Blind Spot Ch 01

**BLIND SPOT –

1.

a small area of the retina, where it continues to the optic nerve, that is insensitive to light.

2.

an area or subject about which one is uninformed, prejudiced or unappreciative.**

"Donovan Hobson!"

I closed my eyes and savored the moment. Big Greg had called my name and everyone had heard it. A slight smattering of handclaps and hoots of congratulations followed his shout and I arose, following the same routine that I had for the last eight years. Rotated my shoulders in their sockets, flexed my fists and rolled the muscles between shoulders and hands, then took a deep breath.

Standing before the musty bars, I ground my teeth together as I waited for the door to complete its slow slide to the left. I took another deep breath and stepped out, hefting the cumulated weight of my incarceration, a small box with the few items that had enabled me to keep my sanity. Big Greg, a 373-pound ex-defensive end reborn as a corrections officer, eyed me as I reached the end gate.

"So, you ready to leave?"

"Yep."

"What you gonna do?"

"Go home, bitch! What do you think?"

Big Greg gave me a long, hard stare, then chuckled with an almost imperceptible smirk. "You be good to your mama, boy. She's bound to think that it's her fault that you ended up here."

I swallowed past the lump that had suddenly clogged my throat and blinked rapidly against the promise of tears. This was not the time to become a punk but I couldn't help the rush of emotions. Big Greg had been nothing but an impassive, aloof tower of control during my stay and to hear a bit of concern from him … I nodded my head brusquely.

"Good luck." A lung-emptying clap on the back, a curt nod and it was over. I reclaimed my street clothes, signed a few papers, received my bus ticket money and headed out of the prison where I'd spent seven years for almost murdering my father.

Yes, you read correctly.

Almost

.

During the bus ride, I allowed myself to ruminate over what I remembered of the crime I had committed. I remembered the softness of Jenny McCracken's wet pussy around my prick. It was my first piece of ass and I was trying to enjoy it when I heard my father yelling at Mom downstairs. Maybe it was the Black Velvet I'd had or the startling sound of glass breaking but I suddenly found myself over my father's limp body, my hands wrapped around his throat while my mother lay unconscious yards away.

The next thing I remembered was the gray solitude of a cell and dusty sunlight filtering through inch-thick bars. The trial went quickly. Guilty. Ten years. And here I was, released early for good behavior and heading back to people that I hadn't seen since that night.

Would she want to see me

? Please, God. I whispered to myself. I hope so.

I took a taxi from the bus depot to the house and was amazed to see that the house was exactly the same as when I'd left. Window boxes filled with impatiens graced the low sills of both front windows and a rocking chair and swing moved lazily in the breeze. Mom and I used to sit in the swing together, her throaty alto lulling me to sleep with Patsy Cline tunes, her hand on my shoulder.

It took me several minutes to find the courage to knock and when I did, I wanted to run. I heard the scrape of a chair and the slow, plodding footsteps of someone coming to the door. Sun-bleached cotton curtains crinkled and a familiar pair of brown eyes glared at me, quickly filling with tears. My Aunt Sophia flung the door open and bear-hugged me into silent tears. We didn't move for a long time, her arms clasped around my middle and her head tucked under my chin, tears creasing both of our faces.

Without a word, she escorted me into the kitchen and it was still several minutes before either of us could speak. "Auntie Soap." I sobbed, choking out a laugh as I recalled the childhood name I'd given her because my three year-old tongue hadn't been able to wrap around ‘Sophia'.

"Oh, Donnie." She hugged me again and I inhaled her lemon verbena and wood smoke scent and knew I was home. "We've missed you so much."

I wiped my eyes, wondering where the tough prisoner I had been hours ago had fled to. Aunt Sophia had long been my favorite of my mother's sisters so maybe that's why I didn't feel the need to be anything other than myself. "I didn't know … you didn't write … "

Aunt Sophia nodded, looking down at her trembling hands. "I know. Things … things aren't the same, Donnie. Your mother … "

"Sophia? Sophia, who is it?"

