Greg Fulton finished signing the paperwork, and then slid the small stack along with a check under the slot below the small glass window. The young woman sitting behind the glass checked the signature and the amount on the check, and then silently picked up a small telephone. She spoke softly and then hung up without acknowledging anything further from Greg.
With a sigh the twenty-four year old returned to a small seat and waited. He looked up when in a few minutes a police officer exited, escorting a middle-aged woman out. Rising, Greg waited as the officer handed a bag to the woman; who retrieved her small handbag, keys and other personals from the bag.
The woman's blonde head came up and her eyes met Greg. There was a sad recognition in them as the two stared at each other. Silently, Greg led the pair out of the police station to his waiting car.
Greg opened the passenger door and watched as the older woman slid into the seat. He couldn't help but look at the tanned long legs that slid into view as her skirt hiked up. Certainly dressed for it, he thought as he circled the car and slid into the driver's seat.
"Where's your car?" Greg's voice broke the heavy silence in the car.
"The parking lot on Fuller" the woman answered softly.
Greg nodded and headed out of the station parking lot and down the street. The dashboard clock showed a little after one in the morning as Greg drove through the all but empty streets, neither looked at each other through the silent drive.
Pulling into the parking lot on Fuller Avenue, Greg found the small red Focus parked along the side of the street edge. At least she parked near a street light he thought. Pulling up behind the car Greg slipped into park and sat.
"We need to talk about this." Greg said just as the woman reached for the handle of the car door.
"I...can't" the mature blonde choked out.
Turning in his seat, Greg looked at the woman sitting next to him. To say she was stunning was an understatement; even he had to admit that. Her blonde hair fell down in curls to her shoulders, framing bright hazel eyes that brimmed on the edge of tears. A small sob caused her chest to sharply rise and fall, Greg watched as her full breasts pressed out against the think silk blouse she wore, highlighting the curve as her nipples made small protrusions in the thin cloth.
Her legs, God he could go on for hours about those long tanned legs, the firm thighs. The idea of having them wrapped around his waist briefly flashed through his mind, but he rapidly pushed the thought aside.
"Look" he said softly. "Once I was willing to not push; but this is the second time. I just want to know why" he said to her.
"Please...don't" the older woman almost begged.
"I would say tomorrow, but I think we need to take this head on." Greg cut her off. "I'll follow you home."
Her head dropping in resignation, the woman nodded silently and then slipped from the car. She stood for a moment sorting her keys and then reached to close the car door.
"Hey" Greg's voice stopped her. The woman turned and bent to look in the car. "I love you...mom"
"Love you too baby" the older woman whispered, then turned and walked to her car as Greg watched silently. Two visions competed in his brain at that moment; one was the swish of her tight ass in the short skirt she wore, and the stunning view of cleavage that had greeted his eyes when she had bent into the car.
Almost an hour later Greg sat on the couch in a luxuriously appointed living room and watched as his mother slid behind a wet bar, reaching for a bottle of wine.
"I'll take a scotch" he told her. He could see her breasts sway in the thin blouse she wore, confirming what he had seen earlier in the car; no bra he thought.
Greg watched his mother silently. Gayle Fulton was like every man's wet dream. High school homecoming queen, model in her younger years; she had stayed trim and fit through hours in her home gym every day. She had married what most would consider a nerd in her school inner circle, but the marriage had been made in heaven for the pair.
After the birth of their daughter Ellen, and then not quite two years later their son Greg; the Fulton's had survived the economic crash of 2008 by shrewd investments and Greg's father knowing the future would change. He had bought up small pieces of bankrupt property, that as the economy rebounded ten years later, came to be worth a hundred times what he had invested.
All the dreams had almost come to a crashing end six months ago, when Greg's father; Tony Fulton, loving husband and father, workaholic, driven; had suffered a massive stroke at the age of 45.
The loss had all but devastated the Fulton family, but Greg had thought they were slowly recovering. Now this new wrinkle had appeared.
"Sit down" he told his mother as he watched her pace the living room floor. "Please" he softly said to her.
Gayle Fulton couldn't even look into her sons' eyes as she slid on the couch next to him. How could she even begin to explain the turmoil raging inside her tortured body?
Greg took a sip of his scotch, feeling the light burn down his throat as he tried to clear his mind.
"Let's start at the beginning" he finally spoke. "This is the second time mom, it's bad enough I have to get you out on bail, but Jesus Christ...prostitution." He said.
"I wasn't prostituting" Gayle answered sharply.
"Then what the hell was it?" Greg asked astonished.
"I just needed..." his mother hesitated. She looked up at her son "I wasn't going to charge" she almost sobbed. "I just needed..."
"What? Greg asked. "To get laid, is that it mom?" he asked.
"Greg, please" Gayle cried.
"Look mom, I'm just trying to understand. I want to help, OK" Greg softened his voice.
"You can't help with this" Gayle said sadly.
"So you want sex, you're a vibrant woman. Find a guy and quietly have sex then" Greg told his mother.
"I don't want sex" For the first time Greg heard anger in his mothers' voice. She glared at him. "I don't want another man, no one can replace your father." Her voice started to climb.
"I'm confused; I thought you just said you wanted sex." Greg watched his mother.
"NO!" Gayle rose sharply from the couch. "I never said I wanted sex" she stared down at her son. "I said I needed sex."
Greg stared in astonishment as his mother began pacing back and forth only feet from him. She gestured wildly as she spoke, her breasts swaying freely in her thin blouse, her tanned legs staring back into the young man's eyes as his mother ranted for the first time in his life.
"Need, don't you understand. Need...need...need." Gayle almost shouted. "I don't want mush lovey shit" she flung her arms out. "I need to be fucked OK" she turned on her son.
"FUCKED, do you understand" she said hoarsely.
"Pounded...banged...screwed, whatever you want to call it." Her sharp breathing was causing her breasts to heave, and Greg could see her rock hard nipples pressing against the fabric of her silk blouse.
His mother turned on her heels and Greg could only sit in silence as he watched her firm ass sway as she strode from the room. He sat in stunned silence at the outburst, and just when he thought he might as well call it a night and head home, his mother came back into the living room.
Gayle walked over to her son and held out her hand. Greg saw the small pill bottle in her hand, reaching out he took the bottle and tried to read the name of the drug.
"It's an antidepressant" Gayle said, her voice soft again.
"You have depression?" Greg looked up at his mother in surprise.
Gayle knew all of this was new to her son. She and her husband had kept their medical issues mostly to themselves, especially this one issue.
"No...well kind of" Gayle half smiled. "It's called bipolar disorder."
Greg's mind whirled. He knew what bipolar meant. People who went between manic and depression. They would be cleaning the house at two in the morning during their high points, to not being able to get out of bed from their low points.
"OK" Greg finally replied quietly. "What does this have to do with..." he looked at his mother.
Gayle sighed as she slid onto the couch. She rested a hand on her sons' knee as she finally spoke of the secret she had hidden his entire life.
"Depression is only half the disorder" she stared at her hand. "When I have those episodes, that medicine helps...a lot." She looked up into her son's eyes. "During the more active times" she half smiled "a person tends to focus on one thing, almost like a compulsion."
