Disclaimers: I hadn't planned to write this. I was working on a different story. That story fizzled out. Some comments asked for a continuation of Mothers and Secrets. I looked into my mind about the future of Madeline and Grant Bloom. It wasn't much to tell. So I got started on a second story. That one fell in on itself.
I pecked out some of what I would tell if I were writing a follow-up to Mothers and Secrets. It's not enough to be a part two. I scratched more down with no intention of writing the whole thing out. "I suppose," I mumbled to myself, "it could be an epilogue instead of a full-blown story arc."
So I wrote some more. Scenes and dialogues surfaced. It wasn't magic, but it also wasn't planned.
And now, I've written the whole damn thing.
Here it is: Characters, unrealistic in beauty and athleticism. (Though, I've had occasions of surprising endurance, once upon a time.) Around 30,000 words to cap off the story of Mothers and Secrets. Don't read it if that's too long for you. The adultery goes unpunished. If you need cheaters to suffer, you will be dissatisfied here.
If that's all cool with you, then enjoy! Kindly give a kind rating! And politely comment! It's where I get the juice to keep writing new stories!
O.F.
***
Mothers and Secrets: Epilogue
***
A handful of
weeks
after the events of Mothers and Secrets
DrBabyRuthie777: Hey, Gypsy-Mamma. Do you know what happened to MadMommy1980? The last I've seen or heard from her was about a month ago.
Romantriarch: Hi. I can't say I know what's happening with her.
DrBabyRuthie777: "I can't say I know," as in you don't know? Or "I can't say I know," as in you're not supposed to tell?
Romantriarch: Can't say, Candy Bar. >:)
***
A handful of
hours
after the events of Mothers and Secrets
Madeline Bloom awoke naked in her son's bed. Sounds of beating pans and bowls arose from down in the kitchen.
It must be Grant,
she thought. Then she spoke aloud to herself. "No one else lives here now, remember?"
With a smile and sore muscles, she climbed out of bed and shuffled to her bedroom.
She didn't shower. The 40-something beauty dressed in blue running shorts and a pink tank top. She had no plans for a run.
Not after the workout we've had.
The outfit was for comfort, but it had another advantage. The loose garments would be easy for her lover to peel away.
She sat on her bed and took a deep breath. There were familiar smells; old scents. Without thinking she got up and changed the sheets. "Grant's sheets stink of sweat, saliva and gods know what other fluids," She remarked aloud to the empty room. "But here I am changing
this
bed."
She pulled the fresh sheet over the last corner of the king-size mattress.
There was an ache inside her. It wasn't yearning. "I can still feel him inside me," she smirked to herself. "I'm still acclimating to his girth."
There was a clang downstairs.
Madeline descended to the kitchen. She had a satisfied smile and a tingling between her thighs.
Grant wore pajama pants and a white T-shirt. He was ready to cook for his mom. "It's scrambled eggs: breakfast for dinner."
Mommy sidled up behind him and put her left arm around his waist. She pressed her groin against her coach's firm buns.
Then, with her free right hand, she swatted the side of the seat of his pajama pants.
"Hey!" he feigned grievance. "I'm working here."
"Aww," she ground out her softest sounds of pity. "After how red you've made my cheeks today, making Mommy a good girl for you? I figured a strong man like you could handle it." Knowing she was finally, completely, and oh-so-sexually his, she was already more confident. More assertive.
He knows my secret, and he feels the same. Everything is different.
"I can handle it." He grumbled more to himself than the woman rubbing her pubis against him. "I handled
you
up there in my bed, didn't I? From now on you're gonna experience 'handled' day and night."
She giggled and kissed his upper arm so she could peek around and watch his cooking.
He dropped a pat of butter into the heated pan. To the right of the stove was a large bowl of beaten eggs and a small bowl of shredded cheese. The butter melted, and the eggs went into the pan. Grant salted and peppered the gooey mass. The spatula scraped and folded. When the eggs were nearly done, he reached for the cheese.
Maddie's right arm grabbed his wrist from behind. Her full chest pressed even harder against his back. He thought he could feel her firm nipples.
"Don't add the cheese yet, hon. Take the pan off the burner."
He did as told.
The pan sat on an unused burner, and the flame was out.
"
Now
dump in the cheese and mix."
Doing as ordered, Grant asked, "But the eggs aren't done cooking. Shouldn't I put it back on the flame?"
Madeline watched her son mix the cheese into the steaming hot eggs. "It's all still hot, baby. The eggs keep cooking without the fire."
He mixed, relishing the feel of his mother's soft breasts pressing into his back.
"You don't always have to keep heat under the pan once you've got things cooking." The cheese melted into the eggs, and - as predicted - the eggs firmed up to perfection. The residual heat of the pan and eggs had finished cooking the couple's meal. She reminded him, "The chef always tastes before he serves."
The younger Bloom skewered a glob of egg with a fork. He eased it into his mouth.
"Mmm!" Pleasure and surprise mixed at the resulting taste and texture.
"We melted the cheese without breaking the oils in it. It'll be cheesy and creamy without being greasy." She rose to her tip-toes and kissed the back of his neck.
Mrs. Bloom released her young stud to gather a pair of shallow bowls.
They set the table for two. But when the food was on the table, the mother sat on her son's lap. His erection rose against her thigh. She fed him a fork of the best scrambled eggs he'd ever made.
"See, sweetheart." she smiled. "When we make enough heat things will keep on cooking for us."
A slow sensuous kiss on the cheek. Both knew she was talking about more than food.
She hopped off his lap and sat on her own seat to devour her meal.
"First of all," Grant said. "thanks. And I mean that on many levels."
Maddie gave him a smile and a sideways nod as she chewed.
"But also, why?"
She washed her food down with a swallow of juice. Then, "Because we have some un-sexy things to talk about, but I don't want you to think I've lost any heat for you."
Under the table, invisible to her son, she traced her crotch with her free hand.
"Good. What's un-sexy that needs to be discussed?"
"Individual checking accounts." There were also joint savings accounts. They had a shared investment portfolio. And there was the almost certain inevitability of selling the house. "Neither of us - your father nor I - is likely to have enough money to buy out the other's half of the value of the house. I'm not sure it would be smart to hold onto it even if we could. We'll need to consult the lawyer about my options before we can make a decision."
"Lawyer?" the young man asked in the tone of a brand new concussion. This new theme was like a bucket of ice water.
"Remember, a few hours ago? You were fucking me doggy style and spanking my sweaty ass. You told your father that he'd better get a divorce attorney. I was riding your rocket to the moon, but I heard every word, baby."
The young man coughed and nodded. The reminder of his deepest fantasies fulfilled had left him flat-footed. Now he needed to face these consequences. "Yeah, I remember."
"Well, I'm going to need to get one too. Don't you think?"
Now he was shaking his head. "No. I mean, Yeah. Of course. I just hadn't thought..."