Less a story, more of an extended scene. Kind of a quickie. If you've read any of my other stories, you know what to expect: this one's got incest, moms and sons fuckin', some magicky mind controlly stuff, older women who take what they want. If that's not your cup of tea, please don't email me to let me know you've drank from someone else's cup of tea: just give me back my gosh darn tea.
--for my muse--
*****
TWO PLAYERS, EIGHTEEN YEARS OF AGE AND UP
After a moment's struggle, the door burst inward, admitting a shower of heavy sleet and a pair of figures dripping with icy water. One, in a varsity track jacket, threw a pair of bags into the room and left again, while the other held a phone to her ear and shouted into it.
"Well dammit Nick I thought you might want to hear that your wife and only son made it up here safe and-" Maddie whipped her hair out of her face, trying to keep the water from dropping into her eyes.
"Yes I suppose you could have been driving but you're not, I can hear-" She angrily unzipped her light spring jacket, looking down to survey the damage.
"Well, if we'd all left at the same time like I wanted to, I wouldn't have-" She was soaked right through to the skin, the chambray shirt was stained dark blue with the water, moulded tight to the lacy bra she wore underneath, the prodigious mounds of her breasts even more obvious than usual. There was a step on the porch outside, and she hurriedly zipped herself back up before Andrew walked in.
"Yes obviously that's important, to her, but-" Her son shrugged at her questioning look when he walked back through the door carrying a big red Coleman cooler. "I am well-aware I am talking about our daughter, Nick. I gave birth to her. When do you think you'll get here?"
Andy fiddled with his pack, trying not to look at his mother as she fought on the phone.
"What do you mean the road is closed?" She raked her fingers through her hair, the red almost black. "A snowstorm? In May? No, just sleet here, I think." Maddie pulled back one of the sun faded curtains and peered outside; big, wet heavy flakes of snow splattered against the window. "Yeah, yeah it's here too. No I agree, don't risk it. Sure, fine. I'll call you tomorrow. Give Ash my love."
"Looks like it's just you and me, kid." Hanging up the phone, she smiled ruefully. "Let's get some light going." Mother and son scanned the room.
The cabin was dark but snug, and at least a century old, its origins lost in the mists of family history. Nobody could quite recall whose uncle's uncle had built it under the shadow of Widow's Peak; the title had passed through enough branches of the family tree (often under circumstances only mostly technically legal) that a forensic accountant would have thrown up his hands at the mess and walked away.
Consequently it was full of the castoff furniture and linens from all over the damn country, not a stick of it matching with the rest, not a thing original to the cabin except maybe the potbellied stove with a cast iron grin fixed in its grille. Everything was clean, washed, and working, ready for visitors, the work of everybody's Uncle Dave and Great Aunt Ana: they lived in the hamlet of Widow's Outlook, and had the responsibility through sheer proximity.
A battered lamp sat on the scarred table in what passed for the kitchen. Maddie fished in her purse for matches, found an aging book of them that didn't seem too damp, and then the place was aglow with warm light, chasing away the shadows and the horror-movie feel they cast.
"God, I'm saturated." Maddie looked down at herself, feet squishing in waterlogged white Keds.
"You're not the only one," Andrew clapped his arms around himself, trying to get his blood circulating in the cold of the room.
"Okay, well, see if you can get a the stove started. Uncle Dave said he filled up the wood box outside last week so we should be fine for heat." Maddie reached down and grabbed the other bag without looking at it. "I'm going to get changed."
When he came back in, arms laden with enough split birch logs and kindling to get things started, his mother was cursing loudly from the cabin's one bedroom.
"What's wrong?" Andy shouted as he stacked the wood neatly by the door. "Mom?" Opening the stove, he began to erect a little tower of kindling, stuffing the interior with shredded birch bark. He lit one of the matches she'd left and tossed it in; a cheery little fire quickly set up shop in the nest he'd crafted. "Hello? Are you okay?"
"Oh I'm okay," she spat. "But your father won't be."
"What happened?" Bright flames fed on the bark and soon they were lapping at the wood stack in the belly of the stove.
"I told him to put our bags in the goddamn car but I guess that was too complicated for him. This is your sister's stuff." From within the room there was a loud 'flump' of an overnight bag being thrown on the floor. "I don't have any dry clothes."
"That sucks." The fire took hold, merrily burning away. He rubbed his hands together in the hot air coming from the opened door. "Do you want to borrow one of my shirts or something."
