Something most people didn't know about Samantha Bowers was that she was an absolute stickler for routine. For most of her adult life, her day to day existence looked exactly the same. Routines would come and go, change with the different era's of her life, but as each turbulent period of change swept by, she'd always find a familiar rhythm to maintain. Something to latch on to, a grounding point upon which the rest of her life hinged.
For this reason, the sheer amount of recent changes were unsettling to say the least. James and his older sister moved out within three months of one another six years before they found that book, and for six years her morning routine remained almost entirely unchanged.
She'd wake up, brew a cup of coffee (black, with half a packet of Splenda. No more, no less), relax on her place on the couch and watch one political pundit or another as she sipped her cup.
After that, she'd dedicate the next forty five minutes to cooking a quick breakfast and the necessary clean up. She ate half of her plate, and stowed the rest in the fridge to be eaten exactly two hours later. Staggering the first meal of the day she found, resulted in better digestion, and helped to ameliorate the natural slump of her circadian rhythm in the early afternoon.
From there, the rest of her morning would consist of whatever household chores needed to be done, a quick trip to the gym, and her daily shower.
Fast forward to the day in question though, and this routine was thrown on its head. For the past three days, Samantha woke up, made her coffee, and dedicated thirty minutes to putting her thoughts down in her journal before heading back up to the bedroom for some stress relief.
For most of Samantha's life, stress relief consisted of prayer, yoga, long walks, or the occasional glass of wine. Lately though, it had taken a new form.
It was this thought which bounced through her mind as she sat against the backboard of her bed, legs spread apart and her right hand furiously rubbing her clit. On her face was a wild eyed stare, her eyes glued to the TV which currently displayed a young man laid out on a bed not unlike her own, his head thrown back in ecstasy as an older woman bounced up and down on his made for porn massive erection.
This kind of behavior was not only an effrontery to her good nature, but - more importantly - the meticulously maintained routine which she'd spent the past six years building.
It was cold comfort when she finally came. Panting on the bed, she felt the anger welling up inside of her as she lamented what her life was turning into, frustrated at the prospect of her body needing such a release to start the day.
But it kept her from sending anything else to her son. It kept her from begging him to drop everything and rush over to sate the burning desire in her core, and that was enough to quell the rage burning within her.
*whack*
*whack*
*WHACK*
Squealing in surprise, Samantha rose from the bed and sidestepped around the small cloth bench at its foot, slowly edging towards the source of the noise, already knowing what it must be.
-----
"What are you talking about?" I whisper yelled into my phone, hiding away in the bathroom to keep Tracey from overhearing what I knew would undoubtedly be a conversation best kept private.
"The book! Were you even listening?" Mom shouted, her voice tinged with mild irritation, "It was banging around inside the box, it scared the hell out of me, but when I pulled it out, it said... James! We get the day off! Isn't that wonderful?"
"What do you mean, the day off?" I asked, frowning at my reflection in the small mirror above the sink.
"It means we don't have to sleep together today dummy." She said, the smile apparent in her voice.
"What exactly did it say?"
"Hang on, I took a picture of it, I'll send it to you."
"Okay. Mom, what- shit, I gotta go, I'll text you."
iMessage
Mom: Image file
Today the two of you are granted a personal day. You will get 24 hours of respite from your obligations, and do not have to see each other. If you don't want to.
Tomorrow, the normal rules will resume. Enjoy yourselves.
James: Wow.
James: But... why?
Mom: I don't know, but I'm not questioning it. This is exactly what we need.
James: Mom...
James: Have I told you just how terrified I am?
Mom: I know sweetie, me too...
Mom: Look, it's probably best if we don't talk until tomorrow, okay? Stay safe hun, I love you.
James: I love you too.
Mom: xo
The problem was, not talking to each other that day proved impossible.
3:36 PM, Four hours later
"I'm sorry babe, I know you were looking forward to a day away from your mom, but I really need this." My dear wife said from the passenger seat as we drove down the winding residential road towards mom's house.
