Marge Lewis looked across the kitchen table at her eighteen year old son, Jason, and marveled at how much resemblance there was between him and his father. She could imagine that it really was his father sitting there, eating his eggs and bacon and drinking his coffee.
"And, soon, it shall be," she thought.
Seven months ago, to the day, George Lewis, along with the rest of his National Guard unit, had deployed to Afghanistan for a twelve month tour of duty. And he was back already.
Every day, for the last three months, Marge had been going to the VA Hospital to visit her husband, sitting by his bedside, holding his hand, consoling him. During that time, George had endured five major surgeries to repair the damage he'd sustained when the convoy in which he'd been riding had been ambushed. Now, it was time to bring him home.
Marge could feel her panties getting damp as she daydreamed about her husband's first night home. Jason would be out with a couple of his friends doing whatever it was that eighteen year old kids do when they are out on the town. "Finally," she thought. "I'm gonna get laid. I am so fucking tired of going solo."
"It's time," she said. "Let's go bring your father home."
Jason took one last sip of his coffee, stood and place the now empty cup in the sink. "Ready when you are, Mom."
"What time you coming home?" she asked as they pulled out of the driveway
Jason grinned. He knew why his mother was asking such a question. He had no intention of intruding on their first night together since before his father had deployed. "I know why you're asking," he told her as his grin spread even wider. "Bet you don't get any sleep tonight."
He turned to wink at his mother and watched her blush. His cock began to harden as he formed a picture in his mind of his father's stiffness penetrating his mom's pussy. And, for the thousandth time since he'd turned eighteen, he wished it was him sharing his mother's bed, his cock pumping his baby making juices deep inside her.
"Jason!" she gasped. "You shouldn't talk like that to your mother."
"Why, Mom? It's only natural that you and Dad would want to do the nasty after being apart for so long."
Jason's comments only served to make her even hornier than before. She absentmindedly squeezed her legs together. The pressure on her clit was unbearably delicious. She shuddered through a mild orgasm and squeezed herself to another; this one more powerful than the first.
Jason glanced quickly at his mother. Had his mother just cum in the car beside him? More blood rushed to his cock.
"Just keep your eyes on the road," Marge said, almost in a whisper. She glanced at her son and immediately noticed the bulge in his pants. "My god," she said to herself. "He's bigger than his father!"
"You still haven't answered my question," Marge said as they pulled into the hospital parking lot.
"What's that?" Jason asked his mother. Then he remembered. "No, Mom. I'm staying over at Frankie's. Remember?"
"Oh, yeah. I forgot."
"Damn, Mom. You'd better get Dad home soon or you'll be a nervous wreck."
Marge blushed again but, said nothing. She exited the Town Car and turned to check the seat for any sign of dampness. Luckily, there was none. She breathed a sigh of relief as she closed the door.
Once inside, Mother and son entered the elevator and rode it to the fourth floor where they exited and made their way to the nurse's station.
The duty nurse looked up from reading a chart. "Well, hello, Marge," she said cheerfully. She glanced at young Jason. Her gaze traveled up and down his manly physique. "Hi, Jason," she continued. "The ladies are sure gonna miss having you around once you go back to college. Vanderbilt, isn't it?"
It was Jason's turn to blush. "Mrs. Wilson," he said as he averted his eyes from her more than ample chest.
"Linda," she reminded him.
"Hi, Linda," Marge said. "Sorry I haven't been around to visit lately. "Things have been a little hectic since George returned."
Linda Mason was Frankie's mother. The two of them had been friends ever since fifth grade. Both their sons had been born on the same day, only minutes apart. She turned to Jason. "Frankie should be getting into town any time now. It'll be nice to see you two together again."
"I guess he made it through basic training okay then?" Marge said.
Before Linda could answer, one of the nurses under her supervision approached. "We're going to get your husband now," she told Marge. "Be just a minute or two."
Ten minutes later, Marge was walking alongside her husband, her hand on his shoulder, as Linda pushed his wheel chair into the elevator. Back down on the first floor, the group made its way out the door and to the car.
Marge helped George into the front seat faced her son and held out her hand. "Mind if I drive us home?"
"Sure, Mom," Jason said as he fished the keys from his pocket and handed them to his mother.
As Marge hastened to the other side of the Lincoln, Linda turned to Jason. "Drop in any time after four," she told him. "I'll be home by then."
Jason smiled and reached to open the back door. He stopped when Linda's hand touched his elbow. "I've got something special cooked up for you," she whispered.
"Glad to have you home, Dad," Jason said as his mother drove out of the parking lot and into the street.
George Lewis grimaced as he turned to look back at his son. "Good to be home, son."
Marge, upon hearing her husband's sharp intake of breath, glanced over at George. "You okay, hon?" she asked
His voice was sharp and bitter. "Fourteen holes in my body. Two in my lungs and one in my liver. Five major surgeries and at least two more coming. Why shouldn't I be okay?"
Marge Lewis was stunned. "You've changed, George. You never used to talk to me like that."
The trio rode the rest of the way home in silence. Mrs. Lewis pulled into the driveway, pushed a button on her remote and waited for the garage door to open. She parked the car inside the garage and closed the door behind them. Before she had time to exit the vehicle and get to the other side, George had already opened his door and was halfway out.
"Here," Marge told him as she reached for his arm. "Let me help you."
George pushed her hand away. "Dammit, Marge. Quit treating me like I was an invalid. I can get out on my own." With slow and precise movements, he was standing and facing his wife of twenty-two years.
Marge recoiled at her husband's less than friendly touch.
