Sorting Out Mom

(Reader: welcome to my world. In reading this work of fantasy, you come, symbolically into a world that I create, where normal reality gives way to the reality that I fashion. You're invited to come and spend some time here, reading the fantasy that I'm presenting. If it's not to your liking, you're invited to leave. Be assured that no one was injured in any way by the writing process here.The fantasy is totally mine and remains essentially a vacation of the mind for you to enjoy. I wish you the joy of it.

Matt Watt)

*

The fact that things were finally settling down for Susan Sutton was a major blessing. She was, of course, kind of torn about Don, her husband's, her forever wandering and philandering and screwing around husband's leaving. It took an element of stability from her life, actually from hers and their son James' life but she really believed that he was better gone, gone off with his latest, 'she's young and that means that I'm not getting older' dolly.

"After all," she reasoned with herself, not without justification, "He was hardly here anyway."

He no longer bothered with sex with her, not that it was ever really great for her but he just hadn't bothered very much for these past two years, leading to his dramatic announcement that 'he was in love' and leaving.

She actually smiled, when she thought of the settlement that he gave her, so eager was he to get into his new dolly's panties legally, as if he weren't already in her panties regularly.

But that wasn't Susan's problem. The sexual tension wasn't her problem any more, or the lack of sexual tension wasn't her problem any more. Don was finally gone. The house was hers, totally. A more than generous and adequate income was hers from Don's business. The alimony was hers, and she was doing fine.

She also reasoned that she'd be able now to concentrate on James. She was sure that he had picked up, in these past years, on the tension between her and Don. She realized that 18 was a difficult age, especially when your parents, when you were that age, propelled you into full adulthood with one dominant move---the divorce.

She felt that she had some making up to do with James. He had in fact been brooding during these past weeks, since she told him that this latest move of his Dad's wasn't another of his 'business trips', as he liked to call his forays out to fuck the world's young and shallow women, was not just that but was in fact him moving out totally.

She knew that James' broodiness had to be dealt with as soon as possible and was hoping that they could renew their relationship and become a better Mom and Son team. It was her hope now and what she was going to concentrate on.

She also felt a need to at least do a kind of mental inventory for herself. There were things that she needed to think about, consider and see if she could arrange or at least straighten out for herself.

Those reflections, some of them at least, were done in the darkness of her room----she sighed with the thought of it, and, she realized, the joy of it, of calling it 'her room' now---when she was alone with herself and her thoughts, and often enough, these days with her fingers rubbing and searching at and between her vagina's lips.

Susan had never been one for masturbation but sex with Don had been so vanilla and so lacking in passion. She found herself, over those years, to slowly and gradually allow herself the indulgence of masturbation. She always thought it 'dirty', from those parental lectures that she'd had to absorb and put up with. But she knew that there was at least a part of her mind that was attracted by the 'dirtiness' of it.

And that was something, a place, a state, a part of passion, that she'd never been able to have or share with Don. She'd never let him into that world of sex that she harbored within. It was her secret and one that she'd retreat to in need, although pushing it aside and not dealing with sexual issues became much more easy for her, and her fantasy world was left, for long periods of time, unattended.

"No," she thought, "This is going to be time for James and myself; we're going to deal with his tensions and get these issues between us out into the open once and for all."

She promised herself that she'd start today or tomorrow. It was that simple for her.

The breakup wasn't a big surprise for James. It had been indeed a long time since he heard the sounds of passion from his parents' room. These days he wondered if his Mom's barely suppressed sex sounds were sounds of actual passion or if they were increasingly feigned.

He'd certainly noticed a slackening of civility between them at times. He also discovered his Dad's little secrets on the computer.

James had a natural computer talent and his Dad was functional with it but only just that. With ease, when he was ready to search, James found his Dad's cache of notes from the latest Bimbo that he was fucking, some of them complete with photos.

It was one of the reasons that James was so pleased to stop and see his Dad at work. Don thought it was a sign of a great relationship between them but on James' part it was because he wanted to see in the flesh those babes, secretaries and lower functionaries, whose photos he had naked, dressed in panties and posing like some kind of leering, mindless bitch. He enjoyed being there and talking with them, knowing the secret that he knew.

