Tammi shot up in bed. How long had she been sleeping? Why was she so exhausted? It must have been the stress. She thought about the previous day, the stale smell of sex still filled the room.
The clock read two, she had gone to bed at noon.
"That's not bad," she thought to herself.
Slowly she got out of bed. She was so groggy but she knew she had to go find Mark. She had to talk to him before things got out of hand. Maybe a couple of hours was good for him. Maybe he had calmed down.
She reached down and touched herself. Whether it was her son or not, he had awoken some feeling in her that she had held back. Feelings of submitting to her husband like a good wife. Feelings of being used for pleasure that made her feel whole inside.
Tammi had always felt uncomfortable about that. The need to be used. Something about her strict religious upbringing made her feel guilty to do otherwise. She didn't want to love sex, she said to herself, to be loved while having sex was the most important thing. Mark had cherished her during sex. Mark did the thing she hated for him to do. He had both forced her and loved her at the same time. That excited her.
That scared her.
She got up and stumbled across the mess from the night before. She had to find him. This had to stop before it went too far. Before she went too far.
The house was too dark. Tammi finally realized that she had slept fourteen hours, not just two. It was two in the morning.
Did she dare enter his bedroom? He might get the wrong idea. She couldn't be loud or Mindy would hear. She felt her stomach come to her throat. She wanted this to end now. She had to end it now. Even if it meant waking him and telling him at two in the morning to stop.
Nervously she approached his door. Was it unlocked? He always locked it. No, it wouldn't be unlocked tonight, she thought, he wanted me to come in.
That thought sent chills through her. Her son wanted her to come to him. He wanted her to come to him and please him. It made her feel like she had done something wrong. She didn't raise him right. This was all her fault. Guilt felt heavy on her shoulders.
She felt a shudder run through her and she started to cry.
How long she sat outside the door she didn't know. She was disoriented and it was late. It might have been minutes or an hour. All she knew is that when she was done, she found the door open and slipped inside.
She stood over his bed and listened to him breathe. She could tell he was sound asleep, his heavy pants filled the entire room seeming to never cease. Her thighs tightened, remembering his cock deep inside her. His warmth shooting into her. His seed coming out of her, coating her walls. She felt her lips moistening.
It was wrong to think of that. She felt disgusted with herself. How could she think of that. He had raped her. Her own son. If it had been anyone else, she thought to herself, she would have called the police. He would be in jail.
Not her son. She couldn't do that to him. What if he had done this to other women? What if that's why he couldn't keep a girlfriend? Did I do something wrong when I brought him up?
She watched his chest go in and out for what felt like an eternity. He was so peaceful. So calm. Not like he was the night before. Not like he was when he lustfully stole her sex. He was really a good boy, she thought, something happened to make him mad with desire.
How would she wake him up? Should she shake him? Maybe lay down next to him and comfort him, let him gently realize she was there scolding him. Yes, she was gong to scold him. What he had done was beyond anything she could imagine. He was being a very bad boy, grown or not, and she was his mother.
