Another incest story! These are surprisingly popular. A semi-long read, includes elements of mental change, mother-son sex, body modifications and expansion, sundry other unrealistic stuff. If that's not your bag, kindly don't complain to me that you opened somebody else's bag.
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"...musculoædificatiarius facerefecund (colloq. "MF virus") virus," read the CDC report, "is a highly-contagious pathogen originating in the Eastern Seaboard; incubation period can last up to three weeks from first infection, followed by rapid onset of intense flu-like symptoms, including high fever, nausea..."
Daphne Ryerson skimmed downwards, flipping the page as her car idled.
"...attending physician reported that over 95% of patients with a high viral load experience overactive pituitary and high endorphin levels..."
She brushed a disobedient strand of silky brown hair out of her face; it had fallen out of her rather severe ponytail.
"...symptoms were most exaggerated in male patients, aged 18-25. Treatment options include..."
She glanced at the front door of the Faculty of Science building. Where was he?
Daphne's lips, painted a dramatic dark red, curled up in a sneer. She rolled up the photocopied pages into an untidy, ragged tube and tossed it into the backseat. If that boy thought he could just *call* and pull her out of a damn hospital board meeting on a *whim*, then he had another think coming; she was going to-
The passenger car door opened and her son, Jack, slid in. He was white as a sheet.
Before he even had his seatbelt on, Daphne dropped the clutch and roared out of the firelane in front of the building.
"And where were you, young man?" She snapped, speeding through a yellow light and onto the freeway. With a free hand, she tugged the hem of her skirt down; it rode up again as she shifted gears, climbing up her smooth, tanned thigh.
"I'm sorry mom," Jack said, in a shaky voice. "I swear, I was waiting right there by the door, and then I had to go and- and-" he burped, and his mother glanced over. His pallor was giving way to an unhealthy green, sweat breaking out across his brow. "I had to go get sick again." The college senior grimaced, then laid his head back against the headrest.
"I *sincerely* hope you did," she said, frowning as she dodged around a minivan that was only travelling five or ten above the speed limit. "In fact, you had better be dying of cholera; you can't just call me every time you get a tummy ache, Jack. You're not in grade school."
Daphne took a sharp right, exiting the freeway.
"You know you pulled me out of a hospital board meeting? There's some kind of a new bug going around and we need to make sure we have the protocol in order before-" gearing down, she reached over and pressed a wrist against her son's forehead. "Jesus, Jack. You're burning up. Did you go to school like this?"
"I felt a little queasy," her son said. He began to shiver. "But nothing like this. Is the AC on? I'm freezing."
"I bet," Daphne maneuvered herself out of her cardigan and handed it across the car. "Here. Wrap this around you." Jack did as he was told and closed his eyes while his mother told him off for spreading infection around and making the university sick, wheeling around another right hand turn so fast it set his head spinning.
"Mom," he said, "if you don't slow down, I'm going to-" the rest of his words were lost in a *basso* belch.
"Not in my car, you won't." She shot him a look. "Don't be a baby. We're almost home. Hold on."
Moments later, the car took a sharp left then came to a stop. Daphne's glossy nude pumps clacked loudly on the asphalt as she strode around the back of the car to retrieve her purse from the trunk.
As she reached inside, a querulous voice called out from across the road, "home for lunch, eh? A little afternoon delight?"
Old Man Crawley was leering from his usual perch, an ancient rattan chair on the front patio of his house. Daphne's white pencil dress was stretched taut across the broad, muscular globes of her ass, horizontal pinstripes clearly delineating her dramatic curves, measuring out a contour map of her body, sculpted from hours spent on the gym equipment installed in her basement when she wasn't at the hospital. She straightened up, shouldering her purse and putting one hand on her hip, just below a very trim waist, wheeled around to face the geezer on the other side of the street.
Without a word, she gave him one well-manicured finger, then strode over to the passenger side of the car, and opened it. Jack slumped in his seat, moaning in a low voice.
"Can you stand?" Daphne asked, watching her son struggle to undo his seatbelt. Leaning inside the car, Jack would have gotten a good eyeful of her fulsome bosom as it pressed against the clingy jersey of her dress, if he hadn't been semi-conscious. As it was, she undid his belt, and hooked his arm over her shoulders. Together, they half-walked, half-dragged themselves into the house. She could feel the heat radiating from his body; his clothes were damp with sweat.
"You are going straight to bed," she said. "Then we'll get some Tylenol into you and fluids; if that doesn't bring your fever down, we'll try an ice bath. I am *not* hauling you back across town to the hospital today." Jack just nodded, then burped, then groaned.
They stumbled into the house and up the stairs, which took an agonizingly long time, as Daphne had to occasionally stop to nag her son back into the real world and out of his fevered fatigue. Eventually, she nudged his door open with one pointed-toe pump; a cat in a bow tie and round spectacles stared down at her from a poster on the door, making an H20 joke from behind a chemistry set. As she helped him onto the bed, another poster above the bed declared his allegiance to Tyson/Nye. A stack of library books balanced precariously on the edge of his desk, next to his opened laptop.
"Well," she said, standing up, surveying the room. "At least you cleaned up in here like I asked." Daphne tucked the errant strand of hair behind her ear, and stood over her son, arms akimbo. "Now, you get in the bed, and I'll be right back."
