Michael is fifteen and pushed to the brink when he is rejected by several girls his own age. Determined to find out why, he demands answers from the only person who can answer them - his mother.
“Mom, I need your help.” Her sons voice stabbed through the darkness of the master bedroom yanking her up from a deep sleep.
“Dammit, Michael!” Her husband’s voice shot back toward the slant of light emitting from the hallway through the bedroom door, revealing the silouette of their son who had taken just a step inside. “It’s…it’s almost two in the morning and I have to get up in three hours – I have a Tee-time. What is it, son?”
“I don’t need your help, dad. I need mom.” Michael replied, as if his request were nothing, if not perfectly reasonable, even at this hour of the morning. David laid his hand on his wife’s hip and gently rocked her.
“Del, are you awake?” She rolled over and sat up, a bit more quickly than she had intended, pulling her nightgown tightly across her body, stretching the light cotton across her breasts revealing her very erect nipples; she must have been dreaming.
“Yes, I’m awake. How could I not be awake with you two shouting at each other!” She raised a hand to block the light that suddenly stung her eyes, her other arm clutched reflexively to her breast to cover her exposed arousal. “Whatever it is, Michael, it can wait till the morning. And what did I tell you about barging into our room without knocking?” Since he was a boy testing the boundaries of his will, Michael never saw much beyond his personal needs. If a barrier presented itself between himself and what he wanted or needed, he did not hesitate to crash right through, completely unaware or, more to the truth, void of any concern how the intrusion affected others around him. Now, at 15, his apathetic view of anyone’s needs but his own had become almost…psychopathic. This trait was not lost to his mother.
Just last Wednesday, he had come home from school at noon; it was an early release day that Del had forgotten about, much to her regret. Del did not masturbate often, but when the craving did hit her, she could count on a few hours of privacy midday through the week when her husband was at work and her son was at school. She had a bought a 9”, very thick, dildo at the adult bookstore on the edge of town a couple of years ago. The dildo was a bit bigger than what she intended to buy, but she had worn her sunglasses into the dimly lit establishment to conceal her identity and ended up buying the first sex toy she could readily identify from behind the dark lenses. It was big, all to the good she later discovered. That hard, thick piece of silicone had become her trusted friend and companion when the sap began to rise.
Wednesday, a very specific memory revisited her. A memory that, once fully realized in her mind’s eye, would not leave until she chased it away with several mind bending orgasms spurred on by stabbing that exquisitely long and thick phallus deep into her drenched pussy.
The memory was of an incident that happened very shortly after she and David had married; she had been sexually assaulted by a friend of her husband. She never reported it, never spoke about it, not even to David. She never explored or understood the underlying psychology of the situation, she only knew that replaying the events in her mind launched a compulsion to drive her dildo into herself with a speed and level of force that was almost cruel, even brutal.
Laying on her bed, she was completely lost in the details of that memory as she frantically worked the dildo between the flared lips of her pussy. Del is very petite. At 35, her body had not lost a stitch of her youthful frame. Her small, pert breasts still defied gravity and her unusually long nipples still pointed north at least two inches when her body was in full bloom as it was now. Her knees pulled up high and back, nearly even with her breasts was the only way she could open herself up enough to take the full measure of her silicone friend, which she relentlessly plunged into wet flesh repeatedly. Suddenly, her neck arched, her breath caught still as her body rode the sweet seizure she had been looking to trigger. And that’s when her bedroom door opened, and Michael poked his head in.
“I need lunch, mom.”
For several seconds she was helpless to do anything except stare into the eyes of her son while her fingers remained white-knuckled around the base of the shaft boring deep into her core; her nerves continued to fire off convulsions in her tiny body. Splayed out before her son, sweating and paralyzed, she searched his face for a trace of embarrassment, awkwardness, hell, even revulsion at the scene she presented to him. Nothing. She saw nothing there.
“Lunch?” He said. Finally, the tremors released their hold on her and she was able to catch her breath. She dared not move. She couldn’t fathom how obscene it would be for her to pull the dildo out of her body while he watched. Obscene and incredibly messy.
“I’ll be right down.” She offered, in hopes her response would dismiss him. Slowly, he receded back into the hallway pulling the door closed as he went. But just before it shut, she did see his eyes dart from her own, down her body to the widely stretched lips of her pussy, only partially obstructed from his view by her hand and the base of the dildo. That is what he was looking at when he finally pulled the door closed completely. His expression never changed.
Tears had clouded her eyes as she quickly sorted out her room, washed and dressed. Tears of embarrassment? Anger? Fear? Is it normal, she wondered, for a 15-year-old boy to walk into his mother’s bedroom whilst she is in full wank-mode and be, undisturbed? Uninterested? Unaffected?
She sat silently across from him at the kitchen table as he ate the toasted ham and cheese sandwich, she had fashioned for him once she had fully composed herself.