He wondered more about his Mom and how she was taking it. But there were galling questions about how much his Mom tried. How forthcoming she'd been with his Dad. He suspected that his Mom knew all right about the bimbos and that she'd retreated sexually from his Dad because of it. But there were lingering questions about how involved she'd ever been with his Dad.

He also knew that either his mother's use of the computer was totally innocent or else she was better at hiding her tracks that his Dad was, and he doubted that. She was simply much more of an enigma for him.

Yes, he knew of the problems but there had been a status quo, which now was shattered and a part of him wanted to know why. He felt that he had the right to make the enquiries about it.

It was almost as if he didn't know what to expect from his Mom now. Even if she didn't feel it, he felt a tension now living here alone with her. Running into her, at times, when she wasn't fully dressed. She didn't seem to be bothered by those little slips and scenes, although he had to admit that the sight of his Mom in a robe, and he assumed, panties, in the morning was a stimulating sight for him.

He was surprised at the fact that he began to react to those kinds of scenes, her bending over the washer wearing a wrap skirt that hiked up to almost the cheek level of her panties, and react strongly.

Susan was brooding and recouping; James was seething with questions and vaguely acknowledged yearnings.

She was in the shower; he could hear it running, and didn't even try to push the mental picture of the water running over her tits, and her belly and down to her pussy hair---did she shave?---and over her ass cheeks---nice, nice ass on his Mom.

He thought of jerking off; suddenly liking the thought of jerking off with the mental image of his Mom naked in the shower cruising through his mind. But there was that ever present, nagging, bitch of a concern about his Mom and Dad. Had she loved him? Had she tried? The questions were ever present and wouldn't go away.

It might have been the tension; it might have been his suddenly and finally coming of age; it might have been a product of the rage within him that caused him to do what he did next. But once his next step was taken, he knew that he'd never be able to take that step back.

He got up from his bed and stalked to her room. He was dressed only in a pair of plaid boxers.

He opened the bathroom door, and saw her in the shower, through the plexiglass of the walls, naked, big tits, nice rounded ass, dark pussy triangle. The came the shriek that he'd been waiting for. It sounded vaguely like this, although in the bathroom, with its tiled walls, the din of it and reverberation made it hard to get it all straight:

"James . . .wha . . .here . . .naked . . .showering . . .out . . .wha . . .think . . .doing . . .out now!"

James simply gave in to his emotions at that point. The issue of his Mom and Dad had been driving him around the bend for a time and it all seemed to come to a head in that bathroom right then and there. He shouted; that is, he shouted so loud that he simply drowned out her voice. He shouted:

"Quiet, Woman!"

It's necessary to understand that Susan is not a woman who was ever, ever used to being shouted at. Certainly Don never did. If anything he was always too quiet about her, not challenging, not communicating, and ultimately not caring. She would have really relished the shouting rather than that. The only experience that Susan really had with shouting in her life was her father. He'd been periodically a shouter. But he was one whom she had obeyed with no thought, back talk, hesitation or ranker.

The shout, James' shout penetrated some part of Susan's mind and experience and it simply shut her down. She stopped her protesting; she just stared at him. She stood in the shower with the warm water spilling over her and let her son James, stare at her own nakedness. She woke up a bit at that point and covered her tits with her arm and her pussy with her hand. And he shouted again:

"Woman get those god damned hands down!"

And, following the same kind of mental path that the previous jolt followed, she did as she was told. She dropped her hands. But even as she did, she realized that a new protest was building.

She began to order James to leave the bathroom. He shouted again:

"Woman, shut the fuck up!"

Shouting: not used to it; bad language: used to it even less. Susan was struck totally silent. She stood in the spray and just stared at him.

"Now shut up and listen to me; do you understand? DO YOU UNDERSTAND?"

And of course this last was hollered almost at the top of James' lungs.

