Marks Journal

An Erotic Short Story

December 15

th

My name is Mark Glass and I wanted to write down how my life changed in such dramatic and wonderful ways. First, I want to preface my story with the fact that I have been living with my mom.

I know, I know

. 24 years old, barely out of college, struggling to find work, and living at home. What a loser, right? But the shame of that seems minimal, if non-existent, compared with what happened on that December day.

You see, my mom had passed away. It was a brain aneurism that took her. The events of that day kept running over and over in my head. Even when I didn't want to think about it, the day played over again. Every detail from what my mom was wearing, what it was like outside, and even what we were talking about. We were in the frozen food section discussing what to make for dinner that night. I was pushing the cart and thinking about my situation. I indulged in a little self-pity because of my situation of being unemployed and I knew that she was behind me looking at sherbet flavors. I was passing by the Lean Cuisines and wondering if that would ever change.

That was when I heard her call out.

"Mark," she said, "I don't feel good."

I was only a few steps away when she said that. I was about to turn to see what was wrong when I heard a heavy thud. The sound made me turn faster and that was when I found her lying face down on the floor. Everything else after that had passed by in a hazed blur. From me calling 911, the small crowd that gathered around me, to the arrival of the emergency medical team, getting to the hospital, and then the doctors at the hospital telling me that she was gone. The way it happened was so unreal that there was the sensation that it was happening to someone else. Or maybe that was the wish I had that it would happen to someone else.

I felt so numb afterwards. I suppose that I needed time to process it all, which is why I was at home for three days straight in nothing but my pajamas. There really wasn't a funeral. What was done was a "celebration of life" as my mom would call it. Her friends and coworkers were there, even some of my friends came by to show support, but I didn't go. I was in my room, blinds down, door shut, and dark. I can only imagine how pathetic and putrid I must have looked after not shaving or showering for that long.

I still miss her, but I think things would have been worse had it not been for the people who were there. Or to be more accurate,

one

person who was there for it all, and how she was the one who changed my life.

I was in my room, being as pitiful as ever, when I heard her at the door.

"Mark?" She called out. "Hon?"

It was my next-door neighbor, Carol Martin. She had been a friend of the family for years and years. She had even been there for my mom after my dad left with some younger woman. She was like a member of the family. The unofficial aunt. And we were there for Carol when her husband left her. A true friend and a rock of a person.

"Hon?" She called again.

I didn't answer. What I wanted the most was to hear my mom's voice again. I wanted to hear her say how much she loved me and that everything was going to be okay. It was the reason why I had my phone in my bed with me. I kept going to the voice mail and replaying the last voice message I had of hers.

"Hi, sweetie," the voice message began, "I'm just calling to remind you that the kitchen needs cleaning up. If you could do that before I get home, I would greatly appreciate it. Love you, bye."

I kept replaying that message over and over again. I know how pathetic that it is to hear from a grown man, but I think all of us want that in some primal sort of way even if none of us want to admit it. This was probably why I didn't ask Carol to leave me alone. I was looking for a replacement. I just wanted

something

.

Anything.

It was that want that made me too involved in listening to that last voice message to hear the door close. At first, I thought she left but then I heard footsteps approaching my bed. Then there was the sinking feeling in the mattress when she sat at the edge and then laid her hand on my feet.

"I came to see how you're doing," she said. It was weird, and maybe it was me projecting, but I could almost hear my mom's voice in her tone. "I know how much you miss her. We all do. And we're all here for you. Especially me."

That was when something weird happened.

I felt her lift herself off my bed, her footsteps came closer to me, and I could feel her body press against mine before her lips kissed my cheek. She got up and left me in the dark with the memories swirling like a tornado across my mind, Carol's voice, my mom's last voice mail, my twin waterfalls of tears, and the soul crushing reality.

