Disclaimers: Every person in my little tale is fictional. Any resemblance to someone you know is a coincidence. Anyone partaking in sexual stuff is OVER 18. Anyone not liking sex acts between a young man and his mother, find another story to read.
*
Standing in the middle of the living room, Jarvis Tate stood with a blank expression on his bruised face. SMACK! Another lightning quick left jab from me, Len Gray, his stepson. Tate, looking like he'd had about a dozen shots of whiskey, plus the half dozen or so, shots to his head from this 18 year old, using his face for a sparing partner.
"Come on, you worthless piece of shit, hit me back!"
SMACK! A quick right cross to the bridge of Tate's nose, spewing blood over his shoulder, leaving him on his knees, in tears, holding one hand out in front of him, hoping to stop my onslaught.
"Are you ever going to hit my mother again?" I yelled, just as the EMT's were taking my mom to the hospital.
"I didn't hit her, she fell down the stairs," he cried.
"You lying piece of shit, she didn't get a broken wrist and broken nose falling down stairs in our one story house!" I yelled, as he rose to his feet.
WHOMP, WHOMP, a quick one two to his blubbery midsection. This time, he doubled over, holding himself, while I noticed the front of his pants were now wet, from his bladder emptying.
Even hearing sirens nearing mom's house, I didn't let up. A well placed kick to his jaw, and along with at least one tooth, a huge gob of spit and blood flew out.
As two Police cruisers pulled up to the house, I started thinking of what just might happen to me. I also wondered just who called them. I was hoping it was mom, but I couldn't be sure, until they entered the opened front door.
"OK, son, that's quite enough," the burly policeman said.
"Your mama told us what Tate did to her," the other cop said.
At this point, a little back story just might be helpful.
I'm Leonard Gray, or Len as I now prefer to be called. I'll shortly be turning 19 years of age, and I've recently finished my last two years of High School at one of Missouri's finest Military Schools, because my asshole of a stepfather didn't want me around my mother's house.
My own father, Brady Gray, III, passed away some eight years ago, leaving mom and me alone, but fairly well off. You see my dad was close to 25 years older than mom, but they truly did love each other. I always appreciated the fact they didn't name me Brady the fourth.
We lived sort of a quiet life in Springfield, Missouri, enough like a southern city, but big enough to retain some semblance of normalcy, not to be considered out and out rednecks.
My dad made a very good living, as an investment manager, with a medium sized firm. Mom was always a homemaker, who always made sure I had everything I ever needed. Nothing too excessive, but comfortable.
After dad died, I was lost for a while, but with mom's encouragement, and my newfound activity, I pulled myself out of the doldrums. My new activity? My school's gym had a punching bag in each of the four corners. Not a heavy bag, but what was known as a speed bag. I already found I had very good hand eye coordination, so I became very good at controlling the speed bags.
Couple this, with the two years of my military school boxing team, and I knew I'd never let my shithead of a stepfather hurt mom, ever again.
By the time I finished high school, I was a champion lightweight boxer. Standing just about 5'9", and weighing 145, or so, I knew I could not only defend myself, but mom, too.
Fast forward to the start of my story. I had just left the cab that drove me from the bus station, when I saw the ambulance in front of our house. Dropping my luggage inside the door, seeing two paramedics treating my mom, I was livid. Just then, Jarvis came back into the house, as if he'd never been there, beforehand.
It was the medics who told me what happened. It was then, my boxing training that took over.
When the cops got there, I yelled to them not to call any medics for him, until mom was safely at the nearest hospital. They agreed, and took me aside, leaving my worthless stepfather laying in his own piss and blood.
"The medics told us your mama's wrist was broke in such a way, it could only have been wrenched."
"I need to go see her, please."
"OK, but we will be there shortly to take your statement, after we drop this 'treasure' in jail."
As I rushed to the hospital, I found mom getting examined in the ER. She had been given something for pain, but still recognized me. It broke my heart seeing her face black and blue, with the start of two shiners, and her wrist taped with multiple layers of bandages.
The ER Doc told me her wrist was too swollen to reset the broken bones, plus her broken cheek bone.
I just stood next to her bed, holding her good hand, telling her not to try to speak, and I tried reassuring her that Jarvis Tate would never hurt her, again.
I spoke to the police, telling them what I saw, as well as what I did.
All the medical staff convinced me to go home, as my mother was being well taken care of as well as being medicated.
When I arrived back at our house, I just stood inside the front door surveying the damage. More than a little blood. Furniture knocked over, but not broken.
After cleaning up all the blood, and straightening the furniture, I finally collapsed in an overstuffed chair. Closing my eyes, all I saw was mom being cared for by the EMTs and Tate cowering in the corner.
I was told the next morning that the surgery to repair mom's wrist would have to wait until the following morning.
I did spend some time during the day, trying to convince mom that nothing that happened was her fault.
She kept saying what an old fool she had been, letting this jerk into her life nearly three years ago.
"He had us all fooled, mom," I told her while brushing a few strands of graying hair off her forehead.
For the first time in over two days, I finally saw her smile. It was overshadowed by her two black eyes. At least her smile was on the mend, even if her body wasn't.
Later that afternoon, one of the original cops who was investigating this assault came into mom's room just to see how she was doing.
"Hey, Lindy, how y'all doing?"
"Len, this nice man and I go back to third or fourth grade, if I remember correctly. George, I'm as fine as possible."
Seeing mom with a longtime friend, gave me an idea, or two. Before I could voice my idea, mom must have read my mind, telling me that George was married to another classmate of theirs.
After some more questions, mom and I were left by ourselves.
"Lenny, I want you to know that my sister will be staying with us until I can take care of myself. You won't even know she's around. Besides, that will give you time to start looking for colleges to attend."
I did have to admit, I was a bit concerned about helping my mother with certain things that a son shouldn't help his mother with.
Let me interject here, that I had never thought of mom in any way other than motherly.
Another two days, and I got to bring mom home, as one always recovers better at home.
