Yelling. Screaming. Violence. And rage. So much rage.
I cowered in the corner of my bathroom, sitting my naked butt down on the cold, tiled floor. My knees were in my chest, my hand over my ears, my eyes squeezed shut. Silent prayers were whispered to God above, begging him/her for the ability to change wish into reality. I just needed for this entire ordeal to be a nightmare I'd soon wake from. When I opened my eyes, I needed for Chris to not be here fighting with Danny. I needed for my two boys to not be trying to kill each other.
Opening my eyes only confirmed the futility of such prayers. Either God wasn't listening, or he was laughing at the calamity of a foolish woman. Chickens had indeed come home to roost.
A shrill scream escaped my lips and pierced the air. "Chris! Leave him alone! Stop hitting him!"
But Chris couldn't hear me above the sound of his own anger and pain. How could he? How can any son get over the sight of his mother being bent over in the shower and relentlessly pounded by a man not his father? How can he unhear the sounds of her moaning his name?
And what if that man were not only young enough to be her son, but her
actual nephew?
The perversity of that vision had to be astounding. It must have shocked him so badly that my sweet son turned into a swearing, sadistic monster. That had to be it, because the man who was viciously raining down punches on Danny was not my son.
Danny fought back with everything he had. He was literally fighting for his life against a bigger, stronger, more athletic opponent who was supercharged by rage. Besides the physical disadvantages against him, Danny was also naked. Cum was still leaking from his cock, which had just exploded inside of my wet pussy. I'm not certain about this, but I could imagine that would create some mental self-consciousness which could act as a further burden.
All of this resulted in Danny being grossly overmatched. Chris, who in high school was on both the football and wrestling teams, was throwing Danny around the small space of my bathroom like he was made of cotton. At the same time, he was simultaneously throwing punch after punch to Danny's face and body. He was relentless in his attacks, like he wanted to kill his worst enemy.
At some point during the altercation, he threw Danny into the large mirror over the sink. Then, reminiscent of his wrestling matches, he took Danny to the floor with a title-worthy body slam. That left Danny almost defenseless against punch attacks.
I had a blood-blotched, spider-webbed crack in the center of my mirror, an enraged son who was like a Rottweiler with a bloodlust, and a nephew/lover who was on the verge of being beaten to death.
I needed this to stop. My son couldn't go to jail for murdering his cousin. This was all my fault, and it was on me to fix this. I had to stop my son to save both of them.
The last time I laid a hand on Chris to hurt him was when he was 6. I spanked his little bottom for drawing all over the walls with a crayon set. But never had I attacked him. Yet, at that moment, I had to forget about my own nakedness and charge him like a linebacker.
So, I did. I threw myself at him; naked, jiggly titties and all. I didn't want to hurt him. I was hoping to either snap him out of his rage or use my weight to counter his attacks against Danny.
I jumped on his back and wrapped my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist. But Chris was about a foot taller than me and built like his father. My little 125 lbs. were a mere featherweight to him. He wore me like a backpack, my small mass doing little more to deter him than the shirt on his back.
However, my nudity, my wet naked skin against him, caused him enough distraction to give Danny some breathing room. The punching stopped, and Chris stood up fast with me hanging on him like a sexy bookbag.
"Mom! What the fuck! You're attacking me? Your son?"
His surprise that I jumped on him paled in comparison to the horror on his face when he realized that his naked mother was draped all over him.
"Fuck, Mom! You're...naked! Get off me!" he yelled, trying to shake me off.
I leveraged his disgust and used it to my advantage. Now that I had his attention, I repeated my earlier plea. "Stop hurting Danny."
"Mom...get off me!"
"Not until you promise not to stop fighting." I yelled into his ear as he flung me about.
He caught a glimpse of us between the cracks in the broken mirror. So did I. Honestly, if this was happening to anyone else, this would either be extremely comical or hot as hell. My naked ass stuck out behind him as I held on, cheeks spreading into an upside-down heart.
He squeezed his eyes shut and yelled his surrender. "Okay! Okay! I promise! Fuck! Just...please put some clothes on!!"
I lowered myself, having to slide down his back. I was sure my poor son was going to need therapy after this ordeal.
He stepped away from me like I was made of slime, his arms curled up at his sides. When he turned to face me, his eyes instinctively fell to my tits, my tummy, and my neatly trimmed patch of pubic hair.
For a fleeting second, I saw a mixture of surprise and appreciation in his eyes. It was like he was amazed that his mom had lady parts, and that those lady parts were just as appealing as the women he'd lusted over in his short 21 years.