I don't know how long it was when the tears had stopped but when they did the celebration was over. All I was left with was an empty house and the burning in my eyes and cheeks. So, I tried to do the other stuff that I would normally do. I suppose that doing it all made me want to regain a sense of normality. The activities included browsing my social media, playing World of Warcraft, and so on. Then, of course, there's adult films. When you're in college, single, and don't have a lot of prowess when it comes to seduction then they becomes a very close companion if not your best friend. Over at AEBN, my go to category is MILF, and my favorite starlet is the Golden Age star Kay Parker. Her best scene, in my opinion, is an obscure role in the movie "Tomboy" where she plays a mother named "Mrs. Robinson". I know. I know. It's not a very creative name, especially when she basically begs one of the virgin eighteen-year-old high school guys to fuck her. But there was something about it.

It was this scene that I was watching, when the unexpected happened. Seeing her long curly hair, her exquisite large breasts, and that sweet loving expression she had even when she had a cock inside her. Seeing it, I couldn't help but unzip myself and start to lightly stroke the shaft of my cock. I eyed my box of tissues that I had at my desk for the critical moment to come but while I was watching something came into my mind out of nowhere. It was the thought of Carol Martin and that kiss she gave me. I was imagining her bringing her hand underneath the bed sheets and saying the things that Kay Parker was saying:

Please, let me have your cock! I need it, hon. I need it in my mouth and inside me!

No idea why it sprung at such an inopportune time but there it was, throbbing in my mind. I admitted to myself that she was...

is

...sexy...but is it appropriate for me to have such thoughts about one of my mom's friends especially since she's known us for so long? After all, I grew up alongside her kids. Her kids and I learned to ride bikes together, did school projects, had summer vacations and everything else through the years. So, what does it say about me that I was having sexual thoughts about my mom's best friend?

Sorting through the sexual ethics of this made me stop stroking. Despite my physical arousal, I didn't want to continue so I paused the video and zipped myself up. And zipping yourself up when you're still rock hard is like putting a beast back into its cage while it's crying out,

Hey, you're not done yet, buddy.

Even with the beast straining against its cloth prison, I couldn't help but snort at the era we live in. We've reached a point where we even start to police the fantasies in our own heads thanks to the buddy cops of guilt and shame.

And so, I crawled back to bed.

December 26th

I managed to clean up as much of the house as I could. I kept thinking over the last couple of weeks and knew that a lot had been placed on my shoulders. I kept wandering around the house knowing that she was gone and never coming back. In the aftermath of it all, Christmas had come and gone. There were presents but I couldn't bring myself to open them. I simply sat in the chair in front of the Christmas tree knowing that it was the last time we put that tree up and decorated it.

Lost in the memories, I didn't hear the doorbell ring the first time but I did on the second and third time.

Getting up I headed for the door knowing that it was probably another friend of my mom wanting to give their condolences or it could be one of mine. After all, I hadn't seen or spoken to any of them in a few days. But when I came to the door and opened it, I was surprised to find Carol there.

"Hey, hon, I came by to see how you are," she said having that concerned look in her expression just like a mother.

"Well, I'm fine," I said, fibbing with the air of misery that was still around me, "More or less."

I don't know why I added that last part, but I guess it was because I had known her so long that it was hard to really hold anything back or keep anything hidden.

"May I come in?" she asked.

"Sure," I said opening the door for her not wanting to turn her away because I had isolated myself so much that I wanted to reconnect.

Watching her move still stirred the creature in my pants like a dog wanting to meet the person who was at the door. The way her hips moved at the tightness of her jeans across her ass. I tried to ignore the thoughts while I closed the door. I watched as she came inside and sat down on the couch in a posture that said she was waiting for me. She then patted the seat next to her and looked at me almost in the same way that my mom did when she wanted to talk about something serious. I came over and sat down next to her confused as to what she wanted all the while still feeling the straining pain of my cock wanting to breathe the air again.

Carol was a beautiful woman, there was no doubt about that in my mind. What with her shortly cut brown hair that bounces in waves around her face while it's parted down the center. Her eyes were sweet and slate colored that looked at me with such kindness. Not just any sort of kindness that you see in the expression of most people. It was the kindness of a mother.

She began, "You know you can talk to me about anything, right? I know this is a hard time for you. Remember how I was after my husband left me?"

I nodded.

"You and your mom were all there for me and my kids. And we were all here for you and your mom when the same thing happened to her. I know how much you love her and miss her. I just hate to see you in such a bad state."