"No, I can- I'll make do, I guess. You need dry stuff too." As soon as she mentioned it, a clamminess stole over his body, and Andy was suddenly very aware of how wet he was.
"Yeah, okey doke," he slid a couple of smaller split logs into the stove, taking care not to knock over the fire he'd built, and closed the door again. Straightening himself, Andy took his dripping varsity jacket off and draped it over a line that had been strung over the stove for just such a purpose. He began peeling off his sopping wet shirt when he heard the bedroom door open.
"You have to promise you won't laugh," Maddie said as she rounded the corner, drying her hair in one of Ashley's t-shirts.
"I promise." He said, tossing his own tee over the clothesline, firelight glimmering across his sculpted hairless pecs and the flat plane of his stomach, all lean runner's muscle.
Madeline Stone had never been a small woman. Already taller than most of her peers, she was all 32-oz coke-bottle curves kept mostly in check by a healthy diet and regular exercise, but there was no ignoring the dramatic outward sweep of her hips or the enormous swell of her bosom or the soft roundness of her tummy. They were especially hard to ignore now that they'd been stuffed into a light blue hoodie of Ashley's, the zipper under considerable strain to stay up -- it was already halfway failing, exposing a deep, creamy cleavage -- and the skintight light grey leggings that did nothing to hide her plush thighs or the luscious curves of her behind.
"Oh good, you got it going." She laid the kerosene lamp on the table and strode over to the fire, rubbing her hands together. Andy skinned out of his jeans and hung them over the line. Maddie made sure to look the other way; she knew he had her red curls and soft, kissable lips, but whence this young Adonis body had come she had no idea. Certainly not from his father. A pair of black boxer briefs joined his other clothes, and there was a rustling as he rummaged around in the bag.
"How about I rustle up something to eat and you can dry off?" She walked over to the cooler; a case of beer, milk, eggs, bacon, butter, a gallon of water. Most of the dry goods were in the other car, on the other side of the mountain. Silently cursing her husband, Maddie started rummaging through the cupboard, and came up with couple of pans. "How does breakfast for supper sound?"
"Sure thing," Andy stretched a dry shirt over his head, then slid into a pair of flannel pyjamas pants. He flicked the switch on an old tube TV in the corner. Nothing. "I guess we're roughing it."
"Dave said there's a generator out back somewhere, but I don't know how it works," outside, the wind howled and snow beat hard against the windows. "Do you really want to go back out there?"
"Ah no." He started poking around the crazy collection of mismatched furniture, inspecting shelves of abandoned knicknacks and yellowed summer novels nobody had read in a decade. "Hey, board games."
"Oh? Anything good?" Maddie whipped a fork through a bowlful of eggs, beating them up together into some milk.
"Let's see...we got...Junior Monopoly," there was a hiss as strips of bacon met hot cast iron. "A backgammon board- you know how to play backgammon?"
"Not a clue." She turned the bacon, browning it.
"No pieces in it anyway. What's 'Family Foibles'?" Andy held up a faded cardboard box; on the cover a woman and man were bent low over a game board, laughing.
"Never heard of it," she transferred the bacon to a towel to drain, poured the hot fat into an empty mug, and dumped the eggs into the hot pan.
"'Family Foibles' from Boiart Bros," he read from the back of the box. "Is a game of truth and togetherness. Get to know your family like never before. 2 players, ages 18 and up. 18 and up?"
"It's not one of those awful 'adult' games, is it?" Maddie scooped a heap of scrambled eggs, gelid and glistening onto a tin plate.
"I don't think so." Andy opened the box. Among the pieces inside he found a stack of cards, and plucked one out. "'Ask your mother about her first kiss.'"
"Matthew Griswold," the answer popped out of her mouth before almost before he was done talking. "Seventh grade. Our braces got stuck together. We broke up because we couldn't be Maddie and Matty."
"Gross," Andy said, putting the card back. "Yeah I don't think it's a party game or anything." He rummaged through the box. "I don't see any instructions in here."
"I'm sure we can muddle through. Anything else there?" She laid both plates on the table.
"Not unless you want to try scrimmage with no pegs."
"No thanks. Your dad has the laptop doesn't he? Dinner's ready, by the way."
"He sure does!" Andy sauntered over, box tucked under his arm. "We've got no way to charge it anyway."
"Or the phones I guess," Maddie opened the cooler and extracted a beer, feeling the fabric of her daughter's leggings stretching dangerously tight. "Do you want one?"