"I'll be right in, Lessie." Aunt Sophia answered the call from the other room and took a deep breath, her eyes tearing as they rose to meet mine. "She's not the same, Donnie."

"What do you mean?"

"I think you should see for yourself."

The soft tone of her voice and the underlying tremble in it made my heart shrivel in my chest. "Just tell me, Soap."

"No. You need to see her."

Aunt Sophia slowly arose and turned her back on me, heading into the heart of the house. I'd always loved this house because of the super-large kitchen and the adjoining den, complete with a brick fireplace. It was into this room that Aunt Sophia led me and as my eyes adjusted to the firelight, I saw my mother, sitting in her favorite chair, toasting her toes in the warmth.

"Lessie, someone's here to see you."

"Someone to see me? Who would want to see me?"

The burnished glow of the fire added red highlights to the wavy hair that I knew was blonde and as I crept nearer to her, I saw that her skin was still smooth and her smile was tenuous. "It's me, Mom. It's Donnie."

Her head snapped around to the sound of my voice and I heard nothing except the breaking of my heart.

My mother was blind.

*****

"Why didn't you tell me?"

I examined the woman I knew as Alessandra Montero Hobson as she kept her shaking hands wrapped around a large cup of orange pekoe tea. When no answer came from her, Aunt Sophia spoke up. "She didn't want to alarm you."

"So she wants me to come home and have a heart attack instead?"

"Stop talking about me like I'm not here!" Mom snapped, cocking her head towards us. We lapsed into silence and I concentrated on my jigger of Glenmorangie. I tossed it back, momentarily appreciating the fine Scottish fire and numbly watched as Aunt Sophia refilled my rocks glass. "You didn't need to know, Donovan."

"My mother goes blind and I don't need to know about it?" I couldn't restrain my incredulity. "How do you figure that?"

"Because you had enough on your plate!" Mom set the cup down on the side table, after carefully feeling for the edge. "You didn't need to worry about my eyesight while you were trying to survive jail."

"Is that why you didn't write?"

Even Aunt Sophia hung her head at my question. "Yes."

"Mom, I love you and I've missed you so much! Didn't you think I'd want to know?"

She remained silent, reaching for her cup again and swallowing slowly, deliberately. "I didn't want to tell you, Donovan."

"You knew that I'd want to know, Mom."

She shook her head and I was mesmerized by the beauty of her sightless eyes. Still robin's-egg blue and untouched by the usual blind ‘cataracts'. I don't know why but my cock twitched in response.

"It's late." Aunt Sophia spoke up, taking Mom's empty cup and turning to me. "I think we should all go to sleep and talk in the morning. Donnie, you can sleep in your room. It's all ready."

It's all ready.

I started tearing up at the mention of my room and jumped up. Crying once is enough. I didn't want Aunt Sophia to think I'd lost my mind in prison. I gave her a quick peck on the cheek and headed up the creaky stairs, lugging my box and promptly stepped into yesterday, frozen in the doorway of a space that I hadn't occupied since the incident. The twin bed was made and a poorly-painted WWII replica of the Enola Gay hung by black thread over my student desk, my first foray into model making and my mother's favorite.

I couldn't stop the tears from falling then. The only thing I could think of was that she could no longer see the glue daubs that I hadn't wiped from its carriage and the crooked propeller. She had taken such pride in my achievement. Now … I threw myself on the bed, curled up into a ball and sobbed myself into sleep.

Life was fucked up.

*****

I don't know what time it was when I awoke but I figured it was early. Dawn had barely cracked the dark sky outside and I found myself waiting for Big Greg's bellow. It took me several moments to realize that I was no longer in prison. I was home. Home and my mother was blind.

I rubbed my sticky eyes and stumbled towards the bathroom, my prick throbbing with the urge to piss and I released a steady stream, the noise covering the sounds coming from downstairs, but not the smells. The scent of frying bacon led me down the steps and I was surprised to find my mother carefully flipping three slices onto their uncooked sides.

