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All characters having sex together are over 18 years of age.
Although drawn from my own experiences, this is a work of fiction. If you are offended by stories of incest between mothers and sons, you should skip this submission.
This is the continuation of "Beyond the Borderline, Book 1," which should be read prior to this segment.
Thanks to LaRascasse for editorial assistance.
BOOK TWO
My heart was ready to explode and Mom looked like she was about to faint. I squeezed her hand reassuringly and got out of the car, shaking hands with Sam and the ADA. I helped Mom out of the car and we all walked into the house. I don't quite understand how I was holding things together, but I think it was because I could sense how close Mom was to losing it. I had to be there for her, so I sucked it up and did what I needed to do.
I went to the kitchen and got glasses of water for everyone. Sitting in the living room, I waited for Mr. Marquand to begin, certain my beautiful, perfect world was about to end. I was devastated, but determined not to give anyone the satisfaction of a reaction.
Clearing his throat, Mr. Marquand began.
"I'm here as a matter of professional courtesy," he stated brusquely. "At the moment, this conversation is off the record. I will tell you frankly that if I had my way, we'd be downtown in an interrogation room right this minute. I'm meeting with you here, now, as a personal favor to Mr. Schiller.
"But make no mistake," he warned, "If the answers I get from you today are not satisfactory, if I think you're holding out or evading me in any way, we WILL be taking that trip downtown immediately."
Pausing, the ADA looked at Mom intently and spoke again. " The District Attorney and the DEA are curious as to how you are acquainted with one Anton Dobriynin, otherwise known as 'Vanya.' You were seen during a surveillance operation of his place of business. You should know that Dobriynin is a known gangster, active in money laundering, drug running and human trafficking."
It took a moment for those words to register. DEA? What the fuck...? If the DEA was involved, then this had nothing to do with Mom and me. That meant that we were okay. We were okay! Hot damn, we were OKAY! I wanted to turn handsprings. I wanted to kiss Mom right in front of Sam and Mr.Marquand. I felt alive again for the first time in days.
The significance of the ADA's question wasn't lost on Mom either. She allowed herself a small smile and then relaxed, leaning back into her chair.
"A few weeks ago," she began with a deep breath, "I was contacted by a certain Mr. Washington, a potential new client for our firm. The services he required from us were potentially very lucrative for the firm, perhaps has much as 700 billable hours a year, probably around a quarter million dollars, annually. Naturally, I was interested, but there was something about the questions this man asked, something about how he conducted himself, that made me a bit nervous. I immediately discussed the situation with our senior partner and he agreed that before we took on Mr. Washington's business, that we should do some checking for our own protection."
"After that, I contracted Mr. Schiller's services to do some checking on our potential client. I contacted Mr. Washington and told him that we were willing to consider him, but that our usual policy was to discuss large, new contracts at the board level prior to formal acceptance. I told him that we would be doing so within the next few weeks and he seemed satisfied with that assurance."
"Subsequently, Sam was able to determine that there were...irregularities in Mr. Washington's background. Through Sam's contacts, we got information that the person we were interacting with was probably using an alias. We were doing the last bit of fact checking when Sam took us to Brighton Beach. He's the one who stumbled onto your presence there."
"Why was your son with you?" ADA Marquand asked pointedly. "He has no connection to any of this."
"It's true," I interrupted, "But I do know a bit about what's going on. How could I not, with Mom meeting with Sam several times at home? I wanted to be there to protect Mom. Sam wasn't happy about that, but I made him take me, against his better judgment. That's all on me. Knowing what I do now, I guess neither Mom or me had any business being there."
"I have a reputation for being thorough, Mr. Marquand," Mom added. "In retrospect, I probably had enough information to drop 'Mr. Washington' before then. Getting that last bit of intelligence was probably not a good idea. I hope we didn't compromise anything you're doing," she said contritely.
"Well," Mr. Marquand said heavily, "Nothing substantive, except about a hundred man-hours of extra investigative time checking you guys out, which I can't get back. Your appearance was unexpected and perplexing, but what you are saying jibes with what Sam has told us, along with the files Mr. Briggs turned over to us. My advice to you is to stay on your side of the street in the future, Ms. Lindermann. Corporate and criminal law are not things that someone in your position should try and mix. Once you were reasonably certain that 'Mr. Washington' was a dodgy character, you should have given us a head's up."
"I think it's safe to say I've learned my lesson," Mom smiled. "I don't plan on troubling you any further."
Mr. Marquand shook our hands briskly and departed, with Sam staying behind, explaining, "My car's around the corner."