For him the shouting in and of itself felt good; the bellowing was certainly getting the job done for him, the job, that is, of getting her under control. He was, it seemed, getting a few things done here with his rage. He certainly, for this time, had his Mom under control. She wasn't going to do or say anything at this point that would set him off again.

"Yes, James, I understand!" she said, "But may I . . ."

He didn't allow her to finish:

"I SAID SHUT UP! UNTIL AND UNLESS I SPEAK TO YOU; YOU DON'T SAY A WORD, NOT ONE FUCKING WORD! SAY IT! REPEAT IT! SAY IT TO ME NOW!"

Now this was hard for her but Susan was cowed by his actions, his shouting and this very confrontation. She said, as he had instructed her:

"Until and Unless you speak to me, I don't say a word . . ." here she hesitated.

"MOTHER!" he bellowed.

And she hastened to repeat it all, though not being used to such language:

"Not one fucking word!" she said, coloring a bright red.

"Exactly!" he said to her. Then he stared at her, and the very intensity of his stare made her frightened, both for herself but for him also. It appeared that his rage was just about out of control.

"When did you stop loving him?" he demanded to know.

She wasn't really shocked by the question, just his timing and setting. But he was still red in the face; she could see the rage just below the surface of his face and feared it.

"A number of years ago," she said simply.

"Why?" he asked.

"He just didn't care; he showed very little concern. He never even yelled at me or anything," she said then with tears in her eyes.

His temper was back: "MOTHER, STAY WITH ME; DON'T YOU DARE CRY AND TRY TO GET OUT OF THIS!"

"No, no, no, James," she said quickly. "I'm okay; it's okay."

"When did he start with his fucking whores, his bimbos? Other women?" he wanted to know next.

"You knew?" she asked, shocked.

"Of course!" he said, "The fucking fool kept photos. I'll show you afterwards."

"I don't think I want to . . ."

"DON'T YOU DARE SAY 'NO' TO ME!" he bellowed.

That was it for her; a previously buried part of her simply took over. She felt herself kind of sliding into a cooperation mode. She'd do what she was told. She almost even said 'Yes, Daddy!' to James, when she realized what kind of mental state she was in.

"No, no, of course, not, James," she said. "You show me later."

He stopped then and stared at her; it was almost as if he was seeing her for the first time. He took a step toward the shower, which was still on. She was absolutely, totally unprepared for what he said and did next. Not the shouting, not his anger, not the whole hysterical scene prepared her for his words:

"Mother, you are physically perfect!" he said, this time in a soft voice but one that she heard distinctly.

There was a sharp, hard intake of breath; she was almost overwhelmed by what he said; her son, this angry, angry young man was telling her that she was physically 'perfect'. He used that word. She couldn't, in that instance, ever think of anyone else telling her that.

Then he acted, and her surprise reached its height:

He reached into his plaid boxers and actually took out his prick.

She gasped involuntarily; it was large; it was big; it was certainly bigger than Don's. Nor did she realize that she was not only thinking this but actually saying it also.

He watched her, never took his eyes off of her, and he jerked himself off into her panties, while she stared and gaped at him. The smile never left his face, as he came to his orgasm and spewed the cum into her panties.

Then he gave the panties to her. She accepted them without a word, still keeping her glance of his cock, as it shrunk back to a smaller size.

He said one word, as he left the bathroom:

"Perfect."

She stood there in the shower and she trembled. She was so confused, not knowing if she should be crying, worried, turned on or masturbating herself. She woke herself from this state with her fingers already entwined in the hair of her pussy, seeking her pussy lips, in an almost irresistible movement. Nor did she stop until she was trembling and moaning loud enough, she was sure for him to hear. But in that moment, she didn't care at all.

She looked down and still had the panties with his cum all over them in her hand. She shivered and said to herself that she hadn't had such an emotional encounter with a man----not her son, not with James----with a man, for as long as she could remember.

A little voice in her head said, in absolute wonder:

"Where did he get such passion? Certainly not from his father." And Susan realized that it was spoken with an unbridled amount of pleasure.