Yes, he checked his mother out. Realizing this, I uncomfortably hid my nakedness from my son by pressing my arm over my tits and a hand over my pussy like a fig leaf.
He quickly averted his gaze and brusquely repeated, "Can you put some goddamn clothes on, please? I can see everything."
Despite the humiliation of my son seeing me au natural after getting my pussy pounded under the steamy water of my shower, I still found the courage to sternly say, "If you don't wanna see your mother naked, then get out of my bathroom! Go wait for me downstairs."
He shot Danny another glare, but then caught another glimpse of me trying to preserve my modesty. A sigh of resignation mixed with a growl escaped him as his eyes fell. Then, without another word, he stomped out.
With him safely out the way, I was able to devote my full attention to the beaten and bruised Danny. My poor nephew was laying on the cold floor, his nudity highlighting just how defeated he was. There was blood everywhere, but I couldn't tell the extent he was bleeding because it was mixing with the water on the floor, making it look worse than it was.
"Danny! You okay, baby?" I asked as I dropped to my knees beside him.
He gave me a groan in reply and said, "My back."
I slightly lifted him by the shoulder as he winced in pain. As I leaned over to look behind him at his back, I gasped. There were deep incisions from where he was thrown into the mirror with sharp, shards of glass embedded into them. Dark, red blood was pouring from his cuts.
"Oh my god!" I panicked. After completely rolling him over onto his stomach, I tried to gently remove the glass from his skin. It didn't matter how gingerly I handled him. He yelled out in agony with every piece of glass pulled out.
Once I got all the pieces I could see, I jumped up and grabbed the dry towels from the rack, not caring that they were my good, expensive ones. I feebly pressed one of them into his back, hoping to stop the flow.
"Danny, these cuts look pretty bad. I may have to take you to the ER."
"Uuugh. Great."
"Can you move?"
Another moan came from him before he said, "Yeah. I'm good."
I helped him up. Now that he was standing, I could see his back clearly, and that it was in worse shape than I initially diagnosed. His cuts were so deep. He was going to need stitches.
I wanted to wash his wounds, but I needed to get him to the ER as quickly as possible. So, without dressing, I guided him to his room, putting pressure on his back with my ruined towels. He was able to walk on his own accord, but I needed to play bodyguard against any further attacks from a certain triggered son.
The walk to Danny's room was anti-climactic. Chris was downstairs waiting for me, presumably to pounce on me with interrogative questions. At least there were no Vietcong ambushes.
Once in the safety of his room, I asked Danny, "Can you dress on your own?"
He nodded stiffly.
"Okay. Get dressed so I can take you to the hospital. Bundle up. It's cold."
With that, I quickly scurried on my tip toes back to my own room, huddling my arms at my sides to preserve what little body heat my bare, fresh-out-the-shower skin could hold onto. My C's bounced all the way, which would've had dicks hard under different circumstances.
Putting no thought into my appearance, I threw on a comfortable bra, some granny panties, and the first shirt and pair of jeans my hands grabbed. My damp, stringy hair was twisted up into a hasty bun before marching downstairs to confront my son.
He'd had time to compose himself when I saw him. He'd been stewing in his white-hot anger for a minute, but he at least had control over it. He was still pretty pissed though, standing in the middle of the living room with his arms crossed over his chest. When his eyes met me, he scowled at me.
The first words as he pointed an accusatory finger at me were, "I...FUCKING...KNEW IT!"
"Knew what?"
"About...this." He said, waving his hand around him. "About you and Danny. Something felt...I don't know...off. I couldn't put my finger on it, but I knew SOMETHING was up between you two."
He started pacing, getting himself all worked up again. I was dumbstruck about how much like his father he looked right now. That scowl, those eyes, that flaring nose; it was almost like Martin was standing here dealing with catching me in the act of infidelity.
Thinking of Martin, and enduring his anger when he found out, sent shockwaves of terror through me. My life as I knew it was over. My marriage was over. Surely, Martin was going to kick my slutty, incestuous ass out the first chance he got.
Almost talking to himself, Chris ranted, "It was the way he was always hanging around you, helping you, doting on you. He was like some adoring little puppy dog, looking for a treat. At least now I know
what
those treats were!"
He shuddered at his own words, probably giving himself a mental picture of Danny sampling my "treats". It wasn't like he had to use his imagination. He had a front row seat to the "
Danny and Ronnie