Sitting heavily in our La-Z-Boy, Sam regarded us seriously.
"This is partly my fault. I should have done things differently, insulated both of you more from the process. Anyway," he concluded, "It's all behind us now."
Reaching into his jacket pocket, he produced two Canadian IDs. "I was able to get these done by a different route. They aren't as perfect as what I had originally planned, but they should pass muster," he concluded, handing them over.
My nom de deception was one Richard Lewis, of Selkirk, Manitoba, while Mom was Regina Worthington, from Saskatoon, Saskatchewan.
"I still don't know what your game is," Sam said quietly, "But I have an idea. I'm not sure I approve, but it's really none of my business. I'm not here to pass moral judgments. You're both good folks and entitled to your privacy, so we'll leave it at that and I'll say good bye."
With that, he rose and let himself out, slipping quietly out of our living room and lives, an enigmatic and inscrutable man to the last. We never heard from him again.
Mom and I simply sat on the sofa, numbed by the turn of events. I'm not sure how long we sat there in silence, perhaps a half hour. We were both exhausted at that point and good for absolutely nothing. Eventually we made it upstairs and into bed, just holding each other. Mom shivered in my arms for over an hour before she finally fell asleep and I wasn't much better off.
Around five in the morning, we both woke up and made love until sunrise. It was simple, joyous and cathartic, leaving us pleasantly drained but rejuvenated and finally purged of the toxic events of the past weeks.
***
Mom was subsequently able to back check our new IDs in her own fashion and pronounced them sound. Then we applied for my passport. Mom felt that she was unlikely to ever need her ID and simply put it away for safekeeping.
The day I finally got my passport, we heaved a huge, collective sigh of relief. To celebrate, we went out for dinner and dancing that evening, returning to the supper club where I took Mom for our first "date." Mom again wore her red sequined evening dress, while I was attired in slacks, tie and a blazer. As she descended the stairs to the living room, I let out a wolf whistle. "Mom, I can't get over how good that dress looks on you! I love everything about it and what's inside it."
Smiling wickedly, Mom slowly pirouetted in front of me. Abruptly, she bent slightly at the waist, thrusting her bottom towards me at the same time. She pulled the hem of her dress up to expose her silky red boy shorts and warbled, "Boo-boop-de-doop," in a high squeaky voice, doing her best Betty Boop imitation.
Gliding up to me, Mom stepped into my embrace, sliding her arms up my back and around my shoulders, rubbing her breasts against my chest. Tilting her head up, she gave me a lingering kiss to still my laughter, tongue dancing against mine as I responded in turn. "Mmmmm, thanks Ricky. I always like to look my best for you."
"Mom, if you wore a burlap sack and Depends, you'd still be the most gorgeous, sexy woman in the world." I dropped my hands to her ass giving each cheek a good, thorough groping. Reaching up under the hem of her dress, I stroked the crevice between her marvelous cheeks and slid my middle finger forward to lightly caress her slightly moist slit.
Batting my hand away with a laugh and a slight shudder, she chastised me, "Enough, you maniac! There's going to be order and sequence to this evening, young man. I am looking forward to Sorvino's veal piccata - it's almost as good as yours. I'm also looking forward very much to an evening of dancing with my handsome husband-son, so don't think you're going to distract me with your sweet words and roving hands. After that, then we'll fuck each other senseless, but not until then."
"Ah, well" I conceded. "You can't blame a healthy, horny young fella for falling for your considerable charms though, can you?"
Linking her arm in mine, she steered us through the kitchen and into the garage. "Behave yourself and I'll share a surprise with you a little later," she said, as I handed her into the car.
Our drive to Sorvino's was uneventful, Mom snuggled under my arm, her hand casually resting on my thigh as we wound our way through the countryside to the supper club. She let her dress ride up as we drove, exposing an amazing pair of low rise, red satin boy shorts to match her dress. Catching me glancing at her crotch several times, she smiled and ruffled my hair. "Eyes on the road, lover. You'll get my goodies soon enough."
"Who's teasing who now, Mom?" I laughed, returning my concentration to the street.
Once we arrived, I handed the car off to the valet, who ogled Mom with ill-concealed lust as I helped her out of the car. Taking her arm in mine, I escorted her into lobby. "I don't think I'll tip that guy," I declared grumpily as we walked. "I don't like other men trying to look up your dress, although I suppose I can't blame him - you look ravishing this evening, Mom."
"My, my, aren't we the jealous one tonight," Mom teased. Her hand tightened on my arm and she pecked my cheek. "I like it, sweetheart."
