. The island smelled of coconuts and palm trees, salty sea air, pineapples, and mangoes. There was probably no island that really smelled this good, but this was her dream, and it was all real.

They had been out in the surf, playing. It was a glorious day, and she could feel the warm embrace of the sun on her limbs. Her body was younger and fitter in her dream, and she loved the way he looked at it. Her body gave him a hungry expression that made her wet with desire, so that now, as she collapsed on the shoreline and spread out her dripping, tanned legs for him, and his face lit up, she felt a stirring in her stomach, and a thrill passed through her chest. She smiled delightedly as he dropped to his knees before her, his body also bronzed and dripping, and knelt to lap at her crotch.

Now came the slo-mo part . . . With agonizing slowness he bent his face to her offered pussy and dragged his tongue up and down the furry slit. She reveled in the delicious sensations, running her fingers through his damp brown ringlets in encouragement, grinding her butt into the powdery sand. And there, there was that smile, that wonderful smile, lighting up every corner of his lovely face . . .

“Mom . . . hey . . . wake up, sleepy.”

Yes. That face, her son Ian’s.

The coconuts and the salt sea air faded, to be replaced by more familiar smells: coffee, bacon, and toast? Yes, there—on the nightstand. What an angel.

“I made you some breakfast,” he said. “Rachel’s gone.”

“You sure?” was all his mother said, but she smiled beautifully and squirmed luxuriously.

“Positive. Locked the door behind her.”

“Mmmmm . . . ,” she purred and brought her other hand out from beneath the sheets, reaching for the front of his shorts.

Ian was thrilled and stood up to assist her. She constantly surprised him. He had hoped to create a cozy atmosphere in her bedroom that morning, to ease her into their day with breakfast and coffee, and then to spend a leisurely hour or so beside her. But this sleepy urgency was better than he had hoped for. He had barely unbuttoned and unzipped before she was grasping at his dick, rapidly hardening inside his underwear. My God, he thought, she’s barely even awake! But there she was, easing up on one elbow to smile sleepily at his cock, to take its throbbing head into her warm mouth. He combed a few strands of her brown hair behind her ear as she sucked him in, stood beside the bed and watched as she slowly devoured him, felt his knees weaken, and heard himself moan as the delicious suction increased. He leaned forward so she could suck him with her head still on the pillow, and she now used her free hand to hold his balls. Her other hand, he noticed, had disappeared beneath the covers.

Ian rapidly peeled off his tee shirt and gingerly kicked off his sandals, being careful not to disturb his mother. When she had engulfed nearly five inches of him in her mouth, she moaned in a long, low tone, sending a buzzing sensation through his entire body that nearly made him cum. This was wonderful, so fucking wonderful. He had never dreamed anything like this.