I woke up slowly, stretching tentatively, feeling the aches and pains that came from hard work as a roustabout in the oilfields in and around Brea. I staggered out of bed, winced at the effort of pulling on my boxers, then tottered across the room feeling wooden, as if I had no joints. I opened the bedroom door and limped into the hall towards the bathroom.
"Good morning, Brad," said Mrs. Arnold from the breakfast nook.
"Unnh. Morning," I said. I looked towards her, but the blazing sun coming through the sliding glass doors behind her made me squint. I gave a little wave and kept walking towards the bathroom.
"Would you like some breakfast? How about some scrambled eggs with onions and cheese?"
"Sure, thanks," I said. I stuck out an arm to prop myself up against the wall of the hallway.
"What's wrong, Brad?" she said. I held my hand over my eyes to block out the sun. My pupils were adjusting to the light, and I could see her face now, looking at me over the top of her morning newspaper. Looking concerned.
"Nothing," I said. "I'm okay. Just really sore. Tough week at work is all."
"Oh, dear. Is there anything I can do?" She stood up. "Why don't you come in here and I'll find you some Advil."
"In a minute, Mrs. Arnold, thanks. I just need to pee... sorry, use the bathroom first."
She chuckled. "All right," she said, I'll find that Advil while you're... in there."
When I was done, I tottered into the kitchen. Mrs. Arnold held out three Advil caplets and a glass of water. I took the pills, washed them down, and handed the glass back to her. "Thanks," I said.
She was looking at me kind of funny, and I suddenly realized that I had walked out there in my underwear. I looked down at myself; luckily, nothing was hanging out.
"Sorry," I said. "I'm kind of casual this morning, I guess. I'm afraid that I'm used to either being alone or around my family in the morning."
She chuckled again. "Nonsense. I want you to think of me as family. I almost am. I'll be your mother-in-law someday, when you and Beth are married." She looked me up and down. "Boxer shorts are very appropriate wear for a Saturday morning," she said. "I wasn't looking at those. I was just thinking that you're becoming quite the muscular young man. Beth may not recognize you when she comes home."
It was true. While I'd never been a wimp, I'd also never packed on the kind of muscle and tone that I now had after only a few months of working in the oilfields. As a roustabout I got all the grunt jobs, from hoeing weeds in the hot sun to carrying large pieces of metal compressors. The little layer of fat I used to carry was long gone; in its place were muscles I hadn't had before.
My girlfriend Beth was away at college in New York. I'd missed this semester of college because I'd run out of money. In December I had moved back to California temporarily to earn enough to supplement my scholarship. When I'd started school in New York last fall Dad had retired from his job in the oilfields and he and Mom had moved to Idaho, so when I came back I'd had to rent an apartment near Brea. When Beth's mom found out, she insisted that I move in with her to save money. So here I was, sleeping in her guest room.
Mrs. Arnold was thirty-five years old, but looked a lot younger. Mr. Arnold had been a pretty successful lawyer who'd died in a plane crash while on company business. Beth told me that between his earnings and the life insurance and accidental death payout, her mom was pretty well off and didn't have to work. Mrs. Arnold spent a lot of time at the gym and in the beauty parlor, and she looked very good. More like an older sister than a mother.
"I'm going to the gym," said Mrs. Arnold. "I can get you in if you want. You look as though you could do with a little warm-up and stretching."
"No thanks, Mrs. Arnold," I said. "I'm going to do a few laps in the pool and get some sun; that should wake me up. If that's OK."
"Of course, Dear," she said.
After she left I grabbed a beach towel and went out to the pool. Still in my boxers, I dived into the deep end. The cool water woke me up and I started doing the Aussie crawl up and down the length of the pool. I began to feel the blood flowing through my arms and legs, and the painfully tight muscles started to warm up and loosen.
When it felt like enough I climbed out of the pool and dried myself off. The sun felt good on my body. I looked around: the backyard was private; as far as I could tell no neighbors could see in. I stepped out of my boxer shorts, dried my crotch, put the towel down on a lounge chair, and lay down to soak up a little sun. I fell asleep thinking about Beth.
I awoke again to the scent of coconuts and the feeling of hands moving up, down, and across my back. It felt good. "Ummm. Beth?" I said.
"Nope, just me. Good morning again, Brad," said Mrs. Arnold. I looked over my shoulder. She was sitting on the edge of the lounge chair, wearing black gym shorts and a black sports bra. Man, did she look good. An open bottle of suntan lotion was trapped between her knees. "You're getting a little pink, Dear," she said. She squirted more lotion onto her hands. It wasn't until I felt them caressing my ass that I realized I had fallen asleep in the nude.
I was panicky. "Oh, man, I'm really sorry Mrs. Arnold! It seemed secluded, and you were gone; I took off my boxers after I swam, and the sun felt so good, and I guess I fell asleep."
"Don't worry about it, Dear," she said. "I'll survive." Her hands moved down onto my thighs. "You don't have anything that I haven't already seen," she said. She squirted lotion onto my legs, then began a slow, rhythmic massage up and down both of my legs. I felt her palms and fingers pressing into my calfs, up over my thighs and butt, back around and down my outer legs, over my feet, and up my inner legs and thighs. Against my will, I could feel myself beginning to get hard. Thankfully, she moved back up onto my back.
"You have a beautiful body, Brad," she said, "but it's awfully tight right now." Her hands continued to work all over my backside. "Robert used to love my massages. I got pretty good at it. What do you think?"
"Uh... well, it feels wonderful Mrs. Arnold, but..."
"Please, Bradley, call me 'Liz.' Or 'Mom,' if you're comfortable with that." She started concentrating on my legs again. She spread my legs apart and worked the insides of my thighs, up and down with little petrissage movements. As her hands moved up my inner thigh, I felt her fingers brush against my scrotum. Oh my God, she could see my balls!
"Mrs. Arnold, uh... Liz, maybe I should get dressed."
"Nonsense," she said. "I can't give you a proper massage if you're dressed. And you do need this massage." She moved up to my back again. "Can't you feel these lumpy muscles? Here, can you feel this?"
She pushed a thumb into my middle back, and I groaned in pain.
"There, see? Just let Mom do her thing."
So I lay there surrounded by the smell of coconut while she worked on me. Groaning once in a while when she encountered a particularly knotty muscle group. After a while, I had to admit that I was feeling an awful lot better. I was totally relaxed – except for my raging hard-on. I willed it to go down, but to no avail. The thought of being on naked display to Beth's beautiful mother, with her hands all over me, was exciting. And every once in awhile she would work on my ass and my inner thighs, her hands freely brushing against my balls. How was I supposed to get my dick to calm down with all that going on?
