"I am a good mother," she said to her reflection in the mirror, the fog still covering her naked body except her head. She was brushing her teeth, pausing only for the motivational tapes. Again, they played, speaking almost mechanically, "You are a good wife." She repeated, "I am a good wife."
She had found these at a used-items store, and thought to give them a try. Lately her husband had been away on longer trips, too tired to make love when he got home. 'Ironic,' she thought at the time, 'That it's the husband who's finally stopping great sex!' She and her husband were (if she recalled correctly, it had been so long) beasts in bed. On their honeymoon, neighbors filed a noise report three times for the loudness of her moaning and screams, and her bouncing so forcefully against the mattress and banging it into the wall.
"You are a good lover," the tape said. "I am a good lover," she said hypnotically. The fog had cleared a bit, revealing her cleavage and the top part of her breasts. The stretch marks of her early blooming were still on the tops of her white breasts, and she was beginning to see her nipples. Her husband commented whenever he was home about her beautiful breasts, not too big, not too small, and said he always felt attracted to the stretch marks, even though she hated them.
The tape recorder clicked, and no more voice came out. She sighed, and finishing her morning routine, emerged from the bathroom a beautiful mother. She walked to the calendar to see what was going on today, barely glancing out the front window. She saw the newspaper on her way, and decided to get it later.
The calendar had nothing of importance to share, and she sighed again. Suburbia was beginning to become a boring place. A foul odor hit her nostrils, and she glanced around, looking for the source. Although nothing appeared that created the smell, she had to get the smell out of the air, unless she wanted to vomit. She opened the cabinets under the sink, and saw, to her dismay, a small dripping of the pipes. About a drop every twenty seconds, she knew it would stack up and drown her eventually. After grabbing the aerosol can with a clean smell, she made a mental note to get a repair guy on the sink.
She began her trek to the newspaper outside. She spent most of the day home alone, her son with friends over summer break from college, and her husband at work. Naturally, she found no need to wear a bra, or even underwear as the case was becoming. Her heavy tits bobbed and swayed as she walked, and her nipples grew hard in the chill air. She put her hands in her sleep pants' pockets to keep her fingers warm, unintentionally pulling her pants down a bit, revealing the blonde pubes that matched her shortened blonde hair.
As she picked up her newspaper, a caravan of cars, reeking of diesel and testosterone drove by, undoubtedly her son and company. They were speeding too fast to get a good look at her. However, one car did slow down, the tinted windows blocking her view. She naturally smiled, assuming it was her son. In fact, as the window rolled down, it was her son's friend, Joseph, sitting at the wheel.
"Good morning, Mrs. Pasternak," he rumbled with a smile. Joseph had grown up in her neighborhood, and she had memories of him playing with her son, and Joseph's brother, Jacob. Jacob, too, had a deep voice, a mischevious grin, and an aura of happiness. The two were so much alike she even assumed she knew how big Joseph's privates were. Jacob had gone a little crazy when his girlfriend dumped him, and he had tried to rape her in the night. Jacob was nothing to write home about, except for the fact that he cries like a girl when you give him a good squeeze in a certain area. Joseph and Mrs. Pasternak tried not to bring that up.
"Good morning, Joseph," she replied, smiling at him. She walked up to the window, her breasts pinched and resting on the side of the car, with her arms folding on them. "How is my son doing? Not getting in trouble, right?"
"Joshua? No! Since when has Joshua gotten in trouble?" The two laughed at the sarcasm, and he carried on, "How are you, Mrs. Pasternak?"
"Oh, gotta hire a plumber, leaky faucet in the kitchen." She stuck out her tongue, rolled her eyes, and laughed again. Joseph's face lightened up. Mrs. Pasternak had also not noticed a time he tried to take a look at her tits. 'Good man,' she thought, 'Better learn where to keep your eyes!'
"I'm a bit good at plumbing-things. I'll be happy to do it for you!" Mrs. Pasternak's smile widened, and gave her thanks and appreciation. "Not a problem, ma'am! I'd be happy to! When can I come over?"
She thought a bit and said, "How about two?" He shook his head no. "I got plans."
"Three-thirty?" Shake.
"Five?" Shake.
"Seven?" Shake.
"Well, then I guess I better gotta call a plumber... I can't wait till tomorrow for this, it's driving me crazy!" Joseph reached into the back seat, and pulled out a tool belt. "Can I help ya now?" She smiled, nodded. He parked his car on the curb, got out, and put on his tool belt. He noticed the blonde pubes hanging out of her shirt, as well as her tits bouncing as he walked beside her, but he dared not make a comment.
She led him to the kitchen, and he looked at it himself. "Okay, I can help you with this! Easy, no problemo!" She thanked him, told him that if he needed anything he just had to ask, and she went about to the living room to begin dusting it.