"I know I know, don't worry, it's not that big of a deal. These stupid pipes just fucking kill me. Every single month, we lose our water. I don't understand the landlord, I really dont. This should have been fixed a year ago." I grumbled, my knuckles tightening around the wheel as we approached the house.
"You're preaching to the choir babe," Tracey muttered, reaching into the backseat to grab a bag of toiletries as we pulled into the driveway. "Forty five minutes tops, okay? Then we're gone. I just can't go into work like this tomorrow, it was so damn hot today. I seriously need to wash off."
"Yeah yeah, like I said, don't worry."
"Thank you for coming with me, I know you didn't want to," she said, planting a kiss on my lips before opening her door and stepping out.
Entering the house was a surreal experience. I'd grown accustomed to an entirely different environment in my recent visits, so seeing mom seated on the couch with a stack of bills and a mug of hot cocoa felt more alien than it should have.
"Hey guys," she said with a smile, getting up to pull Tracey into an embrace and casting me a meaningful look over her shoulder. "Welcome in, although it feels like James practically lives here again, he's been around so much lately, ha!" She finished, taking her seat on the couch once again and folding her hands.
"Thank you again Samantha," Tracey started, setting her bag down and taking a seat on the reclining chair in the corner of the room, her favorite spot.
forty five minutes, right?
I thought bitterly, entirely unsurprised at her urge to draw things out with small talk.
Taking a seat on the couch next to mom - maintaining a healthy distance I may add - I did my best to act natural as her and Tracey gabbed away about work and whatever new drama had taken hold around my wife's office.
I was worried that I'd start to crack, get a hard on, or something else even more horrible in such close proximity to mom's legs, which were currently crossed over one another as she leaned towards the chair my wife sat on, listening intently to whatever it was they were talking about. But truthfully I was far too nervous at the present situation to feel very aroused. That was, until mom brushed her hair to the side and I caught a glimpse of the cleavage poking out of her shirt.
Feeling myself growing in my jeans, I excused myself to the bathroom, opting to use my mother's in the hope that Tracey would decide to get to her shower in the guest room before I came out.
That was mistake number one.
Stepping into the bathroom, I smelled her immediately. A smell I'd surely have been physically incapable of detecting before this all began, but was now very apparent in the tiled room... and utterly delectable.
Leaning up against the counter, my erection continued to make itself known until it stood at full mast, painfully constricted by the thick fabric seperating it from my mother's musk in the air. Beside the sink sat a red bra, and a well worn tank top, and it took all of my willpower not to shove them both in my face and inhale deeply. Just as I was beginning to lose it, my phone vibrated in my pocket.
iMessage
Mom: Are you in my bathroom?
James: Yeah.
Mom: Is everything okay?
James: Yes. I just got a look at something I shouldn't have down there, I need a minute.
Mom: What does that mean?
James: I just had to get away from you.
Mom: Can you control yourself? Or do you need to leave?
Mom: I can drive Tracey home. Just tell her you're stomach is acting up.
James: Oh please, she'll go into mom mode for the next three days. I'll be fine. I just need a minute.
Mom: Okay, just don't be too long.
James: I won't be. What is she doing?
Mom: She's catching the end of my movie with me.
Mom: The last scene.
James: Okay.
Mom: Hurry up.
James: I can fucking smell you.
Mom: What?
James. In your bathroom. I can smell you...
Mom: What does that even mean? What can you smell?
James: Just... you. I smell it on your clothes, the towel on the rack. Everywhere in this god damn room. It's seriously not helping.
Mom: I'm sorry, I didn't realize my son had turned into a sex sniffing bloodhound and would be pawing around my bathroom. Otherwise I may have bleached the place.
Mom: What clothes did I leave in there?
James: A red bra.
James: A grey top.
Mom: I'm sorry.
And here comes mistake number two.
James: Don't be.
James: You smell fucking incredible.
Mom: James... stop.
James: I'm sorry, you do.
James: You just fucking do.
Mom: ...
Mom: What did you even see that got such a reaction out of you?
James: Your cleavage.
James: Your hair was blocking it at first, then you moved it and I got a nice view.
James: A REALLY nice view.