When her words hit my ears, it started a stinging sensation in my eyes. It had spilled into the tears that rolled over my cheeks. I yanked my hand up to my face to cover them in shame. In the enclosed darkness of my hands, I felt Carol's arms wrap around me, and brought me in closer into her chest.

"Oh, hon..." she uttered rubbing her hands over my back.

Enveloped in her soft warmth the cold hard boot of reality kept stomping on top of me telling me that my mom was gone, and she was never coming back. It's as if an essential part of my being, like an arm or a leg, was ripped away from me leaving behind only pain and a hole that can't be filled. But feeling Carol's arms around me made me feel like I had regained something that I had lost, and that's what made me confess more.

I pulled back, sniffled, and wiped my eyes, "it's okay, it's just that, I don't think I can stay here anymore. This house...my mom had good life insurance and all that. Her will also said that the deed to the house goes to me. So, I'm okay financially, but I don't think I can live in this house anymore. I'm thinking that I should just move. But I'll need to get rid...get rid of this stuff."

I looked over at the Christmas tree again and my crying grew so hard that I lost all sense of everything. The only thing that was true or made sense was the sorrow and grief. Everything else didn't seem real anymore. That all of it was a dream or a playing pretend game for children. In the fury of the tears and sobs I felt her hand in my hair, brushing it, and rocking me much like I had seen her do with her own kids when they were hurt or sad.

"It'll be okay, hon," she said, "But I'll tell you what...why don't you stay with me?"

I pulled myself away and wiped away my tears to look at her with drier eyes. "What?"

"You can stay at my house. It's been pretty much me since my kids have gone off to college and gotten on with their own lives. So..." she shrugged, "the nest is empty. And it's more than enough space. And you can contribute if you like as far as utilities and groceries."

"Really?" I asked, feeling myself on the edge once again.

"Of course, hon," she said cupping my cheek. "I know it's what your mom would want."

I couldn't hold back. I threw myself against her and started crying again. My hands holding on hard to her back as if she were the single life preserver while the ship that was once my former life was sinking in the storm.

"There, there," she said, rubbing the back of my head again. "It'll be okay. Everything's going to be alright, hon. It'll be alright."

January 11

th

A couple had weeks passed since Carol had made the offer to me to move into her house. She helped a lot in the moving as well as consolidating everything in the house. Over the weekend we had a garage sale, or an estate sale, where we sold the furniture, clothes, and so on. I was annoyed when Carol got me up at the ungodly hour of 6 a.m. but I understood why; when you advertise a garage sale, you gotta get up earlier than the early arrivals. It was amazing how many people came by to buy the stuff.

By the time the sale was over, all that was left was a house that was empty except for a few things of my own. I couldn't help but wander through each empty room with the ghosts of the past swirling around me. So many Christmases, birthdays, holidays, laughs, arguments, and more. Then it was all gone like an intricate sandcastle washed away by the tide. All of it made me realize something: cherish every moment before it becomes a memory.

Over the next several days after the sale, I worked on packing up my stuff from my books, posters, collectibles, clothes, and so on and bringing them over to Carol's house. It was the one small time that I was thankful that I didn't have a car since she lived right next door. The heaviest part that I had to do on my own were the boxes with books in them, heaving them up the stairs, taking them over to Carol's and then down the stairs to the place that would be my room made me think, "maybe I should sell these and get it all on Kindle."

Carol's house had two floors and a basement. There was the main floor with the living room, dining room, kitchen, and a couple bathrooms. The second floor had the main bedroom as well as her kid's bedrooms that were empty since they had gone off to college. The basement, the place that Carol had given to me, was something that she finished up with the extra time and money that she had. It had a bedroom, its own bathroom, and a small area that I knew had potential as my own work or play space. But, of course, there was that utility area where the water heater, furnace and storage space were located. It was in the small area next to the storage/utility area where I was piling up the boxes. Everything else, like my bed and desk, Carol and I were leaving to last.