"Mom! What are you doing?" I yanked the spatula from her hands before thinking and nearly pushed her into a chair. She was so stunned by my actions that she was speechless for several seconds.

"I was making breakfast! What the hell do you think I was doing?" She stood up, shuffled a few steps to the stove and moved the pan from the burner. "Give me the spatula. The bacon's going to burn!"

"Mom, you shouldn't be doing this! You could hurt yourself!"

"Donnie, I've been cooking breakfast every morning for the last seven years without your help!" It was my turn to be stunned. She had turned toward the sound of my voice and her hands reached out, solidly connecting with my chest. I forgot to breathe. After being confined for so long, the gentle touch of a female made my cock swell to uncomfortable proportions and the fact that those hands belonged to my mother made me doubly hot. She followed the line of my shoulder and found my hand, wrenching the spatula from it, blasting me with those unseeing but still beautiful blue eyes.

"Sorry, Mom, I just … "

She returned to the stove and I watched in amazement as she flipped the rest of the bacon, then started forking the finished pieces out onto a plate covered with paper towels. I watched as she moved with an innate sense of economy, knowing exactly how far to move and never missing either the plate or the pan. She noticed my silence and mistook it for anger. "Are you hungry?"

"Yes, Mom."

I watched as she forked six slices onto an empty plate, added a steaming stack of eggs from a heated dish, then sprinkled shredded cheddar on top. She added a sprig of parsley for decoration and shoved it in my direction. I forced breath back into my lungs and took the plate, taking a seat at the table and adjusting my still hard cock. She set her own plate on the table, did a quick finger check on the dials to make sure that the burners were off and sat down across from me.

In the daylight, I got a better look at the woman who'd given birth to me. She was wearing a thin sweater that clung to the rounded curves of her breasts and stopped just above the waistband of her denim skirt. Her face was still beautiful, but now made serene by the absence of eye sight and her blonde-red hair was piled on top of her head in a simple twist. My pinching jeans reminded me of her sexual beauty which translated to my eyes in the form of her plump lips and teasing tongue.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing, Mom. Just thinking."

She accepted my answer and shoveled a cheesy lump of scrambled eggs her mouth, chewing for a moment before introducing a slice of bacon. I wanted to laugh, watching her eat, because I remembered what a hearty appetite she always had. In the few minutes it took me to conquer four pieces of bacon, her plate was clean and she burped noisily before reaching for her coffee mug.

"So what are your plans?"

I shrugged, forgetting that she couldn't see. "I don't know, Mom. I'm not really thinking about that right now."

"Oh? Why not?"

A flood of emotion swept through me and I felt it from my head to my toes. I was suddenly glad that she couldn't see the redness of my face. "I was thinking about you."

She smiled. "Happy to see your old mother, eh?"

"You know I am."

Her smile warmed my heart and she reached across, seeking my hand. I eagerly intertwined fingers with hers, rubbing my thumb across her soft skin. "You should get out of the house today. Take Sophia's car and drive into the city and have a look around. Things have changed."

"Oh, I don't know, Mom. I think I'll just stay here."

"And hang out with an old blind woman?"

"You're not old and I'd rather hang out with you than anyone else."

She shook her head, releasing my hand. "You're still a young man, Donnie and you've been cooped up for the last ten years. You should go out." She stood and grabbed her plate for the table, heading for the sink. I picked mine up and went right behind her, placing my plate in the soapy water with hers. And time stood still. My front was plastered to her back, my hands sliding down her arms.

"Donnie .. " Her voice was light and breathy and I looked straight down into the soft valley of her breasts, wishing that I could … "Donnie, you should go."

I took a step back, trying to slow my breathing and noticed by the rise and fall of her shoulders, that she was breathing heavily, too.

Was she as affected as I was

? "Okay. I'll go."

I grabbed Auntie Soap's keys from the peg and turned back to glance at Mom before stepping outside into the bright morning sunlight. My cock was so hard that it took nearly fifteen minutes before it softened to the point that I could drive.

My mother,

I thought, starting the car.

I'm in love with my mother!