Note to readers: I've had a lot of comments to please finish this story. Thank you very much! I want you to know that the story is complete and I will be publishing a chapter a day until all thirteen are posted.
DISCLAIMER:
This is included in the novel/novella category because of length. It is a mother/son incest story. There are also instances of abuse (two of them, which are not the focus of the story). As far as heat level, this story is quite tame, and if you are look for page after page of screaming sex, you might want to look elsewhere. If you want a STORY, please read on.
Christie showered as soon as she reached her bedroom. Her lips still tingled from Danny's kisses, and she ended up leaning against the shower wall, fingering herself. Although she came quickly, it only made her feel better for a moment. Masturbating while thinking of her son was becoming a bad habit. She needed a lover, desperately, someone to distract her from this growing obsession. The problem was, she could think of no man she knew that she desired more than she wanted Danny right that moment. She still leaned against the shower wall, hot water cascading down her back, and she could taste his mouth, minty and sweet. Now thoroughly disgusted with herself, she scrubbed violently at her scalp, quickly rinsed, and toweled dry before returning to the bedroom to try to find a distraction. She flipped through the channels on the TV, picked up and discarded a romance novel, and finally just lay down on her back, naked on the bed, and stared at the canopy. Swimming might work. The rhythm of the strokes, the sensory deprivation of having her head under water, would usually lull her into a semi-trance, where thoughts were meditative and only her body movements held her notice. Afterward, she would be limp and exhausted. Sleep would come and she wouldn't have to think. But swimming required leaving her room and, moreover, Steve had hit her two nights before. If she wore a bathing suit, Danny would see the marks on her back and thighs. It was this thought that finally brought her to tears. She curled up in a ball on the bed, arms wrapped around her knees, and gave in to painful, wracking sobs.
Weak. I am so weak.
Christie cried for a long time. Every time her tears slackened she would think about the futility of her life -- the impossibility of escaping both her husband or her desire for her own son -- and they would break out anew. Finally, her body could take no more and she fell asleep, exhausted and spent, still in a fetal position.
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Christie never came down from her room for the rest of the afternoon and into the evening. Danny tip-toed from room to room, listening for her footsteps or the sound of her door opening. The determination from earlier in the day waned as he thought more and more about his mother's obvious distress. He created this situation, he needed a way to bring her to him without the anxiety it now caused her. He thought this without shame, because all along it had been his desire and intention to make his mother happy. All right, he also wanted to get laid by a beautiful woman, he admitted to himself, but he wasn't about to throw himself at anyone else. She wanted a lover, he knew it in the same place that he knew the thrill she felt while dancing and the secure confidence she displayed in the courtroom.
Danny believed he would be a safe choice for her. Being with Danny would require no change in her routines, no clandestine meetings. With Steve gone so much, there would be plenty of opportunity. Beyond these practical considerations, though, was the tight bond they shared. Danny and Christie were simpatico.
At six he made himself a dinner of leftover chicken, green beans, and mashed potatoes. It was supposed to be pizza night, he and his mom making homemade pizza together. He looked at the pizza fixings for a moment, wanting a slice of pepperoni, but decided to save it. They would have pizza night, because he was going to fix this.
Danny brought his food into the den, placed it on the coffee table and collapsed onto the sofa. When he pressed the remote, the TV came on to a movie about two people who hated each other, but were in love with their secret pen-pals, who turned out to be each other. Not his type of flick, but his mother had been watching it and he wanted to know what kind of romance worked for her. It was funny, but what captured his interest was the things the two people said to each other in their emails. They were open, free to say what was in their hearts without censure, because it was all anonymous. Danny realized that until now he had been using sex to seduce his mother, probably because he was as horny as any teenage boy and that was where his head was at. She responded to the touches, the kisses, but probably not entirely for the reasons they worked for Danny. Given the way his father treated her, he had imagined she was sexually frustrated and needed to be stroked and coaxed gently. She clearly responded on that level, but her deeper problem, he realized now, was loneliness for a tenderness of a different kind. He remembered Romantic Interludes. Although he imagined his father might have sex with her that didn't involve brutality, he knew without a doubt that what his mother needed was simply love that Steve could never give her. And trust. And companionship.
Shit.
He was an idiot to have seen it at the beginning and then utterly forgotten it in his horniness. Moreover, he was hurting her rather than building her up. Danny turned off the TV and lay back on the sofa, his forearm over his eyes.
Shit shit shit!
He had turned into as big a monster as his dad.
The current situation required talking. He would tell her all that was in his heart, simply and honestly.
If he had the courage.
First, though, he would bring her dinner. She hadn't been down all afternoon and into the evening. She must be hungry.
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When Christie awoke it was dusk. Dim light filtered through cracks in the curtains, and the room was in shadows. She rose to use the bathroom, wash her face, and brush her teeth. First grabbing a robe to ward off the springtime chill in the house, she went back to sit on the edge of the bed. She was calm enough now to sit and watch a movie, something distracting with men in spandex blowing things up. She had "The Dark Knight" and the Spiderman movie with Toby McGuire in the bedroom, so she put Batman on and settled back onto the bed. Even with her nap, she was worn out and had trouble concentrating on the movie, often hitting the back button to review her favorite scenes because she had missed them the first time.
Several hours later she was ravenous, but didn't want to go downstairs. Maybe later when she was certain Danny was asleep, she thought and then castigated herself for being a coward. With that thought she rose, deciding not to be to afraid to have dinner when she was hungry in her own home, and was about to find clothes when there was a knock on the door.
"What?" she said a tad sullenly.
