Linda begins searching for her son

Linda immediately checks his room and finds it empty.

So, he hasn’t come up yet to change. Or maybe he did while I was in the shower and he’s downstairs doing something else. I wonder if he tried opening my door.

Her sex tingles pleasantly at the thought. She imagines him standing outside her room, listening to her shower.

If I left it open, would he have come in and spied on me in the shower? Would he have waited for me to finish and slipped away or would he have barged in and taken what he wanted?

She unconsciously rubs her thick thighs together. She imagines what that might have been like; her son opening the shower door and forcing himself inside. She pictures him pressing her against the wall, dominating her with his presence. For a moment, she feels his lips on hers again and lets out a quiet moan.

The floor creaks beneath her almost chidingly, as if to remind her of where she was. She wakes from her reverie, embarrassed.

God, I have no idea what’s come over me. I can’t get John out of my head. I don’t know what to do. I’m such a bad mother.

Her cunt clenches, as if around an unseen invader.

“O-oh,” she lets out a shuddering breath, her voluptuous body jiggling as an orgasm ripples through her. She nearly collapses on the floor. “Oh my god…”

It’s been so long!

Compulsively, and from a need to be somewhere more private, she hurls herself into his room and shuts the door behind her.

If Tom or Tiffany knock on the door I’ll just say I’m tidying up. If John comes in... I’m not sure what I’ll do.

Despite herself, she can’t help but scan her son’s room with a critical eye. Normally, she’d spend time noting every object that hadn’t been put away. She’d glare at every stray piece of clothing on the floor. Then she’d criticize him and order him to remedy it to her satisfaction. He’d usually grumble, but always obeyed. Something about that feels wrong to her, and she’s not sure why.

“Our relationship doesn’t follow the usual mother-son dynamic,” she doesn’t know where the words come from, but she finds herself believing them.

Her mouth droops open slightly.

“Sons are usually supposed to do what their mothers say, not the other way around,” she whispers hoarsely. Her eyes become slightly glassy. “But I let him tell me what to do…”

She rubs her thighs together. She feels her sopping wet pussy dripping with arousal, making her panties damp.

“Tell me what to do, John… Please...”

She blinks, shaking her head.

“Hm, what did I just say? Probably nothing too important if I've already forgotten,” she mutters.

Her eyes drift downward, towards his bed, and then lower. She remembers kneeling on the floor while her son eagerly pumped his large, erect penis between her breasts.

She blushes slightly even though it hadn’t exactly been a sexual event. Far from it, in fact. Her breasts belong to him and they are his to do with as he pleases. Yet, she couldn’t help but fantasize that he had been her man and she’d been pleasing him like she was supposed to, each loving stroke of her breasts an expression of her love for him.

His father never asked me for a boobjob.

She sneers at the unbidden thought of her husband. She’d truly loved him once upon a time. In the beginning their relationship had been passionate and very sexual. After she’d had kids, that had dropped off significantly. Oh, they’d still occasionally had sex, but the spark that had ignited the fires of their relationship had seemingly petered out. She was certain she didn’t love him anymore.

It feels like our marriage is powered by nothing but inertia. The love died a long time ago, but we stayed together because of our kids. Well, the kids are all grown up now. There’s no reason we can’t have an amicable divorce and pursue better options.

She sees her son’s handsome face again and her heart skips a beat.

Stop it, Linda! You’re acting like some schoolgirl with a crush! He’s my son; I’m not supposed to feel this way about him! Even if I somehow get in a relationship with him, I can’t do anything with him publicly. We’ll always be **** to pretend we don’t care about each other that way. We won’t be able to have a proper wedding or honeymoon. We won’t be able to start a life together or have kids. We’ll always be **** to love each other in the shadows, the fear of discovery hanging over us for the rest of our lives.

Yet, she can’t deny her feelings. She can’t help the way her heart beats faster every time she thinks about him. She can’t stop the way her sex tingled when she thought about how well-endowed her son was.

He definitely didn’t get that from his worthless father!

She smirks, a dark, twisted sort of pride welling up inside her. She’d given birth to a handsome, confident, intelligent man who had already surpassed his father in every way. He was more a man than any she’d ever been with or fantasized about being with. And she’d given birth to him. She’d been the one who had imbued the qualities that made him an amazing man.

The man of my dreams.

She clenches her fists and takes a deep breath, calming herself. Idly, she gives the room another once-over. She smiles fondly when she sees the rows of books stacked above his desk on wooden shelves nailed into the wall. He was always a smart, well-read boy, and could hold a conversation on a variety of subjects her husband struggled to. Why had she stopped talking to him? Why had she allowed their relationship to fall apart to the extent that it had?

She shakes her head.

I’ve stalled enough for now. I need to go find him and see… if I can clear the air between us.

Before she leaves his room, she stops in front of his mirror to look at herself. She’d ditched her conservative sweater for a dark navy, sleeveless halter that had an opening in front that stopped just below the top of her huge breasts.

Thanks, Ma.

Men loved her breasts. When she’d been younger, she’d attracted quite a lot of stares and admiring looks, even from men who were with their wives or girlfriends. While it’d made it easy for her to find dates, it had also attracted unwanted attention at school (she’d caught more than one of her professors ogling her in college), work, and after she’d been married. After her husband stopped being interested in her, she’d grown to think of them as a curse rather than a blessing.

