Delirium, thank you for the idea.
All characters participating in adult situations are 18 years and older. **
Erin sighed as sunlight spilled over her face. Winter always seemed to last too long. Autumn was her favorite season but nothing compared to the first warm rays of spring. The thump of the front door roused her from her languorous state.
"Hey mom, I'm home," called Jacob's familiar voice.
"I'm in the kitchen."
Jacob's youthful face rounded the dining room wall.
"Hun, why are you late?" Erin asked.
"That's my fault Ms. Sinclair," answered James. "I apologize."
"Is it just the two of you?" she inquired.
"Yes, mom."
Erin had been worried when the unlikely friendship had begun. Her son spending time with someone five years his senior seemed odd. Why would a teenager in his prime opt to hang out with a thirteen year old? At that age she only had eyes for those in her class or one year her senior. Granted there weren't any boys around Jacob's age in the neighborhood, but making friends with fellow classmates was more logical.
Polite inquires around the neighborhood were made. James mowed Ruth Rosewater's lawn in the summer and shoveled the walk after snow storms. The only forms of payment he accepted were slices of cake or pie. The only complaint she had found came from Mr. Ott.
"That boy drives that silly foreign car of his too fast and plays his music too loud," he said.
A month or so after the friendship began two more high school seniors, Shawn and Trevor, appeared. The inseparable and unlikely duo became a foursome. In an effort to allay her concerns Erin invited the other mothers for coffee at a local shop. Idle chatter was mixed with frank, honest discussions of the young men.
James' mother, Ellen, had been very complimentary concerning Jacob's manners and assured Erin that she would watch over Jacob as if he was her own. Each mother assured her that her son was not a troubled boy. The following day, while chewing her bottom lip, Erin paid fifteen dollars to a website to run background checks on James, Trevor, and Shawn. The results were spotless.
"May we go downstairs and play video games?" asked Jacob.
Erin smiled. "Sure. A casserole is in the oven and should be ready in thirty minutes."
The boys swiftly disappeared. A short time later, the sounds of gunfire and explosions wafted up the stairs. Sitting in her dining room Erin's eyes roamed her ceiling while lost in thought. Jacob had always been a quite, shy boy. James' friendship had drawn him out of his shell.
She had been in the kitchen preparing dinner one day when Jacob barged in and animatedly regaled her with a tale of a hotly contested round of Frisbee golf at nearby park. He had scored a birdie on the final hole that had clinched a win for his and James' team. The beaming smile on Jacob's face had melted away her worries. Begrudgingly, she had to admit that the unusual friendship filled a void in her son's life that she could not address herself.
With a vexed click of her tongue, Erin noticed a burned out bulb in one of the recessed lights. She heaved herself out of the chair and retrieved a small step ladder and a spare bulb. Up on her toes Erin frantically twisted her wrist in an effort to set the new bulb into place before her arm got tired. She cursed as her hard soled shoes slipped on the metal ladder step. A hand grabbed her waist while the other settled on her backside.
"Careful there, Ms. Sinclair," said James.
As she climbed down, the hand on her hip slid upwards to quickly cup her breast.
James patted her on the back. "Good thing I came up to get a drink."
Erin was dumbfounded. The touch had been so quick. Was it an accident? Had James meant to touch her?
Minutes passed as she was consumed by the internal debate. The oven's buzzer pulled her back to the present. Moments after she called, the boys emerged from the basement. James' behavior was no different.
"You are welcome to stay James," Erin offered.
"Thank you, but I've been eating here often enough my mom's getting jealous. I think I should go home and make amends."
She walked him to the door and watched as he climbed into his plain, white Toyota. The engine roared as he pulled away from the curb and blazed down the street. Mr. Ott, seated on his front porch, shook his fist at the car as it sped by.
Weeks passed in the hasty way that spring weeks do. No other inappropriate contact occurred, though James had developed a habit of touching her. A hand on her shoulder, a gentle touch on the arm to draw her attention, or a palm against her back to let her know he was there. Never was the contact improper, namely pawing or lingering too long. So Erin bit back her objections and in time became used to the contact.
After repeated begging and bargaining by Jacob, Erin relented and allowed a movie and video game night. She sat at the dining room table while her home was filled with frenetic teenage conversation. Empty pizza boxes and soda bottles lined the table. Erin was slightly aghast at the amount of food young boys could consume without any signs of distress.
"Ready for me to shoot you in the face?" asked Jacob.
"Bring it on little man," replied Shawn.