“You must knock. From now on, you cannot just barge into our bedroom, it’s an invasion of privacy when you do that.” Michael picked up the glass of milk and took a long drink as his eyes met hers. She felt he was intentionally amplifying the gulping sounds he made as a rebuke to her admonishment. She wasn’t sure.
“Does dad know that you do that?” He asked, setting down the cup and wiping his mouth with a napkin.
“What? Masturbate?” Del wasn’t a prude, but she wasn’t the type to hang her sexual wash out on the line for everyone to see, either. Suddenly she felt herself irritated, that his question was an affront to her. She was still the mom and he was still the son, and she sought to set him straight. “Yes, of course he knows. I’m sure he has a bit of a wank now then himself. But that is a private thing which is why we need to respect each other’s privacy. Everyone masturbates, Michael.”
“I don’t.” Silence.
“Well…some boys mature more quickly than others. I’m sure that when you are ready, when your body is ready, you will know…and you will…” Del’s thought drifted away as she saw something like a bit of smile rise on Michael’s face, almost mocking.
“I’m developed, mother. I just don’t enjoy the sensation of doing things for myself that should be done by someone else. I’m hungry, you make me a sandwich. I need relief, I look for someone to do that for me.” Alarm bells went off in Del’s mind.
“You mean, you’re active…you know, sexually? You know you can talk to me about anything, right? Even sexual stuff. Even if it feels awkward, you can talk to me. Do you use protection, Michael? Because that is so very important these days...”
“I’m still a virgin, mother.” He interrupted her. Del hadn’t realized she had been holding her breath until his words hit the release button on her lungs.
“I’m glad to hear that, son, there’s no rush- “Again, he cut her short.
“I expect to change that soon enough. I’ve been close with a few girls, and then…frustrating. But I have a date this Friday and I expect to change that.” He stood up and started to walk towards the kitchen door leaving his dirty plate and glass on the table.
“Don’t be disappointed if it doesn’t work out. Girls your age can be…” He stopped and turned to her.
“I don’t masturbate. I am developed. I expect to have my needs met this Friday night; I have a date.” Michael spoke as if he were ticking off a grocery list; orange juice, milk, loaf of bread. “Mom?” Del shifted her gaze from his empty plate to meet his eyes.
“Yes,” she said.
“You are really quite beautiful.” The knit in his brow as he said this was almost imperceptible, but when you are accustomed to seeing nothing but a flat affect from someone for literally years, this expression screamed at her.
“I’m sorry, what did you say?” His expression went blank again but repeated his words.
“You are beautiful.” He turned and left the kitchen then. Headed to his room, she supposed.
“Remember what I said! Knock before you enter someone’s bedroom from now on!” She raised her voice as he turned the corner and disappeared. No response. He had said she was beautiful. Quite beautiful. Del felt her body flush with what, embarrassment? It was a trait she shared with her mother. Both women were unable to hide their physical response when complimented. Del’s neck and upper chest bloomed scarlet, as did the angular pockets just below her cheekbones. She combed the fingers of her hand through her auburn hair. He had seen her, and it had registered with him.
Of course, he did not respect the rule she had laid down. Of course, he did not knock. Of course, he just barged into their master bedroom as Del and her husband David slept deeply at nearly 2am Saturday morning. “Mom, I need your help,” he had yelled rudely at their sleeping forms.
“I’ll be right down.” She mumbled. Her husband Dave rolled over to quickly return to that sweet position that quickly brought sleep.
“Maybe we should have him see a professional?” her husband offered; he was halfway back to sleep.
“A professional?” Del responded.
“A psychiatrist, or psychologist…he is just fucking rude. Cares nothing about anything but himself. Are you going down to find out what his problem is?” Del got out of bed and put on a light robe over nightgown, thankful that her nipples had retreated to normalcy.
“Yes, David, I am.” In the back of her mind she was concerned. Had his Friday night date gone South? A shot of adrenaline bit into the pit of her stomach, what if he had raped the girl? Was he capable of such violence? Del didn’t like to think that way, but yes, she was sure of it, if he wanted the poor girl bad enough and she had relented on whatever agreement they had, yes, she could see him forcing her legs apart and taking what he felt he needed. Oh, my God, he would go to jail. Her precious, pretty, psychopathic boy…had he done something she could not protect him from?
She pulled her robe tightly around her as she left their bedroom and headed downstairs. Her beautiful, tussled auburn hair waved in all directions as she quickly made her way down the steps; her pert breasts rose and fell, her round, tight ass vacillating left to right as she landed each foot fall. Please, don’t let it be rape, or worse. She rounded the bannister and headed down the second flight of steps to the den in the basement. He must be there. The light was on. She dreaded what “help” her son needed. What had he done?