But my boy loves them. They’re his and he can’t keep his hands off them. The least I can do is make them easier for him to reach.

For the first time in years, she was happy to be well-endowed.

She also wears a pair of denim pants salvaged from the back of her closet. They cling to her thick thighs uncomfortably tightly, and she longed for a pair of the pants she’d worn earlier. Yet that was also their appeal. She remembered her son’s gaze as he feasted greedily on the sight of her naked body and how enthusiastically he’d reached his hands down to grope her ass. She wanted to look sexy for him. To make him see her as a woman. She wanted to tempt him the way he’d tempted her.

It’s the least I can do after everything he’s put me through.

Satisfied, she leaves his room, taking care to leave the door open. She pauses when she notices Tiffany’s door is open. She peers into her daughter’s room and finds it empty.

She must have gone downstairs while I was in John’s room.

Nodding to herself, she makes her way down to the first floor.

“Oh hey Mom, you just take a shower?” Her daughter looks up from her phone. She’s sitting at the kitchen table digging into a bowl of salad.

The muted cacophony of a televised crowd and deep, enthusiastic voices from sports commentators leaks into the room.

Is Tom still watching football? Why am I even asking myself that. Of course he is.

She glares in the direction of the living room for a few moments before setting her gaze on her daughter.

“You’re glowing. Did Rick promise to get you something nice for Christmas?”

“Rick?” Tiffany blinks. Her eyes widen slightly. “Oh, uh no. I’m just relaxed after slotting a nice little nap into my day.”

I see. Why do I feel like she’s hiding something important?

Linda narrows her eyes skeptically, but decides it isn’t worth pursuing ultimately. She’d learned a long time ago that you had to allow your children their eccentricities sometimes.

“Well I’m glad you’re rested. Did you check on Ronnie at all?”

“Mhm,” Tiffany whips out a small white speaker with an antenna on the end. “The other end’s by his crib.”

She smiles approvingly.

Good girl.

“You should still check on him physically. You can’t rely on just sound to make sure he’s okay.”

Tiffany nods.

“Yeah, I know. I checked on him when I came down. He was hungry so I fed him a little and he went right back to sleep.”

Linda shakes her head.

“You’re so lucky. Ronnie’s so much quieter than you or your brother were. I didn’t get any sleep for about four years,” she grumbles. “And you think you have it tough.”

Tom wasn’t any help during that period either. I bet John would have stepped in if he were my husband.

She ignored the bitterness that welled up in her chest.

“Yeah, that’s rough,” Tiffany mutters. “I can’t even imagine what that must have been like.”

Lonely, stressful, and filled with many sleepless nights.

“It was a difficult time, but the two of you were worth it in the end,” she says.

Tiffany smiles.

“Aw, that’s so nice. Thanks, Mom.” She perks up slightly. “Hey, have you seen John anywhere? I looked for him when I came down, but I couldn’t find him.”

Linda kept her expression neutral.

John’s missing?

Fear and worry begin to gnaw at her.

Did he leave the house because I rejected him? Does he think I don’t want him here anymore?

Linda was surprised by how much the thought disturbed her, but she’d always prided herself on being a rational thinker. Her mind went to work.

If John were moving out, he’d have gotten his things first. And it’s not like he has anywhere to go, realistically. He has almost no money left in the savings account I opened for him. He’s not going anywhere.

“Did you check everywhere?” she asks.

Tiffany shakes her head.

“Everywhere but the basement, but why would he be down there? There’s just exercise equipment and we both know the shut-in is not gonna use that anytime soon.”

“Don’t talk about your brother that way,” she snaps defensively.

Tiffany snorts.

“Since when do you care about someone calling him a shut-in? You’ve called him worse things like a million times,” Tiffany says.

Linda glares at her daughter.

“I’m allowed to do that. I’m his mother,” she ignores how hollow the words feel. Her mind is assaulted by her memories of demeaning her son. Of expressing her disappointment with him again and again. The hurt looks on his face hadn’t affected her before, but now it’s like a knife jammed into her gut.

Her nails dig painfully into her palms.

Why? Why was I so indifferent towards him? Why did I treat him so horribly for all these years?

“Sure, whatever,” Tiffany raises her eyebrows skeptically and resumes eating her salad.

Brat.

“Have you tried calling him?” Linda asks, hoping that her daughter doesn’t pick up on the desperation and regret in her voice.

Tiffany swallows a mouthful of her snack. A spec of lettuce falls from her lips and lands in between the young woman’s expansive cleavage.

The apple certainly doesn’t fall far from the tree, at least as far as looks are concerned.

Linda thinks about warning her daughter about the mess, but decides she’s still a little upset about Tiffany badmouthing John, so she says nothing.

“Nope. You want me to give him a try?”

She shakes her head.

“No, I’m going to check the basement first. If he isn’t down there, I’ll call him and see where he is.”

She ignores her daughter’s befuddled expression and makes her way to the basement door. She opens it and finds the area wreathed in pitch blackness. She flicks on the light and goes downstairs.

Empty. Just like I thought.

A sickening feeling churns in her stomach, and she can’t help but worry that something has happened to him. It will only occur to her later that her concern is anything but maternal.

She reaches into her pocket and fishes out her phone.

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