She finished her shower then, still tingling, and, she realized, mentally tired. In a very short while after this incident, she went to bed. The house was locked up and James was in his room. She remembered that he'd said that he was going to show her Don's photos. But she didn't want to press that. She knew full well that the initiative in all of this was James' and for now she was fine with that.

But in the morning she felt differently about it. She knew that she had to talk to him about it.

They were in the kitchen, when Susan brought it up:

"James, we have to talk about last night."

He interrupted her and said, forcefully but not too harshly:

"No, we don't! Not until I say that we do. Do you understand that, Mom?"

"Yess . . .uh, yes," she stammered, again quickly overwhelmed by the passion of his reply, though it was a fairly quiet reply this time.

"Then say it back to me; show me that you understand," he demanded.

Once again, Susan found herself giving in; she said:

"Yes, James, I understand that we won't talk about this until you say that we do."

"Good," he replied.

"Okay then," he said, "I've got to go. I won't be late today. I have those pictures to show you, and I'll want to talk, but later."

"Yes, James," she said. The initiative was his, and she knew that.

But she spent the day thinking about it. Her mind went back and forth, for it was impossible for her to totally banish from her mind the sight of his large, erect prick. She didn't have a huge amount of experience with men's cocks, outside of Don but that comparison alone was an important one. She had been and was surprised at how much bigger James' cock was than Don's. She also remembered, with a red face, the fact that she'd said it to him, when he was about to masturbate into her panties last night.

He came home in the afternoon. She didn't really know how to act toward him; she was still apprehensive. He got a coke for himself and said:

"Okay, Mom, come with me; I want to show you these."

"Yes, dear," she said, determined to make as little fuss about this as possible.

They went together to his room, where he sat her down in front of the computer.

"The fucking fool made photos of his conquests!" he said. "I couldn't believe it. They were just in a file on his computer. No hiding, nothing. Just there."

"Do I need to see these, James, honey?" she asked quietly.

"Have I already said that you do?" he asked her.

"Yes, James," she answered.

"Then?" he asked.

"Yes, I understand;" she continued. "Show them to me."

He went through the photos of naked young or youngish women with her. She recognized many of them as having worked for and with Don. Then, toward the end of the group of photos, he hesitated and said:

"Wait for this one."

She shrieked! There was a photo of her 'best friend' Rhonda Seaman; she was kneeling and sucking Don's cock. She wore only panties. Her face was clear; Don's face was clear.

"I . . .I can't believe it!" Susan said, barely able to speak.

"I'm just trying to show you what a fool he was, Mom," James said.

"I know, honey," she said. "I don't know what to do."

"I do," he said.

"What are you going to do?" Susan asked.

"You leave that to me, Mom," he said and she asked no more.

The rest of the day was calm. They had dinner and watched some tv. Susan was on edge but said nothing about what had happened. She remembered his words that he would be the one to bring it up, when it was time.

She told him, after some tv, that she was going to shower and then to bed. She said 'goodnight' to him then. She went to the bathroom and made sure that she locked the door, when she was inside.

In just a few minutes, she heard the door knob move just a little. She was relieved that she's locked it. Now she had some privacy. This was what was going on in her mind, when there was a loud, frightening crack and the door swung open. She'd just gotten her clothes off except for her panties. She shrieked from the fright of it.

"Shut up, Woman!" he said roughly and this time she knew enough to be silent, when he told her to.

"Take those off, Mom," he said, indicating her panties.

It was a testament to her frame of mind, since the past few days, that she made no trouble at all but simply took the panties off and handed them to him. He was, again, wearing only boxers. She tried to keep her eyes from fixating on the bulge in the front of his underwear but didn't really succeed.

"Take your shower!'" he said, in a voice that would accept no gainsaying.

She turned the shower on and stepped into it, and under the water. She kept her eyes on him, and knew that he was watching her intently. She had no inner resources left in this situation that would allow her to mount any kind of real or effective protest.

"Was he good in bed?" he asked.

This time there was no hesitation. This strange way and place for his questioning was simply, she realized, to be taken at face value.And the nervous tingling at having him watch her in the shower was all too present.