While I was continuing to bring the smaller items over Carol said she was running a few errands. I imagine she went to the grocery store because she was shopping for two with me there. Knowing this had brought on a sensation of guilt while I set down the final box of books. Here I was, living here rent free, and yet I wasn't contributing anything. It made me feel like a freeloader. I then figured that perhaps I could help around the house, doing the cleaning and maybe cooking. It may not be much but at least it was something. In the middle of this brainstorm, I heard the front door open, and Carol's voice called out;

"Oh, Mark!" she said in a very sweet beckoning style, "I'm home. I got groceries and goodies."

Bounding up the stairs I found her in the kitchen. When she saw me, she lit up like a high-powered spotlight.

"Let me show you what I got for us," she said, motioning for me to come see what she brought in her small collection of reusable grocery bags. She pulled out food items, like boneless chicken, ground beef, and ribs. Then came the snack items like potato chips, Lindor truffles, and then the crowning piece; ice cream. It was a special flavor that was my favorite: English Toffee Caramel. I picked up the container and held it looking into the well laid out picture on the side where there was a bowl of the ice cream surrounded by the items that would have went into it. It was starting to cool my hands even lightly freezing them when I thought about all those summers when I would have that flavor with my mom.

"Mark?" Carol asked, "Are you okay?"

I set the ice cream down and tried to hold back the tears by concentrating on thet moment and the situation that needed to be addressed. "Carol," I said, "I wanna thank you for what you're doing for me. But I want to do something to contribute aside from the utilities and groceries."

She reached out and placed a hand on my shoulder, "Oh, hun. You don't have to do that. I know that this is a tough time. I miss your mom as well. And doing this...I know your mom would want you to be looked after."

"I know...but I can't help but feel like I need to do more. Such as I can do a little cleaning and cooking."

"Do you know how to cook?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Mom taught me a little," I said, giving a slight shrug. "But I can learn more."

"Then I'll allow that," she smiled and gave me a light pat on my shoulder, "but let's go get your furniture."

It didn't take too long to bring the furniture over from my house to the new basement apartment. The first thing we brought over was the desk, then some of the chairs, a couple of my bookcases, but the last thing that we took over was my bed. After bringing over the furniture, along with me bringing over the boxes of items I had, I was sweating like I was in a sauna despite the cold of the winter. In bringing the bed over and setting it into place in the basement bedroom, the two of us breathed a very thankful sigh when we got indoors.

"I think I could use a shower after this," I sighed, reaching up to wipe the sweat from my forehead before unzipping my coat and making fast tugs at the collar of my shirt fanning the heat of my body.

"Same here," Carol said, making the same motions of unzipping her coat and fanning herself with her shirt. While she was doing that, I could see the strap of her peach colored bra and the upper curvature of her breasts. She even leaned back against the wall fanning herself and wiping the sweat off her body. Her eyes were closed so she couldn't catch me staring at her. She pulled down the collar of her shirt to the middle of her chest and I could see the cups of her bra and the breasts held within. Seeing her breasts and the way they heaved with her breath had awakened the beast in my pants that had been locked up for a week. In fact, I had not even touched myself or even gone to my adult sites in the time since Carol had made her offer. Staying busy makes for a great sexuality repressor.

Carol let go of her shirt, opened her eyes, and looked at me. I tried to look like I was doing something else by looking at the bed and trying to fake like I was thinking of where to set it.

"I think I'll go take that shower," Carol said, she passed by me and when she did, I'm not a hundred percent on the certainty of it, but I think she was smiling at me with a little wink. But it passed by so quickly I didn't even think about it until later. The only solid thought I had were her tits. I wanted to see them. I wanted to cup them. Squeeze them. Suck on them. But the train of thought was stopped when I felt a pain in my groin. I looked down and there it was; a massive tent in my pants. Seeing it had sent a surge of panic through me. My body felt cold beneath the hot sweat and I felt my stomach doing the same motions it would make on the first drop of a roller coaster.

Did Carol see it? Oh, shit! What was she thinking when she saw it? Was she thinking that I'm sort of perv? Was this going to change the arrangement that we have?

Despite the fear and paranoia that was surging in me, my cock was still rock hard and pressing against the walls of its fabric prison.